7: Chapter 7 A Dignified "Evacuation"

March 16, 2025, Sunday, Sunny, 8 ~ 20°C.

After returning from Liu Yanran's place to his rented room, Qiao Yichen immediately collapsed and fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was blindingly bright with sunlight; it was already ten in the morning.

His phone lay quietly by his pillow. Qiao Yichen picked it up, unlocked it, and the moment the screen lit up, the first name that popped into his mind was—Chen Xue.

A full two days and two nights had passed since their last conversation. Based on past experience, her emotional trajectory should have already slid from the 'peak of anger' into the 'trough of grievance.' She was likely curled up on the sofa of that small apartment, waiting for him to call with an apology or send a softening message.

He tapped WeChat. Their chat history was frozen at that fateful early morning.

The last message was from her: 'If you can't finish revising the plan, don't come back. I think we need some time to cool down.'

He knew clearly that she was speaking out of anger, but Qiao Yichen inexplicably felt a wave of sadness. His fingertip hovered above the screen, and after much hesitation, he finally started typing.

['Xue'er, I just woke up. I'll come over later to grab some things.']

The message was instantly replied to: ['Whatever.']

Although it was only two words, he knew her too well—when she said 'whatever,' it meant she had probably already changed her clothes, perhaps even subconsciously cooked an extra dish, and was currently standing with her ears perked, listening for footsteps outside the door.

About an hour later, Qiao Yichen stood beneath the white-walled youth apartment building, staring blankly at it.

Entering the building, the elevator took him directly to the twelfth floor.

The hallway was clean and bright, covered in light gray carpet. On door 1203 was the felt welcome sign Chen Xue had chosen, which read, 'Welcome Home.'

He arrived at the door, his finger touching the smart lock, emitting a faint electronic sound and a smooth 'click.'

This room rented for 3,600 a month; it was a thirty-square-meter studio apartment they had looked for together last year. It was a loft structure: bedroom upstairs, integrated living room and kitchen downstairs. The decor was simple Nordic style, and it even had an independent bathroom and a small balcony.

Although the room wasn't large, when they signed the lease, they both felt it was the beginning of the two of them truly putting down roots in this city. This place was the core of their dream—she had stood excitedly in the living room then, planning where to put a projector and a few potted plants on the windowsill, her eyes shining brightly, saying, 'This will be our first little nest from now on.'

The door slowly opened, and he walked in.

A wave of warm, rich aroma of meat washed over him, instantly enveloping him. A gentle sniff told him it was braised pork ribs, the sugar color perfectly caramelized, and the sauce reduced to a thick consistency.

Chen Xue stood with her back to him, her hair tied in a loose ponytail, still wearing the apron printed with silly cartoon cats. The spatula clanged sharply against the iron wok. Hearing the movement, she didn't turn around, only tossing a sentence from the kitchen:

'Wash your hands. Time to eat.'

The words were short, but he could tell her voice was somewhat muffled, as if she had been crying and was forcefully suppressing it.

A small, Nordic-style dining table was placed by the window, set for two. On the table was a plate of glossy, tempting braised ribs, a plate of vibrant green lettuce, two matte white ceramic bowls set upside down beside them, and two pairs of chopsticks neatly arranged, both resting on matching placemats.

This was an unspoken rule between the two of them. No matter how much they argued or gave each other the cold shoulder, when mealtime arrived, there would always be an extra set of bowls and chopsticks on the table. Chen Xue's 'acting out' always had boundaries; she knew the bottom line was that the form of this 'home' must not collapse.

She used this near-stubborn sense of ritual, created within this limited space, and this everyday tenderness, to reinforce their relationship. Her only belief was—I am the mistress of this 'exquisite little nest,' and you are the master belonging here.

Qiao Yichen sat down silently.

He picked up a rib; it was stewed until tender and flavorful. A slight touch of his lips and tongue, and the meat slipped right off the bone. The taste was flawless; this was the recipe she had practiced countless times, specifically adjusted to reward him.

'Is it... still comfortable living over there?' Chen Xue sat down opposite him, serving herself half a bowl of rice. She didn't look at him, but her chopsticks unintentionally fiddled with the grains, 'I heard it’s just one bed, one desk, and nowhere even to hang laundry.'

'It's close to the company, saves time,' he replied softly.

'Don't give me that,' she suddenly put down her chopsticks and looked up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if grit had been rubbed into them, 'I know you're angry about the harsh words I said that night. But Qiao Yichen, that's all the temper I have, you know that... Can you really be so heartless as to not reply to me for days?'

Qiao Yichen didn't respond. He quietly finished every grain of rice in his bowl, leaving not even a trace clinging to the wall.

He stood up, naturally gathered both sets of dishes, and walked into the kitchen.

