Ex-wife's humiliation

  The sky had darkened and a light rain began to fall outside. Lin Hui, who had just gotten off work, perked up her ears to listen, but the house was quiet, without a single sound.

  She shook her head, walked into the bedroom and changed into a thin nightgown. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt that her curvy body was too exposed, so she took off the nightgown and changed into a slightly more conservative two-piece loungewear set.

  Then she took out a divorce agreement that had been drafted from her bag, closed her eyes and stood still for a moment, finally gritted her teeth and walked into her husband's study.

  Although there was no movement in the house, she knew her husband was there, and at this moment he might be listening to the movements in the living room with his ears perked up just like her.

  Just as she had imagined, her husband Shangping was reclining in his computer chair, staring blankly at the monitor in front of him, which displayed a sea of green digits.

  "I hope to see your signature tomorrow morning."

  Lin Hui originally still had a bit of a hard heart, but after seeing her husband's dying appearance, she could no longer control her disappointment, and threw the divorce papers on the computer desk. She didn't stay for another minute, turned around and twisted her round buttocks into the bedroom, then slammed the door shut with a "bang".

  "Trash!"

  Shang Ping's eyes rolled a few times, his mind seething with anger as he lay there motionless, thinking to himself that at this moment he really wanted to kill someone.

  A gust of wind blew up the curtains and raindrops kept blowing in from the open window.

  With only three days left until his 30th birthday, Shangping sat in front of the computer, staring blankly at the stock market screen, watching the greenish data jumping around like countless pairs of wolf eyes in the dark night.

  1.2 million. Still 600,000 left. Everything seemed like a dream. Everything was so illusory. Only the curtains blown by the wind and the occasional cold raindrops hitting his face made him feel conscious.

  Everything is over. I'm penniless again. At that moment, Shang Ping's heart was as cold as the autumn rain outside the window.

  Actually, Shang Ping had long anticipated that this day would come sooner or later. Three months ago, he had sensed his wife Lin Hui's infidelity with his sixth sense, but there was no evidence. Besides, it was better not to look for such evidence.

  Some men always want to know what kind of man their wife sleeps with, secretly following and investigating, as if they won't rest until they see their wife with another man. Shangping thinks that's just rubbing salt in one's own wounds, not worth emulating.

  What's the big deal about men? Maybe it's some rich guy, maybe it's your wife's boss, maybe it's a young handsome guy, or maybe it's just a beggar on the street. Anyway, it's a man who sneaks into your territory when you're not paying attention to your wife and cultivates the land that belongs to you.

  And everything is related to stocks.

  Shang Ping himself didn't understand why he was infatuated with stocks. At first, it was the stock that ruined his business, and now it was the stock that found a man for his wife.

  For two years, Shang Ping felt that his surname was not Shang but Bei, the Bei of bad luck, everything had gone wrong. Otherwise, why did he enter the stock market and the big plate kept doing free fall? Why was it like there was a magical palm controlling him, always making him buy at the highest point and sell at the lowest point? Why did he always catch the rebound but end up catching a new round of decline?

  Bad luck is not just reflected in stocks, but also reflected in his body.

  Ever since I entered the market, my thing has been much worse than before. Every time I pant and get off my wife's body, Lin Hui would say disdainfully: "Your thing is almost as good as your stock."

  Shang Ping always remained silent with shame, anxiously waiting in his heart for a miracle to appear. He knew that if the stock market still couldn't get out of this trend, his weakness would never have any hope of rising again.

  But in reality, the stock market continued to create new lows every day, and he became weaker and weaker. It was on one of those weak days that Lin Hui put a small green hat on him.

  Shang Ping carried an old leather suitcase with a few clothes inside. As the door closed behind him, he looked up at the house number.

  Room 401. Once was my home. Later on, I don't know whose man's home it will be. Maybe tomorrow a strange man will move in and sleep on the big bed where I used to sleep, doing what I did with that woman, while that woman repeats to the new man the dirty words she said to me.

  A pang of heart-wrenching pain, Shang Ping covered his mouth with one hand and spat a mouthful of saliva at the door before turning to leave.

  In front of me is an old-fashioned building from the 80s, a humble abode that people back then took pride in but now consider shameful. Thank my parents for leaving this little doghouse, so I have a place to take refuge when I'm homeless and won't be blown away by wind or rain.

  When Shang Ping walked up to the entrance of the building with a worn-out suitcase, he saw five or six white-haired old neighbors, who were also his parents' friends when they were still alive, staring at him with a pair of dim and hazy eyes as if they were looking at an alien.

  They are all some seasoned old rivers and lakes, who are well-versed in the coldness and warmth of the world. They can see all the tragic stories that have happened to him from Shang Ping's grayish despondent face and the broken leather trunk in his hand.

