Chapter 17
When Wen Yan took off those jade earrings, her fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly.
Candlelight danced across the glossy green surface, casting a deep, luminous tint over her palm.
She leaned in slightly, so close that she could catch the faint citrus scent in Jin Zijin’s hair.
The woman’s earlobes were small and exquisite, thin enough to seem nearly translucent under the light, with faint blue veins visible beneath the skin.
Wen Yan held her breath. As carefully as she could, she pinched the silver post at the back of the earring, aligned it with the tiny hole, and slowly pushed it through.
Her movements were as gentle as if she were placing a precise surgical suture, though her heart was already pounding far too fast.
A very soft click sounded as the clasp closed.
Then she did the other side.
Jin Zijin had kept her head tilted the whole time, her black hair gathered to one side to reveal a long stretch of snow-white neck.
The instant Wen Yan finished fastening the earrings for her, her lashes trembled slightly, like butterfly wings.
Afterward, Jin Zijin straightened and lifted a hand to touch the cool, hard green resting on her earlobe.
She didn’t look in the mirror right away. Instead, she looked first at Wen Yan, a trace of satisfaction blooming in her eyes.
Her expression was vivid, like a child who had been given candy.
“Phone,” she said, holding out her hand to Wen Yan. Her fingertips glowed with a warm, jade-like sheen in the candlelight.
Wen Yan understood at once, took her phone out of her pocket, and handed it over.
But Jin Zijin didn’t take it. She merely tilted her head slightly, turning the side of her face with the jade earrings toward the brighter candlelight, then nodded toward her with her chin. “Take a picture.”
Her tone was so natural it was as if she were telling an assistant to take meeting minutes.
Wen Yan paused, then raised the phone.
She wasn’t really good at taking photos. She simply followed her instinct, aimed at that overly beautiful face in the candlelight, and pressed the shutter.
Click.
The moment froze on the screen.
Wen Yan looked down and her breath caught slightly.
In the photo, candlelight had edged Jin Zijin’s profile with a soft, hazy gold. Her thick lashes were lowered, casting a faint shadow over her eyelids.
The jade earrings stood out especially vividly in the dim light; the green was so rich it seemed ready to drip, creating a breathtaking contrast against her snow-white skin.
She wasn’t looking at the camera. Her gaze had fallen on the candle flames a little farther away, her expression relaxed and languid.
The corners of her mouth lifted as if she had thought of something pleasant.
No deliberate posing, no careful composition; in fact, because Wen Yan’s focus was slightly off, the image was a little blurry.
And yet it was precisely this casually captured shot that revealed an indescribable beauty.
Like a noblewoman stepping out of a Renaissance oil painting, or a fleeting freeze-frame from some classic film.
So beautiful it seemed unreal; yet because of the spark in her eyes and brows, it felt vividly alive.
Wen Yan stared at the photo and suddenly thought of the first time she had met Jin Zijin.
Jin Zijin had been wearing a sharply tailored black suit skirt, her hair tied neatly back, leading a group from the Jin family into the banquet hall with great momentum.
She walked like the wind, chin slightly raised, her face so cold and hard it looked carved from a blade, her gaze sharp.
Back then, she had seemed like a famous sword just drawn from its scabbard—brilliant and razor-edged, her presence so overwhelming that everyone around her became mere background.
Wen Yan had looked at her from afar and thought: So this is what a true crown princess looks like.
Beautiful, formidable, and unattainable.
The second time they met was at the Jin family’s old residence.
Jin Zijin had changed into a moon-white Ming-style hanfu, with a crossed collar and right lapel, wide sleeves, and a long skirt; the collar and cuffs were embroidered with delicate dark patterns.
She sat quietly beside her grandmother, her eyes lowered slightly as she poured tea for the old lady.
In that moment, all the sharpness in her had been tucked away. She was gentle and serene, like a young lady from a great family stepping out of an ancient painting; even her tone of voice had softened by three points.
That was another kind of beauty entirely, unforgettable at a glance.
And now, by this candlelit table, the Jin Zijin who wore jade earrings and smiled as she waited for Wen Yan to take her picture seemed unlike either of those two versions.
She had shed some of that distant coldness, and also the deliberately cultivated gentleness; in their place was a brightness and liveliness that belonged only to her.
