The impulse struck him with the sudden, irrational clarity of a shaft of sunlight breaking through weeks of overcast sky. It was a Tuesday, unremarkable in every way, the kind of day that typically blurred into the quiet rhythm of his writing life. Su Suo had been wrestling with a stubborn paragraph for hours, the words refusing to coalesce on the screen. The memory of the strained family dinner and the lingering, cold weight of the anniversary night sat like a sediment at the bottom of his consciousness, a low hum of disquiet that he had been diligently ignoring.
Perhaps it was this very unease that prompted the need for a gesture, an act of normalcy to prove that everything was still intact. Or perhaps it was a deeper, more instinctual need to seek reassurance, to confront the ghost of that unfamiliar cologne and the phantom lipstick stain with a tangible proof of his own devotion. So, he decided to bake.
The kitchen, still carrying the faint, melancholic scent of extinguished candles from two nights prior, was transformed once more, this time by the warm, comforting aromas of butter, sugar, and vanilla. He moved with a focused intensity, sifting flour, whisking eggs, his movements a silent incantation against the doubts that whispered at the edges of his mind. He chose to make dan tat, the delicate Portuguese egg tarts that Li Hongyang had once professed to love after a business trip to Macau. It was a finicky recipe, requiring patience and a precise hand—qualities Su Suo possessed in abundance. As he carefully folded the pastry and poured the custard, each step felt like a stitch meant to mend a tear he couldn't quite see.
By mid-afternoon, the tarts were perfect, their flaky crusts golden-brown, the centers a shimmering, just-set yellow. He arranged them in a simple white pastry box, tying it with a twine bow. The domesticity of the act, its sheer innocence, filled him with a fragile hope. He would take them to Li Hongyang's office, a surprise visit. He pictured the look of pleased astonishment on Li Hongyang's face, the casual arm slung around his shoulder as he introduced him to colleagues—"This is my partner, Su Suo, the brilliant writer." It was a scene that had played out before, though infrequently, and it always gave Su Suo a quiet, possessive thrill. Today, he needed that thrill. He needed to see that the world they had built over five years still had a solid foundation.
He dressed with care, choosing a cashmere sweater in a soft cream color that complemented his complexion and a well-cut wool coat. He looked every inch the cultured, privileged young man he was—effortlessly elegant, carrying an air of refinement that was both innate and cultivated by a lifetime of exposure to the best things. The reflection in the mirror was reassuring. He was Su Suo, acclaimed author, scion of the Su family. He was not a man to be easily shaken by baseless suspicions.
The drive to the towering glass-and-steel monolith that housed Li Hongyang's company did little to quell the subtle anxiety that had begun to replace his initial optimism. The building, a testament to corporate power and cold ambition, seemed to dwarf his small, heartfelt gesture. In the vast, marble-floored lobby, the air was chilled and smelled of disinfectant and expensive perfume. The receptionist, a young woman with an impeccably polished demeanor, recognized him immediately.
"Mr. Su, what a pleasure to see you," she said, her smile professional yet genuinely warm. Su Suo had a way of eliciting such reactions; his quiet charm and genuine lack of pretension were disarming.
"I brought something for Li ," Su Suo said, lifting the pastry box slightly. "Is he available for a moment?"
The receptionist's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "Mr. Li is currently in a meeting, I'm afraid." She consulted her screen. "He's upstairs in Chairman Mu's office, giving a project update. It might be a while."
Chairman Mu. Mu Yufeng. The name landed with a quiet thud in Su Suo's stomach. He knew the name, of course. Mu Yufeng was a legend in the business world, a self-made titan whose rise from nothing was the stuff of case studies. He was also, Su Suo recalled with a distant ping of recognition, a friend of his brother, Su Qing. He had seen him once or twice at large family functions, a tall, imposing figure who carried his immense success with a surprising, understated humility. A man of quiet power, the antithesis of Li Hongyang's sometimes-brash ambition.
"Oh, that's quite all right," Su Suo heard himself say, his voice remarkably steady. "I'll just wait. Perhaps I'll pop up and surprise him if the meeting is wrapping up."
The receptionist, perhaps charmed or unwilling to deny the request of someone who so clearly belonged to this rarefied world, nodded. "Of course, Mr. Su. Chairman Mu's office is on the top floor, the corner suite. You can take the executive elevator."
The ascent in the soundless, panoramic elevator was a journey through layers of ambition. The city sprawled out beneath him, a intricate map of power and striving. With each passing floor, the pastry box in his hand felt lighter, more insubstantial, a child's offering in a den of wolves. He stepped out into a corridor so quiet the air itself seemed hushed. The carpet was thick and plush, absorbing his footsteps. This was the sanctum sanctorum, where the real decisions were made.
He followed the discreet signage to the double doors of the chairman's office. One door was slightly ajar, perhaps to allow for the circulation of air, or perhaps because the meeting within was so routine it required no formality. As he approached, he heard the low murmur of voices. One was Li Hongyang's. But the tone was unlike any Su Suo had ever heard him use.
It was not the casual, sometimes-boastful tone he used at home. It was not the slightly weary, perfunctory tone of the other night. This voice was layered with a sycophantic warmth, a cloying deference that was both intimate and utterly alien. It was the voice of a supplicant at the altar.
