The Husband From the Original Pairing is Now Divorced - Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Wretched

No Longer Blindly Crying “Xianghang, Save Me”…

Yu Xianghang stared at Sheng Jia’s face, seeing the sheer panic written across his features. The strength in his grip loosened slightly, but Sheng Jia suddenly grabbed onto him.

Sheng Jia’s hands were like ice, his fingertips trembling uncontrollably.

“Do… do you find me… disgusting?” “Xianghang… these scars—”

Sheng Jia lowered his head, not daring to meet Yu Xianghang’s gaze. He looked as if he had been frozen solid, able only to squeeze out words one by one.

“Sheng Jia, do you have any idea?” Yu Xianghang interrupted him with a cold sneer. “You are boring and stiff in bed. Every time, you just lie there motionless, as if I’m forcing you. My only thought was: being with you just isn’t worth it.”

“Why didn’t I cheat sooner? Why didn’t I divorce you earlier and find someone else? I wasted so much time on you, only to end up being cursed at by your father.”

Boring. Stiff. Not worth it. If only I had cheated sooner. If only we had divorced earlier.

Was that so? Was this the reason they divorced? If he had done better, would Yu Xianghang have stayed?

Yu Xianghang’s words threw Sheng Jia into a state of total chaos. He felt himself being torn in two. One half whispered: “Yes, maybe he still loves you. He only sought someone else because the bedroom was incompatible. If you just listen to him from now on, he’ll come back.”

But the other half screamed: “No! Regardless of whether he loves you or why he left, the moment he was with someone else, he chose to abandon this marriage. He betrayed all the love that came before.”

When you still love someone, even a mockery can be mistaken for a blueprint for reconciliation. You try to find traces of “he’ll come back” in the wreckage of his insults. You don’t realize that from the moment he broke your heart, even his most logical-sounding words are merely tools to toy with and trample upon your soul.

But Sheng Jia was too foolish—or perhaps he simply trusted Yu Xianghang as he had trusted the man in the past. He gripped Yu Xianghang’s sleeve and asked in a tiny voice:

“So… so you don’t find me disgusting? You just find me boring…” “These scars… they don’t matter, right?” “If I… if I listen to you and become better… Xianghang, will you still…”

However, the words “will you still come back” wouldn’t come out. He remembered that twilight when Zhou Zifei said: “Some people change. They’re good now, but maybe not later.” A tear escaped the corner of his reddened eye, sliding down his cheek and onto the back of his hand that was holding Yu Xianghang’s sleeve. It was cool and wet. As his hand shook, the transparent tear teetered, as if waiting to be caught or wiped away by a warm thumb.

But in the next moment, that worthless tear slipped off his hand and hit the floor.

Yu Xianghang paused for only a second before grabbing Sheng Jia’s wrist and wrenching his hand away. It was exactly as he had thought on the day of the divorce. Sheng Jia still loved him—loved him so much that even after hearing such insults, he couldn’t let go.

He thought contemptuously: Of course. Ten years of companionship. Someone like Sheng Jia, who has lacked love since childhood, finds it the hardest to quit. He assumed Sheng Jia already regretted the divorce. If he just softened his attitude slightly, Sheng Jia would surely beg for a reunion.

But not yet. He had to let Sheng Jia suffer a little more so he knew who truly controlled this relationship.

Stepping forward, Yu Xianghang reached out and flicked Sheng Jia’s eyelashes with a playful, malicious touch. “Didn’t Sheng Qianlong say I forced you? Fine. I’ll force you right now. I’d hate to disappoint the two of you after all that effort you put into the accusation.”

He shoved Sheng Jia to the ground, pinned him down, and hiked up his shirt.

Sheng Jia didn’t react; he was paralyzed. Looking up at that familiar face, the world around him turned surreal. His vision wouldn’t focus. He could only feel the hot, humid breath approaching and the palm of a hand moving up his waist, kneading him roughly.

Past memories began to wake. Every part of his body was screaming in terror to get away, yet he kept telling himself: This is Yu Xianghang.

Sheng Jia remembered their first time—how Yu Xianghang had been so gentle, kissing his forehead with such reverence, gazing at him with eyes full of love until Sheng Jia had hugged him first. Yu Xianghang wouldn’t hurt him. Yu Xianghang was the only person in the world who loved him.

The teenage Yu Xianghang stood in his blurry vision, waving and saying firmly: “Sheng Jia, I’ll always be by your side. Don’t be afraid!”

But why, now that Yu Xianghang was right here, was he filled with the horror of stepping off a cliff?

“No… don’t…” “Please don’t…”

Sheng Jia’s resistance was small and delayed. He couldn’t see how terrified he looked. His eyes were brimming with tears, his pupils trembling, his lips and face turning a ghostly, sickly pale. He didn’t look like someone being intimate with a lover; he looked like a victim being tortured by a thug.

When Yu Xianghang grabbed his hand and placed it on his belt, Sheng Jia finally felt the acid rise in his stomach. Terrified and revolted, he shoved the man away. He turned and scrambled backward across the floor in a wretched heap.

Yu Xianghang, caught off guard by a kick to the chest, grunted in pain.

But Sheng Jia couldn’t care less. The old scars on his body began to throb. He felt the phantom burn of Sheng Qianlong’s cigarettes, the sting of the pencil-knives, and the dizzying blood loss from the time he was stabbed in the chest for “stealing” money for tuition.

