Why Is Mr. Handsome Always Angry? - Chapter 9

Instinct told me I was about to die again.

Ever since we left the hospital, Mr. Handsome had looked as though he’d eaten shit.

I hated Xiao Shima. One sentence from him had destroyed all the goodwill I’d painstakingly earned.

“There’s nothing between Xiao Shima and me. Really.” I planted a hand against the gray wall beside Mr. Handsome, cornering him on the street, and spoke earnestly. “Heaven and earth can testify to my loyalty to you. If I’m lying, let Xiao Shima get mop strands mashed in his face every day from now on!”

He looked down at my strange pose. “Then what’s your agreement?”

“Would you believe we agreed to do some square dancing together?” I blinked.

He pushed aside the arm blocking him and strode away.

I was tired. He didn’t believe me again, and I was so sincere.

“Fine, go! I can raise the child in my belly on my own without you!” Under the horrified eyes of passersby, I dabbed saliva at the corners of my eyes.

When Mr. Handsome turned, all he saw was my retreating back.

I slipped away, looking beautifully tearful.

I was busy admiring my exquisite acting and boundless wisdom when Mr. Handsome caught me.

Embarrassingly, despite my head start and my escape into the crowd, he still found me standing tearfully outside a fried chicken shop.

Real tears. Of craving.

“If you buy me fried chicken, I’ll allow you visitation rights to my child.”

He glanced down at me. “Didn’t you say you were a man? Can men get pregnant too?”

I clutched my chest, tears pouring out. “You really didn’t know I was a woman! All these years of marriage, and you’ve never touched me!”

“…”

I cried with rage.

Storming into the chicken shop, I ordered two family buckets.

Mr. Handsome paid and sat opposite me.

I suddenly sprang up and slapped my forehead. “Oh! I forgot to order yours. Wait a second.”

“…” He caught my arm. “I don’t have enough money left.”

I turned back, resigned. “Fine. You could try quenching your thirst by imagining plums, or filling your stomach with an imaginary pancake.”

He kept staring at me until my nerves prickled.

At last, I couldn’t stand it. Painfully parting with a little drumstick, I held it out. “Here. Eat.”

He didn’t take it.

Delighted, I reclaimed my drumstick.

After a long time, he spoke softly, with an unyielding firmness. “I won’t get divorced.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? That’s your reaction?” He seemed very dissatisfied.

Got it. He wanted something dramatic.

So I shot up, my eyes full of furious disbelief, threw down my chicken bone, and sprayed him with cola for good measure. “I REFUSE! You’re getting divorced whether you want to or not!”

“…”

“I was wrong! The cola was just to set the tense, thrilling mood.” I hurriedly grabbed tissues to wipe him, but he pressed down firmly on my hand.

In his dark eyes, I thought I could see my miserable future, tortured to death. “Have you thought it through? You really want a divorce?”

“No! Absolutely not!” I flung myself at his feet and grabbed his trouser leg. “You couldn’t beat a divorce out of me! We’re locked together for life! If you’re Shuke, I’m Beta! If you’re Zhu Bajie, I’m Miss Gao! If you’re the Empress, I’m Nanny Rong!”