Chapter 238: Wedding Ring

Chapter 238: The Wedding Ring

The divorce agreement was spelled out in black and white, with assets and shares clearly divided. Wen Xian flipped to the last page and saw his own signature.

The characters "Wen Xian" were written with bold, forceful strokes, conveying an unyielding resolve. The strokes were unrestrained and free—reflecting the writer’s untamed, bold spirit.

Wen Xian: "..."

The divorce agreement was in duplicate: one copy for Wen Xian, the other for Jiang Zhiyi. Both bore Wen Xian’s signature. As soon as Jiang Zhiyi signed either copy, the agreement would take effect.

Two weeks from now marked their third wedding anniversary. According to the arrangement between Wen Xian and Jiang Zhiyi, Jiang Zhiyi would sign the papers that day, finalizing their divorce.

Wen Xian cursed under his breath: "Fuck."

He inserted the key, started the engine, and with a roar, the sports car whipped around 180 degrees before merging into traffic.

Twenty minutes later, Wen Xian pulled up to "home."

Standing at the door, he took a quiet breath.

Too much stood between him and this life’s Jiang Zhiyi—layers of misunderstandings and a decade lost in haste. For a moment, he truly didn’t know how to explain or how to revoke this agreement he had once fought so hard for. A hesitant apprehension, like that of returning home after years away, crept over him.

But Jiang Zhiyi wasn’t home.

Wen Xian pushed open the heavy double doors and glanced around. The sofa was empty now. He checked his watch—7:00 sharp.

Jiang Zhiyi had probably gone to the office.

Ever since the divorce agreement had been put on the table, Jiang Zhiyi had rarely shared the same space with Wen Xian. He filled every corner of his life with work, packing his schedule with back-to-back meetings, making even meals a luxury. A quick mental check told Wen Xian he’d skipped dinner tonight.

He fished out his phone, wanting to call Jiang Zhiyi, but hesitated, worried he might be in an important meeting. Instead, he sent a message.

Wen Xian: "Busy?"

No reply.

Jiang Zhiyi had never deliberately ignored him before—he probably just hadn’t seen it.

So Wen Xian scrolled through his contacts and pulled up Assistant Yuan, Jiang Zhiyi’s assistant. During the divorce negotiations over shares, it had been him and Wen Xian’s lawyers who had handled the discussions.

Wen Xian: "Assistant Yuan, is Zhiyi—"

He deleted "Zhiyi" and replaced it with "Shen Zhao."

Wen Xian: "Is Shen Zhao busy?"

The assistant replied immediately: "He’s tied up in the quarterly meeting. Do you need something?"

The assistant was well aware of the relationship between Wen Xian and Shen Zhao. Even though the two were about to divorce, Wen Xian was not someone you brushed off.

Wen Xian: "Nothing urgent. Just let him know I’ll come see him after the meeting."

Given the personality of this life’s Jiang Zhiyi—Shen Zhao—he likely wouldn’t bother with a proper dinner. And after walking through the house just now, Wen Xian found it eerily hollow. The fridge was like a high-end prop, the freezer containing only a few god-knows-how-old slices of meat from who-knows-when. There was nothing else.

In their future life, their fridge had never been like this. Back then, it was always stocked to the brim. Wen Xian would take Jiang Zhiyi on regular grocery runs, stocking up on yogurt, butter, and all kinds of snacks. Occasionally, when they grew tired of their housekeeper’s cooking, Jiang Zhiyi would throw together a couple of dishes, and the two of them would huddle over bowls of rice, reminiscing about their high school days.

Jiang Zhiyi would wear an apron when he cooked. Sometimes, as they sat together, Wen Xian’s hands would slip under the apron’s hem, leading naturally to melting kisses, slow caresses, and eventually, dinner would be forgotten as they tumbled into bed.

Wen Xian breathed out a quiet sigh: "..."

But now, he doesn’t eat at home, much less drive out to shop for groceries. Jiang Zhiyi isn’t in the mood to cook either, so of course the fridge stays empty.

Wen Xian looked around—the whole place felt empty, lacking any lived-in warmth. Even with the high-end decor and pricey artwork, the stark black, white, and gray color scheme, combined with marble finishes, felt cold. It was missing cozy touches or even basic furniture and daily necessities.

