If this were a TV drama, after the protagonist regained his memory, he would dash out the door, plunging into a torrential downpour, running while sobbing uncontrollably until another protagonist caught up, calling his name loudly from behind. Then, he would turn around, and the two would embrace passionately. Their hair, wet and plastered against their foreheads, would still look stylishly perfect, even under the heavy rain.
However, outside the Second Ring Road of Beijing, there were no clouds in the sky, the bright moon hung high, and Wen Di was emotionally stable, with no signs of going crazy.
He let go of Bian Cheng’s collar, stayed silent for a while, and then asked, “When I woke up, you were already gone. Did you leave to get the money?”
“Yes.”
“Did you come back afterward?”
“My father was hospitalized due to a sudden illness, so I went directly from the hotel to the airport.”
“How’s uncle now?”
“He’s recovering well.”
Wen Di nodded and said, “Luckily, I didn’t make you wait.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of He Wenxuan, who had seen earth-shattering gossip from their few words and seemed more shocked than the people involved. His thoughts were scattered, as if he was completely detached from the situation.
This reminded Wen Di that he was still at a class reunion.
“I have something to do, so I’m leaving,” Wen Di said to his ex-boyfriend. “Tell Jiang Nanze for me.” Then, he turned to Bian Cheng. “You, don’t talk to me for now. Let me calm down and sort things out.”
“I’ll take you back,” Bian Cheng offered.
“No need, I’ll take the subway.” Wen Di noticed Bian Cheng was about to follow him and raised a hand to stop him. “Stay away from me.”
His phone was functioning properly, providing him with a two-way route. The rumble of the subway entering and leaving stations, the chatter of passengers, and the blaring horns on the streets all felt like background noise from a screen, unrelated to him. The worn concrete stairs, the faded fu character[footnote]福: means fortune or good luck[/footnote] with a hole in the door—it all seemed distant, like someone else’s life. He opened the door and felt as though he had accidentally entered a strange place, looking around in confusion.
He groped around for a chair, sat down, and his mind felt like an old textile machine, creaking slowly, inch by inch, as it churned out long-sealed memories bit by bit. The sheer volume of information made his temples throb. He held his head, slowly piecing together the fragments of the distant past, trying to discern a coherent sequence of events.
He sat there alone for a long time, completely unaware of the aching in his back and waist, until at 10 p.m., the sound of keys clinking outside the door signaled that Yu Jingyi had come back.
She walked in and saw Wen Di staring at the table with a serious expression. She was startled and asked, “What happened?”
Wen Di lifted his head and mechanically answered her question—he needed to sort out his thoughts, and telling another person what happened seemed like a good method. He started from their first encounter at the bar and continued on to the robbery, the slot machines, Texas Hold’em, and the helicopter. Yu Jingyi’s expression changed as he spoke, from surprise to shock, confusion, tension, and finally into a daze, her emotions flashing across her face like a revolving lantern.
“So…” Yu Jingyi concluded, “the swindler is Professor Bian?”
This sound seemed to awaken someone who was lost in the past. Wen Di stared at her with sharp eyes, then suddenly slapped the table and stood up.
Yu Jingyi was startled: “What’s wrong?”
“Crazy!” Wen Di pointed at the air and shouted, “We are all crazy!”
Oh no, Yu Jingyi instinctively thought about finding some garlic to hang around his neck—had he been possessed?
But Wen Di’s complexion was rosy, and his eyes were clear, looking like a normal person. He solemnly pointed to the seat across from him and signaled Yu Jingyi to sit down.
Yu Jingyi sat down in fear.
“Do you think there’s something wrong with him?” Wen Di asked. His tone didn’t sound like he was asking for opinions, but rather like he had made a conclusion and was seeking approval.
“Ah…” Yu Jingyi was still dizzy from the absurd development of the story. “Is it because…?”
“He knew we were married a long time ago,” Wen Di slapped the table again. “Three months! We’ve known each other for almost three months and met so many times, but he never told me something so important!”
“Oh,” Yu Jingyi suddenly realized and nodded, “Indeed.”
“Oh my God,” Wen Di covered his face, feeling a splitting headache. “I’ve actually been chasing my own husband of five years—where in the world does something like this happen?”
“This…” Yu Jingyi furrowed her brow in thought but eventually just shook her head. “I have no idea how that happened either.”
“And me?” Wen Di said angrily. “Am I crazy”
“Be a little gentler with yourself…”
“I actually married a stranger I’d known for less than a day! Have I fallen in love to the point of being brain-dead?”
Yu Jingyi hesitated several times and comforted him with a choked voice: “Don’t be so harsh on yourself.”
