The Husband From the Original Pairing is Now Divorced - Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Debt

Sheng Jia Wants to Vomit His Entire Body Empty

After seeing Zhou Zifei off, Sheng Jia’s gaze remained fixed on the water glass left on the coffee table.

The large swaths of summer noon sunlight flooded the room, making everything bright. Sheng Jia thought to himself that his life truly was slowly getting better. He wasn’t alone; in this world, there would always be people who cared for him. He… wasn’t so unlovable after all. People were willing to approach him, smile at him, and chat with him.

Walking into the kitchen with a light heart, Sheng Jia began cleaning the ingredients to prepare lunch. He washed the tomatoes and diced them. Just as he took out an egg to beat it, the phone rang. He balanced the phone against his ear while cracking the egg.

It was an unfamiliar local number. Frowning, he answered with a soft “Hello.” But on the other end, the voice he feared most in this life rang out—

“Sheng Jia, it’s been a long time since I called you.”

It was Sheng Qianlong.

Sheng Jia froze. His breathing instantly grew heavy. His eyes stared blankly at the cracked egg in his hand. The voice on the phone became a blur as cold sweat broke out on his forehead and his face turned deathly pale.

He reflexively squeezed the egg tight, trying to find a sense of security by clenching his palm. A crisp crack followed; his hand felt empty as the yolk and whites oozed out, leaking through his fingers and onto the edge of the sink. The sharp texture of the broken eggshell pressed into his palm with a slight sting.

“You… you…” Sheng Jia’s voice was trembling, barely a whisper.

On the other end, Sheng Qianlong spoke with a mix of resentment and anger: “That kid Yu Xianghang told me to call you. He said you guys are divorced. How could you divorce? If you’re divorced, who’s going to give me money?”

It had been five or six years since he last heard Sheng Qianlong’s voice. Facing this man so abruptly, Sheng Jia was still paralyzed by heart-pounding fear. But slowly, the name “Yu Xianghang” seemed to give him a flicker of strength.

He took deep breaths. After a long silence, he spoke hoarsely: “I’ll give you money from now on. Don’t go looking for Yu Xianghang anymore.”

“You’ll give me money? What if you run away? Yu Xianghang didn’t tell me where you live. If I can’t get money, where will I find you!”

Sheng Jia desperately wanted to keep his location a secret, but when the man shouted that he would go to Yu Xianghang’s company if he couldn’t find him, Sheng Jia forced himself to state his address.

“Fine. You better wait there. I’m coming to see you right now!”

Beep. The call disconnected. Sheng Jia stood there like a statue in front of the sink, clutching the slimy egg residue and shell fragments.

Sheng Qianlong was coming. Sheng Qianlong was coming for him again.

…

“Jiajia, we’re living here from now on. You aren’t allowed to make a sound, and you aren’t allowed to go outside. Understood?”

To hide from debts, the man had dragged him into a damp, dark, cramped basement, calling it their “home.” Sheng Jia couldn’t go to school, couldn’t play. If someone came looking, he had to stay silent.

“Jiajia, let Daddy wash you… come, come here, touch this…”

The man, eyes bloodshot and a twisted smile on his face, pulled Sheng Jia’s hand toward a certain place.

Sheng Jia suddenly screamed out loud, falling to his knees and clutching his head. He curled into a ball. His sleeves slid back, revealing dense rows of old scars—scratches and cigarette burns—that stretched all the way up to his elbows.

So terrifying. So disgusting.

As if losing consciousness, he muttered “No” and “Xianghang, save me” repeatedly. But no one appeared. There was only the cold floor.

Sheng Jia’s fingers trembled as he reached for his left ring finger, but he felt nothing. It felt like his brain had been punched; only then did he realize that Yu Xianghang had divorced him. Yu Xianghang would never again give him a warm hug or stand in front of him to protect him.

The tears Sheng Jia had been holding back finally erupted.

“Don’t leave me alone… please… save me…” “Anyone… please save me…”

He lifted his head, his lips white and eyes wide with terror. His brow quivered with his sobs. Tears covered his face, dripping from his chin onto his collar, soaking a large patch of his shirt.

His gaze suddenly landed on the glass water cup Zhou Zifei had used. He remembered the young, red-haired racer holding that cup, drinking it all in one go, then scratching his head sheepishly and saying with a slight blush: “Teacher Sheng, I was a bit too thirsty. Can I have a little more?”

Sheng Jia reached out, his fingers touching the cup, and he hurriedly pressed his face against it.

