Charity - Chapter 1

Jiang Yi got home before I did.

When he called, I had just changed out of my uniform and collected my pay for the day.

Eight hundred yuan. A whole month of hard work at the factory only brought me four thousand.

“If we’re short of staff again, would you come back?” my friend asked.

I hesitated for two seconds, then shook my head. Grandma had taught me to earn my living honestly, with both feet on the ground. This money had been easy to make, but it left me uneasy.

“All right.” She shrugged, making no attempt to persuade me. “Be careful on your way home. Message me when you get there.”

I nodded and left the club.

Buses came so infrequently at that hour. After standing all evening and then waiting in the cold wind, my head hurt. So did my stomach.

Jiang Yi had already called eight times. I finally answered the ninth.

“Where did you go? Why aren’t you answering your phone?” He sounded tense, almost frantic. “You went out without telling me. Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

I said nothing. Realizing how worked up he was, he took several deep breaths and forced his voice to soften.

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you, okay?”

The bus pulled in. I boarded and tapped my card.

“No need. I’ll be home soon,” I said quietly, then hung up.

The roads were clear all the way. When I got off, I looked up and saw Jiang Yi waiting at the stop, still in his grubby delivery uniform. The yellow streetlight fell just right across his sharply defined brows and eyes.

He really didn’t look like a delivery rider. Even in that uniform, he looked as though he were shooting an advertisement for the delivery company.

I’d always thought that was just because I was in love with him. He looked good in a T-shirt, good in flip-flops, good with his hair flattened into a pancake by his helmet, good with a buzz cut.

Every part of him was beautiful to me. Every part made me love him.

He didn’t say anything when he saw me. He took my canvas bag, touched my cheek, and clasped my freezing hands tightly between his palms.

“Hungry? I bought you fried rice. With an extra fried egg.”

At our poorest, even an extra egg was a luxury. That egg had always been mine alone, fried sunny-side up, with the crisp edges he’d specifically asked the owner for. Jiang Yi never brought himself to take a bite. He saved it all for me.

Those memories had once been my treasures.

I’d given him every bit of my love. However hard we worked, however tired we were, as long as we were together, nothing frightened me.

But to Jiang Yi, it turned out, I, my love, even my child—all of it put together—were worth no more than a fruit platter.

When we got home, he hurried to set the fried rice in front of me.

I couldn’t taste a thing. Numbly, mechanically, I brought one spoonful after another to my mouth.

“Yanyan, I know you’ve been unhappy these past couple of days. But we really couldn’t keep the baby, not with things the way they are.”

“I don’t mind suffering a little. But how could I let you and our baby suffer with me?”

“Please don’t be sad. I promise we’ll have another child.”

“Once I make something of myself, I’ll give you and our children the very best life.”

My hand paused. Then the tears broke free.

Jiang Yi clumsily wiped them away, pulled me hard against him, and murmured soothing words.

“Yanyan, don’t cry. It’s my fault. I haven’t been able to provide for you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His voice caught too. He sounded so sad.

But all I could see were the scenes in that private room: Jiang Yi laughing and flirting with the hostesses, his hands roaming over them. His careless, scornful smile when he said I wasn’t capable of it.

“Jiang Yi…” I clutched the hem of his shirt. I wanted to ask if he was hiding something from me. Why he would hide it. Had he deceived me for fun? Or was he afraid I was a gold digger, that I’d be after his money, so he’d concealed who he was?

I couldn’t get a single question out. My head was full of all the years we’d shared hardship and happiness. All that sweetness, sincerity, all the feelings that had bound us so tightly together—had every bit of it been a lie?

When I had exhausted myself crying, I lay quietly in his arms and asked, “Jiang Yi, do you love me?”

“Silly girl. How could I not?”

I’d asked him that question many times. It had never been because I doubted him. I simply liked hearing him say something tender.

This was the only time I couldn’t bear to look into his eyes.

No. You don’t love me.

Jiang Yi, you never loved me at all.