It felt more like a hotel suite than a real home.

Closing the fridge, Wen Xian sat on the sofa. After a moment’s thought, he decided he’d wait until Jiang Zhiyi finished his meeting, then take him out to eat—maybe they could clear the air while they were at it.

Assistant Yuan responded right away: “Understood. I’ll inform President Shen once the meeting concludes.”

Wen Xian then asked, “About when will it end?”

Assistant Yuan: “Roughly two more hours. Getting here in an hour would be ideal.”

Wen Xian agreed.

With time to kill, he drifted around the apartment.

This was the same lakeside flat as in the Previous Dynasty—excellent view, great location, and the decor was largely unchanged. Back then, though, the space had been filled with little things—a whole wall of photos in the living room, wooden carvings and tapestries from night markets, handmade felt souvenirs from their travels, and a few pots of colorful plants.

The display cabinet in the center of the room had overflowed with all sorts of quirky trinkets, including that tacky golden "Soaring Ambitions" bird figurine Zhang Xiaoping had given Jiang Zhiyi—all gold and screaming tacky wealth.

Now, though, no photo wall, no knickknacks—just an empty display case.

Wen Xian kept pacing, browsing shopping sites to pass the time, but he couldn’t shake the feeling something was missing.

Like something important had gone.

Then his eyes landed on his bare ring finger, and it clicked.

The ring was gone.

In his past life, the ring had never left his finger—a small band that had become part of him. Jiang Zhiyi had worn hers until the very end too.

But now, his hand was bare.

With a tsk, Wen Xian made for the master bedroom.

Inside the wardrobe was a safe. He hadn’t given the ring a second thought in this life, but he guessed Jiang Zhiyi had stored it carefully.

Sure enough, deep inside the safe, he found a velvet ring box.

He slipped the ring onto his finger—it fit perfectly. He studied it and frowned. *Too simple.*

Back when they picked these out, understated was the whole point. Now, he wished they were bolder.

*That pair of main stones—I wonder if they’re still in the jeweler’s inventory. If they are, I’ll buy them and have the rings redesigned for our three-year anniversary.*

Once he’d burned through the hour, it was almost time to go. Wen Xian drove to the company, tucking the divorce papers safely into a storage box.

*

Meanwhile, Jiang Zhiyi rubbed his temples wearily.

Two weeks of sleepless nights had taken their toll.

Fourth-quarter profits had missed expectations, the meeting had brought up one headache after another, and now there was the divorce—stock splits, asset divisions. Work and personal matters piled together, making his head throb and his stomach churn.

Glancing at his watch, he saw it was past 9 p.m. No dinner, no appetite. Just as he reached for his laptop to resume work, a message popped up.

Wen Xian: “Busy?”

Wen Xian: "Your meeting ends at nine? I'll come find you at nine."

Jiang Zhiyi's finger hovered over the reply button, frozen for a long moment.

He quirked his lips in self-deprecation.

Wen Xian had never visited the company before, let alone sought him out during work hours. His sudden appearance could only mean one thing.

Divorce.

The divorce agreement lay beneath Jiang Zhiyi's laptop, starkly visible.

Jiang Zhiyi and Wen Xian had agreed to divorce after their third anniversary—just two weeks away. Yet even those two weeks, Wen Xian couldn't even wait.

Jiang Zhiyi moved his finger away, pretending he hadn't seen the message, unwilling to reply. But after hesitating repeatedly, he finally gave a bitter chuckle and typed: "Okay."

At this point, delaying would only make Wen Xian despise him more. It was pointless.

After sending the reply, Jiang Zhiyi couldn't focus on work. He pulled out the agreement and placed it before him, staring at it for a long time.

It would take Wen Xian half an hour to arrive. This nominal marriage had half an hour left.

But just as Jiang Zhiyi was lost in thought, the office door was knocked. Assistant Yuan appeared in the doorway: "Mr. Jiang, Mr. Wen is waiting in the lounge. Should I let him in?"

"..."

So impatient—couldn't even give him half an hour.

Jiang Zhiyi lowered his eyes. "Mm, let him in."

A few minutes later, the sound of footsteps resounded. Wen Xian knocked lightly before pushing the door open. The moment he saw Jiang Zhiyi, he froze momentarily.

This was his lover from his youth.