“What if he’s a wanted criminal across the state? What if he sells me to Myanmar for a pyramid scheme? What if he’s a marriage scammer, wanting to take out life insurance on me and then kill me for my money?” Wen Di clutched his heart, as if he had already died a tragic death in a parallel universe. “I’ve been taking legal education seriously since I was a child, striving to improve my awareness of prevention. How could I do something like this?”
This person had such a strong sense of self-criticism that Yu Jingyi felt this should be filmed and handed to the education channel for public service announcements.
“And he doesn’t even like Shakespeare!” Wen Di shouted. “He insulted Shakespeare right to my face, and I still eloped with him!”
“Are these four things on the same level?”
“Even if he’s a good person, I can’t just get married like that!” Wen Di mechanically ran his fingers through his hair. “There’s property division, support obligations, tax declarations…”
“Alright, alright,” Yu Jingyi said, “That’s all in the past. You should think about what to do now.”
Wen Di stared blankly at her, clearly still trapped in his memories.
“Is the marriage certificate obtained in the United States valid in China? Let me check…” Yu Jingyi opened her mobile browser and scrolled for a while. “Oh, you need to report it to the embassy, but our country doesn’t recognize same-sex marriage. Even if you report it, it’s useless. So, you are still single in China.”
“That’s legally true, but…”
Yu Jingyi placed her phone on the table. “You should talk to him. Weren’t you wondering why he didn’t tell you? Ask him what he’s thinking.”
Wen Di thought for a moment, then picked up his phone, and dialed. After three seconds, he suddenly burst out, “He’s on another call? This guy still has the nerve to be talking to someone else?!”
Bian Cheng was wrongfully blamed for this. After Wen Di left the dinner, all Bian Cheng could think about was that flash marriage from five years ago. He Wenxuan asked him to explain the whole story, and he gave a typically uncouth answer: “What does it have to do with you?”
He drove back to Heqing Garden and stood in front of door 302 for a long while. He wanted to raise his hand to knock on the door several times, but finally took two steps back and walked into his own home.
From the second bedroom, the faint cheerful sounds of a cartoon could be heard—Jiang Yu was probably watching TV. Bian Cheng sat in the living room, sorted out his thoughts for a while, and decided to talk to his unreliable childhood friend.
Song Yuchi arrived quickly, and as soon as he stepped inside, he looked around and asked where his legal spouse was.
“Still next door,” Bian Cheng replied.
Song Yuchi looked at him like he was insane. “He’s already remembered everything. At this point, you should either be having a massive fight or crying in each other’s arms. How did you end up just coming home?”
“I’m a bit confused.”
“That’s rare,” Song Yuchi sat down and asked, “Confused about what?”
Bian Cheng stayed silent for a while, then suddenly, with a tone of resentment, said, “What’s wrong with him?”
“Ah…” Song Yuchi was at a loss. “Is this because…?”
“I’ve tried so many methods,” Bian Cheng said. “I played the song from when we first met, and he didn’t remember; I sent him a photo of Red Rock Canyon, and he didn’t remember; I went to the suite we stayed in, and he didn’t remember. But the moment I mentioned seven hundred dollars, he remembered!” His voice was filled with pent-up frustration. “This marriage means less to him than seven hundred dollars! Did he marry me for seven hundred?”
“Who said that?” Song Yuchi retorted. “He clearly did it to spite his ex boyfriend.”
Bian Cheng fell silent. Song Yuchi rarely saw such a pained expression on his face and felt a strong impulse to capture the moment.
After a long time, Bian Cheng finally spoke. “Yeah,” he said, “he did it for his ex-boyfriend.”
He picked up the phone and dialed the number. For some reason, Song Yuchi had a sense that something bad was about to happen; the beeping of the phone sounded like the countdown of a time bomb.
After a few seconds, Bian Cheng put his phone down again, frowning. “He’s still on the phone with someone?”
“Oh,” Song Yuchi gloated, “maybe it’s his ex-boyfriend.”
Bian Cheng shot him a look. Song Yuchi had never seen such a cold expression on his face. Just as he was about to stand up and run, Bian Cheng’s phone rang.
Bian Cheng’s attention immediately shifted to the phone. Song Yuchi glanced at the screen and then sat back down.
While Bian Cheng was on the call, Song Yuchi discreetly pulled out his own phone and sent a message: [Dear, I think something big is about to happen between these two.]
The reply came quickly: [Again???]
T/N: Keeping the literal translation of the title as what author wrote as the title is a bit different than the Chinese translation of it. Anyway, it’s from Two Gentlemen of Verona Act 2, Scene 1. The original line would be ‘and now you are metamorphosed with a mistress, that, when I look on you, I can hardly think you my master.’
