Divorce

Bi Qingtang searched room by room, but did not see Tan Yang anywhere. The mansion at night was vast and silent, his voice low as he called her name in the corridor.

He hesitated before the door of a room on the third floor, filled with heavy rosewood furniture—a room he had always somewhat disliked. With a frown, he pushed open the door.

Inside, darkness pressed in. He called softly, “Little Sister,” reaching for the switch on the wall. His fingers had barely brushed it when a voice sounded, “Don’t turn on the light!” It was undoubtedly Tan Yang’s voice, yet to Bi Qingtang it sounded terribly unfamiliar: cold, hard, and distant, leaving him confused.

He closed the door behind him and entered, squinting to accustom his eyes to the gloom, following the direction of her voice. He saw Tan Yang leaning in a corner on an old grand chair. He hurried over with concern, kneeling by her side, smiling as he reached for her hand. “What’s wrong, Little Sister? Is it the hospital work tiring you? Is something troubling you?”

Tan Yang sighed, despair in her voice. “Happy? I’m afraid I’ll never be happy again in this life.”

Hearing this, Bi Qingtang moved closer, squatting down and trying to clasp her hand with a gentle smile. “What’s this, Little Sister? Don’t say such things—if you make your brother worry himself sick, are you really at ease?” All these years, he had always been like this: the matters that shook Tan Yang’s world were small things in his own, things he could always resolve with a smile, dissolving her troubles with ease. Suddenly, Tan Yang understood. Yes, to him even matters of life and death were trivial. In his world, what mattered besides profit?

She had always admired his strength and decisiveness—qualities she lacked and relied on. But now, that same admiration made her despise herself. In the hazy world of love, when you fall for someone, their flaws might become your sweetest poison, while their virtues turn to wounds that cut you to the bone. Both Tan Yang now and Bi Qingtang in the future would understand this.

As Bi Qingtang’s hand brushed her fingertips, Tan Yang jerked away, her voice sharp and commanding. “Get up. Sit over there.” Startled by her outburst, Bi Qingtang instinctively reached for her waist, but instead of the familiar softness, he found only stiffness. As he faltered, Tan Yang shoved him hard. “Sit over there.” Her voice was not loud, but so cold it left no room for refusal. A chill ran through Bi Qingtang, and he rose slowly, sitting on the couch opposite her.

Silence filled the room, thunder rolling distantly. Bi Qingtang forced a laugh. “Could it be I’ve done something wrong to offend my wife?”

“Then tell me, what have you done wrong?” Tan Yang’s voice was low.

He placed his elbow on the armrest, seeking comfort in posture. “Wrong? I’ve always been a dutiful husband. Even if you searched all over Shanghai, all over China, you wouldn’t find me at fault. You’re so formidable; even if I only danced with another woman at a social event, my heart would be pounding with guilt. You know I wouldn’t dare make a mistake.”

Tan Yang sighed helplessly. “I used to think such things were grave mistakes, but now I see—they’re nothing. Those couples who quarrel and make up over minor jealousies are the ones who can truly grow old together.”

Bi Qingtang grumbled, “Little Sister, you’re making me confused.” He paused, then added, “We’re the ones who will grow old together.” He sounded so certain.

But Tan Yang felt only grief. What future could there be? Suddenly, she pitied both him and herself. She’d never understood the Buddhist teachings of great compassion or the Christian doctrines of redemption, but now, in this moment, she felt she understood.

Her tone softened, gentle and warm. “Brother, Westerners believe in Jesus. When they’ve done something that troubles their conscience, they confess their sins in a dark room to a priest, admit their wrongs, and seek forgiveness and redemption. Then they can be reborn. Brother, perhaps you could confess your sins too. Maybe, if I heard them, my hatred would lessen.”

