The week after the real-vehicle testing ended, Zhōng Yì and Zhōu Shíyì moved back into their wedding home.
It had been half a year since she’d last been home, and the moment she stepped through the door felt like visiting someone else’s house.
Having gotten through the most exhausting phase of the project cycle, she gave herself a few days off and slept for two full days straight.
She slept so deeply that when she woke up, the blackout curtains in the bedroom were still tightly drawn, making it impossible to tell if it was day or night.
Zhōng Yì reached for her phone and saw it was 2:40 PM.
Zhōu Shíyì wasn’t in the bedroom. She wasn’t sure if he had gone to the office.
That night during the night test, Zhōu Shíyì had gone to visit her parents, mentioning that Zhōng Jiě was resting at home lately.
Checking the trending searches, she saw Zhōng Jiě’s new movie had started filming today.
[“Congratulations to Zhōng Jiě on a great start!”]
[“Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have bought you a beautiful bouquet.”]
Zhōng Zhuóhuá quickly replied: [“I told Shíyì not to tell you. It’s filming in Shencheng, not too far from home. Whenever I miss mom, I just go back to see her.”]
She added, [“Zhōu Shíyì sent you flowers, and so did your mother-in-law.”]
[“Here, take a look.”]
Moments later, Zhōng Yì received a photo of the bouquet from her mother—a vibrant and fiery magenta bunch of flowers.
She asked how long the filming cycle would be, hoping it wouldn’t affect the wedding date.
Zhōng Zhuóhuá replied: [“They should wrap up in June. Mom’s got it all under control.”]
[“Mom’s busy. Talk to you when I have time.”]
Finally able to chat freely with her daughter on set without worrying about being seen, Zhōng Zhuóhuá could now proudly call herself “Mom.”
The film’s director was Director Yu, and this was their second collaboration.
If not for Director Yu’s insistence on her taking the role, she wouldn’t have considered acting this year.
In the movie, she played a divorced mother with a nineteen-year-old son and a sixteen-year-old daughter, both going through rebellious youth.
The children, including herself, were all secretly dating behind each other’s backs.
It was a lighthearted family healing film.
Director Yu said before working with her, he thought she was aloof and hard to get along with. After getting to know her, he found she was actually quite the joker and very easygoing.
The mother’s character and image in the film were tailor-made for her.
Jiang Jingyuan read the script and asked, “There are this many romance scenes?”
When he learned the co-star was the ageless god from Hong Kong Island, he reread the romantic parts several times.
Zhōng Zhuóhuá hadn’t left the chat with her daughter yet when the agent came in holding two boxes of ice cream.
“What flavors?”
“I don’t eat it.”
“Jiang Dong bought it. You really won’t have any?”
“How did he even buy ice cream?”
“It’s hot out, maybe he thought you’d suddenly want some.”
On the first day of filming, Jiang Dong treated the crew to afternoon tea, including one ice cream each.
The agent sat down. “Is your wedding dress ready, Xiǎo Yì?”
“Yeah, ready. I’ll show you the real thing.”
Zhōng Zhuóhuá opened a video and handed the phone to the agent.
The agent imagined Zhōng Yì wearing the dress standing in front of the windmill—graceful and radiant, her happiness suddenly tangible.
While they chatted about the wedding dress, Zhōng Yì leaned against the bed headboard far away in Beicheng, scrolling through the trending searches.
Since being busy with the project, she hadn’t had time to follow the news.
Besides the film’s start and the related entries about her mother, there was also an old rumor about her mother and the ageless Hong Kong film god—the two had worked together when young and were rumored to have fallen in love on set.
That movie had swept major awards, and her mother won Best Actress because of it.
Zhōng Yì sent two hugging emoji stickers to Jiang Jingyuan: [“Dad, are you jealous?”]
Jiang Jingyuan was exasperated but amused: [“Do you want me to be jealous or not jealous?”]
Zhōng Yì: [“Don’t get too jealous; it’s bad for your health.”]
Zhōng Yì: [“Zhōu Shíyì said you’ve been working out lately. 😎😎”]
Jiang Jingyuan: [“I told him not to tell you!”]
Zhōng Yì laughed: [“How could he hide anything from me?”]
After teasing her dad a bit, she went back to the trending list.
There hadn’t been anything about Lù Chéng earlier, but after chatting with her father and refreshing the page, she saw an entry about the Lù Chéng concert ticket rush at the bottom of the list.
She didn’t click on it, but knew the gist: tickets sold out in seconds.
Jì Fánxīng had posted on social media a few days ago that Lù Chéng would add two more shows in early April in Jiangcheng. This tour had lasted a year, starting and ending in Jiangcheng.
