Volume One, Chapter 18: Want to Give It a Try?

Han Fang is downstairs? Jiang Ning looked ahead and realized that almost an hour ago he had sent her a message, saying he wanted to see her alone. She must have been on her way back from the police station then, her phone out of battery, so she hadn’t seen it. Scrolling further up, their messages still lingered on confessions of longing from half a month ago. Half a month—a distance that felt as remote as a past life.

She was sure Han Fang had seen the marriage certificate she posted in her social moments, yet he hadn’t sent a single message. Most likely because his wife at home kept a tight watch on him. Had she seen his first message, Jiang Ning would have refused him at once. Meet alone? Meet for what? He might be shameless enough, but she feared she’d lose her appetite for days.

But now, with him downstairs, it was a different story. When they were dating, Han Fang had walked her home a few times. They’d been openly together, not avoiding anyone. Han Fang was handsome and sweet-talking; the elderly folks who gathered at the building entrance all recognized him. It was the time of evening strolls after dinner—if Han Fang said anything inappropriate to those “community informants,” word would spread, and she’d lose all face.

Jiang Ning made a snap decision. She quickly changed into a fitted dress that accented her figure, hurriedly refreshed her makeup, and turned toward the second bedroom. The door was half open; she didn’t think much of it and walked right in.

Lu Cheng had just finished unbuttoning his shirt, about to take a shower. His chest was bare, and Jiang Ning’s eyes landed on his firm muscles, two pink dots visible on his chest.

“Oh my!”

She made a “V” with both hands and placed them under her eyes, a gesture more symbolic than effective.

Her gaze slid lower—to the sculpted abs, the smooth line of his waist. Lower still—

Ah, just the waistband of his trousers.

She looked openly, and Lu Cheng undressed unhurriedly, rolling up his sleeves to reveal strong arms—not the kind built for show, but the kind that easily explained how he’d fractured Du Chenghong’s bones.

Lu Cheng asked, “What is it?”

Jiang Ning replied, “We’ve got a situation.”

A few brief words sufficed to explain. She turned and left, thoughtfully closing the door behind her.

No shower for Lu Cheng tonight. He was about to put his shirt back on when the door suddenly swung open again.

Jiang Ning’s face reappeared in the gap, squeezed between door and frame. “Great body!”

Lu Cheng paused, clearly encouraged, his hand hovering at his belt buckle, smiling with a low, coaxing voice, “Want to give it a try?”

Jiang Ning’s smile widened. She pushed the door as if to step inside.

Lu Cheng, half-expectant and half-incredulous, couldn’t read her intent and remained where he stood.

Sure enough, the next second, a slipper flew at him. He caught it, but with a bang, the door was slammed shut.

Outside, Jiang Ning shook her head, rolling her eyes as she mimicked his earlier posture. Try it? Try what! The enemy was at the gates; who had time to fool around?

Still, the image of that enticing scene lingered in her mind, leaving her a little parched. She gulped down a glass of cold water in the living room, but the restlessness inside remained, so she poured another, drinking until she could feel the water sloshing in her stomach as she walked.

There was a bag of trash by the door. She grabbed it and, stepping out of the elevator, immediately spotted the “enemy” standing at the center of the “community intelligence network.”

His smile was gentle, his manners polished, his amiability flawless.

Jiang Ning was momentarily dazed, as if she’d been transported back to the last time Han Fang returned to the country.

Han Fang’s previous trip home had been because his father suffered from acute liver poisoning. The man was addicted to herbal tonics, hoarding all sorts of supplements at home, buying them but reluctant to consume them. Some had sat untouched for years. Whether due to improper storage, expired shelf life, or poor-quality ingredients, the tonics had turned toxic, and he poisoned his own liver in the name of health. His face was sallow, even the whites of his eyes yellow. One test result was thousands of times above normal; the hospital declared him critical, and Han Fang rushed home, likely to say his final goodbye.

The old couple refused to hire help, so before Han Fang returned, Jiang Ning had been the one accompanying his mother at the hospital. After Han Fang got back, Jiang Ning finally went home to catch up on sleep. When she woke, night had fallen. She planned to visit the hospital—really, she just wanted to see Han Fang—and as soon as she stepped out of the elevator, she found him chatting with the neighbors.

She asked why he hadn’t come upstairs. He said he’d just arrived, but a neighbor exposed him—he’d been there nearly an hour, not wanting to disturb his girlfriend’s rest.

See? That’s a man for you. Attentive to her in every detail, but it didn’t stop him from getting another woman pregnant and becoming someone else’s husband.

The elevator chimed. Everyone turned to see Jiang Ning, and the group fell silent.

Jiang Ning walked over calmly and greeted the crowd, saving her gaze for Han Fang last. The smile in her eyes vanished, replaced by a clear warning.

Everyone present was a senior member of the “community intelligence network,” old neighbors of many years, some of whom were once chess, fishing, poker, or gardening companions of her grandparents.

She didn’t care much about her own reputation, but she had to consider her grandparents’. If her name was tarnished, people would say it was because her grandparents hadn’t raised her right. She couldn’t let them be slandered, not even after they were gone.

The trash bin was ten meters away. Jiang Ning strode ahead, Han Fang hurrying after her, his voice urgent but restrained, “Ningning…”

“Don’t call me Ningning—as if we’re close. Please address me as Miss Jiang, or, if you prefer, follow your wife’s example and call me Jiang the classmate.”

Her face was cold, her words colder still. Her tone was not soft—emotion had gotten the better of her.

No one is indispensable. She could accept a peaceful breakup, but Han Fang’s actions were so despicable it felt as if he’d stomped on her face, then asked if she thought he’d jumped high enough.

Outside the lobby, Old Zhang, her grandfather’s fishing buddy, gave a discreet cough and ushered the others away.

Han Fang caught up and blocked her path. “Alright, alright, I know you’re angry. I’m the one to blame. Say whatever you want, hit me or curse me if you need, but please, don’t gamble your future happiness out of spite, alright?”

The residential path was dimly lit. Tonight, with a strong wind blowing, few people were out for a walk; the surroundings were empty and quiet.

Jiang Ning stared at his face—hard to see clearly in the faint light, and it felt strangely unfamiliar. A dull ache began to spread in her chest.

From freshman year to working life, from the same university to different countries, from nineteen to twenty-six. He was her youthful first love, and she’d imagined a life of everyday routine with him.

And in the end, this was all there was?

Jiang Ning let out a soft, derisive laugh. “With what identity or right do you say these things to me? Benefactor and recipient? Old classmates?”

Han Fang’s hand clenched at his side. He started to speak several times but finally forced out only three words: “I’m sorry.”

Jiang Ning lifted her chin, looking down at him coolly. “You certainly should be sorry, but ‘I’m sorry’ is the most useless phrase in the world. If you have any conscience at all, just tell me honestly—let me know when exactly I started wearing a green hat.”

Their eyes met. Han Fang opened his mouth, but in the end, didn’t speak.

Sometimes, silence is its own answer. It seemed the truth was even earlier than she’d guessed—so early he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Heh.”

Jiang Ning turned her face away, her voice full of ridicule—not for him, but for her own blindness and foolishness.