Chapter 67
It was already very late, but Wen Yan was so excited that she wasn’t sleepy at all.
Jin Zijin touched her face and asked what else she wanted to do.
Wen Yan thought for a moment, then made her suggestion: “How about we watch WALL-E?”
Jin Zijin had already seen it, but if it was Wen Yan, she didn’t mind watching it again.
Without hesitation, she nodded. “Okay.”
So the two of them lay on the carpet and used the RV’s built-in projection system to play the old film.
A galaxy of fiber-optic stars drifted slowly across the ceiling, mimicking the breathing rhythm of the midnight sky.
Wen Yan rested on Jin Zijin’s lap, covered by a thin blanket printed with nebula patterns.
On the screen ahead, WALL-E was carefully collecting the “treasures” left behind by humans.
A rusted nut, a damaged Rubik’s Cube, a young sprout stubbornly growing out of an old boot.
“Look,” Wen Yan said, lightly tapping the screen with her fingertip and landing on WALL-E’s telescopic eyes. “Her visual system is actually very basic, but her emotional feedback mechanism is astonishingly complex.”
“When she sees EVE, her eyes open wide; when she’s rejected, they droop. This kind of nonverbal expression is more vivid than a lot of advanced robots.”
Jin Zijin’s fingers were gently combing through her hair. At that, she lowered her head until her chin nearly touched Wen Yan’s temple. “Then what about EVE?”
“EVE is a typical case of function over form.” Wen Yan turned her face slightly; the screen light danced in her pupils like stars falling into a deep pool. “Her design is entirely for one mission: searching for life.”
“So her lines are sharp, her responses are efficient, and her emotional expression is minimal... until she meets WALL-E.”
She paused, then softened her voice. “Look here; when WALL-E shows her that sprout, the fluctuation frequency of the light pattern on her shell changes.”
“Even though the designer didn’t give her an ‘expression,’ that change in light is her version of a ‘pupil earthquake.’”
Jin Zijin laughed, reached out to dim the screen, and with her other hand pulled the blanket higher, carefully tucking it around Wen Yan’s neck. “Dr. Wen, it’s now 2:07 a.m. Tomorrow you still have a five-hour spinal fusion surgery.”
“And the two robots in the movie have already been staring at each other for three whole minutes without saying a word.”
“Do you still want to keep watching?”
“They’re talking,” Wen Yan corrected, tugging at her hand as if coaxing her. “They can communicate with light.”
“Just a little longer... WALL-E is about to play that musical Hello, Dolly! for her; this is her ‘heart-piercing’ moment.”
That tone made Jin Zijin think of Little Honey staring at the snack cabinet—pitifully, pleadingly.
Mm... daughter takes after mother.
Very good. Very cute!
Jin Zijin didn’t object again. She only used the pad of her finger to gently rub the sensitive skin behind Wen Yan’s ear, tender and soft.
On the screen, WALL-E clumsily pressed play, and the melody of the black-and-white musical flowed out.
On the barren Earth, he played an old love song about holding hands and the universe for a sophisticated probe robot.
Suddenly Wen Yan spoke in a low voice. “Sometimes I feel like I’m a bit like WALL-E.”
Jin Zijin’s fingers paused.
“Not that she’s dirty.” Wen Yan’s voice was very light, as if she was afraid of disturbing that quiet moment in the screen’s world. “I mean... she’s collected a whole box of junk—nuts, a Rubik’s Cube, a lighter. None of it is really useful, but every piece is a ‘treasure’ she found in the ruins.”
“She thought it was important and wanted to show EVE her whole world.”
“But to EVE, it was all just little scraps.”
She paused, her eyelashes lowering. “Sometimes I think that too. You don’t lack anything, and everything I can do—my skills, my pile of awards—to you, it’s probably all just little scraps.”
I have nothing that deserves you.
Jin Zijin smiled.
She lowered her head and pressed a kiss first to Wen Yan’s faintly trembling eyelashes, then to her forehead, lingering longer than usual.
“You’re wrong,” she said, her lips still against Wen Yan’s skin, her voice low and warm, each word clear. “Those are not little scraps.”