Lù Chéng’s endorsement contract with Kuncheng Motors was about to expire—no one knew if it would be renewed.
Zhōng Yì exited the trending page and messaged, [“Hubby, where are you?”]
Zhōu Shíyì: [“In the study, in a meeting. Awake?”]
Zhōng Yì: [“Yeah. You’re busy.”]
She put down her phone and got up to wash up.
The snow had just melted under the warm sunlight all day, the rooftop and trees losing most of their snow. Water dripped down from the eaves and treetops with a soft “plink plink” sound.
Zhōng Yì grabbed Zhōu Shíyì’s coat from the wardrobe and wrapped herself in it, then leaned on the terrace to bask in the sun.
Having been working late every night for months, it had been a long time since she’d seen the sun.
Voices came from the study next door; Zhōu Shíyì’s meeting was still going.
Kuncheng’s high-end car sales had been strong in the second half of last year, winning the top sales spot for two consecutive months and significantly boosting market share.
Du: “Regarding the spokesperson, I don’t think we need to change anymore. What’s your take, President Zhōu?”
Zhōu Shíyì briefly replied: “Renew next week.”
Du: “Tickets for Lù Chéng’s last two concerts went on sale today, sold out instantly. No telling when the next concert will be—maybe never. Director Jì Fánxīng contacted me, said half the box seats are for Kuncheng.”
He addressed all senior executives: “Each department, count how many tickets you need. I’ll allocate them fairly, prioritizing those who like Lù Chéng’s songs.”
He joked about himself: “Those like me who’re just along for the ride can line up at the back.”
“President Zhōu, how many tickets do you need?”
“None.”
Du: “Almost forgot—you and Jì Fánxīng are childhood friends. She’ll get you in directly.”
Zhōu Shíyì didn’t plan to attend the concert. His personal matters with Lù Chéng were long behind them; now, it was purely a mutually beneficial business collaboration.
***
After the meeting, he went to the bedroom to find Zhōng Yì.
She was still sunbathing, lazily leaning on the railing and staring absentmindedly at the garden below.
“What are you thinking about?”
Zhōng Yì turned her head. “How to renovate the garden.”
Zhōu Shíyì leaned against the railing, pulling her into his arms. “Want to plant hydrangeas?”
Zhōng Yì nodded with a smile.
To grow a patch just like the hydrangeas at their Boston home.
“When it gets warmer, I’ll have the housekeeper arrange it.”
“I’ll plant them myself.”
“Alright.”
Zhōu Shíyì glanced down at her clothes. “Wearing my coat? Not cold?”
Zhōng Yì shook her head, smiling: “Not really wearing your coat—you’re mine, so your clothes are mine too.”
Zhōu Shíyì smiled and lowered his head to cover her lips.
“Make a list of what hydrangea types you want and send it to me.”
Zhōng Yì kissed him back. “No need, I’ll just tell Jiang Bo.”
After the kiss, Zhōng Yì felt she’d had enough sun and went downstairs to find the housekeeper.
She told Jiang Bo which hydrangea varieties she wanted to plant and added, “Jiang Bo, make the salty taro pastry normally from now on—Zhōu Shíyì likes it.”
Jiang Bo agreed: “Alright.”
Since then, salty taro pastries appeared on their table once or twice a week.
The preserved sweet red beans in the fridge weren’t as sweet as before, with half the honey reduced.
Beicheng had warmed up early this year; by early March, the grass was green and the birds chirping.
The housekeeper ordered potted hydrangea seedlings, delivering them on Zhōng Yì’s day off.
She didn’t let anyone help. Nearly a hundred hydrangeas were all planted by her alone.
She spent all Saturday and Sunday working on it—her first real weekend off since the project started.
The large model had undergone another optimization round; nighttime detection rate in extreme weather had reached 99.2%.
Both teams had the whole weekend off.
Though the project wasn’t finished yet, Yán Tínglín promised the team a month’s paid vacation in July and August, split into two batches to stagger time off without affecting progress.
Yán Tínglín was also going to Windmill Village in July to attend a wedding. Zhōng Yì didn’t expect he’d really agreed to be her father’s best man.
After planting the hydrangeas, she checked the garden every morning before work.
Unexpectedly, a late spring cold snap hit mid-March, even snow falling.
She worried the tender buds on some less hardy varieties might be damaged and got up in the middle of the night to check—but Zhōu Shíyì held her back.
“It’s okay. Jiang Bo added an extra insulation layer last night. They won’t freeze.”
He smiled. “Are you treating gardening like a project now?”