She was right there, within reach, real and tangible.
Wen Yan slid her finger across the screen and took several more photos in quick succession.
Different angles, different expressions.
Jin Zijin cooperated perfectly, subtly adjusting her pose, sometimes looking into the camera, sometimes glancing away, her expression relaxed and natural.
Every single one was gorgeous beyond words.
“All done.” Wen Yan stopped and handed the phone back to her. “I’m not very good at taking pictures; have a look.”
Jin Zijin took it and swiped through the images one by one.
She looked very serious, her brow lifting slightly. After a long while, she finally looked up at Wen Yan, amusement in her voice. “Not very good?”
She turned the phone around so the screen faced Wen Yan; it was the profile shot. “And this is what you call not good?”
Wen Yan looked at the picture and said honestly, “It’s because you’re too good-looking. Everything looks good on you.”
Jin Zijin gave a soft huff and lifted her chin, utterly unapologetic. “That’s true.”
Then she paused, a teasing light flashing in her eyes, and curled a finger at Wen Yan. “Come here.”
Wen Yan walked over as told.
When she reached Jin Zijin’s side, Jin Zijin suddenly lifted an arm around her shoulders and pulled her a little closer.
With the other hand, she raised the phone and switched to the front camera.
The two of them were shoulder to shoulder, their heads leaning together, the background all flickering candlelight and a table full of exquisite dishes.
Jin Zijin pressed the shutter.
Click.
After taking it, Jin Zijin immediately lowered her head to check the photo.
In the picture, their faces were pressed very close together. Wen Yan looked a little dazed, her eyes fixed straight on the camera, clearly having not reacted in time. Jin Zijin, on the other hand, had curved eyes and was smiling radiantly.
The candlelight was soft, the atmosphere warm.
But Jin Zijin’s brow still knitted slightly.
“The beauty filter is too strong,” she muttered under her breath, tapping the screen to turn off the automatic enhancement filters.
Then she flipped her wrist, turned the phone around, and switched to the rear camera.
“Come on, look at the camera.” She adjusted her posture and drew Wen Yan a little tighter to her side. “One, two, three—cheese.”
Wen Yan let herself be guided, her body leaning slightly toward her. She forced her mouth into a smile and followed along. “Cheese.”
Another photo.
Jin Zijin checked again, only for her brows to knit even tighter.
“The angle’s wrong,” she murmured. Then she suddenly stood up and tugged at Wen Yan’s sleeve. “Sit here.”
Though Wen Yan didn’t understand why, she still obediently sat down on the chair.
The next second, Jin Zijin turned around naturally, facing away from her, and sat directly on Wen Yan’s lap.
Wen Yan’s body stiffened. Her hand reflexively went to Jin Zijin’s waist.
But the woman seemed completely unaware, adjusting her posture and settling comfortably into her embrace before raising the phone again.
This time, she aimed the camera at their overlapping figures and the lavish dinner behind them.
“Smile.” She turned her head slightly; her cheek nearly brushed Wen Yan’s chin, her voice soft but commanding.
Wen Yan drew in a breath, forced her tense body to relax, and lightly rested her chin on Jin Zijin’s shoulder as she looked toward the camera.
Click.
Jin Zijin lowered her head and looked at the new photo.
In it, Wen Yan was embracing her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder, looking into the camera with a shy smile and gentle eyes.
Jin Zijin herself had turned her face slightly, the corners of her lips lifted, the jade earrings on her earlobes shimmering in the candlelight.
The entire table of dishes formed a colorful backdrop; the flames danced, and the light was warm.
She stared at the screen for several seconds; at last, her brow relaxed, and a satisfied curve appeared at the corners of her mouth.
“All right.” She put away the phone, stood up from Wen Yan’s lap, and turned to pat her shoulder. “Recording complete. Eat.”
Seeing her carry out the whole thing so smoothly, Wen Yan couldn’t help but laugh. “Taking a photo and being this serious about it; it’s even more meticulous than doing surgery.”
“Of course.” Jin Zijin had already returned to her seat and picked up her chopsticks. “Surgery records pathology; photos record life.”
“The latter is important too.”
Wen Yan froze slightly; something in her heart was gently stirred.
She didn’t say anything more and picked up her chopsticks as well.
Dinner was very pleasant.