'Hey, leave it, I...' Chen Xue was first stunned, then a flicker of joy sparked in her heart—he was voluntarily washing the dishes. Between the two of them, this was almost an unspoken 'signal of reconciliation.' In this meticulously arranged space, any act of sharing housework was imbued with the intimate meaning of 'jointly managing life.'

The sound of rushing water and the light clinking of dishes followed from the kitchen.

Qiao Yichen washed slowly and meticulously. He worked the dish soap into dense foam, wiped the bowl surface with his palm, then rinsed it repeatedly with clear water until every ceramic bowl shone and made a 'squeak' sound when touched. After washing and stacking the dishes, he wiped every water droplet off the countertop with a rag, then felt as if he had experienced this scene countless times before.

He gently bit his tongue for a moment, instantly sobering up: he was no longer the Qiao Yichen he used to be. A long pain was worse than a short one; any hesitation now would eventually hurt her.

Today, he should put a perfect period on this relationship.

He dried his hands and walked out of the kitchen.

Chen Xue was already back on the sofa, leaning slightly toward him, a posture awaiting a hug. But there was still a bit of moisture in her eyes, though a spark of hope had ignited within them.

He didn't move closer. Qiao Yichen stopped two steps away from her.

'Xue'er,' he began, his voice gentle, as if stating a trivial matter, 'The dishes are washed.'

Hearing this, Chen Xue's lips were just about to curve upwards.

'I'll pack a few frequently worn clothes and things I use to take with me in a moment,' he continued, his tone even, without any ripple, 'I just signed a new project on Friday, and things will get extremely busy later on.'

After speaking, he paused, his gaze falling calmly on her face, which instantly froze.

'I won't be coming here anymore either.'

Once he finished speaking, the apartment instantly fell into a deathly silence, so quiet that he could hear the low hum of the refrigerator operating, and the faint sounds of traffic and horns outside the window.

The color drained from Chen Xue's face at a speed visible to the naked eye. Then she suddenly stood up, her movement so abrupt that she didn't seem to notice accidentally bumping the sharp corner of the coffee table with her calf.

'Qiao Yichen... what do you mean by saying that? Are you planning to break up with me?' Chen Xue’s voice trembled violently, tears accumulating in her eyes rolled down in large drops, 'You washed the dishes just to tell me this? Then what do you consider this place? This is our home, do you remember that?'

Qiao Yichen looked at Chen Xue. Faced with her hysterical questioning, he offered no explanation, only saying: 'Xiao Xue, it's my fault. I've changed.'

Chen Xue continued to cry. After hearing that, her body seemed to lack any support, and she collapsed onto the floor.

Qiao Yichen helped her sit properly on the sofa.

Then he turned around, strode up the stairs, and headed toward the bedroom.

The upstairs bedroom was even warmer and cozier, featuring a double bed and a wall-sized custom wardrobe. His movements were quick and orderly: laptop, power cord, a few frequently read professional books, an external hard drive. After gathering these items, the capacity of his backpack visibly filled up.

He then pulled open the wardrobe, found his half, and quickly scanned the few heavy winter coats and several suits he rarely wore. After a moment of thought, he closed the cabinet door.

His eyes involuntarily glanced at the humidifier by the bedside, which she had insisted on buying—it had a cute overall design. She had said that when the air conditioning was on in winter, the room got dry, which was bad for the skin.

After tidying up, Qiao Yichen went downstairs. 'You didn't even take all your clothes! You didn't even take all your books!' Chen Xue sat on the sofa crying, watching him, her fingers digging tightly into her own thigh, her fingertips already turning white.

Seeing her like this, Qiao Yichen felt a pang of reluctance but steeled his heart and opened his mouth, 'Xiao Xue, why don't you help me mail the rest of my things to me? I'll send you the address on my phone in a bit.'

Qiao Yichen stood at the entryway, taking his time putting on his shoes. The crying Chen Xue suppressed the grief in her heart, came to the entryway, and leaned against the wall, saying:

'Okay, I'll organize them tomorrow and mail them to you then.' Although her voice was still trembling badly.

'Mhm, then I'm leaving.' Qiao Yichen put on his shoes but didn't turn around.

'Be careful on the road then.'

As she said this, she herself was stunned; she never thought a parting between two people could be said so simply.

Qiao Yichen hummed in response.

The door opened, and the wind from the hallway rushed in.

He stood at the doorway, hesitating for a moment, but chose not to look back at her.

Then the door gently closed, and in the empty hallway, the sound of the smart lock automatically engaging could be heard.

Inside the room, Chen Xue lost all strength and collapsed onto the floor.

Her heart felt as if it were being fiercely squeezed by something, the pain so intense she wanted to scream, but her throat felt stuffed with soaked cotton, unable to produce a sound. Only silent tears flowed down, dripping onto the floor.

Qiao Yichen stood by the elevator, taking one last look in Chen Xue's direction.

The elevator door opened, and then slowly closed.