– CP | Chapter 11

Han Che actually brought me that gold-embossed business card.

His hand trembled slightly from alcohol as he presented it with a mock ceremony.

I accepted it carefully.

“I’ll treasure it.”

It hadn’t been easy to get. I’d once searched for his company online hoping for a chance encounter. Now he was voluntarily telling me where he worked, and I was even attending a company gathering with him. Our relationship had definitely progressed.

Too bad it wasn’t the same relationship it used to be.

His company had just won a bid that day—a project worth twenty million yuan. Han Che had been forced to drink a lot to celebrate. His breath practically sprayed alcohol.

I studied his condition and cautiously said,

“Then I’ll head home.”

He nodded.

After I had taken two steps, he called me back.

Eyes squeezed shut as he struggled to regain focus, he managed to say:

“I don’t know that guy very well. I only met him a couple of times. Use your own judgment.”

Inside, I snorted.

Could there really be a worse man than you?

Out loud, I obediently replied,

“Got it, got it!”

He suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me back toward him.

I stumbled and nearly crashed into his chest.

A drunken burp rose in his throat. His handsome face twisted in discomfort as he fought it down and forced out a sentence:

“Remember to use condoms.”

I stared blankly.

His expression immediately became one of disappointed frustration.

“Girls should carry one too. That way, if a guy starts making excuses, you won’t be put in a difficult position.”

Only then did I realize where his thoughts had jumped.

I kicked him.

What the hell? We hadn’t even exchanged contact information yet!

Of course, before the gathering ended, Hu Min and I exchanged contacts.

Hu Min was also from northern China, though he had grown up in M City.

We chatted every day.

The problem was that there was no spark.

As Han Che had warned me, engineering guys were boring.

Painfully boring.

Back in high school or college, I probably would have lost patience quickly.

But back then I had plenty of classmates and friends.

Now I was alone in a strange city and treasured every new connection.

Hu Min invited me to dinner twice.

He was also very practical, openly laying out his financial situation:

He lived alone in a two-bedroom apartment.

Owned a car.

Had savings.

Didn’t really know what to spend money on.

I looked at the cratered, moon-surface texture of his skin now fully visible outside the dim lighting of the KTV and mechanically chewed my spicy chicken.

A house was important.

But did a face have to be that unfortunate?

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My cousin knew I was actively trying to meet people.

The moment she heard that Hu Min had a stable job, a house, a car, and an honest personality, she tried to persuade me:

“All men look the same after the ‘lights’ go out.”

I understood her point.

There were only so many options I had

But if I never turned off the ‘lights’, how was I supposed to survive?

By that logic, Han Che was still better.

At least he was nice to look at and entertaining.

I knew I was practical.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t have fallen for a photo of a birdcage and constantly evaluated men based on their circumstances.

But I also knew I wasn’t practical enough.

The moment I encountered something I couldn’t tolerate, I immediately wanted to quit.

This time, I wanted to fix that flaw in myself.

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By the end of the first month, Hu Min and I had progressed to holding hands.

I thought I would eventually get used to this species called men.

I had underestimated just how boring they could be.

I had also underestimated how petty they could become.

I was naturally outgoing, and the more comfortable I became with someone, the more talkative I got.

Under my influence, Hu Min gradually became more talkative too.

First came complaints about his boss.

Then complaints about partner companies.

I listened patiently and tried to comfort him.

Young people were usually under pressure.

So that was understandable.

But when he started criticizing Han Che, I felt awkward.

I had always told him that Han Che and I weren’t close.

Mostly because our actual relationship was difficult to explain.

Apparently reassured, Hu Min relaxed.

〚 Han Che’s not a good person. Stay away from him 〛

I didn’t know how to respond.

I just sent an emoji.

He went on.

Han Che was arrogant because of his talent.

He had waited until the last moment to point out major problems in a project, causing Hu Min’s company to lose the biggest contract of the first half of the year.

All their hard work had gone to waste.

Their quarterly bonuses disappeared too.

The KTV gathering had mainly been a diplomatic gesture among management.

Business deals might fail, but relationships should remain.

Still, everyone below management disliked Han Che.

Since it was a work matter, I didn’t comment.

I just stared at the endless stream of complaints filling my screen.

The negativity was so overwhelming that it left me frowning through my lunch break.

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Meanwhile, after I started talking to Hu Min, Han Che quietly withdrew from my life.

One evening he sent me a photo from a lively bar.

Too bad you’re dating someone now, he wrote. Otherwise you could’ve come too.

My heart had barely warmed when he immediately ruined the moment with another message:

〚 Remember what I told you. 〛

Ugh.

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In the end, my relationship with Hu Min didn’t survive two months.

I stared at the calendar and sighed.

But I couldn’t really blame myself.

We simply weren’t compatible.

At least I handled it well.

He said we could still be friends.

Like all my previous relationships, it had been neither satisfying nor devastating.

Easy to lose.

Easy to forget.

The only consequence was that those sixty days had washed away the playful ambiguity between me and Han Che, turning it into plain water.

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Life had its ups and downs.

My roommate and her boyfriend entered the exhausted phase of their relationship.

They started arguing constantly.

Arguing would have been fine.

The problem was that they always made up loudly afterward.

Every time the poor soundproofing made me wish I were deaf, I wanted to move out.

Finally, one day, I snapped.

My roommate wasn’t home.

Apparently her bedroom door hadn’t been shut properly.

When I got home from work, her Golden Retriever bounded toward me, eager to play.

To most people, it would have looked like a sweet dog greeting someone affectionately.

To someone terrified of dogs?

It looked like a giant mutant beast in a golden cape preparing to attack.

My legs gave out.

I screamed and dropped to my knees.

Using every ounce of strength I had, I shoved the dog away.

I even touched its wet nose.

Then I ran while screaming for help.

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Later that night, after eating at a roadside food stall, I crept home to see whether my roommate had returned.

The apartment was brightly lit.

The security door stood wide open.

Two police officers were inside asking questions.

The moment my roommate saw me, she rushed over.

“Did you come home today?”

Only then did I learn what had happened.

When I left, I hadn’t shut the front door properly.

The dog had escaped.

There was a trace of blame in her expression.

But she immediately swallowed it.

Wiping tears from the corner of her eyes, she forced a smile.

“It’s my fault. I should’ve locked the door better.”

That night I couldn’t sleep again.

My roommate and her boyfriend searched until midnight.

They checked security camera footage.

From my bed I could hear them pacing around the living room, discussing plans to print missing-dog flyers the next day.

Buried under my blanket, I felt miserable.

Living far from home came with many lonely moments.

This one made me understand loneliness more clearly than ever.

At two in the morning, after my roommate had finally gone to sleep, I messaged Han Che.

〚 Got two cents’ worth of time to chat? 〛

After watching half an episode of an American TV series, I checked my phone and discovered he had replied fifteen minutes earlier.

The stupid phone had swallowed the notification.

〚 Out of mobile data. Talking face-to-face is cheaper. 〛

I immediately topped up his phone with 100 yuan worth of credit.

〚 How about now? 〛

I waited.

Every five minutes I switched back from my show to check for messages.

I kept convincing myself there might be a notification that my phone had hidden.

There wasn’t.

Then, half an hour later—

〚 Come downstairs. 〛