Wen Yan’s cooking was indeed excellent. The tom yum soup was sour and spicy in just the right way to whet the appetite; the green curry chicken was rich and fragrant; the mango sticky rice was sweet and soft.
Jin Zijin ate with evident satisfaction, her brows and eyes relaxed. Occasionally she would offer a comment or two, or tell Wen Yan to add a little more lemongrass next time.
The atmosphere was as warm and peaceful as any ordinary family’s perfect dinner.
After the meal, while Wen Yan was clearing the dishes, she casually suggested, “Want to go downstairs for a walk? We just ate; it might help us digest.”
Jin Zijin was holding a wet wipe and wiping her hands. At that, her movements paused.
She looked up at Wen Yan, a trace of apology flashing in her eyes.
“As much as I’d love to,” she said, her voice a little lower, “I… have a meeting later.”
After a pause, she added, “A video conference for a cross-border acquisition. The other side’s in a different time zone, so it had to be set for this time. Sorry; I can’t keep you company today.”
Wen Yan, in the middle of stacking the dishes, stopped.
She looked up at Jin Zijin, a little startled. “You’re very busy today?”
“Not too bad,” Jin Zijin said lightly. “This meeting is just important, so I have to attend it personally.”
Wen Yan wasn’t an innocent little girl who knew nothing.
She understood immediately.
Jin Zijin had deliberately rearranged work that might have been earlier or later, squeezing out this dinner slot just to come back and eat with her.
A wave of guilt mixed with heartache rose in her chest.
“Sorry,” Wen Yan said, her voice a little tight. “I interrupted your work.”
At once, Jin Zijin’s brow furrowed.
She set down the wet wipe, walked over to Wen Yan, and lifted a hand to cradle her face, forcing her to look up at her.
“What are you apologizing for?” she asked sternly, though her eyes were soft. “My wife made me dinner herself; candlelight dinner, and a gift too.”
Her thumb gently stroked Wen Yan’s cheek as she said earnestly, “Even if the sky were falling, I’d still come back.”
She paused, then lowered her voice, the tone carrying a little indulgent helplessness. “Work is never finished; but I only have one wife.”
Wen Yan stared at her, stunned silent, as if something had clogged her throat.
Jin Zijin let go, glanced at her watch, and said, “The meeting starts in twenty minutes. Where’s your study? Can I borrow it?”
“Second floor, first room on the left,” Wen Yan hurriedly said. “Use it however you want; the computer password is six eights.”
“Okay.” Jin Zijin nodded and picked up the briefcase on the sofa.
After taking a couple of steps, she came back again and quickly pressed a kiss to Wen Yan’s lips.
“Thank you for the meal,” she said, looking into Wen Yan’s eyes, her tone sincere. “I’m sorry I’m so busy.”
“If the meeting ends and it’s not too late, let’s take that walk then, all right?”
Wen Yan nodded. “Mm.”
Only then did Jin Zijin turn and go upstairs, her high heels tapping steadily on the wooden stairs, the sound receding as she climbed.
Wen Yan stood there, watching her back disappear around the stair corner, not moving for a long time.
An inexplicable feeling rose in her chest; it was hollow and uncomfortable.
She thought: Jin Zijin really is such a good person.
Smart, strong, beautiful, and considerate enough to respect others.
She remembered her partner’s preferences, adjusted her work schedule to come home for dinner, took photos seriously to record life, and offered firm yet gentle comfort when she noticed the other person’s mood.
She was an almost perfect partner.
Whoever married her would probably be treated this carefully, cherished in her palm, and live a happy, fulfilling life.
That thought, like a tiny thorn, silently pierced Wen Yan’s heart.
For the rest of the time, Wen Yan felt a little dazed.
She mechanically carried the dishes into the kitchen, opened the dishwasher, and loaded each plate inside.
Yet her mind kept replaying the scene from earlier against her will.
Jin Zijin’s lowered lashes as she put on the earrings; her serious profile while taking photos; the soft light in her eyes when she said, “I only have one wife.”
Bang!
A sharp crash jolted her back to herself.
She looked down to see a bone china soup bowl slip from her hand, strike the stainless-steel edge of the dishwasher, then bounce onto the tiled floor and shatter at once.
White porcelain shards sprayed everywhere like a tiny avalanche.