Bi Qingtang considered, then said with candor, “Little Sister, I’ve done many things in my life that I’m not proud of, but most have nothing to do with you. If there’s something that might make you hate me, it’s only the death of Xu Feihu. I admit, I was too rash and impulsive in killing him, but I was afraid he’d say something reckless and harm our marriage…”

“Brother, I’ll remind you only once. Start from thirty years ago. If you’re not afraid for me to be even more specific, then start from the year before you left Shandong.”

She knew. She knew everything. Bi Qingtang slumped against the armrest, his heart twisted in pain. At the same time, he calculated rapidly—could she be trying to trap him, as she had when she sent their daughter to ask about the Buddha of Suffering? But tonight, she seemed certain. His little sister was too simple-hearted to be so cunning. But how could she know? Everyone who knew was dead. No—if she learned the truth, it would be ruin for him and for this family. Even with only a one percent chance, he had to gamble. He was a born gambler, especially willing to risk everything for his own happiness.

Yet, between husband and wife, happiness rests first on honesty; it cannot endure calculation or risk. The result is often a plunge into endless misery.

“Those old matters,” he said, “I really don’t like to bring them up. Our fathers in Shandong struck a big deal before splitting up. My father, as the leader, took the lion’s share. Xu Feihu was dissatisfied, came to Shanghai to cause trouble, and suffered losses at my father’s hand, so he left. Later, unable to make ends meet, he returned to make more trouble. I lost patience and decided to eliminate future problems…”

“Bi Qingtang!” Tan Yang suddenly screamed hysterically. “Do you think everyone is as greedy and reckless as you, again and again risking everything for profit? My Uncle Xu deserved to die for coveting your dirty money? And what about my cousin? Did he deserve it too? Look at this room you’re sitting in! That opium addict spent all that money as my dowry so I could marry well and live a good life. He’s watching from above! Are you really my good husband? Is this really my good life? My good husband is his murderer, my good life bought with his blood—has your conscience been eaten by dogs? You’re still lying, blaming the dead, even now when I ask you to confess. If you have no conscience, I do! If I died right now, I wouldn’t dare face my cousin in the afterlife. I’d rather die a hundred times over than meet his eyes!”

She pressed her chest, sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. Lightning blazed outside, flooding the room with a ghastly white light, revealing Tan Yang’s face contorted with pain and streaked with tears.

“For nothing but money, you killed so many. To cover your crimes, you kept on killing—killing everyone who knew! The other day when I went to ask Uncle Ma, you killed him. What if I go to Uncle Chen tomorrow? Will you kill him too? But you never imagined Uncle Ma would leave behind evidence before he died. If you hadn’t killed him, I’d still be in the dark! Bi Qingtang, your heart is truly venomous, consumed by greed—you’ll do anything! But were you really so short of money? Has all your extra wealth these years made your life so different? Have you never regretted what you’ve done? Are you not even a little afraid of retribution?”

Faced with her accusations, Bi Qingtang covered his face with his hands, powerless. He had paid so much, plotted with all his might to conceal it, but this day had still come. He had imagined it many times in sleepless nights, had feared retribution, had felt his heart break at the thought, but even so, he realized he did not regret it.

He sighed in resignation. “Little Sister, in this world, many people are qualified to speak of money—but not you. First you had your father, then me; you never suffered, never starved, never endured humiliation. You don’t understand how vital money and power are in this world. For me, there’s only wealth or poverty; for you, only nobility or baseness. That’s the way the world is. Those who live honestly, earning a clean living, barely manage to feed themselves, let alone care for their children. You think I have enough? I think I have far too little. I want not only you and our daughter to live well, but her children too. I’ll never live in poverty again, nor let her. The more money, the better. Don’t fret about how it’s made—I regret none of it!”

