26. Hide
The invitation to the class reunion came out of nowhere.
Xian'er replied quickly: "Great! The project is finally coming to an end, and we need alcohol."
Yi Yi stared at the screen, her finger hovering. Her first reaction was to refuse. Tired. Not physically exhausted, but a deeper weariness towards any activity that required emotional and social energy. But Mu Mu immediately followed up with another message: "I also invited Xiao Dong, and he's coming too."
Xiao Dong. This name was like a small pebble thrown into the once calm lake of her heart, creating ripples that were so subtle they were almost imperceptible. It wasn't nostalgia, nor lingering affection, but rather a distant echo of a long-sealed chapter of her own youth, belonging to another version of herself.
The atmosphere between her and Zhuang Jia lately has been subtly tense, like a thin layer of ice—seemingly smooth, but beneath lies a cold distance and unresolved tension. Following their heated argument that night, several days of polite, quiet, and efficient "cooperation" ensued. Household chores were meticulously divided, conversations were limited to essential information exchange, and topics about "resumes," "work," "body," or "feelings" were tacitly avoided. This deliberate normalcy suffocated her more than the arguments themselves.
Perhaps, leaving this suffocating "normal" for one night is not a bad thing.
"Okay," she replied.
The gathering was held in a private room at a well-known local Shanghainese restaurant. Yi Yi arrived at the perfect time; when she pushed open the door, the room was already filled with smoke and laughter. A dozen familiar yet unfamiliar faces, their features altered to varying degrees by the passage of time, bearing the marks of age or showing signs of prosperity.
"Yi Yi! The great reporter! No, shouldn't we call her Mrs. Zhuang now?" someone teased, with good-natured sarcasm.
Yi Yi smiled but didn't respond. Her gaze swept through the crowd, quickly spotting Mu Mu and Xian'er, who were waving at her from the window. She also saw Xiao Dong.
He sat across the round table, turning slightly to speak to the person next to him. Compared to the slender, upright, and somewhat arrogant young man in his memory, the man before him had a noticeably receding hairline, was somewhat overweight, wore a well-made polo shirt, and sported a not-so-understated luxury watch on his wrist. He was the quintessential image of a successful middle-aged man, yet also carried the lingering weariness of life's trials.
Seemingly sensing her gaze, Xiao Dong turned his head, his eyes meeting hers. He paused for a moment, then smiled and nodded across the table. The smile held the politeness of a long-awaited reunion, but also a hint of... indescribable complexity.
Yi Yi nodded in response and walked towards Mu Mu and Xian'er. The ripples in her heart had subsided. It turned out that time could really rewrite a person so completely, along with all the heartbeats and imaginations of her youth that had once been attached to that person.
During the meal, as everyone sipped their drinks, the topics revolved around nostalgia, the present, children, and housing prices. Xiao Dong seemed to be doing quite well, running his own trading company. His speech unconsciously carried the tone of a boss, but occasionally, when he fell silent, his eyes would dart out for a moment, revealing a detachedness that didn't match his actual demeanor.
After a few rounds of drinks, the atmosphere became even more lively. Mu Mu, being the only one who kept in touch with everyone, became the center of attention. Someone asked Xiao Dong, "Dongzi, you're a winner in life now, with a son and a daughter, and a beautiful and capable wife. When are you going to introduce her to the brothers?"
Xiao Dong held up his wine glass, his smile a little stiff: "She's busy, taking care of the kids. Next time, next time."
Mumu smoothed things over, saying, "He's busy. His eldest son is going through a crucial period of transition from elementary to middle school, and his wife is keeping a close eye on him." She then changed the subject.
After a while, Xiao Dong got up to go to the restroom. Xian'er leaned closer to Yi Yi and whispered, "Did you see that? The look on his face when he mentioned his wife and kids. Mu Mu told me privately that Xiao Dong hasn't had a good time these past two years. His company's business has declined, and things are really turbulent at home. His wife... she's a bit of a handful."
Yi Yi took a sip of juice and remained silent. She thought of the proud, spirited young man she once was, and then looked at the middle-aged man who needed his friends to smooth things over at the dinner table and whose eyes would dart around when his family matters were mentioned. She felt not much regret, but only a faint chill of things having changed.
It was nearly ten o'clock when the party ended. Everyone stood at the restaurant entrance exchanging greetings and saying goodbye, calling drivers and waiting for their rides. Xiao Dong had drunk a bit too much and was unsteady on his feet, so Mu Mu supported him.
“Yi Yi,” Xiao Dong suddenly broke free from Mu Mu and took two steps toward her, his body reeking of alcohol, but his eyes were unusually clear as he looked at her. “Back then… I’m sorry.”
