Chapter Sixty-Two: Is This What You Call Resistance?

When the burly man spoke, everyone was stunned.

Wu Caiyue worked in the sales department of Silk Bud Group, renowned for her exceptional abilities. She had always been a core member of the team and, in terms of appearance, ranked just behind Lin Sha and Chen Shishi, yet possessed the unique charm of a married woman. Despite her beauty and talent, she was modest and reserved, rarely drawing close to others and having few friends in the company. She preferred solitude and was not someone who attracted much attention.

But no matter how inconspicuous she was, no one could have imagined that her husband was a rough, unkempt old scoundrel.

“Bullshit! How could Sister Wu ever marry someone like you? Look at yourself! Haven’t you had enough?” Qin Feng, naturally skeptical, cursed as he raised his belt to strike again.

“He’s not lying…” At that moment, a woman’s voice sounded from behind, melodious yet tinged with helplessness and sorrow.

Wu Caiyue had appeared behind the crowd without anyone noticing. She wore an ivory blouse and a pale skirt, her legs slender and straight. Her hair was pulled up in a simple bun; just standing there, she exuded the refined grace of someone raised in a cultured family, coupled with the allure of a young wife—though her eyes were dull and lifeless.

“What!” Qin Feng’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Sister Wu, you must be joking. How could you marry…”

Wu Caiyue sighed softly, saying nothing as her eyes reddened.

“Wife, please save me!” The burly man, his face swollen from the beating, reached out desperately to Wu Caiyue as if grasping at a lifeline. “Tell them I’m your husband, so they’ll stop hitting me!”

Wu Caiyue simply stared in silence at the battered man.

Seeing her remain silent, the burly man’s demeanor changed abruptly. He roared, “Wu Caiyue, you wretched woman! You’re just going to watch your husband get beaten? This all started because of you—wait till I get home, I’ll teach you a lesson!”

Smack—

A loud slap landed. It was Yang Jiekai who struck, putting all his strength into it. The blow knocked the burly man unconscious.

Although Yang Jiekai didn’t know exactly what had happened, he could surmise enough from the scene. Other colleagues had mentioned that when Wu Caiyue first joined the company, she was lively and cheerful, always smiling. After marriage, her demeanor deteriorated by the day, sometimes showing up to work in large sunglasses. Anyone with sense understood what was going on.

The burly man begged like a dog when beaten, but swaggered over his wife. Such men filled Yang Jiekai with rage.

“Sister Wu,” Yang Jiekai said, turning to her, “I don’t know what happened or why you married such a man, but whatever your reasons, you shouldn’t sacrifice your lifelong happiness!”

Lin Sha, listening, found his words resonant—woman to woman, only a woman could truly understand such pain.

Yang Jiekai then added, “Sister Wu, divorce him.”

Lin Sha, who had been nodding in agreement, was suddenly taken aback. There’s an old saying: it’s better to tear down a temple than to break up a marriage. How could he so bluntly urge her to divorce? Did he really know the truth?

Meanwhile, Qin Feng and the other men wholeheartedly supported Yang Jiekai’s seemingly abrupt suggestion. Partly because men tend to think alike, partly out of sympathy for Wu Caiyue—how could a beautiful, successful woman end up with such a husband? When it comes to marriage and love, men are often more decisive in letting go than women.

Lin Sha glared at Yang Jiekai, took Wu Caiyue’s arm, and said gently, “Caiyue, is something troubling you? You can tell me, and I’ll help however I can.”

“Yes, Sister Wu, tell us what’s going on,” Gongsun chimed in.

Wu Caiyue, tears shimmering in her eyes, took a deep breath and began to recount her story.

First love is a cherished memory for any woman—but for Wu Caiyue, it was a cruel hell, a descent from heaven to the abyss.

She was born into a scholarly family, her parents and grandparents all academics. Scholars often share the same flaw: stubbornness and rigidity.

Her husband had been a ne’er-do-well since childhood, dropping out before finishing junior high and loitering in the streets. By all rights, he and Wu Caiyue—raised in a cultured household—were worlds apart.

But fate had other plans. The man’s grandfather had also been a scholar and was a close friend of Wu Caiyue’s grandfather. The two had arranged a betrothal, but both families kept having sons and no daughters, so the promise was passed to the next generation—Wu Caiyue’s.

