53: Chen Yun's husband is back.

Days were like a conveyor belt on an assembly line, seemingly slow but actually rolling forward rapidly.

These past few days, the red brick wall between 301 and 302 had become a strange medium that could conduct not just sound, but seemingly emotions as well.

Wang Fugui still left early and returned late every day, acting like an untiring old ox in the workshop.

Even when moving the heaviest injection molds, he wouldn't say a word, his muscles filling out his work uniform to the brim.

Lin Xiaocao's life had become much more comfortable.

With a private bathroom and the meals Wang Fugui made with constant variety, her originally sallow face actually developed a bit of a rosy glow.

It was just that whenever the night was quiet, the sound of high heels hitting the floor or the crisp clink of a water glass on the nightstand from next door in 302 would make the air in these two rooms become inexplicably thick.

Saturday afternoon.

The factory area was unusually quiet; most workers had gone to the video halls or roller rinks.

A mud-splattered Steyr heavy truck, with an extremely arrogant roar, billowed black smoke as it charged into the courtyard below the residential building.

"Screee—ch!"

The piercing sound of brakes seemed like it would tear eardrums apart.

After the engine cut out, the driver's side door was kicked open roughly.

A burly but somewhat flabby man jumped down.

He wore a greasy leather jacket, his hair was as messy as a chicken's nest, and the whites of his eyes were bloodshot—a sign of having stayed up for several nights.

Zhang Qiang was back.

With half a cigarette that was almost burnt to the filter in his mouth, he spat fiercely on the ground and walked into the stairwell, cursing and swearing.

He slapped the handrail of the stairwell so hard it echoed throughout the building... Room 301.

Wang Fugui was wearing a pink apron that looked almost comical, holding a spatula in his hand.

That apron was a gift Lin Xiaocao got from buying shampoo; tied around his giant bear-like frame, it looked so tight it might burst at any moment.

The aroma of stir-fried pork with green peppers filled the air.

"...Chen Yun's husband is back."

Lin Xiaocao was sitting cross-legged on a chair cleaning vegetables; hearing the commotion downstairs, her movements paused for a moment.

She tossed the half-cleaned celery into the basin, her lips curling into a mocking arc.

Wang Fugui didn't respond.

But his hand holding the spatula tightened, and the veins on the back of his hand twitched twice.

It was the instinctive reaction of a male creature when its sense of territory is violated.

He turned the heat down a bit.

From the other side of the red brick wall came the hurried sound of a key being thrust into a keyhole, followed by the dull thud of the security door being violently pushed open and hitting the wall stop... Room 302.

Chen Yun was sitting in front of the dressing table, patting toner onto her face.

The moment the door burst open, her hand shook, and the glass bottle almost hit the top of her foot.

The woman in the mirror instantly shed her laziness, replaced by deep disgust and tension.

Zhang Qiang entered the room.

He brought with him a heavy scent of tobacco and diesel, as well as the peculiar sour stench of someone who had been soaking in an underground casino for days and nights.

There was no embrace after a long separation.

Let alone any warm greetings.

Zhang Qiang didn't even change his shoes; his leather boots, which had stepped through mud and cigarette butts, stepped directly onto Chen Yun's pure white shaggy rug.

Leaving behind startling black footprints.

"Where's the money?"

Zhang Qiang's first words were in a voice so raspy it sounded like it had been rubbed with sandpaper.

He strode to the wardrobe, yanked open the door, and began searching frantically.

Exquisite silk qipaos and neatly folded shirts were pulled out by him like trash and thrown all over the floor.

Chen Yun sat in front of the dressing table and didn't move.

Through the mirror, she coldly watched this husband of hers in name only.

"What are you doing again?"

Chen Yun's voice was flat, showing no emotion, only a dead-cold indifference. "Didn't you just take two thousand last month?"

"Shut up!"

Without looking back, Zhang Qiang pulled out a tin biscuit box from the depths of the hanging rod.

He opened it to look.

Empty.

