Chapter 46 Fried Rice with Egg

After the rain stopped and they scooped out the water from the house, they started repairing the broken appliances.

A week later, the waterlogging in the urban village finally subsided.

Wang Jiexiang mopped the floor and wiped the walls over and over again.

Yin Xian carried bag after bag of plastic garbage bags to throw out everything that was no longer usable after the flood.

Some time later, the sun came out in full force. They started doing laundry—clothes, quilts, pillows—filling the front of the house with items to dry.

Once they had aired out everything they could, the summer heat had mostly passed.

The mildew stains on the walls of the rental never disappeared. Wang Jiexiang and Yin Xian occasionally brought up the giant salamander they saw that day—it still seemed incredible.

By autumn, they had already been living together for over half a year.

The way this young couple got along had changed significantly compared to the beginning.

Yin Xian used to be quiet, sullen like a mute. Over time, Wang Jiexiang realized he wasn’t incapable of speaking—he just chose not to argue with her. When he did, just a few sarcastic remarks from him could drive her mad.

Part of the change was his nature, part of it was her influence.

Wang Jiexiang simply talked too much and too fast.

Before, she had seen him as a formidable older brother, timid and afraid to offend him, worried he’d dislike her. Now that they were a couple, she no longer had such reservations.

Facing Yin Xian, Wang Jiexiang laid herself bare. She showed him all her emotions, good or bad, without hesitation. With an earnest heart, she loved him boldly and openly.

But eating and living together, with such high-frequency interaction, gradually led to friction.

Minor frictions, like: Wang Jiexiang never kept her hair ties in a fixed place. She’d take them off and forget where she put them. He’d step on one at home, pick it up and put it away for her, but she’d still forget—leaving one here, two there. In the morning, rushing out the door, she’d ask Yin Xian if he’d seen her hair tie. He’d snort and refuse to help her look.

Yin Xian had his careless moments too. Wang Jiexiang had told him to put his shoes back on the rack. First, because the entryway was small—just a few shoes out of place made it look messy. Second, to keep the house clean and avoid mixing indoor and outdoor slippers.

But many times he didn’t pay attention, wearing the indoor slippers to take out the trash or to the public bath. When he returned, the slippers would dirty the floor, leaving Wang Jiexiang scrubbing shoes and mopping the floor again.

Once, when he didn’t switch slippers and she caught him, Wang Jiexiang stood hands on hips and yelled, “You clean it yourself.”

Knowing he was in the wrong, Yin Xian obediently went out to wash the slippers. She only let him back in after checking they were clean.

But their biggest argument was over something even smaller than those.

One evening, Wang Jiexiang made fried rice with egg.

Just before taking it off the stove, she remembered Yin Xian liked spicy food, so she stirred in three big spoonfuls of chili sauce.

They sat at the table. Wang Jiexiang used chopsticks to eat, naturally picking out the chili seeds and skins as she ate.

Seeing this, Yin Xian frowned.

“Why add chili to fried rice?”

“Why not?”

Wang Jiexiang replied casually, “I wanted it spicy, so I added chili.”

She continued poking at her bowl of rice.

Seeing how much trouble she was having, Yin Xian couldn’t help commenting, “Fried rice is meant to be eaten by the spoonful. What you’re doing is such a hassle—adding chili and then picking it back out.”

—She’d added the chili because he liked spicy food.

How could he blame her for adding chili? Wang Jiexiang felt a bit indignant, muttering,

“Whatever, I’ll just pick it out. There’s not even that much chili…”

He set down his spoon and picked up his chopsticks, just like her, to fish out the tiny bits of chili in the rice, as if proving his point—that chili made fried rice “such a hassle.”

At this point, it could’ve ended there. But Wang Jiexiang, feeling stuck, couldn’t help saying one more thing.

“Hmph, if it’s such a hassle, then don’t eat it.”

Hearing that, Yin Xian paused.

“Okay.”

He said, “Then throw it out.”

Without touching the fried rice, Yin Xian walked away from the table.

Wang Jiexiang thought: No way. He came home hungry—there’s no way he’s really not going to eat.

But sure enough, Yin Xian had the self-control.

He went about his night as usual—shower, brushing teeth, going to bed—as if he had already eaten dinner.

On the surface, Wang Jiexiang pretended not to care whether he ate. In reality, she had silently picked out all the chili from his bowl.

She didn’t put his fried rice away. It stayed on the table.

She waited for him to say he was hungry. If he did, she’d happily warm it up for him.

But he never did.

The next morning, he left early for work and threw the bowl of overnight rice into the trash while taking out the garbage.

Wang Jiexiang happened to witness it and felt even more wronged.

He’d rather go hungry, rather throw it out—he just wouldn’t eat it.

Just because there was chili in the fried rice, was it really such a heinous crime?

Something that small escalated step by step, until they fell into a cold war.

For couples who don’t live together, a cold war means no dates, no calls, no texts. But for them—living together—the suffocating tension pervaded every corner of life.

Meals were eaten at different times, one after the other; even if they sat at the same table, they didn’t speak.

They did laundry separately; hung clothes on opposite ends of the drying line.

At the public bath, Yin Xian still waited for Wang Jiexiang after work.

They carried their buckets, walking one behind the other in silence.

To and from the bathhouse, not a single word.

Sleeping was the worst. They lay on the same bed, backs turned to each other.

Wang Jiexiang squeezed toward the wall; Yin Xian lay on the edge, as if ready to fall off at any moment.

Neither could sleep comfortably. The middle of the bed lay empty, filled only with cold air.

At first, during the cold war, they still spoke a little.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Move, I need to get my clothes.”

“Worked late today.”

But even these unavoidable daily exchanges grew fewer and fewer in the tense atmosphere.

They began trying to do on their own the things they usually asked the other for.

Wang Jiexiang couldn’t open a jar. She didn’t hand it to Yin Xian. She tried all sorts of methods, turning red in the face trying to open it… eventually, she just gave up eating it.

One of Yin Xian’s shirt buttons fell off. He found the sewing kit, chose a thin needle and a thick mismatched thread. Just threading the needle took him half an hour.

After a week of cold war, they both forgot what the original conflict was even about.

This week, it was the other person’s attitude, their actions, that made them angrier.

Wang Jiexiang couldn’t open the jar—Yin Xian waited for her to give in.

Yin Xian struggled to thread the needle—Wang Jiexiang watched to see what he’d do, and he never asked her for help.

By the second week of cold war, just being together, seeing the other’s expressionless face, made their chests tighten.

Home—the place that used to be the happiest, most relaxing haven—had become a training ground for demons.

If they kept tormenting each other like this, they’d smother themselves to death. Wang Jiexiang finally exploded.

“I’ll stay until the end of the month. Then I’m moving out.”

It was Friday. The end of the month was Sunday. She had a half-day off work.

“I’ll move,” Yin Xian said.

—There it was. He had the same thought.

She was heartbroken, unwilling to play the nice guy with all the “you go, no you go” back-and-forth. So she simply nodded.

On Sunday, Yin Xian left for work much earlier than usual, without breakfast.

When Wang Jiexiang got up, the house was empty.

He didn’t even tell her he was leaving. She was used to it by now.

She made breakfast for herself, ate until she was full, and washed the dishes.

Wang Jiexiang felt surprisingly calm.

She put her slippers back on the rack and changed into her work shoes.

Before walking out the door, by habit, she turned to straighten Yin Xian’s shoes.

…He had already put them neatly in place.