  What a proud and arrogant person you used to be! Now, aren't you back in this broken house licking your own wounds? Young man, ginger gets spicier with age, not listening to the elderly will bring trouble right before your eyes!

  Shang Ping slunk into the corridor with a humiliated and angry expression, as if he had lost his family, leaving behind a buzzing noise.

  After the divorce, Shangping held a simple ceremony in the broken house left by his parents, of course, only he himself attended. He poured himself a cup of strong liquor, admired himself in the mirror for half a day, raised the cup and said: "Cheers, you damn it!" Then began his reclusive life.

  Shang Ping seemed to be intentionally punishing himself, lowering his living standards to the bare minimum for survival. Every day, he only ate instant noodles and drank tap water, with the only luxuries being cigarettes and liquor.

  The computer is no longer a tool for analyzing stocks, but a toy that this adult will never tire of playing with. In fact, he hasn't taken another look at the stock market.

  For a while, he was obsessed with strategy games and thought of himself as a commander-in-chief, directing every battle set in the game. Later, he began browsing adult forums, indulging in beauties from various countries until he saw a Japanese romance movie and remembered the taste of instant noodles.

  He never goes out during the day, only at night or in the early morning when it's still dark, he slips out of the building like a stray dog, wandering aimlessly along the dark roadside.

  Sometimes, looking at a window with bright lights, I would think of the past home, think of that woman, imagine what she was doing at that moment, and my heart would be filled with confusion. It felt as if countless pairs of eyes were staring at me in the dark corners, then I would rush back home like an escape, continuing that life without day or night.

  Days without a wife, days without women, lonely and solitary days are passing by one after another.

  When computer games had lost their flavor and there was nothing new to play with in the adult forum, Shangping indulged in endless sleep, having all sorts of strange and bizarre dreams.

  One time he dreamed of his deceased mother, his mother still looked the same as before, not changing at all. She stood beside his bed with tears in her eyes and said to him: "If you really can't hold on, then come earlier."

  This was the best dream he had ever had, all the other dreams made him sweat profusely and wake up with a splitting headache. Finally, accompanied by endless sleep came insomnia, he often stared at a black spot on the wall for seven or eight hours in a row with his eyes wide open, falling into nothingness.

  That day, Shang Ping was lying in bed daydreaming, as if he heard a knock on the door. At first, he didn't pay attention to it, thinking that the knocking sound was part of his dream. But later, the continuous and urgent knocking finally pulled him back to reality.

  There is someone outside who wants to come in.

  He lay in bed imagining the appearance of the person knocking on the door outside, hoping to incorporate him into his daydream.

  The person knocking on the door seemed to know his intention, and with an even more persistent manner, knocked again and again, as if pounding against his heart. Shangping finally couldn't bear it anymore, cursed and scolded as he got out of bed, and opened the door in a rage.

  A pretty woman, a rather attractive woman, he couldn't recall having any connection with her. "You've knocked on the wrong door."

  The woman let out a cold laugh and pushed Shang Ping away, walking into the house as if she had returned to her own home.

  She frowned, looking at everything in the room: four or five instant noodle paper bowls on the table; a cigarette butt piled up like a small mountain in the ashtray next to the computer; dozens of liquor bottles lined up along the wall, as if waiting for their owner's inspection. The room was filled with a strong smell of ammonia.

  "Shang Ping, stop pretending to be stupid, you're already very much like that. How familiar is this voice, how piercing is this insight? Who else in the world could it be but her?"

  Shang Ping slapped himself in the face. "I'm really blind, I couldn't even recognize my own wife."

  Lin Hui ignored his joking words and took out a piece of paper and a carbon pen from her bag, throwing them onto the table. "Take a look yourself and sign it."

  It was an IOU.

  Lin Hui looked at Shang Ping and said, "At first, I borrowed 150,000 yuan for you to speculate in stocks. The money has been repaid, now it's your turn to owe me. I know you have no money to repay, so can't we just sign an IOU?"

  Shang Ping thought about it and indeed, he picked up a carbon pen and wrote his name on the paper. Anyway, a dead pig isn't afraid of boiling water, and having many lice doesn't make him itch. Let alone 1.5 million, even if it were 15 million, he wouldn't care.

  Lin Hui seemed not to have expected Shang Ping to sign so readily, and picked up the IOU with a suspicious look, stood up and sized Shang Ping up and down again.

  "I can hardly recognize you anymore. Take care of yourself." Then she turned around and walked towards the door with her butt swaying.

  This woman's butt seems bigger than before.