"Fuck!"

Zhang Qiang slammed the box hard onto the floor; the tin box bounced a few times on the wooden floor, making a loud clattering sound.

He turned around, his bloodshot eyes staring fixedly at Chen Yun like a hungry wolf that had lost everything at gambling.

"I had a bit of bad luck this time; my luck wasn't with me."

Zhang Qiang strode to the dressing table in a few steps, his rough hands propped on the tabletop as he swept Chen Yun's expensive skincare products to the floor.

"Give me another three thousand. No, five thousand! Once I win it back, I'll pay you back with interest."

Chen Yun stood up.

She was wearing soft-soled slippers, and her height only reached Zhang Qiang's chin, but the aura she projected at this moment actually made the violent man pause for a second.

"No money."

Chen Yun adjusted the collar of her bathrobe, her chin slightly raised. "The factory's performance isn't good, and the bonuses haven't been issued yet. If you want to win back your money, go borrow it from that lover of yours."

These words seemed to strike Zhang Qiang's nerve.

Chen Yun had long been aware of his dirty business outside, but to maintain this marriage that had long existed in name only, she had never bothered to expose it.

Zhang Qiang's face instantly turned livid.

He wanted to get physical, but thinking about how Chen Yun was now a supervisor, if he hit her and it made a scene at the factory, he wouldn't be able to keep his job in the Transportation Team.

He forced himself to swallow his anger.

But the wicked fire in his heart had nowhere to vent.

Zhang Qiang's gaze roamed around the room like a vulture looking for prey.

Finally.

His gaze fell on the half-open drawer of the nightstand.

Inside was a box of "Jissbon" that hadn't been opened for long.

He had specifically bought it two months ago before heading out with the truck; at the time, to show off his prowess, he had even pointedly counted them in front of Chen Yun.

Ten in total.

Zhang Qiang yanked open the drawer and grabbed the brightly colored box.

The weight was wrong.

Light as a feather.

He clumsily pried open the box and dumped all the small aluminum foil packets inside onto the bed.

"One, two, three..."

Zhang Qiang's fingers poked at those slippery little squares, his mouth muttering.

When he reached seven, he stopped.

Gone.

Only seven were left.

The air froze at this moment.

Zhang Qiang slowly raised his head; his face, which was originally just irritable, was now distorted like a crumpled piece of waste paper.

A man's most primitive and intolerable sense of humiliation erupted in his chest like a volcano.

"Three are missing."

Zhang Qiang squeezed the empty box, his fingers so forceful his knuckles turned white; the box was crushed, making a crisp cracking sound.

He approached Chen Yun step by step, his voice squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying a heavy scent of blood.

"Chen Yun."

"I've been gone for two months."

"You were home alone."

"...How can three be missing?"

Chen Yun's heart contracted sharply.

Blood instantly rushed to the top of her head, and her ears buzzed.

They were indeed used, during those lonely nights that could drive one mad.

Just when Wang Fugui's heavy snoring came from next door.

That unspeakable desire.

Every time she used one... even the name she cried out at the final moment was not this loser in front of her.

But could she say that?

This was ten thousand times more shameful than admitting to an affair.

Chen Yun's nails dug deep into her palms, forcing herself to remain calm.

She couldn't panic.

If she panicked, everything would be over.

"They were old."

Chen Yun turned her head away, avoiding Zhang Qiang's almost fire-spitting gaze.

"You threw them away?"

Zhang Qiang laughed out of extreme anger; the laughter sounded like a night owl's cry.

"Hahaha... Threw them away?"

"Chen Yun, do you fucking take me for a three-year-old child?"

"This stuff has a shelf life of five years! I just bought them two months ago and you threw them away? And you threw away three at once?"

Zhang Qiang suddenly reached out.

That large hand, full of grease and the smell of smoke, grabbed Chen Yun's meticulously maintained cloud-like long hair.

"Ah!"

Chen Yun cried out in pain; her scalp felt like it was being torn apart, and she was forced to tilt her head back.