“Besides, those external things are far less precious than her actions and mannerisms.”
“WALL-E opens an umbrella for EVE when it rains, even if he’ll short-circuit from getting wet himself; he crosses the universe to find her, even though he has no idea where EVE is.”
“Consideration for others, and the courage to step toward the unknown; that’s her charm.”
She drew back slightly and looked into Wen Yan’s eyes in the dim light. “Just like you.”
On the screen, WALL-E and EVE danced in space, with the vast star sea behind them.
Wen Yan looked at her for a long while before quietly pulling down her collar and kissing her.
When they separated, she said softly, “Jin Zijin, sometimes you really don’t seem like someone who works on engines.”
“Then what do I seem like?”
“Like...” Wen Yan thought for a moment, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Like a romantic writer, and an EVE that WALL-E fixed.”
“The shell is still cold, but inside, stars have already started growing.”
Jin Zijin froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. The sound shook her chest, and even Wen Yan’s head resting on her lap trembled with it.
“Fine.” She tightened her arms and pulled Wen Yan closer. “Then congratulations, Dr. Wen; you’ve successfully made an ‘advanced probe robot’ crash.”
That night, the two of them stayed nestled together on the starry carpet.
With the movie as background noise, they talked intermittently.
From robot ethics to what kind of program Little Honey would have if she were a robot; from space junk to which brand of supplies the orthopedic department had recently received at the hospital; from “if WALL-E had health insurance” to “whether EVE’s charging port is Type-C”...
At three in the morning, Wen Yan finally fell into a deep sleep with her head on Jin Zijin’s lap, still loosely holding the remote in her hand.
Jin Zijin carefully pulled her numb leg out and lay down beside her. She drew the blanket up over both of them, and together they slipped into dreams.
At six-thirty in the morning, Wen Yan woke exactly on time, as if by her biological clock.
Three hours of sleep was enough to restore her energy. After a quick wash, she changed into yesterday’s clothes, said goodbye to Jin Zijin, and arrived at the hospital on time in the driver’s car.
The surgery was scheduled for nine in the morning.
It was a complex multilevel scoliosis correction surgery; the patient was a fifteen-year-old girl.
Standing at the sink, Wen Yan carefully scrubbed the spaces under her nails with a brush, the water icy enough to bite into her skin.
She closed her eyes and went over the surgical plan one last time in her mind: approach angle, osteotomy site, implant model, placement of nerve monitoring points...
Every detail was as clear as a hologram.
At 8:50, she walked into the operating room.
The moment the shadowless lamp buzzed on, the world narrowed to the square of the surgical field.
The scalpel cut through the skin, the layers opening cleanly like a textbook illustration; the electrocautery precisely sealed tiny bleeding points with a faint sizzle; the periosteal elevator advanced along the edge of the lamina, the feedback beneath her hand telling her everything was proceeding as planned.
Time passed little by little to the steady beeping of the monitors.
At 2:17 p.m., the final pedicle screw was driven into the predetermined position. On the C-arm X-ray, the physiological curvature had been restored perfectly, and the internal fixation system fit as if cast in place.
Wen Yan looked up at the monitors: blood pressure, heart rate, blood oxygen, nerve monitoring signals; everything was steady.
“Close,” she said, stepping back to make room for the first assistant, her voice as calm as ever.
More than five hours of standing had left the muscles in her calves stiff and sore. She leaned against the wall and slowly moved her ankles.
When she removed her gloves, the fingertips had been soaked white and wrinkled by sweat; out of habit, she flexed her hand.
Finally done.
After the surgery, Wen Yan returned to the lounge to change clothes, only to receive a call from her mentor, Wang Fu.
The other party told her to come to the dean’s office; there was something urgent.
Wen Yan set aside her current work for the moment and headed to the dean’s office.
——————
The dean’s office was on the top floor of the administrative building. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window was a panoramic view of the hospital, and in the distance the city skyline gleamed coldly under the thin winter sun.
When Wen Yan knocked and entered, Wang Fu was making tea. An old purple clay teapot sat in front of him, steam rising in thin wisps.
