My Ex Who Dumped Me Comes to Hook Me Up Every Day - Chapter 28

At the entrance of Shuxiang Jiayuan Community, Jin Zhou waited for Jiang Yuhuai in her car.

The rainy season had arrived, and the incessant drip-drip-drip of rain against the windows filled the air.

Jin Zhou liked a new post from Friend A on WeChat, but nothing else caught her eye as she scrolled down.

She put her phone down and gazed absently at the familiar street.

Just half an hour earlier, Jiang Yuhuai had invited her to come over.

Jin Zhou had initially thought she could accept with breezy ease, eager to see the environment Jiang Yuhuai had lived in all these years.

But at the last moment, fear overwhelmed her curiosity, transforming into a polite refusal.

What was she afraid of?

Jin Zhou couldn’t quite articulate it herself.

Perhaps she feared that Jiang Yuhuai wasn’t just living in this community, but—

living in that long-abandoned house.

Living in their shared memories.

The passenger door opened.

Jiang Yuhuai folded her umbrella and leaned into the car, her figure shrouded in a misty haze.

“Sorry for the wait,” she said. “Did I keep you waiting long?”

Jin Zhou glanced over her shoulder, noticing that Jiang Yuhuai’s clothes were quite damp from the rain.

She averted her gaze. “Change your clothes.”

Jiang Yuhuai studied her profile. “Zhouzhou, are you worried about me?”

Jin Zhou watched the windshield wipers swing back and forth, her voice flat. “I’m just afraid you’ll get the car dirty.”

Jiang Yuhuai pressed on. “Then why did you turn on the heater?”

Jin Zhou paused.

“I’m cold.”

It was early summer, and while the eastern rain kept the temperature mild, turning on the heater was still rather odd.

Aware of this, Jin Zhou quickly changed the subject.

“How long have you lived here?”

A faint smile curved Jiang Yuhuai’s lips. He stopped teasing her and wiped his hands with a tissue.

“Four years.”

Why four years?

Jin Zhou frowned imperceptibly.

Jiang Yuhuai gazed out at the darkening sky, a hint of regret in his eyes.

“It should have been six.”

If Jin Zhou had previously suspected Jiang Yuhuai’s presence here was merely a coincidence, his words now pointed to a different conclusion.

Jiang Yuhuai’s words now pointed clearly to another answer.

Jin Zhou didn’t press the issue, asking casually, “Why four years?”

Jiang Yuhuai’s hands froze. She turned to look at Jin Zhou and smiled helplessly. “Because I had no money for the first two years after we separated.”

Logically, Jin Zhou and Jiang Yuhuai’s relationship had begun with money and ended with money. Hearing that word again should have filled her with anger.

But Jiang Yuhuai’s hair clung to her face, her complexion unnaturally pale from the rain. Even those eyes, usually indifferent to everything, now held a flicker of helplessness Jin Zhou had never seen before.

Suddenly, Jin Zhou felt as if something had clenched her heart, squeezing it with a sharp, aching pain.

She took a deep breath. “Jiang Shuyi said you’ve been having a hard time these past few years?”

Jiang Yuhuai smiled dismissively. “She was just saying things. Don’t worry about it.”

Jin Zhou noticed the pause before Jiang Yuhuai spoke and the way she deliberately avoided her gaze.

At this point, what was there left to misunderstand?

The gaunt figure.

The frail body.

Every fact confirmed it: during their six years apart, Jiang Yuhuai had not been doing well at all.

Jin Zhou looked up at the woman beside her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jiang Yuhuai paused, startled. “Tell you what?”

Her throat felt constricted, making it difficult to speak. Jin Zhou pressed her lips together.

“That you weren’t doing well. Why didn’t you tell me?”

I thought you’d be better off without me, which is why I left so decisively. If I had known you were suffering, if I had known things would turn out like this… I never would have left.

Hearing this, Jiang Yuhuai froze.

In the silence that followed, her eyes gradually reddened, the corners growing damp like a light drizzle.

She said with self-deprecating humor, “I’ve been doing fine. This was my own choice. Besides, you had it even harder, didn’t you?”

Jin Zhou’s eyes also reddened, not just with sorrow, but with anger.

Her voice trembled as she asked, “If you knew I was struggling, why didn’t you reach out to me?”

Jiang Yuhuai lowered her gaze and said, as if joking, “You blocked me.”

Jin Zhou’s grip on the steering wheel tightened and loosened.

“No, that’s not why.”

Jin Zhou had indeed blocked Jiang Yuhuai’s phone number, WeChat, and all other means of contact.