Zhōng Yì lay back in his arms. “Flowers are as important as the project.”
The project was her career; the flowers were how she cultivated their little home.
Fortunately, the cold snap lasted only two days before temperatures rose again.
Not a single bud was harmed.
As the weather warmed, the Sakura Avenue at Jinghe Park filled with people taking photos at noon and dusk.
It was cherry blossom season again.
Zhōng Yì joined the fun at noon and snapped a few selfies to post in the family group chat.
Jiang Jingyuan: [“Auntie made you Sakura Mille Crepe and Sakura Bread, will send them over tonight.”]
Seeing the Sakura Bread, Zhōng Yì suddenly thought of Chén Chén.
Chén Chén loved Sakura Bread the most, also loved eating cherries and wearing her Cherry Hair Clip.
She hadn’t seen Chén Chén for a long time.
[“When shall we go see Chén Chén? I’ll take you back to see the old house I grew up in on the town’s east side.”]
She sent it to Zhōu Shíyì.
Quickly, Zhōu Shíyì replied: [“The old house is still there?”]
Zhōng Yì: [“Always has been. It’s a bit far from Yu Lǎoshī’s place, on the town’s east side.”]
Zhōu Shíyì roughly knew the town’s geography—Yu Lǎoshī lived south, and her favorite Dingsheng Cake shop was at the town’s northernmost edge.
He replied: [“Okay. Let’s pick a weekend to go.”]
Naturally, it would be in April, the most beautiful time in Jiangnan Town.
The day they went to Jiangcheng, Zhōng Yì specially had Ayi bake Sakura Bread and bought a pair of colorful diamond Cherry Hair Clips.
Last year at this time, going to Jiangcheng was bittersweet—back then, Zhōu Shíyì still refused to go to the town and would only send her to the city.
The road from Jiangcheng to the town, she took alone.
Today, Zhōu Sùjìn came to pick up Chén Chén at the airport.
From afar, Chén Chén ran straight to her.
“Auntie! Uncle!”
Chén Chén was almost two and a half, spoke clearly, but stubbornly refused to call Zhōng Yì “aunt-in-law” instead of “auntie.”
On the way to the airport, Zhōu Sùjìn had tried persuading her, but she shook her head: “No.”
Zhōu Sùjìn gave up.
Zhōng Yì bent down and hugged the little one. “Our Chén Chén baby has grown up.”
Chén Chén hugged her neck. “Auntie, do you miss me?”
“Of course I do.”
“I miss you too.”
Zhōu Shíyì teased, “Do you still need your dad to hold you to sleep?”
Chén Chén giggled, ignoring him.
Zhōu Sùjìn glanced at his cousin: “If you can’t talk, can’t you just keep quiet?”
Zhōu Shíyì: “What did he say?”
Naturally, they brought Chén Chén to the town—they loved boats.
Last time she was small and hummed tunes only she understood on the way to the town.
This year, she hummed nursery rhymes, sitting happily in her child’s seat.
To get to Zhōng Yì’s old house, they passed the town’s shopping center, where the big screen above the entrance still displayed support ads for Lù Chéng’s concert—the last two shows of the tour were next week.
Zhōu Shíyì looked at the figure in the ad without any particular emotion.
Unlike last year, when his jealousy was so strong it seemed to permeate every corner of the town.
After their July wedding and Zhōng Zhuóhuá’s film shoot started, with Lù Chéng as the male lead, Jì Fánxīng’s wish came true.
The business vehicle drove past the mall and headed east.
[“Auntie, where are we going?”]
“Taking you to see where I grew up, alright?”
“Okay!”
It was peak travel season, and the town was congested.
A trip that usually took four or five minutes stretched to fifteen.
Zhōng Yì led the way, and the car stopped at a parking spot by the river.
The old house was occupied and well maintained.
Opening the door, a garden bursting with spring colors welcomed them.
Climbing roses covered the walls, hydrangeas bloomed in clusters.
The cherry and apricot trees her father had planted years ago towered above the roof, branches heavy with pink blossoms.
Zhōng Yì pointed to the lawn beneath the trees: “I loved lying here as a kid to watch the stars.”
She watched stars, ate watermelon, and her father worked overtime nearby, drawing pictures and helping with homework.
Zhōu Shíyì finally saw the courtyard and fruit trees she’d always talked about—the hollowed-out walls, with a small river running just beyond.
White walls and black tiles, flowing water, birdsong, and floral scents—it was like a paradise.
He asked, “Before we broke up, when you said you’d bring me home, you meant here?”
Zhōng Yì peeled a loquat to feed Chén Chén while nodding.
“To me, only this is home.”