2 A Happy Life Begins with a Decision

Half a Year Ago.

“To Bai Wei.

“It’s been a year and a half since we last met. I put my exams on hold, traveled all the way back home for you, my childhood friend, just to attend your wedding with that damned lucky guy. And then, before the wedding, you and that guy eloped? You didn’t even show up at your own ceremony? There I was, standing like an idiot, listening to the furious roars of your family elders…

“But in the end, I understood. This must be what you wanted. Ever since we were children, you were always oppressed under your grandfather’s control, weren’t you? To marry the one you love, break free from your family, and finally have the right to begin a new and happy life… When I think about it, I’m actually jealous. Jealous of that lucky person who married you. (crossed out)

“But it’s been a year and a half, and you barely reply to my messages, you don’t post anything new on social media, only the new manuscripts received by the editorial office prove you’re still alive. I got your current address from your editor and sent you this letter. Are you doing well? Are you so busy with happiness that you’ve chosen to cut off all contact with the outside world?

“In any case, I just want to know how you’re doing now. You, who always took everything seriously and perfectly, must still be sticking to every decision and living a perfect life. But now, it seems like something has gone wrong. Of course, if there’s anything troubling you… if there’s anything at all… please don’t hesitate to message me.

“Even if you’re married now, I’ll always be your friend—Li Yuan.

“P.S. Don’t pay any mind to the rumors; I haven’t believed a word. You’re nothing like they say, vain and talentless. And with your intelligence, I’m sure your family and marriage are going well.”

Bai Wei finished reading the letter on the bench at the door. His fingers were pale, his expression weary. Under the postman’s curious gaze, he folded the letter, still redolent with the scent of earth and perfume, and slipped it into his pocket.

“Is that a letter from a friend in the big city? I’ve never seen such an exquisite envelope,” the postman asked, gossip-laden.

“Yes, an old friend,” Bai Wei replied politely.

Just as he was unwilling to reveal a single word of the letter’s contents to the postman, Bai Wei would never confide his troubles to Li Yuan, the childhood friend so concerned he had sent a letter. Not a word about the chaos of his life after eloping with “that person.” Bai Wei was raised to be deeply traditional by his grandfather; Li Yuan was his childhood companion, and their grandfathers were old friends.

Which meant, anything Li Yuan knew would easily reach his grandfather.

Bai Wei brushed imaginary dust from his clothes and stood up from the bench. The sun shone dazzlingly on the post office’s red roof, the laughter of children echoed from the fountain square, passersby cycled past, humming as they went. Everyone seemed content in their settled lives.

Only Bai Wei was different. No matter how long he’d been here, he always felt out of place in this small town.

He had nothing to do. As a writer, even his inspiration had run dry. Sometimes he would sit for an entire afternoon in the grove near the post office, pretending to read the newspaper, just to hear the sounds of people and convince himself he was normal.

But Bai Wei found this all rather pointless. No one cared if he was reading the newspaper or not; no one handed him a flyer, nor did anyone notice he was striving to act like a person with normal emotions.

Perhaps his guardedness toward Li Yuan was pointless too. After he’d eloped for this marriage, his grandfather’s family, who had raised him, cut off all contact, abandoning their disobedient grandson without hesitation.

At dusk, all the children went home, hand in hand with their parents. He had lost his old family, and apart from his new one, he had nowhere else to go. But the marriage he’d entered to escape his old family—this home that seemed perfect to outsiders—was, in truth, a kind of hell.

“Bai Wei! Here to buy groceries again? I’ve seen you around often lately,” the shopkeeper greeted him, then joked with the person next to her, “I actually believed you when you said those two weren’t getting along! What kind of unhappy couple shops for groceries and cooks every day?”

“That wasn’t me, it was the internet. Didn’t a neighbor from their street tell a reporter? Something about a once-promising genius writer, now a washed-up nobody, eloped to the countryside with an unhappy marriage—too much reading muddled his brains. Unlike another couple in town… Oh, oops, I forgot you were still here.” The vendor handed Bai Wei a wilted bunch of scallions in apology. “Don’t mind what people say online or in the papers—no one believes it anymore.”

“Exactly. They bought such a big house! And really, who ever heard of eloping with someone you don’t love? That’d be just plain foolish,” the shopkeeper said, picking out the plumpest tomatoes. “You two should join the town gatherings, like the ones the dentist’s family always hosts… They must have invited you, right?”

