Chapter 28: Things That Are Thrown Away Are All Quite Embarrassing Part 1

It had been two weeks since Qiu Yiran ignored any texts or calls from Li Chunfeng.

In her twenty-four years of life, this was the most childish thing she had ever done when faced with a problem.

Running away.

Running away was shameful. Running away was wrong. She knew that.

But she had never experienced a situation like this before—distracted and restless, as if something inside her had been hollowed out.

Yet she couldn’t go to the culprit.

Because the culprit had lied to her.

And she knew that if she went to the culprit, not only would she fail to reclaim what had been taken from her, but the hollow spot in the center of her heart would grow even emptier.

She had originally thought that running away was the only option that made her feel this uneasy.

Until Li Chunfeng said she was leaving.

The night before, she had lain awake until three or four in the morning.

That day, with dark circles drooping nearly to her feet, she prepared to ignore the matter completely, just like she had for the past two weeks. She took her camera and wandered the streets, hoping to spend the day with the sun and the Seine River. But somehow, she wandered into a bustling building where every face was beaming with smiles.

She saw a newlywed couple emerging under a shower of flower petals, smiling radiantly.

Only then did she realize that, unbeknownst to herself, she was standing at the entrance to the city hall—

The very city hall where she and Li Chunfeng had gotten married.

At that moment, a voice in her heart screamed frantically—don’t do it, absolutely don’t go to the airport in such a clichéd way to chase after her.

Then, someone tapped her shoulder.

She turned back in a daze.

Behind her was a stranger, a French man. He looked at her with surprise and asked,

“You really married her?”

Qiu Yiran was baffled.

The stranger grinned broadly. “I’m the guy who drove you to Annecy that night. You were pretty drunk, so you probably don’t remember.”

Qiu Yiran couldn’t match this face to her memories. “Sorry, I—”

“No worries.” The stranger winked at her. “But I remember you pretty clearly, so it’s great to see you again.”

Qiu Yiran pressed her lips together.

“Ah, you don’t remember?”

The stranger chuckled to himself. “Because by the time we got to the Annecy Love Bridge, it was almost dawn. I thought you two had just met, but then you suddenly proposed to her.”

“What?”

Qiu Yiran struggled to process those words.

Her memories of that Christmas Eve were fragmented and brief. This stranger said she had proposed to Li Chunfeng on the Annecy Love Bridge, but she had no recollection of it at all. However, some flashing snippets of memory seemed to support it—

It was on the way back, in the early hours.

The road was smooth, lights swaying.

She vaguely opened her eyes and realized she was lying on the woman’s lap. The car interior was dimly lit. The woman patiently smoothed her wind-tousled hair, then, like a playful cat, toyed idly with her eyelashes, pinching her lips and nose.

Feeling uncomfortable, she frowned.

That only made the woman laugh.

What was she laughing about? Qiu Yiran had found it baffling at the time.

It made the woman laugh even harder, doubling over, swaying side to side. When the laughter subsided, she gently scraped her nose.

“Qiu Yiran, let me tell you a secret.”

“What secret?” Qiu Yiran’s throat hurt, but she didn’t realize then that the woman already knew her name—before their self-introductions at city hall.

The woman gazed at her for a moment, lost in thought. That silence felt endless to Qiu Yiran.

She strained to open her eyes wide, trying to discern what was in the woman’s gaze. As a photographer, she could easily read emotions in people’s eyes. Even drunk, she managed to make out pessimism, sorrow, hope, calm, calculation, weighing options…

So many things.

But they all boiled down to one—

“Why are you so sad?”

Qiu Yiran reached out, gently touching the corner of the woman’s eye, and comforted her. “Don’t be sad. Tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

The woman lowered her eyes, her lashes like dragonflies perched there.

Dead dragonflies.

“You might not know this,” Qiu Yiran pressed after a long pause, “but I’m actually pretty capable.”

“You really could help me…”

Hearing that, the woman couldn’t help but laugh, though she didn’t share the secret. “But before that, I just need you not to forget.”

“Forget what?”

Qiu Yiran really wanted to know—what was this woman thinking back then? Why look at her with such desolate yet calm eyes?

But the memory was too hazy; she couldn’t recall all the details. She only remembered—

The woman cupped her cheek and planted a gentle kiss at the corner of her lips. Then they parted. In the dawn light, they gazed at each other. The woman looked at her for a long time before slowly saying,

“You proposed to me first.”

Their foreheads touched, bones pressing, her natural curls brushing Qiu Yiran’s face—a scent she would never forget.

“You can regret it.”

“But never forget.”

–

But Qiu Yiran had forgotten, after all.

At the start of 2020, she stood stunned on a Paris street, staring at the stranger before her.

This stranger was like a loose thread that, in a moment of calm, pulled all her forgotten Christmas Eve memories to the surface—

She had started it.

She had gotten drunk first and proposed to Li Chunfeng on the Annecy Love Bridge.

That’s why, after sobering up that day, Li Chunfeng had suddenly asked her—how long do two people need to know each other before they can get married?

That’s how they ended up getting married.

And in the end—

Christmas became their wedding anniversary, and she had thought Li Chunfeng had tricked her into it.

But from the very beginning, the puzzle she thought was complete had been missing the most crucial, most important piece.

Seeing her stand there speechless, dazed for so long, the stranger who had unwittingly revealed the truth added,

“So, I figured she’s your wife now, right?”

Before the words fully landed—

Qiu Yiran bolted without looking back.

The wind whipped her long hair as she frantically hailed a taxi. Manners be damned, she demanded the driver rush to the airport as fast as possible.

But she didn’t know Li Chunfeng’s flight time, so she took another precaution to avoid missing her—

A moving company.

