Chapter 11: "Will You Come to Our Wedding?"

It spoke.  

I stayed frozen in its embrace, stuck—unable to move forward or back.

Fear gripped me; I held my breath, unsure what to do, eyes wide as if seeing a ghost.

Its cheek was cold, brushing my skin. I felt like a frog about to be swallowed by an unknown beast.

I had imagined its speaking many times.

From the day I got it from the doll maker, I had hoped it would one day speak human words. When I found out there was a language function in its chip, I tried hacking the program but gained nothing. I thought it was just my vain wish—an useless code could never change this stiff wooden doll.

…Turns out I was wrong.

It really could speak.

But its timing was so inappropriate. I never expected it would speak under these circumstances.

Even more surprisingly, its first words were these:

“Baby?”

Where did it learn that word?

“Baby, look at this, so pretty!”

A sweet female voice came from the TV. The film showed the female lead cuddling the male lead on a date.

Okay.

I roughly guessed where it learned the word.

Being fast at accepting new things—that was probably one of my few strengths. After shock faded, joy welled up.

Its voice was deeper than I imagined, unlike Liang Zhiting’s.

But that didn’t matter.

I poured all my love for Liang Zhiting into it, nurturing it with love, so it grew more perfect each day. Having it now was the reward of my labor.

“Say it again.”

No longer shy, I rested on its chest, finger lifting its chin. “Say it again, husband.”

Its eyes fixed on me as if watching. I met its gaze. Soft lips parted, it spoke: “Baby.”

My toes curled in excitement; I happily replied, “Yes, I’m here, say it again.”

I played with it all afternoon. It could only say that one word so far, but I firmly believe with time it will learn more.

I am patient.

I ordered the same brand of perfume Liang Zhiting uses, called “Lotus Rain.” Unlike its fresh name, the scent was slightly bitter and herbal.

The perfume arrived three days later. During those days, Liang Zhiting didn’t come to see me.

On the first noon, he was late. I thought he was busy, so worried he might not find me if I left, I waited hungry at my desk. Even after colleagues returned from lunch, he hadn’t arrived.

The second day, I waited more eagerly but he still didn’t come.

The third day, as expected, he still did not show.

He stopped coming to lunch with me.

He had forgotten me.

I clutched my phone, opening his WeChat profile, editing messages again and again, yet could not bring myself to send a single word.

I feared seeing the red exclamation mark.

Did he hate me? Had I done something wrong?

I tried recalling our last meeting. I’d been somewhat drunk, memories fuzzy, but I didn’t think I’d done anything to offend him. The only possible thing was asking for his perfume brand before he left. Could that have upset him?

Hadn’t he said we were friends? Would friends fall out over asking about perfume?

If so, I shouldn’t have asked.

If ignoring me, at least give me a reason—at least an apology…

Now, unknowingly, I had nothing.

The perfume was sent to the parcel station under my office building. Though he no longer wanted to deal with me, I still had to receive it.

Because it was his scent.

Eagerly, I tore open the package. The glass bottle was half the size of my palm, filled with clear amber liquid.

I sprayed some, rubbed it on my wrist, and sniffed. It was indeed very similar to Liang Zhiting’s scent—not identical.

Probably Liang Zhiting had his own natural scent mixed with the perfume, forming a unique aroma impossible to replicate.

I pocketed the perfume. Waiting for the elevator on the first floor, I collided with Liang Zhiting coming out, arm linked with a beautiful woman.

He looked surprised to see me; I was too.

Only for a second. Seeing him, I quickly lowered my head, stepped back, and gave way, pretending to be just a passerby.

He disliked me and naturally did not want to see me.

To my surprise, Liang Zhiting greeted me: “Nan Li, what a coincidence.”

I made sure I heard right. He said my name. I looked at him blankly. Liang Zhiting still smiled gently, patted the woman’s hand on his arm, and introduced me: “This is my friend, Nan Li.”

The woman smiled generously at me and said, “Hello.”

I replied after a long pause, “…Hello.”

“This is my girlfriend, Fu Qian.”

Fu Qian tugged at Liang Zhiting's ear: “Still not calling me properly?”

Liang Zhiting indulged her: “Alright, alright, my bad. Let me introduce again: this is my wife.”

Fu Qian blissfully showed me a peace sign, smiling: “We’re getting married in two days!”

My tongue went bitter. I pressed my lips dry and said faintly, “Congratulations…”

“Thanks! Are you coming to our wedding?” Fu Qian was pretty and friendly. She pulled an invitation from her handbag and handed it to me, “This is our invitation. You’re his friend, so you’re mine too. You must come in two days!”

The red and gold invitation burned my eyes. I saw black and white flashes, blood burning to flow from my eyes.

I dared not hesitate, fearing suspicion. I reached out, accepted it, and nodded.

Seeing my consent, Fu Qian smiled broadly, “Great! We’re on our way to check the venue now. Bye!” Tugging Liang Zhiting's arm, they left after saying goodbye.

I stood there as the elevator dinged open its wide door. Hesitating, I stepped in.

So Liang Zhiting didn’t seek me out for three days because he was preparing for his wedding with Fu Qian.

So soon.

The elevator hummed. The invitation felt like thorns stabbing into my flesh and blood that wouldn’t flow, flowing instead backward into my heart.

Damn it—it hurt.

I pressed my nose to my wrist, inhaling deeply the perfume’s scent. Strangely, the once pleasant scent now smelled sharp and pungent. I covered my mouth, throat heaving at nausea.

The invitation’s date was two days later at a five-star hotel downtown.

Back home, I tossed the invitation onto the table and hugged the doll beside me.

In my bedroom, the TV played a constant stream of different movies. Since the doll could speak now, I deliberately picked many romance films to help it learn language, hoping it would pick up something. Progress was slow—it still only knew that one word.

“Baby.”

It called me.

Just that one word. I’d gotten used to it over the days, but now tears welled uncontrollably. I buried my face in its neck, drenching it.

I wrapped my arms around its neck, stood on tiptoe to kiss it, choking on sobs as I asked, “Why do you treat me this way?”

It stared blankly at me.

“You make me so sad.”

Its stiff, jointed fingers gently stroked my cheek, as if comforting me. Broken tears gathered on its fingertips.

I rubbed its fingers, voice thick with emotion, “What wedding? I don’t want to see you marrying someone else.”

“You can only marry me.”

I cupped its face, clinging and whining, “You can only be my husband, understand?”

“Baby.” It called me again.

My pulse quickened, I opened my mouth, biting its ears and neck, chanting like a spell: “You must love me and only me. If you dare love another…”

I examined its face, running my thumb along its eyelashes. Ever since seeing Liang Zhiting and his fiancée earlier, the flood of repressed feelings burst forth. I pressed my sharp thumbnail against the corner of its eye, almost piercing the eyeball. My twisted voice warned fiercely: “I will kill you.”

It seemed unaware of my finger nearly stabbing its eye. It calmly stared at me, then flicked its tongue, licking the tears on my face.

Cold. Like a snake.

It spoke its second word: “Good.”