The noon sun had left a lingering warmth on the glass. The heat touched Sheng Jia’s icy face, reminding him of the day of the race when Zhou Zifei had gripped his hand—those hands were so strong, so warm.

Zhou Zifei was the complete opposite of himself. He was a racer who would never let off the gas, always heading straight for the finish line. He was loved by the crowds, with his flamboyant red hair, handsome and defiant. Yet, such a brilliant person had chosen to be close to him, saying he cared, calling him a friend.

Sheng Jia’s whimpering softened. He slowly pulled himself up using the sink.

I am not alone. I am definitely not alone.

He had the lively Jiang He, the strict but caring Teacher Li, Zhou Zifei who helped him at every turn, and little Jiayi who said, “With Teacher Sheng here, I’m not afraid…”

There were so many children at the kindergarten who said “I like Teacher Sheng the most,” and teachers who were slowly becoming his friends. How could he be alone?

After the divorce, he had been trapped in the grief of losing Yu Xianghang, yet time and again, he had been warmed and cared for by these people he had never noticed before. He was being saved from that “end of the world” pain.

It was just Sheng Qianlong. He was an adult now. He was no longer the helpless boy who couldn’t fight back. It was just Sheng Qianlong. He wouldn’t be afraid. He wouldn’t be afraid ever again.

The doorbell rang. Sheng Jia washed his hands, wiped his face, and walked toward the door.

…

“What took you so long to open the door?”

Sheng Qianlong began shouting the moment he stepped inside. Sheng Jia didn’t speak. He tried to mimic Yu Xianghang, forcing his voice to be cold: “How much do you want? Take it and leave.”

“What’s the rush? You’re my son, and you won’t even give your old man a glass of water before kicking me out?”

Sheng Jia clenched his fists. He didn’t pour water, and he wouldn’t let Sheng Qianlong sit on the sofa where Zhou Zifei had sat. He pointed to a chair at the dining table.

“How did you end up divorcing Yu Xianghang? Didn’t he love you? He talked a big game back then, and now you’re divorced.” Seeing that Sheng Jia wasn’t responding, Sheng Qianlong began talking to himself. He glanced at Sheng Jia, noticing that after a few years, Sheng Jia looked even more haggard and pale—like a ghost.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? I’m talking to you! If you don’t tell me, I’ll go to Yu Xianghang, beat him up, and ask him myself!” Sheng Qianlong was irritable and, seeing Sheng Jia’s silence, intentionally attacked his son’s weakness.

“No! You can’t go to Yu Xianghang!” Sheng Jia suddenly grabbed Sheng Qianlong’s arm, his fingers turning white from the force. He held on desperately.

Sheng Qianlong backhanded him across the face. The blow sent Sheng Jia’s head snapping to the side.

“Damn it! A bunch of queer freaks, trying to lecture me!”

The harsh, familiar insults made Sheng Jia’s body shudder. Sheng Qianlong continued to curse until he said: “It’s all your mother’s fault. I should have beaten her to death back then, and you along with her!”

Sheng Jia suddenly lifted his head. His brow furrowed, and his normally watery, gentle eyes turned dark and fierce, glaring at Sheng Qianlong.

Sheng Qianlong was taken aback for a moment, then barked: “What are you staring at? I’ll kill you—”

Sheng Jia ignored the stinging slap on his face and asked again: “Exactly how much money do you want? I’ll transfer it now.”

Seeing that Sheng Jia was still being “obedient” and offering money after being hit, Sheng Qianlong immediately felt he still had the upper hand. He rolled his eyes and said, “One hundred and fifty thousand. I want a hundred and fifty thousand.”

Sheng Jia clenched his teeth so hard they creaked. One hundred and fifty thousand? How did he dare ask for that much?!

Seeing Sheng Jia’s silence, Sheng Qianlong grumbled and moved to push past him, shouting that he was going to find Yu Xianghang.

“Don’t go!” “I’ll give you… I’ll give you fifty thousand!”

Hearing this amount, Sheng Qianlong yelled in dissatisfaction, “Only fifty thousand? Who are you trying to brush off with that small change!”

Sheng Jia closed his eyes and took a deep breath, suppressing a surge of nausea. He opened his eyes and said coldly, “I’m giving you fifty thousand this time. Take it or leave it. If you don’t want it, don’t expect a single cent from me next month.”