Invitation?

Bai Wei thought his smile must be perfect. He said, “I should get going. Lucien will be home soon.”

This time, Bai Wei didn’t throw all the groceries away like before.

But he tossed those scallions into the trash.

Tomatoes, carrots, onions, beef—ingredients for soup were neatly set on the table, then simmered in the pot. The swirling rumors were locked outside. In fact, it was all relatively mild. Compared to the rumor mills of big cities, the gossip here in this small town was nothing.

But as Bai Wei stood by the sink, staring into the mirror, he thought: No, the shopkeeper heard right. The rumors were true.

His old family had suffocated him; his new home was little better. His relationship with Lucien was chilly, strange, and had finally reached a point he could no longer endure. And because Bai Wei was so traditional—faithful to his marriage—he could not accept the idea of divorce or infidelity.

What’s more, if his grandfather ever found out, he would be even more disappointed.

Even though the truth of his marriage was more absurd than any rumor: the person who called himself his “husband” was a zombie, returned from the grave.

He had suffered a breakdown, fled his old home, gotten engaged, eloped, and fallen out with his publisher. He thought life couldn’t get worse—until he discovered his “husband” was a zombie.

But it would all soon be over—at least, partially. Because soon, he’d be widowed.

Then, with the insurance money, he would leave the town, never return home, never write again, and go somewhere else.

Bai Wei smiled at his reflection—a mere cold tug at the corners of his mouth. He tried again, arching his eyes—a glint of menace instead. Forced, he pulled up a live tutorial he had watched countless times before.

“How to Act Cute for Your Husband.”

Bai Wei could swear by his degree; he wasn’t doing this to save his marriage. He did it only to make his stew appear less suspicious.

He and Lucien had been distant for a long time. They didn’t get up together, sat at the same table eating takeout in silence, never made love before bed. They were like strangers sharing a bed. If he were Lucien, he wouldn’t drink tomato soup brought by a husband with a cold face either.

Bai Wei had to put on an act. Only then would he have a chance to get rid of “husband” without arousing suspicion.

After watching the program five times, Bai Wei adjusted his expression again. This time, his own reflection startled him.

“Happy.”

The handsome young man in the mirror smiled, eyes shining.

“Shy.”

He lowered his head, cheeks tinged with bashfulness.

“Aggrieved.”

Tears glittered on his long lashes.

These expressions were enough to make anyone’s skin crawl. If his old friends or colleagues could see him now, they’d be shocked. Bai Wei returned to the kitchen, his face blank.

But it was just for today.

The dining table was covered with a lace cloth, candles glowing warmly. Tomato soup bubbled on the stove, its aroma filling the house. Never in his life had Bai Wei smelled such a fresh, rich, home-cooked scent in his own home.

And now, it was all to “send Lucien back.”

“Ding dong!”

The doorbell rang.

A tall man appeared on the monitor. Bai Wei stood at 181 centimeters, but this man looked to be nearly two meters tall. His features were as chiselled as a Greek sculpture—enough to make anyone fall for him. Even at their first meeting, Bai Wei had thought his looks were impressive—though he couldn’t understand how his traditional grandfather had arranged for him to meet a man.

But Bai Wei soon discovered countless unbearable quirks about this man. For instance, now.

On the monitor, after pressing the doorbell, the man glanced back, looked at the door, then looked back again, like a spy checking for a tail.

More absurd still, he wore a constant, unshakable smile.

“Your husband acts like a thief,” a neighbor once laughed, glancing at Bai Wei, clearly relishing her sense of superiority.

Bai Wei could never understand how someone so well-matched in family and background could have such odd habits, as if he’d lived under constant threat of assassination. If Lucien hadn’t always been this way—even at their first meeting—Bai Wei would have suspected he’d been replaced.

It used to trouble Bai Wei greatly. But now, none of it mattered.

“I forgot my key when I left this morning…”

“Welcome home,” Bai Wei said.

Lucien looked up, surprised.

Usually cold, Bai Wei now stood panting at the foot of the stairs, his pale cheeks flushed from running. The scent of tomato soup drifted from the living room; a pink, ruffled apron was tied around Bai Wei’s slender waist.

He had always been thin, as if he never ate properly. Even so, the apron suited his tall figure. Seeing Lucien’s gaze, Bai Wei lowered his lashes, looking a bit shy. Had there been dewdrops on his lashes, they would have trembled.

The man frowned, clearly baffled by the scene.

