1
Chu Thư Ngôn had never let me see his Moments feed, but suddenly he gave me access.
What used to be a single line had been replaced by pages of text and photos.
No people appeared in the photos; there was always just a small red handbag in the corner.
Romance, music, chess, calligraphy, painting—two people as perfectly matched as immortals.
They played “High Mountains and Flowing Water” in a bamboo grove dappled with sunlight. The caption read: 【Lovers are easy to find; a kindred spirit is hard to come by.】
They spent the whole day at the botanical garden gathering pinecones and pistachios, with the caption: 【There’s always someone willing to do silly things with you and spend this finite life together.】
There was also a blue thermos in the corner of the photos, right beside that red handbag.
I recognized that blue thermos.
Every morning, I’d prepare something for him—either tea to wake him up and clear his head or nourishing soup. While it was still hot, I’d pour it into the thermos and leave it on the shoe cabinet. He’d take it with him on his way out, and it would stay warm all day.
Come to think of it, he’d been using that thermos for nearly ten years.
My mind went blank. Trembling, I scrolled down and down, but there was no end in sight.
Aside from the occasional post about work, most of it was a record of the two of them having fun. Their updates had never stopped over all these years, and every word brimmed with happiness and contentment.
The earliest post I could find on his Moments feed dated back to 2011.
Moonlight flowed like water. Two celadon wine cups sat on a wooden table, and the floor showed the shadows of two people leaning against each other.
【The moon of my youth was something I could only gaze at, never reach. At last, it’s shining on me.】
It wasn’t just his Moments feed. There was a blog, too.
Unlike his Moments feed, which was as bland as water, Chu Thư Ngôn had used plenty of words twenty years ago to describe how in sync he was with his beloved Ôn Như Ngọc, his unattainable first love. He’d even excitedly written down how he felt:
【If only we’d met before either of us married.】
Of course. A kindred spirit like that—wouldn’t it be a shame not to spend your whole life together?
Then what was I?
Chu Thư Ngôn, the man who’d been my husband for over forty years, had a standing date every weekend to work overtime—spending time admiring flowers and the moon with his first love, the one he’d been forced to part with in his youth, his unattainable beloved.
Meanwhile, I’d spent my whole life struggling to make ends meet, caring for my bedridden mother-in-law, raising children and grandchildren, and dealing with shit and piss for half my life.
My whole body was shaking. When I came to my senses, I realized my hands had gone ice-cold.
2
The sun slowly sank toward the horizon.
Familiar footsteps sounded outside the door.
“Why aren’t the lights on?”
The living room was silent. A long while later, the bedroom door opened.
“Why didn’t you cook today? Mom still needs to eat.”
Chu Thư Ngôn asked me gently.
My voice was hoarse as I said:
“Grandma sent us some bánh ú—”
“Your grandmother’s so old. Don’t let her make these anymore. I’m afraid she’ll put in the wrong ingredients.”
Chu Thư Ngôn cut me off gently.
“We’re not young anymore, either. We could get a stomachache.”
His words sounded considerate, but listen closely and all you heard was criticism.
I went into the kitchen and turned on the stove to boil water. While I waited, Chu Thư Ngôn came over to me.
“Just boil up a bowl of noodles with greens and egg, and make a bowl of millet porridge for Mom.”
“Oh, and Thanh Tang, I’ll be working late tomorrow. I’d like some pork bone soup with eleuthero root, the kind you make…”
Chu Thư Ngôn’s voice abruptly trailed off.
When the water boiled, I didn’t add noodles. I put in the bánh ú Grandma had wrapped herself.
Without changing expression, I said, “If you want something to eat, cook it yourself.”
The one who’d always liked pork bone soup wasn’t Chu Thư Ngôn. It was Ôn Như Ngọc.
Chu Thư Ngôn sneered. “I’ve never known how to cook. You know that.”
In the decades we’d been married, I could count on one hand the number of times Chu Thư Ngôn had gone into the kitchen. Even when I had a high fever and wanted porridge, he’d order takeout.
But after a spring rain, Chu Thư Ngôn would go to the outskirts with Ôn Như Ngọc to gather purslane, water dropwort, and bamboo shoots. They’d wrap them, stir-fry them, or toss them into a salad, calling it “spring cuisine.”
