Chow Mo-wan and Su Li-zhen lived as neighbors, separated only by a thin wall and the polite, suffocating customs of the Shanghainese community. They were defined by their absences—his wife was always "working late," and her husband was always "away on business."
He stuffed the hole with mud and grass, burying the secret forever. He walked away, finally leaving that 1962 hallway behind, while the wind carried the faint, ghostly melody of a waltz he had never dared to dance.
The realization was a cold realization: their spouses were together.
It started with a look in the hallway. A brush of shoulders on the stairs as she carried her metal tiffin tin to buy noodles. She wore high-collared cheongsams, floral patterns that looked like armor, every button done up to the chin, keeping her secrets tucked away. He wore sharp suits and carried a quiet sadness that smelled of cigarette smoke and old books.