Only now, rushing from the airport to the 18th arrondissement, panting as she reached Li Chunfeng’s apartment and saw her holding half a bottle of red wine, did she realize—

What she feared losing wasn’t the real reason she had run away.

The real reason was that the culprit was waiting for her to ask for a divorce.

And she didn’t want a divorce at all.

So, Qiu Yiran snatched the dangerous half-bottle of red wine, still gasping for breath, and said, “Li Chunfeng, I’m not mad at you. Don’t leave Paris.”

“Besides, aren’t we married?”

Li Chunfeng gave no response.

The apartment was empty and dark. Li Chunfeng stood in the dim light, her expression unreadable.

So Qiu Yiran clutched the half-bottle tightly, staring intently at Li Chunfeng—

She wasn’t good at expressing tender words, but people often said her eyes were warm and expressive, like they could speak.

She used to scoff at that.

Now, she clung to it like a lifeline.

Until Li Chunfeng dragged her suitcase forward a step.

“My place is expensive!”

In her panic, Qiu Yiran blurted it out.

Li Chunfeng stopped, looking at her in surprise. “What did you say?”

Unclear tone. Qiu Yiran tried to calm herself, exhaling deeply, and continued slowly,

“In the 15th arrondissement, just a 15-minute walk to the Seine River. Nearby metro lines 6, 8, and 10. 150 square meters, three bedrooms, one living room, elevator—no stairs. Brand-new renovations.”

“Oh, and I have a 100-inch TV, central heating, electric iron, smart washer, smart curtains. Separate kitchen with oven, dishwasher, microwave, range hood. If you want to cook, you won’t smell like oil and smoke. If not, I’ve been learning all kinds of Chinese cuisines lately—Hunan, Sichuan, Cantonese, Jiangsu…”

“After you move in, you can take the master bedroom. It has a projector, private shower and bathroom. The mattress is super comfy—I spent ages picking it. If it’s not to your liking, we can exchange it…”

Qiu Yiran racked her brain.

She had never talked so much in her life, but if Li Chunfeng didn’t agree soon, she might end up offering to buy an even more expensive place.

But Li Chunfeng just stood quietly in the cheap apartment, watching her. After she finished, she smiled faintly and said,

“So, you’re going to be my landlord?”

Qiu Yiran froze. “No, that’s not it.”

She hadn’t expected the misunderstanding.

Qiu Yiran pressed her lips tight, stepped forward, pressed down on Li Chunfeng’s suitcase, and felt a bit steadier. Pretending to be calm, she said,

“Li Chunfeng, actually, I’m pretty well-off.”

Li Chunfeng fell silent.

But she didn’t release the suitcase either, just scrutinizing Qiu Yiran in the shadowy light.

As if trying to see if this was just a whim, like that night on the Annecy Love Bridge.

“So, what I mean is—”

Qiu Yiran struggled to steady her breathing, to make her words sound formal.

“I’m not asking you to stay in Paris without thinking it through… I want…”

“At the very least, I can make it so staying in Paris isn’t so hard for you.”

“What gives you the right?” After she finished, Li Chunfeng suddenly asked.

“Right to what?” Qiu Yiran was stunned.

“Didn’t I trick you? You saw—I live in the 18th. I can’t even afford it without roommates. I work at a fried chicken shop just to scrape by. I drown myself in booze. Every day here is a struggle for me. No opportunities. Who knows, I might use you again, live in your place and trick you into doing all sorts of things for me. Maybe everything you see and hear is just a script I wrote…”

It sounded so heartfelt, but Li Chunfeng said it casually, as if downplaying it would shield her from hurt.

Because no expectations meant no disappointment.

“So, Qiu Yiran, what gives you the right to go this far for me?”

By the end, Li Chunfeng even laughed. “What gives you the right to keep me here?”

“Because…”

Qiu Yiran had felt this way many times herself—

When she first came to Paris, she’d had these doubts too. So no one understood better than her what someone asking these questions truly needed.

Hearing Li Chunfeng ask this, Qiu Yiran relaxed instead. She knew Li Chunfeng just wanted what she already had.

She was grateful for that.

And certain.

“Because I trust you.”

–

After that, Li Chunfeng didn’t speak.

A fleeting mix of emotions crossed her eyes—surprise, confusion, contemplation, and…

Relief.

Seizing the moment while Li Chunfeng was dazed, Qiu Yiran easily snatched the suitcase from her hand.

Even when the moving truck arrived—

She directed the driver to load Li Chunfeng’s single suitcase.

Finally, she scanned the empty apartment. There was nothing left worth moving.

But Qiu Yiran hated wasting money. Having called such a big truck, she wanted to make full use of it.

So she also took the two tall stacks of old magazines Li Chunfeng had set out for recycling by the door, and that red velvet sofa Li Chunfeng had scavenged herself…

And hauled them all back too.

Li Chunfeng had no objections to this.

She simply stayed silent, watching Qiu Yiran bustle about—she couldn’t understand why this person was putting in so much effort.

Finally, once the sand was delivered to Qiu Yiran’s 150-square-meter apartment, Qiu Yiran looked at the mismatched furnishings, sat on the obtrusive red velvet sofa for a moment, and sighed.

“It seems you really can’t be too stingy as a person.”

“Liar.” Li Chunfeng, who had been silent for so long, suddenly spoke up.

“What?” Qiu Yiran didn’t react at first.

Li Chunfeng raised her eyes to look at her.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll feel awkward around strangers, so you insisted on moving the sofa over? And you even gave the movers extra for the large items?”

“No.” Qiu Yiran hadn’t expected Li Chunfeng to see her tipping the movers afterward. She touched her nose. “It’s because I didn’t want to just throw things away carelessly. That would be too wasteful.”