TFRLTOP Chapter 42 Part 1

Chapter 42 – The Rustic Wife of the Educated Youth

◎ Ming Ming: Divorce! I want a divorce! ◎

Ming Ming had some drinks, read a steamy little story before bed, and fell asleep satisfied, dreamless until morning. Yan Junsheng wasn’t so lucky. The shock from the night before left him tossing and turning, unable to sleep a wink.

He flipped through that book over and over.

He couldn’t make sense of it. How could she like reading this stuff? She didn’t even understand planned economics—no, wait—she didn’t even understand liking someone. How could she read this?

And it wasn’t even a so-called literary classic about love. It was crude black-and-white text that somehow painted vivid, sweaty, tangled-up bodies in the mind.

Indecent!

Completely indecent!!

Then he remembered—she’d brought the book back from town.

And who had she gone with? Wang Hu.

Of course! Wang Hu must have corrupted her.

Grinding his molars, Yan Junsheng thought bitterly, Didn’t I say that guy was no good? My wife is supposed to go to college one day, and here he is, trying to drag her into the gutter. Pure bad intentions!

Next time he wrote to Bai Yuehua, he’d ask her to mail back a copy of Madame Bovary or Anna Karenina. At least those could give Chen Chanjian a bit of cultured influence. And if she found them too difficult, he could always read them to her…

He’d tell her things like, See? Affairs never end well.

Not that she’d necessarily understand.

Yan Junsheng sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, dark circles under his eyes. Ming Ming stirred awake, stretching under the blanket like some lazy creature, letting out a long, drawn-out groan. To him, it looked downright indecent, though she just looked comfortably drowsy.

When she finally turned over and saw his haggard face, she jumped.

“Did you smoke opium?” Her expression was like she’d seen a ghost. Then her brain caught up. “Wait, no—that was last century.”

She nudged him through the quilt with her foot. “What’s wrong with you?”

His eyes stayed lowered, dark and expressionless, but the exhaustion etched into his face was enough to suggest all kinds of emotions.

Ming Ming tried to think back. Yesterday, she’d had drinks with her dad—not that much, just enough to make her dizzy when leaving.

Leaving… leaving… hadn’t she run into Yan Junsheng? Did he come pick her up? Why was he there? What state was he in?

She couldn’t remember…

Looking at him now… Don’t tell me something happened to his family? Or maybe that childhood sweetheart heroine of his had an accident? Did the timeline change again?

“System? System?” Ming Ming called internally, feeling something was seriously off with him.

But the system played dead.

She hesitated. If he really had gotten bad news, he must be miserable right now. Out of sympathy, Ming Ming decided to comfort him.

“You… my condolences? No, I mean…” She sat up, scooted closer, propped herself on one hand, and patted him with the other. Sincere, solemn, she said, “It’ll pass. You’ve got to look forward.”

Yan Junsheng lifted his eyelids to glance at her.

From that one look, Ming Ming somehow read: What nonsense are you spouting? A bad feeling struck her.

The next second, Yan Junsheng, in a monotone like he was reciting, began:

“Gao Cui said to Wu Jia: ‘Old Wu, I know you’re off to do great things, and I shouldn’t hold you back, but I really can’t bear it. Especially when I think of those nights you made me□□… Before you leave, could you maybe—’”

Ming Ming’s mind went blank. She slapped a hand over his mouth, shouting, “Shut up!”

Every hair on her body stood on end, goosebumps racing everywhere, her molars aching like she’d bitten into an unripe persimmon, her scalp tingling like fingernails on a chalkboard.

He had actually read it out loud—complete with the country bumpkin “me, me” dialect.

God above, kill me now!

Why, in this world, too, did she have to suffer this kind of public execution?

It took ages for Ming Ming to shake off the shame and panic. Furious, she yelled, “You—you actually peeked at my book?!”

And here she’d been, kind enough to try to comfort him.

Yan Junsheng pried her hand off and said flatly, “Do you want me to remind you who was the one reading and tugging at me yesterday, trying to tell me a story?”

Ming Ming thought back, couldn’t recall—but that didn’t stop her from denying everything. “You’re full of it!”

Yan Junsheng sneered. “I’ve passed the shop ten times and seen you with that book at least eight. So this is what’s so captivating about it, huh?”

Ming Ming eyed him warily. She wasn’t great at history, but she vaguely remembered a time when social morals were harsh, when they even had ‘hooligan crimes.’ What was he planning? Was he going to report her?

No way… is he really that upright?

She blurted, “Don’t you slander me! I never read it with you, and I definitely didn’t spread any indecent material. Don’t even think about reporting me!”

Yan Junsheng: “…?”

“It was you who stole it from me when I wasn’t looking!” Ming Ming pressed on, her tone hard. “If you report me, I’ll report you for theft!”

Yan Junsheng grabbed her cheeks. “What on earth is going on in that head of yours?”

Ming Ming mumbled through squished lips, “I’m honest and decent! I only read for myself, I never spread it! I’ll never sell out the old man who runs the bookstore either, so don’t think you’ll get any evidence from me…”

“Who said I was going to report you? Do you think I’m that kind of person?” Yan Junsheng scolded softly.

Ming Ming still looked at him with a trace of suspicion.

“You really think I’m that bad?” Yan Junsheng leaned closer. “You heartless little thing.”

He added quickly, “That’s not what I meant.”