How elegant.
I asked, “Are you sure you have to work overtime?”
Chu Thư Ngôn said, “I don’t have connections. If I want to get promoted, I have to work hard. I didn’t get where I am today easily.”
I sighed and opened his Moments feed, then handed him my phone.
“Chu Thư Ngôn, what you’re doing is really meaningless.”
3
Once Chu Thư Ngôn understood what was on the phone screen, the smile gradually disappeared from his face. He asked in a low voice:
“You’re making a fuss with me over this?”
“Lâm Thanh Tang, I’m exhausted from working every day, and I’m under a lot of pressure. This is the one little hobby I have. Can’t I share it with a friend?”
“Ôn Như Ngọc and I have always had a friendship as pure and simple as water. Don’t judge us with that dirty mind of yours!”
Chu Thư Ngôn slammed the door and stormed out, leaving me stunned—and his elderly, hungry mother behind.
I sighed and still turned on the stove to make a bowl of millet porridge.
Chu Thư Ngôn wasn’t a good husband, but his mother was a good mother-in-law. There was no reason to let an old woman go hungry just because we’d argued.
The next morning, Chu Thư Ngôn had already left.
The door slammed shut, and the thermos on the shoe cabinet was empty.
I used Chu Thư Ngôn’s money to hire a well-paid caregiver to look after my mother-in-law.
Caring for someone bedridden wasn’t easy.
Turning her, washing her, changing her diapers, washing the sheets…
After caring for her for so long, I’d taken on the smell myself. I didn’t even notice the smell of my mother-in-law’s waste anymore.
But Chu Thư Ngôn didn’t understand. He only came by at mealtimes to do his duty as a son, and he was always pinching his nose and telling me to pay attention to my personal hygiene.
The doorbell rang. My son and daughter-in-law arrived with their four-year-old daughter, Thanh Thanh.
Seeing the caregiver, my son furrowed his brow. When he heard her wages, he looked even more bewildered, then started getting angry.
“Mom, you really don’t get it. You’re home with nothing to do anyway. What’s so hard about looking after Grandma for a while?”
“How could an outsider take care of her as attentively as family? And it costs so much money. That money could pay for two enrichment classes for Thanh Thanh!”
I asked calmly, “If I were paralyzed, would you come take care of me?”
My son hesitated, then nudged his wife. “Men and women are different. My wife can take care of you.”
I asked, “What if your father were paralyzed?”
My son’s face flushed red, but he didn’t answer.
My daughter-in-law didn’t look too pleased, either.
I shook my head and said no more.
4
The atmosphere grew a little awkward, and my son soon remembered the real reason he’d come.
“Mom, stop arguing with Dad! Aren’t all Dad’s Moments posts just for networking? His boss likes that refined, literary type. Otherwise, why would he promote Dad over so many other people?”
“We’ve met Auntie Ôn, too. She’s gentle and elegant, and she always keeps her distance when she talks to Dad. It’s not what you think.”
“Mom, don’t be jealous!”
My son spent the whole morning lecturing me. When lunchtime came, he kept waiting for me to cook.
I steamed the mugwort bánh ú and the other bánh ú Grandma had sent.
“Did Great-Grandma make these? Mom, she’s over a hundred years old. Aren’t you worried she might’ve put something strange in them by mistake? How can you dare eat them?”
“That’s right. Dad said we should buy Great-Grandma a grave plot in advance.”
My face went cold. I pointed to the door. “If you’re not eating, get out.”
Humiliated in front of his wife and child, my son’s face immediately darkened. He muttered, “You’re impossible to understand.”
Then he left.
That evening, Chu Thư Ngôn came to make peace with me, his voice gentle:
“Thanh Tang, I swear, there’s really nothing between Ôn Như Ngọc and me. Work’s just been too stressful, and I wanted to relax a little.”
I said softly, “Home can’t help you relax because you’re afraid to see your bedridden mother, who can’t even control her own bathroom needs, right?”
“So you just dump everything on me and go out fooling around, all to avoid the responsibility you’re supposed to shoulder.”
Chu Thư Ngôn froze.
I gently closed the door and said:
“Chu Thư Ngôn, let’s get a divorce.”
In the dim yellow light, I could just make out a large, bean-sized tear falling from his cloudy eyes.