Wen Yan froze in place, staring at the mess on the floor. It took several seconds before she reacted.
She hurriedly crouched down and reached out with bare hands to pick up the larger fragments. When her fingertips brushed a sharp edge, a sting shot through her.
She drew her hand back and saw a shallow cut along the pad of her left index finger.
Blood was seeping out slowly, making the pale skin look especially stark.
Wen Yan stared at the wound, her brows tightly drawn together, her gaze confused and blank.
What was she doing?
How had she become so distracted that she couldn’t even hold a bowl properly?
Wen Yan hadn’t grown up as a spoiled child.
She was too smart, too independent, too much the sort of person no one needed to worry about.
So her parents’ attention naturally drifted toward her twin brother, who needed more care.
She had long been used to tidying away her emotions with the same orderliness as organizing surgical instruments.
What needed sealing off was sealed off; what needed handling was handled; nothing was allowed to interfere with her reason and judgment.
Now, faced with this sudden daze and mistake, Wen Yan took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down.
As usual, she began to dissect the source of this abnormal emotion the way she would analyze a case.
The reason was actually very simple; she sorted it out in just a few moments.
Because Jin Zijin was too good.
So good it was almost unreal.
She respected her partner’s profession, upheld her partner’s dignity, and was willing to adjust her busy schedule for her.
She put sincere effort into the marriage, carefully creating a sense of ceremony and giving stable, gentle emotional responses.
And because Wen Yan happened to hold the title of her “partner,” she was fortunate enough to enjoy all of this preferential treatment.
It was that simple.
Wen Yan, you really have gotten incredibly lucky.
A substitute marriage; and yet you ended up meeting such an almost perfect partner.
So what are you feeling disappointed about?
A faint sting pulsed at the cut on her finger.
Wen Yan lowered her eyes, looking at that streak of red, and a clear thought suddenly flashed through her mind:
oh.
Maybe it’s because all of this “good” comes only from the identity of “partner,” and not from Wen Yan herself.
That thought was like a bucket of ice water, instantly waking her up.
She shook her head hard, as if to fling those pointless thoughts out of her mind.
Then she lifted her uninjured right hand and slapped her own forehead hard, the crisp sound echoing in the kitchen.
“Stop thinking,” she said to herself in a low, decisive voice.
Taking a deep breath, Wen Yan stood up, fetched a broom and dustpan, and cleaned up the porcelain shards on the floor.
Her movements were brisk, her expression once again returning to its usual calm.
Then she walked to the sink, turned on the tap, and rinsed the cut on her finger with cold water.
After that, she took a povidone-iodine swab from the first-aid kit, disinfected it carefully, and finally put on a small bandage.
When she was done, she turned off the kitchen lights and went upstairs.
The study door was half open, and low English conversation drifted from inside.
Wen Yan walked to the doorway and looked through the crack.
Jin Zijin had already taken off her coat and was wearing only that light gray knitted long dress, seated behind the desk.
She had on a pair of silver-rimmed glasses.
It was the first time Wen Yan had seen her in glasses. Her eyes, visible behind the lenses, were fixed intently on the computer screen, sharp as a hawk’s.
A bone-conduction headset rested behind her ear, blinking softly.
Her English was excellent; her pronunciation had an elegant British lilt, and though she spoke quickly, every word came out clear and forceful.
Wen Yan could understand what she was saying.
Merger terms, equity structure, risk hedging, legal compliance… all complicated business jargon.
Individually, she knew every one of those words, but when they were strung together and spoken so fluently by Jin Zijin, they built a world entirely unfamiliar and distant to her.
Wen Yan leaned against the doorframe and listened quietly.
Jin Zijin at work was yet another version of her.
The laziness and warmth she had shown at the dinner table were gone; so was the vivid liveliness from when she had taken photos. At this moment, she had reverted once again to the sharp, commanding woman she had been at their first meeting.
Confident, forceful, in control of everything.
And yet for some reason, Wen Yan felt that this version of Jin Zijin was even more dazzling.
She watched, a little entranced.
Just then, Jin Zijin seemed to notice the gaze from the doorway.
She suddenly lifted her eyes, looking past the computer screen and landing accurately on Wen Yan’s face.
Their eyes met.