But that had happened six months after she left.

The two still shared many mutual friends and classmates.

They could have relayed messages, and they knew her mailing address.

Apart from the phone, Jiang Yuhuai had countless ways to reach her.

She hadn’t contacted her.

Not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to.

“Don’t overthink it. There’s no other reason. I really just couldn’t reach you.”

Jiang Yuhuai said this casually and reached for her seatbelt.

Jin Zhou grabbed her hand, staring intently at her.

“Jiang Yuhuai, you’ve been lying to me for six years. How much longer do you plan to keep this up?”

Forced to meet Jin Zhou’s gaze, Jiang Yuhuai finally had the chance to measure those slightly reddened eyes again.

And the complex emotions churning within them:

Confusion, resentment, anger—but most of all—

A suppressed ache of heartache.

How ironic.

A victim through and through, yet she cared more about others than herself.

It seemed to Jin Zhou,

that what mattered more than Jiang Yuhuai’s abrupt departure six years ago and her subsequent silence wasn’t the act itself, but the reason Jiang Yuhuai had silently shouldered everything alone.

For the first time, Jiang Yuhuai doubted the correctness of her actions.

Which was more important: family ties maintained through lies, or the truth?

What would Jin Zhou choose?

After a tense few minutes, Jiang Yuhuai relented inwardly.

She sighed softly, “It’s late. Can we talk about this at home?”

Jin Zhou’s gaze flickered, about to reply.

Ding-a-ling!

The car’s voice system chimed, displaying an incoming call on the screen.

Caller: Mom.

Jin Zhou was surprised.

Why would her mother call at this hour?

Regardless, this wasn’t the right time to answer. She swiped right to hang up.

Moments after the screen returned to the home page, Lin Xin called again.

In the quiet room, the ringing phone echoed relentlessly, its shrill tone suggesting it wouldn’t stop until she answered.

Jin Zhou frowned, wondering what Lin Xin was up to this time.

“It’s my mom. It might be urgent.”

Jiang Yuhuai nodded silently.

When Jin Zhou answered, Lin Xin’s voice came through the receiver: “Xiao Zhou? Are you asleep?”

Xiao Zhou was Jin Zhou’s childhood nickname, one Lin Xin hadn’t used in years.

Jin Zhou paused, swallowing the perfunctory reply she’d been about to give. “Not yet.”

Lin Xin sounded concerned. “Why are you still up so late? You need to take care of yourself!”

“I was out with friends I haven’t seen in a while,” Jin Zhou explained. “It got late.”

Lin Xin asked casually, “Oh… are you still with your friends?”

Jin Zhou instinctively concealed Jiang Yuhuai’s presence. “No, I’m just about to head home.”

“Oh.” Lin Xin seemed relieved.

“Is there something you need?” Jin Zhou asked. “Why are you calling so late?”

Lin Xin chuckled. “Nothing special. As I get older, my health has been acting up, and I can’t sleep at night. Then I start worrying about whether you’ve eaten properly and if work is going smoothly.”

For Lin Xin, topics like aging and physical decline were always emotionally charged.

At times like these, Jin Zhou would soften her tone, a rare occurrence.

“I’m doing well. Take care of yourself, Mom. Don’t worry about me and get some rest early tonight.”

Lin Xin agreed, then asked, “Xiao Zhou, Saturday is my birthday. Will you be free? Can you come home to see me?”

Normally, Jin Zhou would have refused outright, but since it was Lin Xin’s birthday, she replied, “I will.”

Lin Xin sounded delighted. “That’s wonderful! Drive safely on your way home. I’ll have Auntie make your favorite boiled shrimp.”

Actually, it was Jin Wei, not Jin Zhou, who loved boiled shrimp. She was allergic to it.

Jin Zhou paused, then decided not to correct Lin Xin. She simply replied, “Okay.”

After the call ended, the car fell silent again.

Jin Zhou glanced at Jiang Yuhuai.

Jiang Yuhuai was turned toward the window, gazing out at something.

Following her gaze, Jin Zhou looked out as well.

Under the dim yellow streetlights, the road was deserted.

Through the rain-streaked window, they could barely make out raindrops striking the ground, sending up small splashes that grew more violent with each passing moment.

Remembering their earlier conversation, Jin Zhou asked, “Do you mean what you said earlier?”

Buzz—

Before Jin Zhou could answer, a flash of white light flickered, and the nearest streetlamp went out.

With only the faint glow of the dashboard remaining, the car plunged into momentary darkness.