Seeing her, he pointed to the worn, polished rattan chair opposite him. “Sit. How did the surgery go?”
“Very smoothly.” Wen Yan sat down, her posture respectful. “The nerve monitoring signals were intact two hours post-op, and after she woke up, both lower limbs were moving freely.”
Wang Fu gave an “Mm,” took a dark blue cloth bag from the drawer, and pushed it toward her.
There was no logo on the bag; only in one corner was a small tai chi symbol embroidered in indigo thread, the stitches dense and even.
The old man smiled and said, “Your master’s wife made this training outfit by hand. The fabric was specially sourced through an old friend in Suzhou—xiangyun silk. Washed three times and sun-dried three times; it breathes well and absorbs sweat. Perfect for your practice.”
“Open it and take a look.”
Wen Yan did as told and untied the cord. Inside was a set of clothes.
It was a plain moon-white training outfit, cool and smooth to the touch like flowing water. The cuffs and hems were neatly tailored, and the lapels were embroidered with delicate cloud patterns in thread of the same color, visible only when held to the light.
She ran her fingers over the nearly invisible stitches, her throat tightening slightly.
Wang Fu smiled broadly. “Try it on; let me see if it fits.”
Wen Yan lifted the training outfit and held it against herself, smiling. “Anything Master’s wife gives is always the right size.”
“Mm...” Wang Fu nodded in satisfaction. “It does fit.”
He raised his phone and aimed it at Wen Yan. “Don’t move, don’t move; I’ll take a couple of pictures and report back to your master’s wife.”
At that, Wen Yan straightened at once and gave him a shy little smile.
Wang Fu snapped two photos in quick succession. After putting the phone away, he said to Wen Yan, “Keep it, then?”
Wen Yan nodded, folded the clothes neatly, and said to him, “Thank you, Master and Master’s wife.”
Wang Fu waved a hand, signaling for her to sit.
The water had boiled; the old dean brewed a pot of tea. He poured two cups and pushed one toward her. The tea was clear and bright. “Your master’s wife keeps talking about you. She says you’re steady enough, but no one’s been there to care for you properly, so your days have been hard.”
“I told her now that you’re married, someone is looking after you, and she finally feels a little more at ease.”
He paused, took a sip, then looked up at Wen Yan and scolded her half-jokingly, “But you, child—such a big thing as getting married, and you didn’t even say a word to us.”
“To this day, your master’s wife and I still don’t know what your spouse looks like, what her name is, or what she does.”
Wen Yan smiled awkwardly. Lowering her head, she rubbed the warm rim of the teacup with her fingertips; the smooth celadon glaze was mirror-bright. “Before... the situation was a little special. It was all too rushed.”
“Rushed?” Wang Fu set down his teacup and shook his head with a sigh, drawing out the words. “Oh, I heard all about it. Your wife sends you food to the hospital every single day in all sorts of ways.”
“Soup is soup, dishes are dishes, even the fruit after dinner is cut into just the right bite-sized pieces, packed in thermal containers, and still warm by the time it gets to you. The little nurses at the nurse station are green with envy.”
“Such a wonderful wife; no matter how rushed the marriage was, you still should’ve brought her out to meet people.”
Wen Yan opened her mouth but couldn’t say anything.
“We old folks are already halfway in the grave; we don’t ask for much. We just hope you youngsters live well.” Wang Fu’s voice softened. Looking at Wen Yan, his gaze was full of affection. “If your relationship is good, we want to see it and be happy for you.”
“Someone puts you in their heart; you should put them in yours too.”
Wen Yan nodded and earnestly said, “Mm.”
Only then did Wang Fu smile again. Looking at her, he stated his purpose: “Next weekend, bring your wife home for dinner.”
“Your master’s wife said she’ll cook personally and make a table full of your favorite dishes.”
Wen Yan’s eyes grew hot. She nodded lightly, her voice a little hoarse. “Okay. I... I’ll ask her about her schedule.”
“That’s more like it.” A genuine smile spread across Wang Fu’s face. Then his expression turned a little more serious. “Also, about Director Li in orthopedics, you’ve heard, right?”