It was a seemingly random sentence, yet Yi Yi understood it. Was it referring to the gathering before she went to Beijing, which he refused to attend because he thought "my wife would be unhappy"? Or was it about those unspoken feelings from their earlier, youthful days that had long since faded away?
She shook her head, her tone calm, and denied it: "What nonsense!"
Xiao Dong looked at her, seemingly trying to find even a trace of insincerity on her face, but Yi Yi only had a polite, indifferent smile. He opened his mouth, but in the end, he just waved his hand dejectedly and was helped into the car by Mu Mu.
Xian'er took a taxi and gave Yi Yi a ride home. In the car, Xian'er leaned against the window, looking at the dazzling night view outside, and suddenly said, "Look at Xiao Dong, isn't he like a microcosm of many people? He looks glamorous on the outside, but he's probably rotten inside. But he still has to put on a brave face, because of his pride as a man, because of the burden of 'success'."
"His wife... seems to always be complaining to Mu Mu and the others?" Yi Yi recalled the details from the dinner table.
“It’s more than just complaining,” Xian’er scoffed. “It’s practically a live broadcast of family scandals. Everything about arguing with parents, cursing at the kids, even the kids’ diary entries about hating their fathers… all of it is screenshotted and sent to them for them to judge, to persuade Xiao Dong. Tell me, what’s the point of living like this? They’ve lost all sense of shame.”
Yi Yi remained silent. To tear open the most unbearable wounds of her marriage, displaying them raw and bloody to outsiders, begging for their judgment and support… in her view, this was a failure more complete than failure itself. Her dignity utterly shattered.
“If I were to live like that,” Xian’er said slowly, “I would turn around and leave without looking back. I would hide my wounds well so that no one would ever see them. I would bear the consequences of the path I chose, and at least I would leave some dignity behind.”
Hide it.
These three words gently touched Yi Yi's heart.
Isn't she also "hiding" things? Hiding the panic brought on by the diagnosis, hiding the doubt about her own worth, hiding the disappointment in her marriage, hiding all the unspeakable vulnerability and unbearable feelings that she has no one to talk to.
Both approaches seem to lead to loneliness.
The car stopped at the entrance of the residential area. Yi Yi thanked them and got out. The night breeze was cool, dispelling the smell of alcohol and cooking fumes from her. She walked slowly home, her high heels clicking on the stone pavement, making a clear, lonely sound.
The lights were on in the house. She opened the door and saw that only a floor lamp was on in the living room. Zhuang Jia was leaning against the sofa reading a book when she heard the sound and looked up.
"You're back?" he asked casually.
"Okay." She changed her shoes and put her bag down.
How was the party?
"It's alright, same as always." She walked towards the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water.
Zhuang Jia's voice came from behind: "Kai Kai had a problem with his math homework tonight that he didn't quite understand. I explained it to him. Check if he got it right. It's in his backpack."
"Okay." She came out with a glass of water, not bothering to rummage through her bag, but simply standing in the middle of the living room, looking at her husband's profile under the warm yellow light. At this moment, this familiar space, this familiar person, made her feel a profound sense of alienation.
Between them, there was more than just that argument, more than just that hurtful "I'll help you." There was the diagnosis she kept hidden in her heart, her confusion and fear about the future; there was the anxiety he might not have noticed, or perhaps he noticed but didn't know how to deal with; there were the ways of thinking and emotional needs that they had developed over the years, ways of growing up that were difficult to fully reconcile.
Like two planets that have been orbiting each other for a long time, their orbits are close, yet they can never truly merge into one. Beneath the surface of calm lies a vast and cold cosmic space.
"I'm tired, I'm going to take a shower and go to bed," she said.
"Hmm." Zhuang Jia's gaze returned to the book.
She has always done it this way. She has been doing it since she was a child. She is used to processing her own emotions and dealing with her own problems, and what she presents to the outside world is always a poised, composed, and worry-free image.
But if you "hide" it for too long, will you one day forget where the wound is? Or will that carefully hidden wound quietly fester inside and eventually devour your entire true self?
She didn't know.
The class reunion was like a mirror, reflecting the brokenness of others and the turmoil within her own heart.
She turned off the tap and vigorously dried her body and hair with a towel. The mirror became clear, reflecting a woman's face—pale but with bright eyes, her makeup gone.
Hiding or revealing, perhaps neither is the answer.
The real answer lies in whether you have the courage to face the imperfect yet incredibly real self hidden beneath the perfect facade, and then, carrying all your scars and strength, continue moving forward.
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