Worried that the jazz music might disturb Zhōu Shíyì while he was reviewing documents, Zhōng Yì didn’t even dare let the breeze in and promptly closed the window.
The room instantly fell silent, save for the rustling sound of flipping papers.
Zhōng Yì glanced around the office. There was no chair she wanted here, so she searched the entire floor and found one tucked away in a corner of the conference room.
She moved the stool next to Zhōu Shíyì. “You sit here.”
The swivel chair’s backrest was too high; she couldn’t lean against him.
Zhōu Shíyì reached out his hand. “Sit in my lap.”
“No.”
He was reviewing the Ultra-Charge Network project proposal, and she feared being in his lap would distract him.
Zhōu Shíyì got up and sat on the stool.
Zhōng Yì leaned against his back, looking at the bookshelf behind him.
Several book covers looked familiar. From a distance, she couldn’t make out the small text on them, so she took photos with her phone to zoom in.
Zhōu Shíyì sat back to back with her, unaware of what she was doing.
“Looking at the news?” he asked casually.
Zhōng Yì: “Looking at your bookshelf. You brought back all the books I gave you?”
“Mm.”
Pio.
Zhōng Yì thought of the bookshelf in his Boston study, where a few rows of his own professional books remained—the ones he hadn’t taken after their breakup.
Maybe the books were too heavy; he just left them there.
But he had taken all the ones she bought for him.
Once this project was done, when she went back to Boston, she would bring back all his books.
“Hey.”
She turned to him and asked, “If I had gone downstairs to see you off that day, would you still have left?”
Zhōu Shíyì looked at the last line on the page but didn’t flip it.
“Probably not.”
After a few seconds of silence, Zhōng Yì asked again, “Where did you stay afterward? Or did you return directly to China?”
“I stayed with Yán Tínglín for a few days.”
But Yán Tínglín was overly concerned about him, so he moved out after just a few days.
Zhōng Yì looked through her phone’s photo album, not wanting to disturb his overtime work any longer.
She had only looked through these old photos once, the day Zhōu Shíyì first sent them to her in Jiāngnán Town.
Afterwards, busy with the project, she forgot to open it again.
The last photo in the album was of their hands intertwined—not the whole bodies, just their hands.
It was the first day of their relationship.
She had taken the initiative to hold his hand.
Maybe it was too sudden or too surprising; Zhōu Shíyì forgot how to react at the time and just stared at her blankly.
That weekend, she had been busy in the lab until three in the afternoon, still hungry.
As she left the lab building, he stepped out of a car by the roadside.
“You haven’t eaten lunch yet?”
“No.”
“I just finished work too and thought I’d drop by to see you.”
She knew it wasn’t a casual drop-by but a special visit.
At that time, he knew she had no intention of dating and didn’t like him, so he never said it aloud.
He said he hadn’t eaten lunch and asked if she was free to have lunch with him.
In fact, he was the one accompanying her.
She said, “Thank you.”
Zhōu Shíyì smiled faintly and looked at her. “If anyone should be thanking anyone, it’s me. Why are you thanking me?”
She said, “You’re my only dining companion at school.”
“I’m not with you every day for meals.”
“That still counts.”
After a pause, she said, “Because I have no friends.”
He didn’t ask why she didn’t socialize.
“I’ll come to have meals with you whenever I can.”
“Aren’t you busy?”
“Busy. But I want to see you.”
She didn’t reply after that.
As they got out of the car, she walked beside him and, on a whim, took his hand.
At that moment, all she wanted was to be with him.
No more questions why.
Zhōng Yì snapped back to the present and exited the album.
It was nearly midnight when the two left the Chip Building.
Passing the lab building, all the lights were on.
Zhōu Shíyì remembered the nights he had spent with her in the university library, staying up together.
“Want to grab some late-night snacks?” Zhōu Shíyì asked.
“No. I want to go back early and look at you properly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Literally.”
She just wanted to look at him properly.
