Chapter 84: No More Tenderness

This story is purely a work of fiction.

Will had already been gone from Dahe for several days, during which he called Gao Yating continuously. Every time Dai Yunjio thought of Gao Yating sharing a bed with Will, anger surged within him.

Yunjio was torn—should he reach out to Gao Yating, or wait for her to offer an explanation herself? After much deliberation, he chose not to contact her first.

Gao Yating understood that she was the cause of their current predicament, so she tried to resolve the crisis by keeping her distance, hoping time would ease the tension. Will had done her a great kindness; she felt helpless in her actions, believing she had no other choice. Yet Dai Yunjio could not comprehend or easily forgive such behavior, nor did Gao Yating expect his immediate forgiveness.

Racked with guilt, Gao Yating suffered intensely in the days Dai Yunjio stayed away from the villa. On one hand, she didn’t want to be ungrateful; on the other, she wished to spend the rest of her life with only Dai Yunjio—living together, growing old together.

But what had happened made it impossible for Yunjio to let go so easily. For a man, discovering his beloved with another is an agony all its own.

Gao Yating went to Dai Yunjio’s hotel room, her heart pounding with fear that he would refuse to open the door. Only when he finally did did she feel a wave of relief.

After days apart, Gao Yating, feeling guilty, sensed a strange unfamiliarity with the man before her, even a hint of shyness. The former ease and intimacy were gone. She simply greeted him, “It’s been a while.”

Dai Yunjio, distant and cold, merely replied with a faint “Mm,” then stepped aside in silence.

Realizing he was upset, Gao Yating didn’t dwell on his behavior. She stepped forward, wishing to comfort this wounded man, and gently wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his back.

Yunjio did not respond as he once would have. Before the crisis, he would have turned and held her tightly, but now something had changed. The manly impulse was gone, replaced by a vague aversion, even disgust. He hid his feelings, merely tolerating her embrace.

When Yunjio didn’t reciprocate, Gao Yating felt a wave of disappointment and unprecedented pressure.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked coquettishly.

“No, why would I be angry?” Yunjio replied, his words belying his feelings.

“If you’re not angry, then why are you ignoring me?” Gao Yating pressed.

“I’m not ignoring you. Aren’t we talking? I just don’t feel well lately,” Yunjio lied.

“You seem so distant, so indifferent. You never used to be like this. If you’re not angry, then what is this? You must be angry with me!” Gao Yating insisted.

“Really, I just don’t feel well,” Yunjio replied, his face clouded.

“Then I’ll take it you’re not mad at me. Kiss!” Gao Yating’s mood seemed to lift.

But Yunjio’s demeanor remained cold and distant. Gao Yating took off her coat and hung it up. “I’m not leaving tonight. I’ll stay with you.”

“Do as you like,” Yunjio said flatly.

“I’ll shower first. When I’m done, we can share some wine?” With that, Gao Yating picked up her nightwear and headed into the bathroom.

Yunjio, without looking back, busied himself switching TV channels.

He pondered how to respond to Gao Yating’s overtures. Her intentions were clear, but he himself was lost, uncertain how to proceed.

He switched channels absentmindedly, finding nothing of interest.

Hearing the water running, he felt no desire to join Gao Yating in the shower, as he might have before. The sight of her slim, alluring figure stirred nothing in him; instead, he felt a creeping fear—a dread that she might bring back something terrible, like AIDS.

The thought of disease, the memory of his ex-wife’s fate, and the possibility of his own future suffering all unsettled him. Lost in these reflections, he didn’t even notice when Gao Yating emerged, freshly showered, in front of him.

“What are you thinking about? Go wash up—I’ll wait for you in bed,” she said, her body fragrant with soap.

“You go ahead. I’ll be there after I shower,” Yunjio replied.

Gao Yating took this as a sign he’d accepted her invitation and slipped into the bedroom. She pulled back the snowy sheets, removed her underwear, and lay waiting for the man she desired.

She lay there, restless with anticipation. Though Will had given her some physical pleasure during his brief stay, he was, after all, an eighty-year-old man. The satisfaction he brought her paled in comparison to what she could find with the man she truly wanted.

Sometimes Gao Yating was annoyed by her own strong desires. She tried not to dwell on them, but her mind wouldn’t obey. Will had only been gone a few days, and already her cravings surged uncontrollably.

After his shower, Dai Yunjio walked unhurriedly into the bedroom.

Seeing Gao Yating’s hungry gaze, he knew what she wanted—but he himself felt nothing but confusion and anxiety about his own predicament.

He said nothing. After a moment, as if remembering something, he went to the wardrobe, took out an extra quilt, and laid it on the bed.

Gao Yating understood immediately: he meant to sleep apart. “You want to sleep separately?” she asked.

“When you were away these past days, I slept fine alone. I’m still not feeling well—it’s better we sleep separately,” Yunjio replied, his excuse sounding plausible.

Gao Yating felt a sudden, unprecedented sense of crisis. She realized just how deeply this man cared about her relationship with another. But she dared not press the issue.

As Yunjio climbed into bed without sharing her covers, her heart turned cold. “Turn off the light,” she said icily.

Once, these two would have immediately lost themselves in uninhibited passion as soon as they were in bed. Now, in the darkness, each was lost in private thoughts.

Pale moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a glow on the white sheets. The two lay back to back, eyes open, unspeaking.

The night was unusually still.

Yunjio feigned sleep, but in his mind, memories of his ex-wife haunted him.

In the morning, Gao Yating quietly left for work before Yunjio woke.

On her way, she reflected on his behavior the night before, wondering if there was some other problem she didn’t know about.

Once Mingyue returned and settled in, she felt a bit more at ease.

Life in Dahe was comfortable enough, thanks to Zhezhe’s care. Her work suited her. Though she worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy woman, her monthly income was far better than before—nearly doubled. When she had time, Mingyue would think about the hardships she’d endured over the years.

She remembered leaving Xiaohe; every time, her mother would stand outside the house, watching until the bus disappeared down the road.

Mingyue’s emotions were complicated—her sorrow never showed on her face, but her fragile heart bled in silence. For the sake of survival, she had no choice but to leave her hometown, leaving her school-aged son in the rural school.

That day, when Mingyue arrived at the fishery, she had to catch a bus to the county. The farewell with her husband was brief, just a quick goodbye in the open yard.

She carried a plastic bag with her belongings, dressed in a faded black jacket, looking thin and frail. Situ Kong’s eyes brimmed with tears, but he forced himself not to cry.

When Chi Minghe saw his sister standing alone, he felt a stab of pain. “Go see Mingyue off. The fish don’t need feeding now. It’s not a final farewell, but who knows when she’ll be back,” Minghe said to Situ Kong.

Situ Kong had only meant to tell her not to worry, but Minghe’s words made his sorrow worse. Unable to bear watching Mingyue’s frail figure disappear, he turned away and went back to his work. With the three of them each going their separate ways, Mingyue broke down in tears.

Their busy lives dulled the ache of missing each other.

Every day, Mingyue cleaned the house. When the lady of the house was home, she cooked a meal as well, with advance notice. Her cooking skills often earned her little rewards.

Her salary, nearly two thousand yuan, was more than she expected.

The basement accommodations were poor, but the rent was cheap—a great draw for migrant workers like her. Spending less, enduring a little hardship, meant she could save more.

(To be continued)