Chapter 1 — No Resentment, No Forgiveness

While tidying my boyfriend’s desk, I accidentally stumbled upon two photocopies of a marriage certificate. The groom was him. The bride... was not me. To make matters worse, the registration date was my own birthday. I did not weep, nor did I cause a scene. I quietly booked an eight-day solo road trip through Western Sichuan, turned off my location services, switched on "Do Not Disturb," and filled my social media feed with nothing but radiant, joyful smiles. On the eighth day, he sent me a message:

"My mother has been hospitalized. Come pay the medical bills."

I smiled and typed back, character by character:

"Let your new wife pay them."

The moment I hit send, I knew the real show had only just begun. I had been dating my boyfriend for three years, and yet he had secretly registered his marriage to someone else. I did not cry. I did not raise my voice in protest. I simply vanished into the snowy mountains, capturing snapshots of starry skies and mountain peaks for the world to see. When his message finally pinged on that final evening, my response was as cold as the frost on the high-altitude passes. My revenge was no longer a thought; it was a promise in motion.

01

My name is Tan Nhuoc Tinh, and I work as a wedding planner for a firm on the west side of the city. For three years, I have been in a relationship with Chu Minh Hien. Hien is a wedding photographer—charming, handsome, and honey-tongued. When he first courted me, he brought flowers every single day. By the second year, we moved in together. I always believed our relationship was steady, and that marriage was simply a matter of time. More than once, Hien had promised me, "Once I’ve saved enough money, I’ll take you to meet my parents back home and we’ll settle our wedding plans."

That was until last month. It was a Saturday. Hien told me he had to go to a wedding shoot, leaving me alone to deep-clean the apartment. His desk’s second drawer had always been locked, but that day, perhaps in his haste, the key was still dangling in the lock. Without thinking, I reached out to tidy the clutter of invoices and papers inside. The first thing I saw was a stack of photocopied contracts. Tucked in the middle was a manila envelope. It wasn't sealed. I pulled out the document and my breath hitched. It was a photocopy of a marriage certificate, printed on an A4 sheet. The groom was Chu Minh Hien. In the photo, he wore his signature white shirt and that familiar, tender smile. But the bride... I had never met her. Her name was Lam Tu Vu. The registration date... it was three months ago. The very same day as my birthday.

I stood frozen in his office for five minutes. The window was open, and the October breeze billowed the curtains, casting shifting shadows across the room. I could hear the frantic drumming of my own heart, loud enough to echo in my ears. A thousand impulses flooded my mind: to rush to his shoot and shove the paper in his face; to call his mother and demand to know how they had raised such a man; to throw all his belongings onto the street and lock the door forever.

But I did none of those things. I carefully tucked the document back into the envelope, locked the drawer, and replaced the key exactly where I had found it. I sat on the sofa for hours, watching the daylight shift from pale white to a burning orange, then finally dissolve into the slate grey of twilight. I picked up my phone. I had told Hien once that I dreamed of driving through Western Sichuan. He had laughed and promised, "When I'm done with this busy season, I'll take you."

Now, I realized that going alone was not such a bad idea. I mapped out a classic route: starting from Chengdu, passing through Kangding, Xinduqiao, and Daocheng-Yading before returning. Eight days and seven nights. I rented a white SUV, selected my route, and confirmed the payment. The entire process took less than twenty minutes.

I called my best friend, To Dao. Before I could even speak, she chirped, "Nhuoc Tinh? You sound strange. Do you have a cold?"

"To Dao," I said softly, "Chu Minh Hien has registered his marriage to someone else."

There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by a piercing shriek: "What?! Who? Who did he marry?"

I gave her a brief account of the discovery. To Dao was so incensed she spent five minutes cursing Hien and his entire family tree. Finally, she growled, "Wait there! I'm coming over. We’re going to smash his place to pieces!"

"There’s no need," I replied calmly. "I’ve already booked a solo road trip to Western Sichuan. I’m leaving tomorrow morning."

"Are you insane?" To Dao cried out. "Why are you running away now? We need to settle the score!"

"To Dao," I whispered, "I just need some time to think."

She went quiet for a long while before letting out a weary sigh. "Fine... but stay safe. Whatever you decide, Nhuoc Tinh, I’m in your corner."

After hanging up, I packed my suitcase. I didn't touch a single one of Hien's things. I only packed my clothes, toiletries, and chargers. Just after nine that evening, Hien returned. He was covered in dust, sighing about how exhausted he was. I sat on the sofa, scrolling through my phone, not looking up. "There’s food in the kitchen. Just heat it up."

He changed his shoes and walked over, leaning down to kiss my forehead with his usual gentle touch. "My wife is the best."

I only curved my lips into a thin, meaningless smile and said nothing. I stared at his back as he walked into the kitchen. That familiar silhouette suddenly felt like a stranger’s. I wondered what he looked like three months ago, when he returned home on that birthday of mine. Had he felt even a flicker of guilt? Or did he truly believe I was blind enough to never know?

After eating, Hien came back to the living room. Seeing the suitcase on the floor, he froze. "Are you going on a business trip?"

"Yes," I lied effortlessly. "The company suddenly sent me to Chengdu to work with a client. About a week, I think."

"Chengdu?" He frowned slightly. "Why didn't you mention it before?"

"It was a last-minute decision. I didn't expect it either," I said, standing up and stretching. "You'll have to take care of yourself for a few days. There are dumplings in the freezer; just boil them."

Hien didn't ask further. He sat on the sofa, fiddling with the television remote. Looking at his calm demeanor, I felt a bone-deep exhaustion. I retreated to the bedroom and closed the door. I leaned my back against the wood, standing there in the dark for a very long time. That night, I didn't close my eyes once.