Chapter Fifty-Eight: Early Arrival of Menopause!

Because he no longer had his connection with Bai Bing, going home for dinner had become a luxury for Wang Zheng. Not being able to sit in his own house and enjoy a delicious meal left him a little downcast. Yet, for this very reason, Wang Zheng now had the chance to dine with Lin Xiaolei in the evenings.

Ever since the incident at dinner the previous night, Lin Xiaolei seemed to have learned her lesson; her appetite had clearly grown, which greatly pleased Wang Zheng—after all, he didn’t want to play the villain.

“How did you feel about the six people who came this afternoon?” Wang Zheng asked, sipping tea and gazing at Lin Xiaolei across the table. Her appetite had increased, but for some unknown reason, Wang Zheng’s had diminished. These were all dishes he usually loved, but today he simply had no desire for them.

“They’ve come to work, the contracts have been signed—what can I say?” Lin Xiaolei murmured.

Out of fifteen applicants, six had already reported in that afternoon. Though Wang Zheng hired these women in order to comply with the United Nations Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women, Lin Xiaolei still couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable about it.

Upon hearing Lin Xiaolei’s disgruntled tone, Wang Zheng chuckled softly. Still smiling, he asked, “How about we fire them all and hire fifteen men instead? Would that please you?”

“You... you’re twisting my words and making unreasonable arguments!” Lin Xiaolei retorted.

She must be missing Bai Bing now, for Bai Bing would usually stand up for ‘justice’ and certainly wouldn’t let Wang Zheng act so ‘arrogantly’. Bai Bing hadn’t come to the office today, and with nothing better to do, Wang Zheng had directed all his mischief at Lin Xiaolei. Restless, he would sometimes lean in and stare at her, or create little noises to catch her attention. He was like an impish child—one you’d want to scoop up and spank.

“Unreasonable? If I can take reason away from you, that just means your argument isn’t solid to begin with!”

“...” Lin Xiaolei fell silent. She knew better than to argue with the man in front of her; with him, silence was truly golden.

Seeing Lin Xiaolei wordlessly acquiesce, Wang Zheng flashed a triumphant grin, but after the smile faded, his expression grew calm. He looked at the woman opposite him, lost in thought.

“Tell me...” After a long pause, Wang Zheng suddenly asked her, “If I were to leave, would you miss me?”

“No!” Lin Xiaolei was still stewing over his earlier teasing, so she answered without a second thought. As it turns out, even gentle women have their tempers.

Don’t take a woman’s patience for illness; don’t take Windows XP’s lack of warning for DOS.

Wang Zheng didn’t dwell on whether her answer was true or not. The words “I wouldn’t” led him down a path of thoughts and into silence once more. His dim, forlorn eyes made him seem so alone—almost sorrowful.

People are creatures of emotion. Some say only beasts are without feelings. That’s wrong—beasts have feelings too. Things truly without feelings are even less than beasts.

In the tribes of Africa, he was called the Warrior of a Hundred Clans, the Messenger of God. Yet others named him the Killing Machine. Machines are emotionless, but Wang Zheng was not. He simply kept his feelings tightly guarded during those days, for in that place, only a machine could survive.

But things were different now. Ever since returning to his homeland, Wang Zheng had tried to show his more emotional side—not in the sense of being a philanderer, but rather, his feelings were often revealed through his words.

Men like Wang Zheng are the embodiment of iron and tenderness. Being sentimental is not the sole domain of women; men have the right to cry too. They simply haven’t reached the depth of sorrow that brings forth tears.

When Wang Zheng fell silent for so long, Lin Xiaolei grew uneasy. She slowly lifted her head and glanced at him. He was propping his chin on his hand, staring out the window, lost in thought. She followed his gaze outside, but beyond the bustling crowd, there was nothing noteworthy. Was he watching the traffic lights at the intersection?

Lin Xiaolei gently tapped her plate with her chopsticks, creating a clear ringing sound. When Wang Zheng still failed to respond, she waved her hand in front of his eyes and quickly drew it back.

Strange—Wang Zheng remained unresponsive. Lin Xiaolei found it odd; in her heart, he had always been energetic, enthusiastic, a man brimming with quirks. What could make him so dazed now? His eyes, tinged with a faint melancholy, evoked a sense of poignant sadness.

So men could have such a look in their eyes after all.

Lin Xiaolei carefully recalled his earlier question: “If I were to leave, would you miss me?” And how had she replied? “No.”

Could it be that her petulant answer was the reason for his current state? She tapped her plate again, hoping the sound would draw him back, but as before, she got no response. Unconsciously, she swallowed and waved her hand before his eyes again, this time more insistently and closer than before.

“If you keep waving, I just might mistake your little hand for a pig’s trotter and take a bite out of it,” Wang Zheng said quietly.

Lin Xiaolei quickly withdrew her hand and asked in a small voice, “Are you all right?”

“How could anything be wrong with a man no one misses or cares for?” Wang Zheng mocked himself, sighing deeply as he pulled his gaze away from the throngs outside the window. “To you all, I’ve always been a stranger, no different from those hurried passersby outside. I’ve simply lingered a little longer, but in the end, I’ll just be another passerby, slipping out of your lives. Not missing me is only right.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, I...” Flustered, Lin Xiaolei didn’t know how to explain. So much welled up inside her, yet she could not find the words to express it. For someone who had always been talkative, this was a painful and anxious predicament—wanting to speak but unable to utter a word.

Wang Zheng looked at her and forced a smile—not a natural one, but a smile squeezed from somewhere deep within, painfully strained.

“I’m not feeling quite right today—seems my menopause has come early,” Wang Zheng said to Lin Xiaolei. “Are you full? If you are, let’s go. If I sit here any longer, I might wind up smashing the place.”

“I’m full!” Lin Xiaolei nodded emphatically. “Today’s my treat!”

“Then thank you. See you tomorrow!” With that, Wang Zheng rose and left the restaurant, leaving Lin Xiaolei behind with an innocent, bewildered expression.

Tonight was Suxue and Chu Jun’s turn to host, so when Wang Zheng returned home, the house was as silent and eerie as a mortuary. He didn’t linger at home, but changed into sportswear, grabbed his bag, and headed to the community fitness center.

Beyond the treadmills, barbells, and other exercise equipment, there was also a boxing studio. Though called a boxing studio, it hosted boxing, taekwondo, judo, and sanda—all in the same large room, with a primary focus on teaching women self-defense, since over eighty percent of the community’s residents were single women.

Most people worked during the day, so evenings were prime time for exercise. Around six, right after work, white-collar workers who had no plans for the evening liked to work up a sweat before dinner; those with social engagements wouldn’t head out until later—summer nights truly began after eight.

Few people, like Wang Zheng, would head to the gym right after dinner.

He put his bag in a locker, locked it, and entered the gym in shorts and a tank top. His tall, muscular build and rugged features made him the center of attention the moment he walked in. Among the fifty or sixty people exercising, only six were men—the gender ratio was wildly skewed.

On a normal day, Wang Zheng would have cheerfully chatted with the many beautiful women, using the workout as a chance to get to know his neighbors—after all, in the same community, you were bound to see each other often. But not today; thanks to his so-called “menopause,” he ignored everyone’s stares, glanced around at the equipment, and chose the weights.

He tried lifting a ten-kilogram barbell with one hand—far too light. Then he selected two red plates from the stack nearby and loaded them on. The red plates were twenty-five kilograms each, making the barbell a total of a hundred catties.

He took a deep breath, gripped the barbell tightly, and hoisted it onto his shoulders. Then he began squatting.

One... ten... twenty... fifty...

What Wang Zheng needed was to sweat, to release everything within.