Wen Yan paused, then gave her a small smile, raised a hand, and waved; she mouthed silently, “Did I interrupt?”
Jin Zijin looked at her, her eyes narrowing slightly behind the lenses.
Then Wen Yan saw her gaze lower, landing on the bandage on her left index finger.
Jin Zijin’s brow immediately furrowed.
She didn’t answer Wen Yan. Instead, she quickly said into the microphone, “Please hold for a moment,” then took off the headset and stood up to walk toward the door.
Wen Yan was a little confused as she watched her come closer. “What’s wrong? Did I interrupt your meeting?”
Jin Zijin said nothing, walking straight up to her and gently lifting the injured hand in her own.
“How did this happen?” she asked, her voice very low, clearly full of concern. “It wasn’t there when we were eating. Did the bowl break?”
Wen Yan was surprised by how sharp she was. “You’re so smart.”
“Was it hard to guess?” Jin Zijin’s thumb stroked lightly along the edge of the bandage, her eyes full of self-reproach. “I should have helped you clean up.”
“Does it hurt?”
Wen Yan shook her head. “No. It’s just a small cut.”
But Jin Zijin was still frowning, staring at the tiny white strip of adhesive as if it were something terribly serious.
After a moment, she suddenly muttered in a childlike tone, “That bowl is bad.”
Wen Yan froze, then burst out laughing.
The gloomy, self-reproachful mood in her heart was eased quite a bit by that childish complaint.
Seeing her laugh, Jin Zijin’s brow finally loosened a little.
Still holding Wen Yan’s hand, she lowered her head and gently pressed a kiss to the bandaged fingertip.
Her lips were warm and soft; the sensation came through the thin adhesive bandage, carrying a careful, almost precious tenderness.
Wen Yan’s heart skipped a beat.
And in that exact instant, an image flashed across her mind without warning.
Many years ago, probably when she and Wen Chen were seven or eight, they had been playing in the courtyard and fallen.
She tumbled into a patch of shrubs; Wen Chen had his finger scratched by a branch.
The wound was actually very shallow, but Wen Chen cried as if the heavens had collapsed.
Their mother, Wang Manyu, came rushing over at the sound, scooped him up in distress, and while coaxing him, blew on his finger. “Pain, pain, fly away; pain, pain, fly away… Chenchen, don’t cry. Mommy’ll blow on it and it won’t hurt anymore.”
Wen Yan had climbed out of the shrubs on her own and stood there quietly watching.
Her knees and palms were scraped from the fall too, tiny streaks of blood seeping out, stinging hotly.
But she didn’t cry. She just stood there and watched.
Their mother carried Wen Chen inside to put medicine on the cut; from beginning to end, she didn’t look at Wen Yan once.
The memory receded like a tide.
Wen Yan lowered her head and looked at the finger Jin Zijin was holding so carefully in her palm, kissing lightly.
The wound still throbbed faintly.
She couldn’t help but think: if the one marrying Jin Zijin were Wen Chen, would she still be this gentle and considerate?
Probably.
But Wen Chen wouldn’t cook at all, and he wouldn’t wash dishes either, so the bowl wouldn’t break and his finger wouldn’t get hurt.
So the hypothetical didn’t hold.
Wen Yan lowered her eyes and looked at the concern in Jin Zijin’s gaze; some random thought suddenly surged up in her heart—
This time, would she be the special child?
The thought crashed into her mind without warning, making Wen Yan’s whole body jolt.
She looked up abruptly at Jin Zijin, who was standing so close.
The woman was looking down, long lashes casting faint shadows beneath her eyes, her expression focused and gentle, as if the thing she had just kissed were some peerless treasure.
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Poor Wen Yan; she completely failed to notice why her wife changed so much between the first and second meetings.
She wasn’t interested in your brother at all. The moment she saw you for the first time, she was already thinking about how to swap people out. The only thing she wasn’t sure of was whether you liked girls, and whether this spur-of-the-moment feeling of hers was just a burst of hormones [grin]
Of course you’re special.
(I’ll keep updating tonight, or in the early hours of the morning.
This book is mainly about sweet married daily life. Since the main characters are adults of this age, they’re all very independent and have their own minds. Even if there are childhood hurts, they’ve already healed. It might get a little bittersweet now and then, but the main dish is sweet-and-sour ribs; you get it!)