The scoundrel’s grandfather, like Wu Caiyue’s, was a scholar. Yet none of his sons inherited his intellect; they were all lazy and useless, living off the family’s dwindling reputation until the family fell to ruin.

Wu Caiyue’s grandfather, on the other hand, had sons who excelled, carrying on the family legacy. Among them, Wu Caiyue’s father was the most accomplished.

Despite the other family’s decline, the Wu family clung to traditional values, extending hospitality to the scoundrel’s family. Perhaps Wu Caiyue’s father inwardly resented them, but, constrained by his status and the scholar’s pride, always greeted them with a smile.

On his deathbed, Wu Caiyue’s grandfather left a single wish: uphold the old promise, marry Wu Caiyue to the scoundrel.

For Wu Caiyue, the news was a thunderbolt. She rebelled, resisted, even threatened hunger strike.

But her old-fashioned parents matched her method for method—they went on hunger strike themselves. As long as Wu Caiyue refused the marriage, they wouldn’t eat.

Wu Caiyue, who had memorized the Classic of Filial Piety since childhood, wept and knelt before her parents.

The scoundrel was her first love—and her nightmare. From that day forward, her personality grew silent and withdrawn. She tried to change him, but soon abandoned hope; he had no interest in her words, only in her body.

To him, Wu Caiyue was not just an object of desire, but a money-making machine, a cook, a maid. Once, drunk, he even demanded she sleep with his gangster friends. When Wu Caiyue refused, he beat her savagely.

After hearing Wu Caiyue’s story, everyone fell silent. Lin Sha wiped her eyes, about to comfort her, when a burst of wild laughter erupted.

“Hahaha!”

It was Yang Jiekai. Rather than showing sympathy, he laughed mockingly.

“Yang Jiekai, what are you laughing at?” Lin Sha snapped, displeased.

Yang Jiekai pointed at the despondent Wu Caiyue and said, “I laugh because she deserves it!”

His words shocked even Qin Feng and the others. Wu Caiyue’s story was so pitiable—how could he say she deserved it?

“What are you saying?” Lin Sha, angry at his lack of compassion, rebuked him.

Yang Jiekai ignored her glare and addressed Wu Caiyue. “Your happiness and destiny should be in your own hands. Yet you didn’t resist, you chose to compromise. Isn’t it your own fault?”

“I did resist…” Wu Caiyue’s tears fell in torrents. Yang Jiekai’s words stabbed at her heart.

“That’s what you call resistance? Crying, hunger strike?” Yang Jiekai scoffed. “Do you even know what resistance is?”

Perhaps his upbringing gave him a different perspective—his definition of resistance was to fight to the bitter end, never stopping until the opponent was defeated.

“But I couldn’t watch my parents starve to death in front of me!” Wu Caiyue cried.

Yang Jiekai snorted. “If you couldn’t bear it, why not starve yourself in front of them?”

“If I died in front of them, they’d be heartbroken…” she sobbed.

“Enough!” Yang Jiekai cut her off. “You know they’d grieve if you died—did they consider your feelings watching them starve? Did they consider how you felt when they did that to you? If they fasted, you should have kept fasting, see who lasts longest, who dies first. Do you know the most disgraceful kind of failure? It’s the failure of compromise. If you fight, bite, struggle—even if you lose, it’s not shameful. But compromise, that’s not only shameful, it’s tragic. You deserved it!”

With that, Yang Jiekai shoved Lin Sha aside and strode out without looking back.

The rest of the group exchanged bewildered glances, unsure what had gotten into him. The normally gentle Yang Jiekai was acting like a man possessed.

He pushed his car to its limits, speeding wildly from the bustling city to the empty outskirts, overtaking every car in his way. Only when he reached a deserted spot did he swing open the door and howl at the sky.

His cry echoed like an owl’s shriek in the night.

Wu Caiyue’s plight seemed pitiable—but what about himself? Where was his home? Who were his parents? Why did his memories consist only of smoke and blood?

At least Wu Caiyue had parents who fasted for her—at least she had a complete family, a place to return to, parents to call out to.

Yang Jiekai longed for family, for a father and mother—even if his father drank and beat him, even if his mother was indifferent. He wished, just once, his parents would say: Yang Jiekai, if you don’t marry so-and-so, we’ll go on hunger strike!

Many complain about their poor shoes, but have they ever considered those who have no legs at all?