The past hit him like a tsunami, drowning his reason. He curled into a ball, shaking. He was no longer shouting “Xianghang, save me.” He was just sobbing “no.” In his subconscious, he finally understood: Yu Xianghang was never coming to save him again.

Sheng Jia realized that he trembled when Yu Xianghang touched him. He felt cold despite Yu Xianghang’s warmth. The man’s breath and gaze made him want to vomit.

He understood that from this day forward—perhaps even earlier—Yu Xianghang was no longer special. The Yu Xianghang of the past was buried. From now on, those three words would no longer represent salvation; they were just another cigarette butt, another knife.

“Sheng Jia, you kicked me!?”

Yu Xianghang reached out to grab Sheng Jia’s ankle, but the man just buried his head in his arms, huddled by the sofa, ignoring him completely.

A sense of powerlessness and annoyance rose in Yu Xianghang. Always like this. Sheng Jia is always like this. In bed, he had always followed Sheng Jia’s lead; he hadn’t wanted Sheng Jia to be the one on the bottom because he was afraid it would hurt him, so he had made the sacrifice. If Sheng Jia didn’t want to touch certain places, he didn’t force it. They spent far more time on kisses and caresses than actual sex. At home, he had supported Sheng Qianlong for Sheng Jia’s sake. Even after being stabbed, he hadn’t lashed out, thinking that once Sheng Jia was less traumatized, he could bridge the gap between father and son.

He had protected Sheng Jia for years. He believed no one else would want someone as “un-special” as Sheng Jia. He didn’t understand why Sheng Jia was so miserable or what he was afraid of.

I only cheated once. Why is he so resistant? He decided he wouldn’t bow to Sheng Jia this time. He had played the humble husband for so long; for such a small mistake, why couldn’t Sheng Jia just be generous and forgive him?

Yu Xianghang stood up, brushing off his chest. “Sheng Jia, I’m not dealing with Sheng Qianlong. As for this photo-spreading stunt… you’re on your own from now on.”

He didn’t look back. He didn’t want to see the pitiful, clingy expression Sheng Jia usually wore when he left. Over the years, he had grown tired of it.

But Sheng Jia didn’t look up. He kept his eyes closed, letting the tears flow silently. Yu Xianghang didn’t realize that Sheng Jia would never look at him again.

Everything was, as he said, “not worth it.” Sheng Jia finally understood that his faith, his tears, and his hope were all wasted on a man who found him “unworthy.”

…

The Zhou Villa

“Young Master, the soup is ready. I used the best ingredients and simmered it all night.”

Zhou Zifei took the flask from the maid. He kept checking his phone, but Sheng Jia hadn’t replied. His anxiety spiked. Although he was handling Sheng Qianlong, it would take time to end the problem permanently. He feared the man had found Sheng Jia again.

He had ordered his men to watch Sheng Qianlong, but he couldn’t wait. He opened the high-definition feed from the camera he had secretly installed outside Sheng Jia’s door.

One look made his blood boil. The door was wide open. A man was pinning Sheng Jia down in the entryway. Sheng Jia was motionless.

Zifei’s mind went to the darkest place. Is he hurt? Is he unconscious?

He sprinted to his car, starting the engine while calling the building’s property management. “This is Zhou Zifei. Go to Sheng Jia’s apartment immediately and check on him!”

“Young Master Zhou? Is something wrong with the unit—” “Stop talking and just get there!”

Zifei’s hands shook on the steering wheel, cold sweat drenching his back. He couldn’t let Sheng Jia get hurt. And every time—every single time—he was too late.

When he first found Sheng Jia years ago, the man had already married Yu Xianghang. Zifei had lost his chance. He had spent years watching the wedding video, watching Sheng Jia say “I do” over and over in the dead of night, acting as a silent observer of a happiness he didn’t share. Even when he saw Yu Xianghang cheating, he could only watch from the shadows as Sheng Jia walked upstairs with groceries, looking exhausted.

He drove like a madman, the taste of blood in his mouth as he bit his lip. Luckily, the lights were all green. He screeched to a halt at the complex and sprinted toward the building.

“Mr. Zhou!” The property manager waved from the lobby.

“How… how is he? Is he inside? Is he okay?” Zifei grabbed the man, his eyes wild.

The manager scratched his head. “I knocked for a long time, but no one answered. I was just going to check the CCTV.”

Zifei’s pupils shrank. For a few seconds, he felt a ringing in his ears.

“No… no…” “Open the door. Get someone to open the door now!”

His face went deathly pale. He screamed at the manager, “Hurry up and open the door!”

His distorted, panicked expression terrified the staff. Ignoring regulations, they ran to the unit.

Beep. The door opened.

The apartment was silent. So silent it felt empty.

Zifei burst inside, nearly tripping over his own feet. The familiar figure wasn’t in the living room. Not in the kitchen. Not the study. Not the balcony. Not the bedroom.

Then, he heard the sound of running water. Splash, splash, splash…

Zifei turned white. He sprinted to the bathroom and yanked the door open.

Water was overflowing from the tub, snaking across the tiles. The showerhead had been taken down and left running at full blast. There was no steam. The room was dark, damp, and freezing.

Then, he saw it. A cream-colored set of home clothes, lying soaked on the floor. The dark, sodden fabric looked like an omen of something terrible.