***
Back in the room, after showering, Zhōng Yì straddled his lap and kissed him—from his forehead, eyes, nose bridge, down to his jaw.
Zhōu Shíyì wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “Haven’t looked at me properly since we reunited? After being apart for so long, don’t you miss me?”
Zhōng Yì: “I do. But when I look into your eyes, my heart races.”
She explained, “It wasn’t because I was guilty after we got the marriage certificate that I avoided looking at you.”
Zhōu Shíyì felt an inexplicable sense of reassurance.
He asked, “And now?”
Zhōng Yì confessed, “If you keep staring at me, my heart will still race.”
Zhōu Shíyì took a deep breath, veins bulging on his hand as he hugged her tightly, making Zhōng Yì feel dizzy.
When they settled down, their positions had switched.
He was on top, gazing down at her.
His eyes were deep and burning, so Zhōng Yì turned her face away. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“If I don’t, I’m afraid you won’t be happy.”
He kissed her cheek and coaxed softly, “Turn around.”
Zhōng Yì turned her head, and his lips landed on her eyelid.
Zhōu Shíyì used his left hand to support himself on the pillow and held her head to keep her still.
They looked into each other’s eyes.
He filled her completely.
Heart and soul both stirred, Zhōng Yì kissed his lips, unable to help herself, and called him, “Husband.”
Zhōu Shíyì kissed her back. “Do you want me to keep looking at you like this?”
Zhōng Yì didn’t speak, only nodded.
Later,
She bit his lip lightly. “You said you love me like before, but that’s not true.”
Zhōu Shíyì: “How could it not be? You don’t necessarily know everything I think.”
Zhōng Yì suddenly tensed.
At the bottom line, her breath caught.
Zhōu Shíyì’s lips brushed her earlobe. “Where do you feel I don’t love you enough? Is it because I didn’t kiss you tonight?”
Tonight was the only night he hadn’t buried his face in her.
“I’ll make up for it soon.”
Zhōng Yì relaxed a bit. “It’s not that.”
Zhōu Shíyì always gave more: “If not for that, I’ll kiss you anyway.”
He asked again, “Then why do you think I don’t love you as before?”
Zhōng Yì: “Since we got back together, you haven’t called me out loud.”
Zhōu Shíyì thought for a moment. “Like ‘baby’?”
Zhōng Yì was silent, clutching his neck, struggling to sit up to kiss his Adam’s apple and neck.
When the project started, they had agreed to exercise restraint.
That only meant a little restraint that night; afterward, no one remembered saying it.
Though not like when they first started dating, in their early twenties, when three or four times a day wasn’t enough, they still kept going at it.
The box on the bedside table had switched from a three-pack to a sixteen-pack.
The next morning, Zhōng Yì woke at eight.
Outside the window, the sun blazed mercilessly.
The group meeting was at eight-thirty, so no time for a run.
She quickly freshened up, grabbed the fresh milk and bread Zhōu Shíyì had prepared, and ate breakfast on the way to the Algorithm Building.
Waiting for the elevator, Zhōng Yì finally had time to check her phone.
Jì Fánxīng had messaged early, before seven: [Shao Jin An came to see me last night but we didn’t talk much. When he left, I said I wanted to date. He asked if I had a suitable arranged marriage candidate. I said no, I want to date a university professor.]
That was all.
Zhōng Yì: [And then?]
[Jeez, such a short script, and you want me to split it into two parts?]
Jì Fánxīng smiled: [I was waiting for you to be free so I could tell you over the phone.]
Zhōng Yì checked the time: [Five minutes before the meeting, is that enough?]
Jì Fánxīng called directly. If it wasn’t enough, she could keep it brief.
Zhōng Yì entered the elevator. “What did Professor Shao say?”
“He didn’t expect me to say that and was silent for half a minute.”
Zhōng Yì: “Want to tell me in reverse order?”
Jì Fánxīng laughed, “Necessary buildup first.”