“Change your shoes first,” Bai Wei said. “You must be tired. I’ll get you a stool.”

He ran back inside.

But clearly, he and Lucien had no tacit understanding. By the time Bai Wei returned with the stool, Lucien had already changed his shoes, standing in the entryway. A vein pulsed on Bai Wei’s forehead—his effort wasted—he wanted to smash the stool over Lucien’s head.

Would smashing Lucien’s head with a stool make it burst? Would blood trickle through the cracks, staining his annoying mouth…

Lucien looked at him again.

His eyes were a muted blue-grey, always reminding one of steel or stone—cold, emotionless. At times, Bai Wei thought vertical pupils would suit them better than round.

Even when Lucien’s mouth smiled, “What’s wrong?”

His eyes and mouth always seemed like two separate organs.

Realizing he was staring too intently, Bai Wei lowered his gaze, sorrowfully: “Why did you change your shoes yourself? I brought you a stool for nothing… Boohoo…”

But he couldn’t cry on cue.

Stuck.

Lucien’s eyes filled with confusion, staring intently at Bai Wei, making him feel he was about to break character.

“You mean, sitting on the stool would save me effort when changing shoes?”

Bai Wei: “…”

But then Lucien said, “Hand me the stool.”

“?”

Bai Wei passed it over. It was small, and Lucien looked awkward perched on it. He removed his slippers, put on the boots he’d worn in, then removed the boots and put the slippers back on.

Bai Wei: =口=

He fell silent. Lucien stood up: “Let’s go.”

…Was this mockery? Play-acting?

He couldn’t tell if Lucien was pleased or not. Lucien walked ahead, a model of muscular elegance, hanging his coat with perfect grace.

Bai Wei ladled two bowls of tomato soup, telling Lucien to wash up. He set one bowl before himself, one in front of Lucien.

Lucien’s was poisoned; his own was not.

He lit the candles.

In the flickering light, Lucien returned, hands and face freshly washed. For the first time, Bai Wei felt some comfort in their marriage.

Lucien looked down at the soup. “This is…”

“Tomato soup,” Bai Wei added. “I made it myself.”

Lucien eyed him with suspicion.

Bai Wei, not good at lying face to face, cupped his bowl, staring into the swirling broth. “I just thought… Lucien, we’ve been married over a year…”

“Thirteen months and fifteen days,” Lucien said.

Did he really need to remember the date so precisely?!

“All right, thirteen months and fifteen days,” Bai Wei conceded. “But we haven’t really had a normal married life. Since we moved here six months ago, you’ve been busy with the garage, I’ve been busy at home—we hardly eat together or talk like this.”

“I just think marriage shouldn’t be like this. When I left Qinghe and my hometown with you, I thought it’d be a new beginning. I thought I’d finally leave my family, and you yours. But then, one thing after another got in the way.”

A thousand memories of the past year flashed through his mind, strengthening his resolve. “A month ago was our anniversary. But we did nothing. You watched TV downstairs, I read upstairs—it was just another day…”

“So, anniversaries are important for humans?” Lucien mused. “Oh, I mean, for us humans…”

Bai Wei felt Lucien was rambling nonsense. Irritated, he pressed on: “This month I’ve thought a lot, and I think we need a new start…”

Suddenly, the dining room fell into utter silence.

There was no sound at all. Had Bai Wei’s hearing been superhuman, he would have noticed Lucien’s breath and heartbeat had vanished. As it was, he could only see Lucien staring at him, as if he’d heard the last thing he wanted.

The perpetual smile finally slid from Lucien’s face.

After a long moment, Lucien fixed his blue-grey eyes on him and spoke in an odd tone: “Are you planning to leave me again?”

“Did I do something unsatisfactory?”

“No, of course not. I—my grandfather and my family could never accept divorce,” Bai Wei retorted quickly. “That’s exactly why I cooked tonight. What I mean is…”

The video said, “Combine words with actions for greater effect.”

Bai Wei’s hands were beautiful—long fingers, well-shaped, nails neat with a hint of pink at the joints. Now, he placed his hand on the table, reaching across toward Lucien, eyes lowered to avoid his gaze. “Let’s start over.”

“Let’s begin again, live like an ordinary couple, repair our relationship, and love each other as we vowed. Marriage isn’t just a contract—it needs love.” Bai Wei said, “Will you… will you?”

