Wang Xiaoliang hung up, but kept the phone pressed to his ear.
The image of Wei Zijin crying a moment ago still lingered in his mind. It hurt, but it also reassured him.
They had made up.
It was nothing like he had imagined. He had thought he was already off the household register, that the divorce agreement had already been drawn up.
And what had actually happened?
The mortgage payments hadn't stopped, they weren't divorced, and his wife had cried and called him her husband.
He had scared himself over nothing.
He lay back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling, the corners of his mouth lifting without him realizing it. That line from the Book of Fate surfaced again-the old had passed; what was to come had yet to arrive.
It wasn't a complicated principle, but too few people understood how to live by it.
Next time something like this happened, he would just make a call and ask, instead of playing out a whole TV drama in his head.
He scrolled through his phone's contacts. As the names slid past, he wanted to call every one of them. Word of his coma hadn't gotten out at all. Who knew who might be lying awake with worry?
As he was wondering whom to call first, he heard something downstairs.
It wasn't a passing car. It was the sound of brakes, followed by a shift into reverse and several turns of the steering wheel while stationary. The tires scraping against the ground sounded very close.
Wang Xiaoliang threw back the covers and sat up, slipped into his slippers, and slowly shuffled to the window.
A black Audi A8 had stopped outside the villa.
He recognized it.
Fu Zhaojun's car.
The driver's door opened first. A man got out, looked