Wen Yan froze and looked up.
“Retiring next year; the position will be open.” Wang Fu’s tone was direct, with no preamble. “You’re steady by nature, your hands are solid, and your research output has been consistent.”
“Now that you’re married and your life is stable, it’s exactly the right time to move up.”
He looked at Wen Yan with a heavy kind of trust, like an old craftsman handing the final uncut stone to his apprentice. “I won’t be dean for many more years. There aren’t many chances left for me to push you forward. This time, you have to grab it yourself.”
“Next spring, put out a paper with enough weight to matter; get a highlight out of that National Natural Science Foundation project; keep your surgery volume up. As for the rest...”
He paused, then didn’t continue. He simply waved a hand. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
Wen Yan looked at the new white in his temples, then at the asparagus fern on his desk, green and lush after more than ten years. For a moment, her throat was too tight to speak.
Wang Fu was her PhD advisor, the person who brought her into the hospital, and one of the few elders in her wandering youth who made her feel that “the mentor’s gate is like home.”
Over the years, he had never openly given her any special favor, but at every critical point in her life and career, he would quietly pave the road beneath her feet; once she had found her footing, he would step back just as quietly.
“Master, I...”
“Don’t thank me.” Wang Fu interrupted her, picking up the teapot to refill her cup, his movements steady. “You earned it yourself. Go on; you’ve had a long day. Head home and rest early.”
——————
When Wen Yan left the administrative building, the slanting sun was shining through the glass at the end of the corridor, dyeing the whole hallway amber.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket; the two characters Mom kept flashing on the screen.
Wen Yan stared at those two characters for three seconds, her fingertips cold, then pressed to answer.
“Yan Yan.” Her mother’s voice came through the line, deliberately softened, trying to sound affectionate. “It’s your birthday today. Come back to your grandpa’s place tonight and have dinner with Zijin?”
“Your grandpa has been talking about it for days. He said he wants to celebrate your birthday, and by the way see whether you and Zijin are doing well.”
What did you do before?
You didn’t even think about whether she had time, with work this busy.
If you really cared, you’d make an appointment like her mentor did.
Wen Yan looked out the window. Far away, the red cross atop the inpatient building was lit in the dusk, like some silent coordinate.
She drew her gaze back and said calmly, “She’s on a business trip. She isn’t in the city.”
“Huh? Then... then you can just come back alone; your grandpa hasn’t seen you in a long time.”
“I’m on the night shift today; I can’t get away.” Wen Yan paused, then added, “I have plans tomorrow too.”
There was silence on the other end for two seconds. Her mother’s voice grew more anxious before she forced it down, a trace of barely concealed irritation slipping through. “You child, how can you... It’s your birthday; why can’t the family just get together?”
“You got married and your grandpa hasn’t even seen her, and now you can’t even come home for one meal...”
“Mom.” Wen Yan cut her off, her voice still calm, but with a faint thread of fatigue. “I still have patients here. I’m hanging up.”
The call ended. The screen went dark, reflecting her expressionless face.
A few seconds later, the phone vibrated again; this time it was a bank text message:
[ICBC] Your account ending in 8877 received RMB 1,000,000.00 at 18:03 on December 25. Balance after transaction...
The transfer was from her mother’s card number. The memo field contained only four words, written neatly like an official document: Happy Birthday.
Wen Yan stared at that string of zeros for a long while; by the time the numbers had begun to blur, she finally curled her lips.
One million.
How generous.
So this was the benefit of marrying up?
Even pocket money rose with the tide.
After thinking for a moment, Wen Yan sent a message to the new card number Wen Chen had given her: “Did you receive Mom’s birthday pocket money?”
Wen Chen didn’t know what he was doing, but he replied very quickly: “Got it. Why?”
Wen Yan raised an eyebrow and typed two words: “How much?”
Wen Chen: “100,000. Don’t think I’m splitting mine with you this year; I have no money! I really have no money left!”
Wen Yan curved her lips and laughed lazily. “Tsk. A man who can’t get married is indeed worth less and less.”
