Little Shramanera had been away on business for two weeks and had called only three times. That month, his company was launching a children’s Chinese classics reading program, and with summer break under way, they were running a pilot in City B. Normally, when he traveled, he phoned almost every day, especially at night. But this time he seemed exceptionally busy; every call was rushed, a few hurried words, and often she could hear a woman’s voice beside him. Wu Aizhen felt adrift. Yet the worse it looked, the more she refused to think the worst, spinning one reason after another in her mind for why he was too tied up to call.
She heard that Zheng Meiqin had taken personal command this time and was staying in City B. Their days were packed with children’s classics reading and training sessions; their evenings were given over to adult readings of the Chinese classics and lectures promoting traditional culture. She could picture them run ragged. And with the boss herself in the field, every subordinate would have to pull out all the stops — no one would dare slack off. Before he left, though, Little Shramanera had mentioned that Mi Lang seemed to have fallen out with President Zheng. The reason was unclear, but Mi Lang had said he was resigning. That was why Zheng Meiqin had no choice but to take the field herself, and it looked as though she had shifted Mi Lang’s entire load onto Ren Qingfei. If Mi Lang really did leave, the vice president’s seat might go to Ren Qingfei — and Qingfei clearly cared about that. He had told her Mi Lang’s annual salary was more than double his own. For that alone, he would put on a stellar performance this time and work himself to the bone for the company. Under the circumstances, his being too busy to call was only to be expected.
A month went by. Ren Qingfei did not come back; he only called to say he was still in City B and would need more time. When Wu Aizhen phoned him at night, his cell was often switched off, and she began to grow uneasy. She thought of going to City B to see him, but she talked herself out of it. She was afraid of what she might uncover, afraid her suspicions would be confirmed.
One day after work she found an envelope in her mailbox. The words “To: Dr. Wu” were printed on it in block letters. Inside was a disc. It did not look like a mass-mailed flyer. Wu Aizhen was filled with misgiving.
Back in her room, nervously, she put the disc into the player. The image appeared, and with it the message the disc was meant to deliver: a shot of a man and a woman in bed. The footage was somewhat blurred, yet she recognized the man at a glance — Ren Qingfei. It hit her like a thunderbolt. Blood rushed to her head, then slowly ran cold. She stared blankly at the television screen. Her body and mind went numb as the footage played on. The woman’s face was half-hidden by long hair the whole time, and the camera showed only her back for part of the time. But Wu Aizhen saw clearly a painted butterfly on one toenail. Even without the butterfly, she could have guessed who the woman was. Yet even if she was having an affair with Ren Qingfei, there was no reason for her to record it herself and mail the disc to Wu Aizhen. Wu Aizhen suddenly grew calm and began piecing together the whole story. At first she assumed Zheng Meiqin was behind it, trying to sever her bond with Ren Qingfei, or hoping that the sight of the disc would drive her away from him in a fit of rage. But Ren Qingfei himself must have been kept completely in the dark. If Zheng Meiqin understood Ren Qingfei at all, she would never have resorted to such a low tactic. Wu Aizhen knew him: if he found out that Zheng Meiqin had secretly filmed them in bed together and then sent the footage to his girlfriend, he would explode and walk out. Zheng Meiqin would not only lose him — she would give Wu Aizhen leverage over her. True, her face was not perfectly clear in the footage, but anyone who knew her well would probably recognize her at once. Mi Lang — the name surfaced suddenly in Wu Aizhen’s mind. It was him. It had to be him. He did it. Then, all at once, she began to doubt whether the disc itself was even genuine. She replayed it again and again but could detect no sign of editing or manipulation, and the audio was crisp and unmistakable — the voice was Ren Qingfei’s. It could not be fake. Whoever was responsible, Ren Qingfei had indeed betrayed their relationship. Wu Aizhen wanted to cry, but she felt utterly dry inside, and no tears would come. She took out her phone and dialed the number she knew too well. The call still would not go through.
Wu Aizhen felt her heart sink deep, deep down. She looked at the image looping on the screen, and the illusion that had surfaced in her mind so many times was confirmed at last. What she had not expected was that truly facing it would still bring such crushing pain and helplessness. She took out the disc and destroyed it. Her love was undone along with it, crumbling away bit by bit with the fragments of the disc.
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