Chapter 1 — I Won't Wait for You to Return

My best friend and I shared the same miserable fate: we were both trapped in secret, unacknowledged relationships. I had stood by my boyfriend’s side for seven long years, from the days he was an anonymous background extra until he finally ascended to the title of Best Actor. She had remained with her partner since their undergraduate days, supporting him through his long, grueling marathon toward a PhD at Beijing University—a saga of youth that spanned eight years. We had even made a pact: once our men had established stable careers, we would hold a joint wedding, buy houses across from one another, and start our own little mothers’ club to raise our children together. Thinking of those bustling, bright days ahead, I had even picked out our bridesmaid dresses.

But during the special Dragon Boat Festival broadcast, that acclaimed Best Actor publicly introduced his fiancee—a woman from outside the industry—on national television. As the phone line connected on air, a girl in the audience stood up, her face flushing with happiness. My friend’s situation was even more cruel. Her boyfriend had taken his junior colleague from the same university department back to his hometown to meet his parents, even posting a photo on social media with the caption: “Finally waited for the right one.”

I found my friend, and we drank until we were sobbing, our breath catching in our throats. “He never intended to acknowledge me at all,” I gasped. “Seven years of my youth might as well have been fed to the dogs.”

She hugged her beer can, tears streaming down her face. “In his eyes, there is only that junior now. My eight-year marathon was nothing but a punchline.”

Just as we scrolled through social media and saw marketing accounts gossiping that those two men were planning to release statements the following day calling us “clout chasers” and “fame-hungry” women to cleanly sever all ties, we looked at each other and wiped our faces.

“What if… we just move to Dali right now?”

“Let’s go. There are homestays there looking for volunteers; they cover room and board, and we get to look at handsome local men.”

Three days later, the official rebuttals from our former partners were sitting smugly at the top of the trending topics. At that exact moment, we were standing on the shores of Erhai Lake, learning how to roast a suckling pig from a local man, our faces flushed a healthy, sun-kissed red.

“The fire is perfect,” the local man said, handing me a long-handled brush. “Now, glaze it with another layer of honey.”

I took the brush and dipped it into the bowl of honey. As I reached toward the heat, a stray spark jumped from the embers and stung the back of my hand, making me flinch in pain. My phone, tucked into my apron pocket, had been vibrating incessantly since the morning. Ha Nhan, my best friend, was flipping the rack next to me and nudged me with her elbow.

“Your phone is about to explode. Aren’t you going to look?”

I set the brush down, wiped my hands with a tissue, and pulled out my phone. The lock screen was buried in notifications. I tapped into the social media app, and the top two trending topics glared back at me: #GuTrachVuDeniesSevenYearSecretLove and #BeijingUniversityDoctorChuDienSpeaksOnRelationshipControversy. The statements were released almost simultaneously, and the tone of both was eerily identical. Gu Trach Vu’s agency had posted a lawyer’s letter stamped with a bright red seal:

“The so-called seven-year secret love is entirely baseless. Mr. Gu and the woman in the rumors are merely ordinary acquaintances from years ago; they have not been in contact for a long time.”

“Recently, certain individuals have been exploiting the buzz of the Dragon Boat Festival program to intentionally seek attention, exaggerate, and stir public opinion. The agency reserves the right to pursue legal action.”

“Mr. Gu’s relationship with his fiancee is very stable. We ask that the public refrain from disturbing the life of someone who is not in the entertainment industry.”

Ha Nhan peeked over and sneered. “Ordinary acquaintances? When he was an extra, so poor he couldn’t afford a meal, was it an ‘ordinary acquaintance’ who paid his rent?”

I didn't speak, scrolling down to read Chu Dien’s statement. He hadn't posted on the main social media platform but instead wrote a long, formal post on his university forum and his private circle. The tone was incredibly measured, exuding a sense of righteousness and arrogance:

“Regarding the recent malicious rumors, I apologize for taking up everyone’s time.”

“Ms. Ha and I were simply classmates for many years. There was never any romantic relationship.”

“Recently, her emotional state has been unstable. I hope everyone will not be misled by one-sided information, and please stop harassing my junior.”

“My junior and I have recently established a relationship. This is the destiny I have always hoped for. Thank you all for your concern.”

Ha Nhan watched as I finished reading, then tossed the metal tongs onto the tray with a loud *clang*.

“Classmates for many years?” she scoffed. “Whose classmate wakes up at six every morning for eight years to cook stomach-soothing porridge for him?”

I looked down at the comment section beneath the trending topic, where the fans were already celebrating. Someone had unearthed an old photo from a set years ago. In it, Gu Trach Vu was still a background actor without a single line. He was wearing filthy period costumes, squatting by the roadside in the winter midnight to eat a boxed meal, with a gray, hand-knitted scarf wrapped around his neck. The comments were filled with praise for how he had risen from hardship, calling him a man of integrity and loyalty for wearing even a tattered scarf for all these years. Looking at that scarf, my eyes stung. It was the one I had knitted for him seven years ago, using my first paycheck to buy the yarn and staying up for three consecutive nights. The winters at the filming location were always bitingly cold, and his hands would turn purple. Back then, when I wrapped the scarf around him, he would pull my freezing hands into his jacket to warm them.

“Wait until I have the status to stand under the stage lights,” he had told me. “The first person I hold hands with will be you.”

Years later, he indeed stood under those lights and accepted the Best Actor award. It was just that during the Dragon Boat Festival broadcast, the person he held hands with was the girl with the sweet smile. On Ha Nhan’s phone, she still had an old voice recording from eight years ago, when Chu Dien had failed his postgraduate entrance exam and was sobbing on the rooftop while drinking.

“Nhan, thank goodness you didn’t leave. If you had, I really wouldn't have been able to hold on.”

“Wait until I finish my PhD and things are stable. We will get married.”

But now, he had taken his junior back home to meet his parents with the caption: “Finally waited for the right one.” The local man saw us staring at our phones with sour expressions and asked casually, “What’s wrong? Did your boyfriends upset you?”

Ha Nhan sniffled and flipped her phone facedown on the table. “Ex-boyfriends.”

I picked up the brush to continue glazing the pig, adding, “Both of them.”

The homestay owner brought over two glasses of iced plum juice and set them beside us. “Heartbreak is no big deal,” she said with a laugh, patting my shoulder. “Come to Dali, cry for three days, and by the fourth, you’ll be out enjoying the sun.”

I took a long drink of the plum juice. In truth, I had already cried for those three days. I had cried until I hiccupped, cried until I felt sick, and cried until I felt my seven years of youth were a joke. But after the tears, I only felt tired. They expected us to panic, to run back to them demanding an explanation, or to act like bitter, scorned women tearing them apart online. They had no idea that we were already miles away, tasting the sweetness of a new life.