Ling Changfeng writes first
The study is very quiet. Ling Changfeng sits behind a desk the size of a small landing pad, still in his black uniform, the collar unfastened by exactly one button. He looks at the document you’ve set in front of him for a long moment. Then he reads it. All of it.
“A divorce agreement.” His voice is low and even. “Signed. Dated. You left the dissolution date blank.”
He squares the pages and leaves them exactly where they are, between the two of you.
“Considerate.”
He leans back. His eyes are dark, steady and not unkind, the look of a man who has assessed a great many unfamiliar situations and decided not to fire on most of them.
“I’ve been married for six hours. You’ve been preparing for the end of it longer than that, I think.” A short pause. “I’m not Mu Qingyun. I don’t expect you to take my word for it tonight.”
He nods at the chair across from him.
“Sit. Have you eaten? Then tell me what he did that made you write this before you’d even met me.”
