Chapter 92
The light from the phone screen illuminated Su Rui's pale face in the pitch-black room. On the screen, the still-buzzing trending search list, the absurd analyses that took his and Shen Qingyuan's "romance" as irrefutable evidence, and countless unbearable speculations and ridicules were visible.
The air was still filled with the cold atmosphere of that fierce argument. Ling Yao's words "I can't gamble everything I have" and the cold "I'm sorry" played over and over in his mind like a tape recorder. Every word turned into an ice cone, piercing his last shred of fantasy.
He sat quietly, like a sculpture without a soul. The countless days and nights of waiting, the grievances, the self-deception, the careful concealment, and those fleeting stolen sweetness... all the images rushed back to him frantically, ultimately obscured by Ling Yao's eyes, filled with fear and hesitation.
He had loved Ling Yao for his entire youth. He had believed that as long as he loved him enough, he could withstand all the storms and wait until the day when the clouds parted and the moon appeared.
But now he understood. He couldn't wait any longer. What he waited for wasn't public recognition, but Ling Yao's courage to choose him without hesitation. And this courage was so insignificant in the face of Ling Yao's career that it was not worth mentioning.
His pain, accumulated through repeated disappointments, repeated concealment, and repeated being ranked last, had already overflowed all the dams of happiness he had ever imagined.
Enough. Really enough.
His fingers were cold and stiff, yet remarkably steady. He clicked on the familiar dialog box. The last message was from Ling Yao's assistant, cold instructions on how to deal with the media.
He typed word by word, slowly but without hesitation:
"Ling Yao, let's break up."
The moment he pressed send, his heart felt as if it were suddenly clenched, sending a sharp pain. But he didn't stop, continuing to type, as if to pour all the exhaustion and despair he'd pent up throughout his life into these few lines:
"Stop talking about the future. Ling Yao, every day now is torture for me."
The moment he sent this sentence, he seemed to hear the sound of something collapsing deep in his heart, and what followed was an almost numb calmness.
He didn't wait for the other party's reply, nor did he want to see any more messages from that person - whether it was a panicked attempt to win back the relationship, an angry questioning, or another indifferent "I'm sorry".
He moved his fingers and decisively blocked all of Ling Yao's contact methods one by one - phone, WeChat, and even all social platforms where they could find him.
After doing all this, he seemed to have been drained of all his strength. The phone slipped from his palm and fell on the soft carpet with a dull sound.
The room was plunged into complete silence and darkness.
There were no tears, no hysterics, only a boundless, icy exhaustion that slowly drowned him like the depths of the ocean.
In his own way, he put a silent and resolute end to this love that lasted for several years, in which he gave everything but ultimately never saw the light of day.
From then on, he had nothing to do with that brilliant self anymore.
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