Li Wu stared at the message for a while and, not wanting her to worry too much, replied simply: “Yes.”
In truth, that afternoon, only his roommate, the boy sitting in front of him, and the girl Chen Rui mentioned—Tao Lanwen—had initiated a conversation with him. Not a single other classmate had spoken to him.
They were used to their established social circles and were naturally wary of strangers intruding. Rather than interact, they seemed to prefer observing from afar.
Throughout the afternoon, except for bathroom breaks, Li Wu remained at his desk. Only this small space allowed him to maintain his composure.
He also discovered that he had indeed fallen behind in his studies—in every subject. The learning pace at this prestigious school seemed to be set on fast-forward.
Cen Jin quickly responded: Boys or girls?
Li Wu froze momentarily, his ear tips warming slightly: “Boys.”
Cen Jin: Oh? No girls?
Her words carried a hint of surprise and disappointment.
Li Wu quickly denied: “No.”
Cen Jin: Then focus on your studies.
Li Wu: Mm.
Cen Jin: Good night.
Li Wu: Good night.
Cen Jin’s question wasn’t without reason.
Objectively speaking, Li Wu was good-looking, especially now that his features had matured somewhat. His features had gained a sharp edge—thick eyebrows, high nose bridge, large clear eyes—typical of a handsome young man with strong features.
After several days of interaction, she’d noticed this child’s impression of others was closely tied to his emotions.
If he was sincere with you, he appeared vulnerable and easily bullied; but if he deliberately kept his distance, the sharpness in his features could ward off most people.
Wearing the clothes she’d picked out for him, yet not a single girl had approached him?
Cen Jin found it hard to believe.
But then she thought perhaps she’d developed a maternal filter when it came to Li Wu, seeing only his good points, while others might not see him the same way.
Cen Jin didn’t dwell on it further and began contemplating her plans.
She’d resigned too suddenly, and she had no idea what she would do a month from now.
Reflecting on her past, every decision she’d made had been equally impulsive—her college application choices, dating in university, studying abroad for her master’s degree, and later marriage and pregnancy—all accompanied by some self-indulgent impulses.
But she also knew clearly that the luxury of such impulses came from having no worries about consequences, knowing that her family would always support her even if she fell from great heights.
Thinking of this, Cen Jin hastily called her father.
He answered quickly, and Cen Jin called out sweetly: “Dad!”
The other end responded with proper authority: “Mm—”
“Thank you,” Cen Jin said, “That child started school today.”
Her father’s tone was gratified: “Good, good, now you can rest easy.”
Cen Jin exhaled: “Dad, how’s Mom? Is she still angry with me?”
“She is,” her father’s words carried a smile, “She was still talking about you before bed.”
Cen Jin lowered her eyes, staring at a small pattern on her nightgown: “Help me apologize to her. I sent her a WeChat message, but she hasn’t replied.”
“How could she truly be angry with you? A mother and daughter don’t hold grudges overnight,” her father laughed at her overthinking. “Your mom is fine. Take care of yourself—are you still resting these days?”
Cen Jin said: “No, I went to work today.”
“Did you see Wu Fu?”
“I did,” Cen Jin decided to be honest, “I’m planning to resign.”
“Ah?” Her father was momentarily surprised but quickly understood. He deliberately kept his tone gentle and appropriate: “Well, given everything, staying at the original workplace would be difficult.”
But Cen Jin understood perfectly well. She raised her hand to roughly rub her temples as if only this could drive away the sudden surge of bitterness: “I might be getting divorced.”
She choked up: “I feel like I’ve wasted all these years, accomplished nothing.”
“Nonsense!” Her father’s voice grew urgent: “You just helped that child get into school—just this one thing earns you significant merit. How can you say you’ve accomplished nothing?”
Cen Jin’s speech quickened with anxiety: “Today I asked my boss to choose between Wu Fu and me, and he chose Wu Fu. I’m just inferior to him.”
Her father replied: “He has two more years of work experience than you, holds a higher position, and bears more responsibilities. The premise of your question wasn’t even on equal footing—there’s no basis for comparison. If I were your supervisor, I would choose Wu Fu too.”
“I know, but it’s just too real,” Cen Jin took a deep, quiet breath, “I’ve lived too easily, haven’t I?”
“Jin Jin, daughter,” a barely audible sigh came from the receiver, “Don’t completely negate yourself because of these things. Life can’t always be smooth sailing. If work isn’t going well, you can change jobs. If marriage makes you suffer, it can end. What’s most important is daring to make choices, and you’ve been making choices all these years, taking responsibility for your choices. You’re not wrong, this isn’t your problem.”
Cen Jin wiped her wet left cheek hard with the back of her hand, speaking through tears: “But I don’t want to separate from Wu Fu… Dad, I don’t want to leave him… I don’t know if it’s a habit or if I still love him, but just thinking about not being able to live with him anymore, not even being able to talk to him, I can’t adapt, can’t accept it. Why can’t I be more detached? I know it can’t be salvaged anymore, know this is how it ends, know we can’t go back to the past, but I really can’t take it, can’t take this relationship ending like this, can’t take being the one who was abandoned…”
Whenever she thought of these things, she felt herself crumbling into dust, never to be whole again.
After a brief silence, her father also sounded helpless: “I can’t help you with this. Marriage is a two-way choice.”
Marriage is a two-way choice—who doesn’t know that?
Like a suspension bridge—remove either foundation, and there’s nowhere left to go but a dead end.