She Is Not the Other Woman - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The restaurant Fu Wenzhou chose was on East Third Ring Road. It wasn’t overly expensive, but it wasn’t perfunctory either. Just the right amount of respectable-much like the man himself.

By the time Lin Zhi arrived, he was already seated. Two glasses of water sat in front of him, the lemon slices cut into neat, even rounds. He stood and pulled out her chair for her, the gesture as natural as it had been every time over the past three years.

“I ordered that sea bass you like,” he said.

Lin Zhi smiled faintly, sat down, and placed her bag on her lap.

She knew tonight’s script.

He would start by talking about work, about the pressure he’d been under lately, about Shanyu’s financing. Then he would pivot and begin with, “I’ve thought about this for a long time.”

Sure enough.

Before the appetizers had even been cleared, Fu Wenzhou set down his chopsticks and looked at her.

“Zhizhi, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Lin Zhi lifted her eyes.

His expression had been carefully calibrated-three parts guilt, three parts solemnity, and the remaining four parts, I’m suffering too.

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” he said. “About us.”

Lin Zhi didn’t respond.

“You deserve someone whole,” Fu Wenzhou said. “Someone who can give all of himself to you. I can’t.”

He paused, as if leaving space for the words to echo.

“I have a family. Zhiyi, she… hasn’t been in good health recently. I can’t, not at a time like this-”

“I understand,” Lin Zhi said.

Fu Wenzhou froze for a moment.

He had prepared so much to say. About his guilt, about how reluctant he was to let go, about “if only I hadn’t gotten married back then.” Those words were lined up in his throat, waiting to be spoken in order.

But Lin Zhi said, “I understand.”

Two words, and every line that came after was blocked.

“I always knew this day would come.” Lin Zhi lowered her head and stirred the lemon water in her glass. “You’re a man with a family, Wenzhou. I don’t blame you.”

Fu Wenzhou’s shoulders loosened.

The shift was tiny, but Lin Zhi saw it clearly. It was the instinctive relief of a man realizing he would not have to face tears or accusations.

“It’s just…” Lin Zhi set down her glass, her voice softening a little. “Be a little better to her from now on.”

As she said it, her nails dug into her palm.

Not because her heart ached for Fu Wenzhou. It was because she was saying those words on Song Zhiyi’s behalf, and Song Zhiyi should never have needed anyone to plead for that on her behalf.

Fu Wenzhou’s eyes reddened slightly.

Not much. Just enough for him to move himself.

“Zhizhi…”

“Don’t call me that anymore.” Lin Zhi smiled. “It won’t be appropriate from now on.”

Fu Wenzhou was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

“The sea bass hasn’t come yet,” he said. “At least… finish the meal before you go.”

“All right.”

The sea bass arrived. It was steamed, the scallions on top sliced very fine. Lin Zhi took two bites, praised it for being delicious, then set down her chopsticks and said she was full.

Fu Wenzhou insisted on seeing her off.

Lin Zhi refused.

“I’ll just get a cab. Don’t see me off, Wenzhou. Go home early.”

She stood, picked up her bag, and gave him one last smile. It was a smile she had practiced in the restroom-with a touch of regret, a touch of release, no more and no less.

Fu Wenzhou did not insist again.

He watched her walk out through the restaurant’s glass doors.

She passed through the revolving door at the entrance and stepped to the curb, cold wind rushing into her face. She stood there for three seconds, then took out her phone.

She sent Song Zhiyi a message.

“He bought it.”

After sending it, she gripped her phone in her hand, lowered her head, and let out a long, deep breath.

Three years.

She had spent three years being a respectable mistress, and now she had spent the length of a single meal being a respectable ex. From beginning to end, every step she took had been confined within the frame of “respectability.”

She had once thought that was love.

Now she knew it was called conditioning.

Her phone vibrated.

Song Zhiyi replied with four words: “Thank you for this.”

Lin Zhi stared at those four words for a long time. After three years, the person who acknowledged how hard it had been was not Fu Wenzhou.

All at once, she wanted to laugh.

A taxi driver beside her honked once. “Miss, you getting in or not?”

“I am.”

She opened the door and got in, then gave him the address. The car merged into the traffic on East Third Ring Road, the lights outside the window stretching into long lines.

She did not cry.

But when she loosened her nails from her palm one by one, she found she had left four crescent-shaped marks behind.