That exquisite face was now filled with pain and terror.

"Talk!"

Zhang Qiang brought his face close to Chen Yun's, his spittle spraying all over her face. "Which wild man?"

"Is it that little white face accountant from the factory?"

Chen Yun struggled desperately, her hands scratching at Zhang Qiang's arms, leaving several white marks on his leather jacket.

"Let go! You lunatic!"

"I didn't! Don't you dare blood-mouth-spray-people!"

"You didn't?"

Zhang Qiang increased the force in his hand, dragging Chen Yun by her hair and pressing her entire body onto that soft large bed.

Chen Yun's knee hit the edge of the bed hard, making her gasp in pain.

"You usually act like a chaste woman, acting like you're too clean for me to even touch!"

"And yet you're cheating behind my back?"

"Three of them... You have quite an appetite!"

The more Zhang Qiang spoke, the angrier he became; the delusion of being cuckolded made him completely lose his reason.

He remembered the gossip he had heard downstairs when he returned.

Saying a particularly strong porter lived in 301.

Saying that porter often helped Supervisor Chen fix water pipes.

"Is it that Silly Big Guy next door?!"

Zhang Qiang roared, his voice so loud it seemed like it would blow the roof off. "Is it that guy named Wang?"

"Slap!"

A loud slap landed heavily on Chen Yun's face.

Chen Yun was dazed by the blow.

Half of her face quickly became red and swollen, and a trace of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth.

She lay on the bed, her long hair disheveled and her clothes in disarray, tears finally streaming down her face.

Not just because of the pain.

But because the most hidden corner of her heart had been struck.

Although there was no physical affair, mentally, in her fantasies during countless late nights, she had indeed betrayed this marriage countless times... Room 301.

There was a deathly silence in the kitchen.

The flame on the gas stove was still dancing cheerfully, licking the bottom of the iron wok.

The oil in the wok was already hot, giving off blue smoke.

But Wang Fugui didn't pour in that plate of sliced pork.

He stood before the cramped stove, holding a heavy kitchen knife in his hand.

That knife was something he had brought from his hometown, forged in a blacksmith's shop; it was extremely heavy, and its edge wouldn't dull even when chopping bones.

Every word from next door, every roar, and even the crisp sound of that slap entered his ears with absolute clarity.

It was as if someone were hitting his heart with a hammer.

That woman who was once so high and mighty, who had turned into a puddle of water in his palms in the bathroom, was now being humiliated by someone pulling her hair.

"Is it that Silly Big Guy next door?"

This sentence was like a red-hot iron rod thrust directly into Wang Fugui's brain.

He was trembling.

Not out of fear.

But a never-before-felt violent emotion was surging through his veins.

That feeling was even more out of control than the night he was drugged.

Lin Xiaocao stood at the kitchen door.

She looked at Wang Fugui's broad back.

That man who was usually always smiling and seemed honest and simple was now emitting a chilling low pressure.

The veins on the back of his hand bulged like winding earthworms.

The muscles on his shoulders were taut, even the straps of his work vest were digging into his flesh.

"Brother..."

Lin Xiaocao called out, her voice very soft.

Just then.

A scream from Chen Yun came from next door, followed by the dull sound of a heavy object hitting something, as if someone had been thrown hard onto the floor.

"Bang!"

Wang Fugui moved.

But he didn't rush out.

He raised the heavy kitchen knife in his hand high and, with all his strength, slammed it down onto the solid wood cutting board in front of him.

"Thud!"

A dull sound.

The blade's momentum was massive, chopping straight through that two-inch-thick willow wood cutting board and sinking deep into the countertop below.

Wood chips flew.

The kitchen knife stood there straight up, the handle still vibrating violently, making a humming sound like a bee.

"Little Grass."

Wang Fugui's voice was terrifyingly low, with a grittiness like metal rubbing together.

He didn't look back at Lin Xiaocao, but just stared fixedly at a crack in the wall.

"Help me turn off the fire."