  Although wrapped in a short skirt, Shang Ping can still depict its complete shape in his mind. That roundness, that snow whiteness, that tactile sensation.

  A string in Shangping's heart was touched, and the long-lost spark instantly burned throughout his body. He had only one thought: he couldn't let her leave so easily; he must find some psychological balance from her.

  "Wait..." Shang Ping felt as if it wasn't his own voice, like a hungry wolf's howl.

  Lin Hui jumped in fright, stopped in her tracks, and turned around to look. She saw that her ex-husband's eyes were staring at her like a hungry wolf, and she instantly understood the man's thoughts. Her heart trembled violently, and her face flushed with heat.

  What does he want to do? Won't be thinking of...

  "Anything else?"

  As soon as Lin Hui's voice fell, Shang Ping had already arrived in front of her, panting heavily with his mouth open, and grabbed his ex-wife's shoulders, pressing her face down on the table where she had just signed.

  Lin Hui couldn't believe her ex-husband would resort to this, they had been married for ten years and she had never seen him like this before. Her normally gentle and refined husband was always extremely tender with her and had never been rough with her.

  At this moment, Lin Hui seemed to be in a daze. He was clearly going to force himself on her. Since they were already divorced, this was indeed rape... By the time Lin Hui realized what was happening, her ex-husband had already started pulling down her stockings.

  "You damn bastard... you... what did you just do..."

  Lin Hui said while using one foot to kick backwards, but she couldn't use any strength and couldn't even kick the person.

  "What's going on? Do I need to ask... It's not the first time... I miss you so much..." Shang Ping muttered incoherently, while swiftly reclaiming his former territory with lightning speed.

  The room was quiet and still, without a sound. It was unclear how much time had passed when Lin Hui suddenly woke up from her daze, her body feeling weak as if she was about to collapse.

  Shang Ping looked at the woman's pitiful appearance and couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt in his heart, but he suppressed it and didn't go to help her. Lin Hui also didn't look at him, got dressed and left without saying a word. It wasn't until the door outside slammed shut that Shang Ping slowly calmed down from his earlier frenzy.

  Shang Ping sat on the sofa, smoking one cigarette after another, and didn't move until nightfall.

  "I hardly recognize you anymore." As soon as he remembered Lin Hui's words, Shang Ping came to the mirror and found a completely strange person inside. He couldn't help but turn his head and take another look before daring to confirm that the person in the mirror was actually himself. He didn't expect that he would grow such a lush beard, paired with long hair, just like those artists on TV.

  Is this really one's true self? Having pretended all along, only to reveal oneself today? To the point where even the woman who has shared a bed with me for seven or eight years can't recognize me.

  Shang Ping lost himself again in an instant, making various strange faces and poses in front of the mirror. After verifying, he sadly admitted that the fallen artist in the mirror was indeed himself, or rather, he was the person in the mirror. As for who this person was, he suddenly couldn't remember for a moment. Anyway, it seemed like he was some kind of rapist or something.

  Shang Ping put on his clothes, he urgently needed to breathe in some fresh air.

  Standing at the door thinking about where to go, his eyes saw the small skylight leading to the rooftop above his head. He moved over a small ladder and climbed up to the rooftop. The rooftop was pitch black, but the cool autumn breeze felt refreshing.

  The five-story building doesn't feel that high, and after looking down from the eaves for a few moments, he hesitated. Jumping from this height may not be fatal, but what if you break both legs and are still alive? I've heard that people who have died once and didn't die are hard to kill again. Besides, doing so would be too cruel to oneself.

  Shang Ping wasn't without other ideas, such as getting two bottles of sleeping pills and boiling a pot of thin porridge to drink, thus filling his stomach for dinner and ending his life at the same time, killing two birds with one stone. But then he thought again, dying in sleep lacked the experience of the process, it was a muddled death, not what he liked.

  He still thinks jumping off a building is better, at least he can experience the feeling of flying in the air.

  He had originally wanted to find a higher building, such as one over 100 meters tall, so that the time spent flying through the air would be greatly extended. But people are nostalgic, and he only thought of dying at the entrance of the corridor where he used to play as a child. Besides, in his current state, even his ex-wife could hardly recognize him, let alone those old ladies with dim eyesight.

  The fact is that a person who looks like an artist jumped to his death. The artist jumping off the building was just his last creation in his artistic career, who would notice? Even if people finally understood the truth, by then his spirit had gone far away, and who cares about the flood of criticism?

  Shang Ping felt a deep sense of disappointment. Who would have thought that those construction companies would cut corners and build the five-story building so low, completely unable to satisfy his desire to soar through the air.

  Xue Ping felt his legs go weak with extreme disappointment and simply lay down on the cold rooftop. He had finally given up on dying.