“Are you threatening me? If you don’t give it to me, I’ll go find that bastard Yu Xianghang. I’ll make a scene at his company. If that doesn’t work, I’ll find your mother. I don’t believe I can’t find out where that dead woman Lu He is!”

Sheng Jia’s whole body shook as Sheng Qianlong spat out the threats.

…

“Qianlong, stop gambling! Stop it! Jiajia’s school money will be gone!” “What are you doing! Leave the child alone!” “Don’t… don’t hit me! I’ll get the money, I’ll get it right now!” “Jiajia… Mommy has to leave. Take… take care of yourself.”

The scenes from the past flashed before his eyes. Sheng Jia felt an uncontrollable rage.

In the past, his mother Lu He had shielded him, and Sheng Jia could do nothing but wail as he watched her be covered in scars. Later, Yu Xianghang had shielded him, taking a wine bottle to the head and wiping away the blood while promising to protect him. Finally, Yu Xianghang had been stabbed by Sheng Qianlong and collapsed in his arms, still whispering: “Don’t be afraid… he stabbed me, we’ll send him to prison, and… and then we’ll move to another city… he’ll never appear before you again…”

Sheng Jia hated it—hated that he was always the one being protected. He had always avoided Sheng Qianlong because of the trauma of those two years in the basement. But now, looking at Sheng Qianlong’s ugly, aging face and his black, loose teeth, he realized for the first time that his anger and hatred outweighed his fear.

He couldn’t let Sheng Qianlong find Yu Xianghang. This man had hurt Lu He; he couldn’t let him hurt Yu Xianghang too.

In this life, he only loved two people: his mother and Yu Xianghang. And both were being terrorized by this man. He wanted to protect Yu Xianghang, just as he had tried to stop the man from finding Lu He. He wanted the person he loved to live happily.

Sheng Qianlong watched as Sheng Jia walked silently into the kitchen. Moments later, he walked back out carrying a kitchen knife.

“What… what are you doing? Why do you have a knife?”

As Sheng Qianlong backed away in shock, Sheng Jia stepped forward. “This is all the money I have. Take it and go. If you don’t, we’ll both die here today!”

Sheng Jia gripped the knife, blocking the door. His wrist shook violently, but his voice erupted with an unprecedented ferocity. He stared deathly at Sheng Qianlong, his black hair hanging over his thin cheeks. His eyes were red and filled with tears that refused to fall. He slowly raised the knife, the sunlight glinting off the blade.

“If I find out you went to see Yu Xianghang, I will hack you to death… I’ll kill you and then turn myself in. That way, you’ll be dead and no one will even collect your body!”

Sheng Qianlong was stunned by the pure hatred in his son’s eyes. His lips moved, but he couldn’t find words.

Sheng Jia, breathing heavily, took another step forward. He pressed the blade against Sheng Qianlong’s neck, staring into the man’s terrified eyes. “Don’t ever go to him again. I’m divorced; you won’t get money from him anyway. Do you understand?”

Sheng Qianlong didn’t understand how his once-submissive son had suddenly gained the courage to threaten him with a knife, but feeling the cold steel against his skin, he nodded frantically.

Sheng Jia moved the knife away and opened the door. “Leave. From now on, I will only transfer three thousand to you every month.”

Sheng Qianlong didn’t dare argue. He sidled past the knife and out the door. Once outside, he couldn’t help but shout, “You—you better keep your word, or I’m coming back!”

Sheng Jia watched his biological father calmly, his grip on the knife tightening. Voices in his head urged him to strike, but in the end, he simply said, “I know.”

Once the man was gone, Sheng Jia slammed the door shut. He collapsed in the entryway, the kitchen knife clattering to the floor.

His face was ghostly pale, making the red slap mark even more prominent. His grey shirt was completely soaked with sweat, sticking to his back. His hair clung to his wet neck as if he had just been pulled from a lake.

Then, he suddenly covered his mouth. He practically crawled to the bathroom, grabbed the toilet, and vomited violently.

Even after his stomach was empty, he kept thrusting his fingers down his throat, scratching the back of his mouth. His throat spasmed and cramped as he issued painful dry heaves.

Sheng Jia just wanted to vomit everything out—not just the food, but his heart, his liver, his lungs. He wanted to empty his entire body, to let the memories and the emotions flow out with the bile until he was clean.

Finally, when there was nothing left to give and his throat burned, he leaned back against the wall. His face was covered in sweat and saliva, his hair was a mess, and his lips were red from his rough actions.

Sheng Jia stared blankly at the bathroom tiles. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, he looked almost like a dead man.