Chapter 9 Vancouver Snow
The more Lu Huaichuan talked, the more disgusting it got. My hands shook from anger.
"Enough! Lu Huaichuan, Zhao Yu and I are clean."
"I’ve done nothing wrong in this relationship."
"And you—do you dare say you never wronged me?"
Lu Huaichuan froze for a second, then answered quickly. "Haven’t I been good enough to you?"
"I’ve been with you since I was twenty. I gave you emotional support. Whenever you needed me, I was there."
"I listened to everything you said. My studies, my work—I followed your arrangements."
"You threw a tantrum, so I flew back from Canada."
"What else do you want from me?"
Lu Huaichuan really was smart.
He turned chasing me on purpose so he could use me into “giving me emotional support.”
He turned how I’d carefully lifted him up and mapped out his studies and career into “listening to everything.”
He turned his cold violence into “me throwing a tantrum.”
He made everything light where it should’ve been heavy—twisting black into white.
If I hadn’t scrolled past his Xiaohongshu Post.
If I really had just been throwing a tantrum—
maybe I would’ve been talked into it. Maybe I would’ve even felt sorry for him flying so far back just to coax me.
But that day in Vancouver—the snow had been so heavy.
I stood in it until even my bones trembled from the cold.
Two voices fought in my head.
One said: wait a little longer.
One said: let go.
I looked at our WeChat chat window. It was all messages I’d sent out.
The last line was still my words:
"When you get home, call me back. I’m worried your fever will get worse and no one will take care of you."
But I never got his reply.
So worried that night, I bought a plane ticket right away.
I flew thousands of miles just to confirm whether he was safe.
When I got downstairs at his apartment building, his window glowed with dim yellow light.
In the first hour I stood in the snow, I told myself: as long as he answered my call, I would pretend I knew nothing.
But he hung up on me and told me he was "busy."
In the second hour, I told myself: as long as he finished and called me back, I would tell him I was waiting downstairs.
In the third hour, I told myself: I should talk to him first—try to hold on one more time.
Then I saw that girl in black clothes.
In the fourth hour, my hands and feet slowly went numb.
The burning love that used to fill my chest also slowly froze into ice.
One gentle poke—and it shattered all over the ground.
So I persuaded myself: let go.
End things well.