This road, not far from C University, had been built long ago, and it was normal for its aging infrastructure to malfunction.

Jin Zhou raised her hand to turn on the interior light.

Jiang Yuhuai didn’t turn around, asking casually, “What are you referring to?”

Jin Zhou’s hand froze in mid-air, and her restless emotions threatened to reignite.

She lowered her gaze and repeated Jiang Yuhuai’s words: “You said you’d tell me what you’ve been hiding from me after we get home.”

Jiang Yuhuai didn’t reply immediately.

After a few seconds, she said, “I’ve thought about it. Let’s wait until next time.”

A flicker of surprise crossed Jin Zhou’s eyes. “Why?”

“It’s nothing. I just don’t think the time is right yet.”

Jiang Yuhuai’s voice was utterly calm, like a cold, emotionless breeze seeping through a window crack.

She was different from before.

Jin Zhou frowned, drawing this conclusion.

But why?

No one could tell her the reason.

Jin Zhou exhaled deeply. “When do you think the time will be right?”

Jiang Yuhuai fell silent.

Just moments ago, through the car’s speakers, she had heard that all-too-familiar middle-aged woman’s voice with crystal clarity.

The scenes from six years ago played out in her mind like a slow-motion film, frame by frame. The tangled emotions that had been churning in her heart instantly calmed.

Saturday was Auntie’s birthday.

Jin Zhou asked when would be a good time.

Jiang Yuhuai didn’t know the answer either.

As time passed, the silence gradually transformed into an invisible blade, piercing the already scabbed-over wound. The dull ache intensified into a sharp, searing pain.

Jin Zhou’s nose stung, and her vision blurred. She bit her lower lip, desperate to avoid showing weakness in front of Jiang Yuhuai. But even as she tasted the faint metallic tang of bl00d on her tongue, she couldn’t stop the tears from welling up.

Outside, the heavy rain continued to fall. Inside, the smaller rain quietly disappeared into the folds of her clothes.

After what felt like an eternity, Jiang Yuhuai finally spoke.

“Zhouzhou, wait for me…”

“Jiang Yuhuai.”

Jin Zhou took a deep breath, forcing her voice to remain steady.

“Is it fun to play with me?”

She believed she had lowered her standards again and again, seeking only the truth Jiang Yuhuai claimed to possess.

Yet even this simple request was repeatedly ignored.

Unless Jiang Yuhuai was deliberately toying with her, she couldn’t fathom any other explanation.

Jiang Yuhuai froze, instinctively replying, “Zhouzhou, I haven’t.”

Jin Zhou’s gaze was devoid of warmth as she countered, “Then what do you have?”

Jiang Yuhuai clenched her fists, her nails digging painfully into her palms. “I just… haven’t figured out how to tell you.”

Jin Zhou’s lips curled slightly as she averted her gaze. “You want to say you have your reasons, right?”

Jiang Yuhuai didn’t answer, but in a way, her silence was an admission.

Jin Zhou chuckled derisively. “Then let me ask you this, Jiang Yuhuai: do you love me?”

The rain roared, drowning out every faint sound.

But to Jiang Yuhuai, sitting in the confined space with her, Jin Zhou’s trembling voice was unmistakable.

Without hesitation, Jiang Yuhuai answered, “I do.”

But the person across from her didn’t believe it.

Jin Zhou remained silent, gazing steadily at her for a moment before shaking her head.

“You don’t love me.”

Some say that when you’re about to lose someone, you feel a premonition.

The moment those three words landed, Jiang Yuhuai’s premonition of losing Jin Zhou reached its peak.

Countless memories and images flashed through her mind. She recalled Jin Zhou’s words from that night:

Prove it to me.

That was her last lifeline.

“I can prove it to you,” she said.

Jin Zhou turned to Jiang Yuhuai.

“How will you prove it?”

“Another ‘I love you’?”

“Here? On the street, where anyone could walk by at any moment?”

“Car s3x?”

“Will you fvck me? Or will I fvck you?”

Beneath the calm surface of her eyes lay hysteria, love and hatred intertwined. Jin Zhou felt as if she were being torn in two.

Her words became a double-edged sword, piercing Jiang Yuhuai while wounding herself.

Jiang Yuhuai pressed her lips together. “…Stop talking.”

A cruel smile curled Jin Zhou’s lips. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Jiang Yuhuai’s hand hovered over the seatbelt buckle, her fingertips trembling slightly.

“Zhouzhou, are you serious?”

Jin Zhou looked up at her. In the dim light, the color of her eyes was dark and unreadable.

“Jiang Yuhuai, do you dare?”