There was a bed in the room, and also a chair.
Jiang Xiaobai sat on the chair, holding a lit cigarette in his hand, while Yu Yang was curled up on the bed, her legs folded beneath her. She seemed very cold, hugging her arms across her chest the entire time.
"I met my husband in university. I studied design, and he literature. Eventually, he became a writer, but these past years he didn't publish much, definitely not enough to rely on the sporadic royalties—sometimes barely three thousand yuan—to support the family. So, for years, I've been the one to sustain our family's expenses. To earn money, I often had to work overtime and frequently go on business trips. During all these years, he stayed at home, buried in his writing. I never complained, always supporting his literary dreams. But not long ago, I discovered he was having an affair with my apprentice!"
At this point, Yu Yang's face was streaked with tears, although she made no sound.