Wen Chen: “Fuck, you’re so arrogant. Did you get a lot? Hurry up and split half with me!! Little sis! You’re my real little sis! Fund my Antarctic iceberg protection project.”
Too lazy to bother with him, Wen Yan simply replied: “Scram.”
After replying, she ignored Wen Chen’s barrage and put away her phone.
Hmph, she wasn’t going to give him any. It was what she deserved.
Wen Yan took the elevator back to the orthopedics lounge.
Just as she reached the door, Zhang Sheng came out of the adjacent lounge, holding a beautifully wrapped rectangular gift box; deep blue gilded paper, tied with a silver-gray ribbon.
“Wen Yan, you haven’t left yet?” He put on his usual polished smile and handed over the box. “Happy birthday.”
“I heard you like tea, so I asked a friend to find some rougui from the core area of Zhengyan. The vintage is pretty good; hope it suits your taste.”
Wen Yan paused for half a second, her gaze brushing over the subtle gold logo on the box.
It was from a boutique tea house known for being expensive and hard to buy from.
She reached out and took it, her fingertips feeling the fine texture of the paper. “Thank you, Senior Zhang. You shouldn’t have spent so much.”
“Don’t mention it. It’s what colleagues do.” Zhang Sheng’s gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer, as if observing something. “You look good today. Seems like your birthday was pretty happy?”
“Not bad.” Wen Yan replied lightly. “The surgery went well, just a little tired. I’m going to change clothes first. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
Wen Yan pushed open the lounge door and went inside, cutting off that still-smiling face outside.
——————
After being busy for a little while, it was finally time to get off work.
She had agreed with Jin Zijin that they would have dinner together tonight.
As for the location, Jin Zijin would decide it. Wen Yan didn’t know where they were going, so she simply let her arrange everything.
Wen Yan walked to the hospital entrance, where the familiar Audi A8 was parked not far away, its body catching the last thread of daylight.
Habitually, Wen Yan opened the car door and got in, and at a glance saw Jin Zijin sitting upright inside.
She was a little surprised and stared at her wide-eyed.
Jin Zijin was in the middle of a video conference on her tablet, speaking very quickly, full of engineering terminology.
Seeing Wen Yan get in, she said to the blond executive on the other end, “Give me five minutes,” then removed her earphones and closed the tablet.
“Tired?” She reached out and naturally took the cloth bag and gift box from Wen Yan’s hands, her gaze pausing for a moment on the exquisite package. “What’s this?”
“A training outfit from my mentor and his wife.” Wen Yan picked up the dark blue cloth bag first, then pointed to the gift box. “Tea from Senior Zhang in my department.”
Jin Zijin opened the bag, her fingertips brushing over the unique, delicate texture of the xiangyun silk. Approval showed in her eyes. “Your master’s wife has good hands. This fabric is nourishing.”
Then she picked up the gilded gift box. She only glanced at the dark pattern in one corner of the packaging, and her brows barely twitched.
Zhang Sheng.
She knew that name.
When she had gathered information on Wen Yan before, she had carefully checked the people in her department; he was not someone harmless.
She didn’t like him.
But Jin Zijin said nothing. She casually placed the gift box in the back seat, the movement as careless as handling an unimportant document.
“My mentor wants to invite you to dinner at his place next weekend.” After sitting down, Wen Yan reached out and took her hand, speaking softly. “His wife will cook personally.”
“I don’t know whether you’ll have time, but I’d like to ask you to come with me.”
Jin Zijin’s eyes immediately lit up, the brightness washing away the last trace of conference severity on her face. “Of course I have time.”
She leaned in a little, her fingertips cool as they pressed lightly to Wen Yan’s temples, kneading them with just the right amount of force. “What gift should we bring? What does your master’s wife usually like? Does she collect calligraphy and painting? Drink tea? Or does she like flowers and plants?”
Wen Yan was amused by her string of careful questions, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “She likes growing flowers. The balcony is full of orchids—spring orchids, cymbidium orchids, and Chinese cymbidium. She takes really good care of them.”
“My mentor likes playing chess and drinking tea too, but he’s picky; he only drinks leaves from a few specific trees on fixed mountains.”