Su Suo froze a few feet from the door, his heart beginning a slow, heavy drumming against his ribs. The rational part of his brain told him to announce his presence, to knock, to walk in with a smile. But his feet were rooted to the spot. He found himself shifting silently, drawn to the narrow sliver of light between the door and its frame, his view partially obscured by the vertical blinds of the floor-to-ceiling window behind them.
Through the gaps in the blinds, the scene unfolded with the cruel clarity of a staged play.
Li Hongyang was standing close—too close—to the man seated in the large, leather executive chair. The man was Mu Yufeng. He was indeed as Su Suo remembered, though the proximity revealed more: an aura of calm authority that required no external validation. He was listening, his expression neutral, almost detached.
But it was Li Hongyang who held Su Suo's horrified gaze. He was leaning over, his body angled in a posture of submission and intimacy that was entirely unprofessional. In his hands was the end of Mu Yufeng's silk tie. He wasn't just holding it; he was carefully, meticulously smoothing it, his fingers lingering on the fabric with a possessive familiarity that stole the air from Su Suo's lungs.
"The board was immensely impressed, Yufeng," Li Hongyang was saying, his voice a low, ingratiating purr. The use of the given name, so casual, so presumptuous, hit Su Suo like a physical blow. "This promotion… it wouldn't have happened without your faith in me. I know I owe it all to you."
His eyes, as he looked down at Mu Yufeng, were the most devastating part. They held a naked adoration, a raw hunger for approval that was mixed with a glint of triumphant possession. It was a look Su Suo had never seen directed at himself, not even in their most passionate moments. It was the look of a man who had staked his entire being on the favor of the person before him.
Mu Yufeng's response was a slight, almost imperceptible nod. He did not pull away. He did not smile. His acceptance of the gesture, his passive allowance of this intimate violation of professional boundaries, was a confirmation more damning than any words.
The world did not slow down. It did not shatter with a roar. Instead, it simply stopped. The low hum of the air conditioning, the distant traffic sounds from forty floors below—everything faded into an immense, crushing silence. The carefully constructed reality of the last five years, the anniversaries, the shared jokes, the imagined future, collapsed in on itself like a black hole. The unfamiliar cologne, the lipstick stain, the expensive watch—they were not isolated anomalies. They were pieces of a puzzle he had refused to see, and now the final, horrifying piece had clicked into place.
The white pastry box felt suddenly heavy, a leaden weight of his own naivete. The delicate, buttery tarts inside were a monument to his foolishness. A sound, a faint, strangled gasp, escaped his lips. His fingers, gone numb, lost their grip.
The box fell.
It did not clatter. It landed with a soft, pathetic thud on the plush carpet, the lid coming askew. The perfect, golden tarts spilled out, their flaky shells crumbling, the yellow custard smearing against the pristine white cardboard like a grotesque parody of a wound.
The sound, though muted, was enough. Li Hongyang's head snapped up, his eyes darting towards the door. For a fleeting second, his gaze met Su Suo's. In that instant, Su Suo saw not guilt, not panic, but a flash of sheer, unadulterated annoyance—as if Su Suo were an inconvenient interruption, a pet that had misbehaved.
It was that look, more than anything else, that sealed it.
Su Suo did not wait. He did not storm in, did not demand an explanation. There were no words vast enough to contain the cataclysm happening inside him. The pain was so acute it was beyond feeling, a white-hot shock that instantly froze into a core of absolute, glacial stillness. His face, reflected in the dark glass of a wall panel, was a pale, expressionless mask.
He turned on his heel. His walk down the hushed corridor was not a flight; it was a somnambulist's retreat, measured and eerily calm. He pressed the button for the elevator, his hand steady. The descent was a blur. He walked through the lobby, past the smiling receptionist who called out a goodbye he didn't hear, and out into the cold, indifferent air of the city.
He walked without direction, the image seared onto the back of his eyelids: the obsequious posture, the intimate touch on the tie, the look of worship in Li Hongyang's eyes. And then, as he passed two young employees smoking by a side entrance, their conversation, meant to be private, floated to him on a plume of smoke.
"...Li and the Chairman? Yeah, well, it's an open secret, isn't it?"
"Six years, my friend told me in HR. Started almost as soon as Mu took over. Hell of a way to climb the ladder."
"Shh, keep your voice down. But yeah, everyone knows. Just don't say anything. It's… understood."
Six years.
The word was a final, brutal nail in the coffin. Six years. He and Li Hongyang had been together for five. The entire foundation of their relationship, the very chronology of their love, was a lie. He hadn't been the other man; he had, in the cruelest twist, been the other man. He was the secret, the side affair, the pathetic fool who baked egg tarts while his lover of five years was, and had always been, devoted to another.
The pain did not return. It was replaced by a hollow, vast emptiness. It was the silence after an explosion, a landscape utterly leveled. There was no anger, no tears, not yet. There was only the chilling, absolute clarity of the truth. The illusion had not just been cracked, as it had been during the anniversary and the family dinner. It had been utterly, completely, and irrevocably shattered. And Su Suo was left standing alone in the rubble, the custodian of a love that had never, ever existed.