Wen Xian had walked half a lifetime with him, watching silver threading his temples. The man before him was now in the bloom of youth—if not for being too thin, he would be the most beautiful version Wen Xian remembered.

The older Jiang Zhiyi had gained some weight over time, soft and pleasant to hold. This one, however, clearly hadn't been cared for yet—sharp edges and coldness, bristling with defenses.

But the moment Wen Xian reached out, those defenses would retract, afraid of pricking him.

Looking at Jiang Zhiyi, Wen Xian's gaze involuntarily gentled.

Jiang Zhiyi didn't look up and couldn't see Wen Xian's expression.

He lowered his eyes, organizing documents, deliberately shuffling the divorce agreement to the bottom. Jiang Zhiyi didn’t know why he was doing something so futile—he just went through the motions, occasionally tapping the keyboard, appearing too occupied to grant Wen Xian attention. His tone was cold and stern: "Is there something? If it's not urgent, I'm very busy today. We can talk tomorrow—"

"Did you skip dinner?" Wen Xian spoke almost simultaneously.

He tsked mentally. Already unhealthy enough, yet still keeping such erratic hours and skipping meals.

Jiang Zhiyi's movements paused.

Wen Xian pulled out a chair and sat across from him, taking the abused paperwork from his hands. Catching sight of the conspicuous divorce agreement out of the corner of his eye, he casually opened a drawer, unceremoniously tossed it inside, and slammed it shut decisively. Smiling, he said, "I was wondering... if Mr. Jiang would do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

He caught himself before saying "Xiao Jiang" and switched to "Mr. Jiang" instead. Though the term was distant and formal, Wen Xian's voice carried a hint of amusement, infusing the formal address with intimacy. Jiang Zhiyi's heart skipped a beat, and he finally looked up.

Directly meeting Wen Xian's eyes.

Wen Xian's features were sharply defined, but when his eyes smiled, they carried a natural tenderness—liquid with affection. Now, staring intently at Jiang Zhiyi, it was as if he hadn’t come to discuss divorce, but had instead met him by chance on a cruise or during travels, fallen in love at first sight, and was now inviting a desirable companion to dinner.

Jiang Zhiyi: "..."

He wondered, what did this mean?

They'd long had their differences. They hadn't fallen in love at first sight, and he wasn't Wen Xian's type.

After fighting so hard to get the divorce, signing without a second thought—so carefree and unrestrained—why would Wen Xian choose now to invite him to dinner?

Jiang Zhiyi kept organizing the documents. "Don't bother. If you think the stock split isn’t fair..."

After thinking it over, this was the only reason he could come up with—that Wen Xian wanted to talk about it again.

But Wen Xian had already pushed his phone toward him: "These are all good restaurants. Pick one you like. Skipping meals isn’t healthy—you could end up with an ulcer."

Jiang Zhiyi smirked to himself. Who cared if he got an ulcer? They were getting divorced—why should Wen Xian even bother?

Yet Wen Xian said softly, concern written across his face, as if he truly cared about Jiang Zhiyi’s health.

For a second, Jiang Zhiyi thought, "For the sake of stocks, is he willing to go this far?"

Two weeks remained until the agreed divorce date, and the stock split would happen then. If Wen Xian could butter him up during these two weeks, maybe he could get a better deal.

Jiang Zhiyi knew damn well that Wen Xian didn’t care about the stocks—otherwise, he wouldn’t have insisted on the divorce. But right now, he couldn’t think of any other explanation.

After three whole years, could Wen Xian really just suddenly develop feelings for him in a single day?

A part of him watched from above, indifferent to this farce, but his body gave in before he could stop himself, reaching out to take the phone from Wen Xian’s hand.

Jiang Zhiyi thought, fine. Even if it was just for the stocks, if Wen Xian wanted to pretend to be loving for these last two weeks, why not enjoy it?

So, Jiang Zhiyi randomly pointed at a restaurant. "This one."

Wen Xian glanced at it—a Cantonese dim sum place, light and flavorful, perfect for delaying dinner. He pulled the phone back with a smile. "Alright, let me check the location."

Jiang Zhiyi’s gaze fell on his fingers, and his breath caught.

On Wen Xian’s ring finger gleamed their wedding band.

Author’s Note:

Jiang Zhiyi: (sneakily hiding the divorce papers)