Half an hour later, both sets of parents were clutching their bright-red marriage certificates and had even brought along their household registration books, stuffing the whole lot into their bags. After congratulating each other, they invited one another out to celebrate. That left Giang Chỉ and me standing forlornly in the wind outside the chaotic civil affairs bureau while our luggage, which they had haphazardly stuffed and dumped on opposite sides of the road, lay scattered around us. Giang Chỉ scratched his head and smoothly called me “wife” without the slightest embarrassment, asking, “So, are we going home now?” I jumped up and kicked him in the butt, scolding, “Dream on! Last time you lost a bet, you said you’d call me Daddy. You’re such an unfilial son.” Giang Chỉ raised his eyebrows and kept muttering “wife” as he dragged his suitcase away at a run.
I never expected that the moment we got our marriage certificates, the two of us would immediately be kicked out of our homes and shoved into the new apartment both families had prepared in advance. It was a 300-square-meter luxury apartment near the river in the city center. Inside, it had not only floor-to-ceiling windows but also a bathtub right beside the window, overlooking the river raging past below. I could already imagine soaking in a rose-petal bath, sipping wine, and admiring the nighttime view. It was absolutely wonderful.
I spread my arms wide to embrace my new life, then turned around and saw Giang Chỉ hanging the SpongeBob-print boxer shorts I’d given him in Tam Á in the closet, right in the middle of his new-season clothes. The sight of those cheap shorts was painful enough to make my eyes hurt. “Why are you hanging those in the master bedroom? You’re sleeping in the guest room.”
Giang Chỉ frowned. “What do you mean? We’re legally married. It’s all right there in black and white. We’re husband and wife, fair and square. Right now, I don’t have a penny to my name. Other than you, my wife, I have nothing. There’s no way I’m sleeping separately.”
Dead broke, yet still talking big. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What exactly are you getting at?”
He cast me a sly glance and smiled wickedly. I instinctively took two steps back, only to see him start stripping. First came his suit jacket, then his shirt, layer by layer, revealing eight-pack abs and a solid body with a pronounced V-line. I had to admit, in this department, Giang Chỉ really did have something to be proud of. He was six-foot-two, with a strong, toned build and a face handsome enough for a movie star. It was hard for any girl not to fall for him.
My forehead began to sweat, and my heart started pounding. He raised his head and provoked me. “You’re totally dying to see more, aren’t you? Call me Honey, and I’ll let you touch me.”
What an obnoxious man. The fluttering in my heart was instantly crushed beneath my competitive spirit, and my fighting blood began to boil. I immediately pulled out a set of pajamas so cool they couldn’t possibly be any cooler.
When I emerged from the bathroom, Giang Chỉ stared at me blankly. Satisfied, I retied the sash of my robe, planted myself at the foot of the bed, crossed my legs, and asked, “Do I look good? Call me Daddy, and I’ll let you see more.”
Anyone could have a good body. Mine looked like it had stepped straight out of a comic book: a slim waist, curvy hips, and the kind of figure that made everyone stop for three minutes to admire it whenever I went out.
Giang Chỉ’s face flushed bright red, and his ears burned crimson. Stammering, he asked, “Did you buy that yourself?”
I replied proudly, “My sister-in-law gave it to me. She really put a lot of thought into you.”
He dug a large box of strange, toy-like gadgets out of his suitcase, dumped them all over the bed, and said, “It’s basically the same thing. My little brother isn’t stingy with me, either. Use all of this, and you’ll be worn out.”
His mouth started spouting nonsense again, saying that he didn’t just want to sleep with me every day—he also wouldn’t let me touch him, so I’d be dying of frustration.
I was so furious my blood boiled. I sprang off the bed and shouted, “I’ll rip that mouth of yours right off! I’ve seen all kinds of men by now. A petty little man like you doesn’t even make the cut.”
When Giang Chỉ heard that, his ear twitched slightly. “You’ve seen all kinds of men? What a coincidence. I’m famous for being a girl-killer. Someone like you doesn’t even meet my standards.”
I unleashed a lightning-fast kick and executed the Nine Yin White Bone Claw technique I had trained in for twenty years. Giang Chỉ refused to back down and countered with the hair-pulling move we’d used as kids. A chaotic battle worthy of chickens flying and dogs leaping erupted, moving from beneath the bed to the top of it. There was a single sharp ripping sound, followed by a scream like a rooster crowing at dawn.