Lucien had yet to take his hand. Bai Wei knew his words were unnatural, but he also knew he had to succeed today.

He closed his eyes. He hadn’t expected his acting to be so convincing at the crucial moment. Now, his voice trembled on the verge of tears: “Or… have you already given up on me… husband?”

At those words, Bai Wei wished he could die right there.

But Lucien’s hand came down over his.

It was larger, warmer, stronger. Bai Wei looked up to see Lucien smiling again. “Good. I thought you were going to leave me.”

“I wasn’t… I thought you’d refuse…”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to refuse—I was just too shocked. I didn’t realize that for humans… for us humans, our relationship needed fixing.”

Bai Wei: …

Lucien’s performance was worse than he’d imagined.

“For me, this marriage has also been full of surprises. Before we wed, I never thought I’d settle in Snow Mountain Town with you. I thought we’d live with your family, and I’d have a legitimate identity. But after we arrived, I often felt lost.” Lucien said, “But you’re right. We should blend into ordinary life, seek new goals.”

A strange response—but agreement, perhaps?

After Lucien’s promise, Bai Wei felt it was safe to withdraw. He wiped the corners of his eyes. “I’m so happy…”

“I’m happy too,” Lucien smiled.

His smile was identical to before—Bai Wei couldn’t tell if he was truly happy.

“To celebrate, let’s have soup.” Bai Wei scooped a spoonful. He noticed Lucien did the same, but simply stared at him, unmoving.

“What’s wrong?” Alarm bells rang in Bai Wei’s mind. He was certain everything had dissolved in the soup already.

Lucien looked at him, curious. “Could you call me that again?”

Bai Wei: …

The word stuck in his throat, but finally, he forced a smile and uttered it: “Husband.”

Perfect pronunciation.

Lucien: “Oh…”

He picked up the bowl and downed the whole thing in one gulp. “I seem to have forgotten the spoon.”

Bai Wei, still holding his spoon: …

No manners at all—no wonder he couldn’t get along with Lucien.

“So, in marriage, people use nicknames for each other?” Lucien asked.

Bai Wei, face impassive, finished his own portion. When he looked up, Lucien had already poured wine, handing him a glass. “Would you like some?”

“Yes,” Bai Wei replied with a bright smile.

They clinked glasses by candlelight. Bai Wei recited their wedding vow again: “Until death do us part.”

“Until death do us part,” Lucien replied.

He gazed at his wife across the table. Bai Wei’s light brown bangs were neat and lovely, his lips curled in a rare smile. Bai Wei seldom smiled—usually his face was blank, whether at their first meeting in Black Harbor or later in the northern city. Lucien had never expected, at first, that Bai Wei would become his wife.

But after learning Bai Wei’s background, he realized he needed Bai Wei’s family to mask his own strangeness and integrate into human society. He hid his monstrous nature, and collected Bai Wei like another prize, a keepsake of his attempt to start over, just as he’d hoarded all his past spoils.

And Bai Wei was perfect and beautiful—well worth it.

It was his second year since leaving the underground, shaking off old enemies, and taking Lucien’s identity, background, and even his unseen “fiancée.” It was also the year he’d accidentally “come back from the dead” and been seen by his wife.

In all this, fate had played its tricks. He hadn’t managed to stay with the Bai family, but instead had eloped with Bai Wei. After Bai Wei saw him rise from the dead and tried to escape, he’d dragged him back. They lived quietly in Snow Mountain Town—though everyone believed their marriage was failing, and people had begun to poke into Lucien’s life. If things went on, he’d be exposed.

And he hated the feeling of being seen as a failure.

He just wanted to live like an ordinary person—why was it so hard?

In fact, he’d been thinking of packing up Bai Wei and running to another town, starting over once more.

But Bai Wei had spoken first.

Clearly, life had taken another turn. After so long fumbling through human society, making a mess of everything, his wife was suddenly warm toward him.

And at that moment, he felt something move inside his chest. He touched his heart, puzzled by the sensation.

Bai Wei had been watching Lucien closely. Now, delighted, he said, “Husband, what’s wrong?”

“I have a strange feeling…” Lucien said.

The poison is working!

“That must be because you’re so happy, husband,” Bai Wei replied, beaming.

So this was the happiness all humans longed for?

Was this what those he’d killed had cursed him never to have?

Did he have it now?

Lucien wondered.

That night, it wasn’t just Lucien’s heart that stirred. His stomach began to churn, a pain blooming in his gut.