The deep sea has no light. It was the prison he gave her.
Shen Muwan loved Gu Shenze for ten years and was married to him for three. She thought she would warm his heart one day, but she never even got a proper look from him.
He called her by the wrong name, forgot what she liked, and went to dinner with his first love while she burned with a fever. She went to the hospital alone to terminate her pregnancy. When she came out of the operating room, he was accompanying someone else to a health checkup.
When the dam broke and all turned to ash, it was the last kindness she had to give.
On the day they divorced, she said, “Gu Shenze, I loved you for ten years. But I won’t anymore.” He didn’t even look up. “Suit yourself.”
She turned and left without looking back.
The tide that came too late marked the beginning of his regret.
After she was gone, he realized for the first time that there was no light left on for him at home, no soup waiting, no sticky notes. He searched for her like a madman, kneeling in the rain and begging her to come back.
She said, “Your devotion came too late. I don’t hate you, and I don’t love you anymore. Don’t look for me again.”
Each becoming an ocean of their own was the answer she gave herself.
Years later, Shen Muwan became the youngest independent curator in the industry, and her art spaces spread across the country. Gu Shenze never married. He spent the rest of his life alone in an empty mansion, keeping a blurred wedding photo.
They met again at an art exhibition. She gave him a faint smile: polite, distant, with neither hatred nor love.
Then she turned and left, never looking back.
This is a story about the deep sea: he drowned in it, while she swam free.
