Chapter 3: Don't Cry

Rong Jiqiao held the takeaway container, trying to squeeze out a natural smile.

"Didn't go anywhere. Just walked around outside and bought some food back."

She'd been about to say, "I grabbed you some stir-fried rice noodles for a midnight snack too. I went apartment hunting today—found a cheaper place."

But before she could open her mouth, Duan Yan's next question came crashing down.

"And on normal days? When you go out every day—what do you do?"

Game over.

The smile on Rong Jiqiao's face stiffened.

On normal days, she was out hopping between glitzy venues, trying to "accidentally" bump into rich second-generation heirs.

How could she possibly say that out loud?

Her brain raced, but her mouth was faster than her reason.

"Looking… looking for a job."

The words left her lips and she instantly regretted them.

That excuse was pathetic. The stammering made her guilt even more obvious.

Sure enough, the corner of Duan Yan's mouth twitched into the faintest arc—tinged with mockery.

Who looks for a job caked in full makeup and perfume?

Every time she came home, she reeked of expensive fragrances.

"It's been five months since we came to Beijing. Still haven't found something suitable?"

Duan Yan's voice remained calm.

He'd already figured it all out.

Figured out she wasn't looking for work at all. Figured out she was idling away her days, burning through time and money.

What Rong Jiqiao didn't know was whether Duan Yan had also guessed what she was really doing out there—shopping around for a replacement sugar daddy.

She could feel the fury he was compressing beneath that flat surface. The suffocating pressure of a storm about to break, making her scalp tingle.

But Duan Yan just watched her in silence.

A long time passed before he spoke.

"I'm not telling you to go out and work."

Rong Jiqiao froze.

"If you don't want to go out, then don't." He continued, "But the neighbor said you haven't paid rent in four months. I give you at least twelve thousand a month. Where did all that money go?"

What Rong Jiqiao feared wasn't him 追踪 the money trail.

She feared that if he pulled on this thread, he'd unravel everything she'd been doing out there.

She couldn't let him find out.

Her eyes went red instantly. The tears she'd been holding back came flooding out in one rush.

Sobbing, incoherent.

"I'm sorry… Duan Yan, I'm really sorry… It's my fault…"

"I… I came to Beijing and realized everything here is so expensive… Too expensive. The quality of life isn't even as good as what we had in the small city…"

"I tried looking for work, but either it was too exhausting or the pay was too low… So… so I thought about trying those kinds of places. I heard the pay is really good—just serving drinks and having a few glasses can earn tens of thousands…"

The expression on Duan Yan's face seized up completely.

Every time Rong Jiqiao dressed up like that and went out—the "those kinds of places" she was talking about—Duan Yan was an adult. He knew exactly what she meant.

Rong Jiqiao kept talking, tears rolling down her bare cheeks in crystal trails, looking utterly pitiful.

He'd always known what kind of person Rong Jiqiao was.

He'd imagined countless scenarios.

She'd cry and say she'd been scammed.

She'd lie and claim a family emergency had drained the money.

She might even turn it around and blame him for not earning enough.

But he'd never imagined she'd go work in those kinds of places because he couldn't make enough money.

Just then, the landlady's phone call came through.

Duan Yan picked up. Before he could say a word, she launched into him.

"Why did you transfer rent to me too? I sent it back. Your girlfriend already paid me all the back rent this afternoon. What's going on with you two—four months behind, then suddenly double payment?"

The landlady's tone was full of complaint. "If you had the money, why not pay earlier? Had to wait till I showed up at your door."

Duan Yan just said, "Sorry for making you come all the way over," and hung up.

He'd assumed Rong Jiqiao had fallen behind on rent because she'd spent all the money he gave her, and that she'd borrowed from colleagues to scrape together four months' worth.

But she'd actually paid it all back herself.

Duan Yan looked up. The word "you" was still stuck in his throat when his gaze landed on the empty pouch hanging on the makeshift wardrobe.

That pouch used to be stuffed full—bulging with her necklaces, earrings, cosmetics, perfumes.

Now it was empty.

Rong Jiqiao had sold everything.

He knew how much she treasured those things. She used to spend ages in front of the mirror before going out—picking necklaces to match earrings, applying lipstick, drawing on eyebrows, determined to look like a mannequin in a boutique window.

She always said: a woman should treat herself well.

But now she'd sold it all.

Duan Yan's emotions tangled into something complicated.

Rong Jiqiao stood there, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt, not daring to make a sound.

But Duan Yan just walked over to her, raised his hand, and wiped her tears.

"I was just worried someone was scamming you out there." His voice was soft, laced with helplessness. "What are you crying for? I didn't even yell at you."

Rong Jiqiao was stunned.

She'd been sure Duan Yan would interrogate her once he found out she'd blown through the money.

But he didn't. He glanced at the clock on the wall.

"I'll eat with you before I head out."

"Don't you have work?" Rong Jiqiao was still hiccupping from crying.

"An hour late won't matter. You eat your takeout. I'll just make some noodles."

Only then did Rong Jiqiao remember she was still holding the takeaway container.

She quickly set it on the coffee table and lifted the lid. Two servings of stir-fried rice noodles, still steaming.

"I bought them for you. As a midnight snack." She said quietly, not daring to meet his eyes. "Thought you'd be hungry when you got back."

Duan Yan stared at the two boxes of rice noodles. His Adam's apple bobbed.

Rong Jiqiao had never cared about him before.

She never asked if he'd eaten, if he was tired.

Let alone bought him a midnight snack.

Duan Yan picked up the chopsticks, lowered his head, and took a bite.

Rong Jiqiao sat down too, picking up the other pair of chopsticks, eating in small, careful mouthfuls.

Neither of them spoke.

Only the sound of chopsticks clicking against plastic containers.

Halfway through, Duan Yan suddenly spoke.

"Where did you go to sell those things?"

Rong Jiqiao's hand paused. She swallowed the noodles in her mouth.

"A secondhand luxury shop."

"How much?"

"Thirty-three thousand." Rong Jiqiao paused, then added, "They lowballed me hard."

Duan Yan knew those things had been bought with money she'd saved for years.

Back when she was still working in their hometown, her monthly salary was just over two thousand. She'd save for more than half a year just to buy one necklace.

He didn't know how many years she'd spent accumulating all of it. Duan Yan didn't know the difference between real and knockoff—he only knew that every piece had been purchased with Rong Jiqiao's real, hard-earned money.

Now it was all gone for thirty-three thousand.

This girl who used to be so particular about everything—ever since she'd been with him, her quality of life had only gone downhill.