Tan Yang’s heart sank with every word. So this was her beloved brother—this was his true self, his true thoughts, and she had never known. At last she saw their future clearly—his future, and her own. Despair overcame her. She wiped her tears, choking out, “So this is you. For money, you’ll do anything. You say you have no regrets—so if you could do it all again, you’d still kill, even the old and the weak? Don’t think that because I’ve not suffered, I’ll agree with you. On the contrary, as you said, many people live hard lives, earning just enough to get by. But if given the chance to murder for wealth, would they do it? Most would not. To be human is to have a sense of right and wrong. We’d rather live poor but clean lives than squander blood-stained money.”

“Don’t think that just because you’ve suffered, you have the right to do evil. I haven’t known many people, but even among those we both know—Sister Ling, Brother Li, Old Zhou—they’ve all suffered, haven’t they? Yet they’d never kill for their own gain. On the contrary, they’d give their lives for the sake of strangers’ happiness. I don’t fully understand their ideals—I’ve never been a woman with great ambitions—but even so, I have a conscience. I know, Bi Qingtang, what you’ve done is unforgivable. You feel no shame, even take pride in it. I think you’re already mad, walking further and further down the wrong path. No one can save you now.”

In the rain-soaked night, Bi Qingtang saw Tan Yang’s heartbreak and despair, her features shadowed in the darkness. From the hall below, the grandfather clock tolled midnight, its echo chilling the halls of the Bi mansion. Bi Qingtang buried his face in his hands, his throat working but no words coming. He felt like a condemned man, never knowing when the sentence would be carried out—but knowing, one day, without warning, it would. That day had come suddenly, too soon—he had waited a decade, and still it had come so swiftly. There was so much left undone between them.

“Little Sister, I don’t regret what I did. I’m just afraid—afraid you’d find out, as you have tonight,” he explained feebly.

“What you’ve done—where does that leave me, leave yourself, leave our daughter? You are truly ruthless—not just to others, but to us.”

“I know you won’t forgive me. I only want you to know, Little Sister, I have always been sincere toward you. You must know that.”

Tan Yang laughed in despair. “Sincere? If it weren’t for the Buddha of Suffering, would you, Boss Bi, ever have met me? Would you have had the chance to speak of sincerity? I know you were sincere. But wasn’t I sincere too? You feel wronged for loving me knowing everything, but I was deceived for years. Wasn’t my sincerity more in vain? Among my father, my cousin, Uncle Xu, his foolish son, Uncle Ma—so many bleeding, dead—how can we speak of our little sincerity? Don’t you think it’s laughable, Bi Qingtang!”

After a pause, Bi Qingtang suddenly rose, speaking incoherently. “Your father? His life? I had nothing to do with his death! Don’t believe Old Ma’s wild guesses. Your father saved mine’s life—he cared for me like a son in Shandong. How could I harm him? I respected him. I didn’t even want to kidnap you to threaten him. How could I kill him? And besides, we found him two years before he died—if I were a killer, I’d never be so indecisive!”

In truth, the suspicion that Bi Qingtang had killed her father was just Old Ma’s guess. Hearing him deny it so earnestly, Tan Yang believed him, at least mostly. A little relief, even a sliver of comfort, slipped into her heart. But it changed little; things were not any better.

On that stormy night, Tan Yang left the Bi mansion. Bi Qingtang did not try to stop her—not because he didn’t want to, but because he had no reason, and knew he couldn’t. As Tan Yang opened the main door, Bi Qingtang shouted after her, “Little Sister, everything here is mine. You can’t take any of it with you—including our daughter!”

Hearing this, Tan Yang’s heart was crushed. She turned, her voice bleak. “Bi Qingtang, I was never with you for your money. Not before our marriage, not after, and never in the future. There’s no need for you to worry about that. I thought that after ten years, it was only me who failed to understand you, but it turns out you never understood me either. You look down on me so—” She broke into bitter sobs, unable to continue. After a moment, she steadied herself. “I don’t want your money, but I will take back my daughter!”

With that, Tan Yang turned and walked resolutely into the rainy night. Watching her fading silhouette, Bi Qingtang stood rigid in the doorway, mumbling, “That’s not what I meant. I just… I just didn’t want you to go.”