“Got it.” Jin Zijin had already begun making a list in her mind. “For the orchids, I’ll have people pick the ones at the right blooming stage directly from a base in Yunnan. As for tea... I remember the auction house had a set of old purple clay teaware from the 1980s last time; it would go perfectly with aged pu’er.”
The car started smoothly and merged silently into the rush-hour traffic.
Outside the window, the city lights gradually came on, like another galaxy spreading across the ground.
Jin Zijin chatted with Wen Yan for a couple of sentences, then returned to her meeting.
Wen Yan sat beside her, looking at her face with intense focus.
No wonder people say working women are the most attractive.
Her wife was seriously so cool right now!
The scenery outside gradually shifted into a familiar view. Watching the car race along the highway, Wen Yan belatedly realized they were going to the old family estate for dinner today.
The old house was fine too.
She was also looking forward to celebrating her birthday at the old house... with Grandma.
Jin Zijin finished the meeting in no time. After removing her earphones, she looked at Wen Yan and asked, “That Senior Zhang of yours; your relationship with him isn’t very good, is it? Why would he give you such cheap tea?”
Wen Yan: ...
That question made Wen Yan go blank. After a pause, she said seriously to Jin Zijin, “Zijin, this tea... isn’t cheap.”
Jin Zijin paused and spoke after some thought. “The tea box I glanced at had packaging paper that was a yearly limited edition from the Wuyishan Tea Culture Expo. Last year, an auction set sold for 3,800, but it was only given as a gift to select clients, not publicly sold.”
“In other words, it’s a giveaway.”
Last year, Jin Zijin had ordered ten thousand sets of it and given them to employees at the grassroots level under her name as part of the New Year gifts.
At that, she rubbed Wen Yan’s hand and looked a little more serious. “For ordinary people, that might be a fairly substantial gift.”
“But you’re an orthopedic doctor at Peking University, and also a lecturer at Peking University. Calculated according to your income bracket, this gift is a little casual.”
Having said that much, Jin Zijin had nothing left to hide and continued in one breath: “I know it’s not very courteous to evaluate a colleague’s gift.”
“It’s just... I’d feel that he was looking down on you, and I don’t like him very much.”
After all that, the main point was simply: I don’t like this person, so you should have less to do with him.
Wen Yan froze; she understood.
She squeezed Jin Zijin’s hand and blinked at her. “It’s fine; I don’t like him either.”
Jin Zijin froze for a second, then smiled.
She hit send, put the tablet away, and only then turned to look at Wen Yan. “He does seem to know your taste pretty well.”
——————
By the time the car entered the quiet street where the Jin family estate stood, night had fully fallen. Only the streetlights cast warm yellow halos onto the bare ginkgo trees.
Wen Yan and Jin Zijin walked along the stone path into the courtyard, and the moment they stepped through the entrance, warm light spilled across the polished dark walnut floor.
At that moment, Wen Yan heard familiar laughter coming from the living room, the crisp clink of porcelain, and... the faint sound of a piano.
Wen Yan froze, then followed Jin Zijin a few steps forward and looked up.
She saw her father, Jin Linglong, coming out of the kitchen with a steaming pot in his hands, heading toward the sunroom.
Her mother, Zhang Lijun, wearing a smoky-purple soft satin dress, stood by the grand piano in the living room, tuning the strings.
Grandma was sitting on the living room sofa with a thick leather-bound photo album spread open on her lap, her reading glasses sliding down to the tip of her nose.
“Dad, Mom?” Wen Yan was a little startled. She turned to look at Jin Zijin as if asking, “How did they come back today?”
Jin Zijin shrugged and laughed. “It’s the child’s birthday at home; how could Mom and Dad not be here?”
Saying that, she pulled the still-dazed Wen Yan back toward the entrance and said, “Alright, alright; change your shoes first.”
The two of them changed shoes and walked over together.
Grandma saw them and waved. “Come on, now that everyone’s back, let’s start dinner for our little birthday star.”
——————
So they ate.
Dinner was moved to the sunroom.
This space had previously been decorated as a winter garden according to Zhang Lijun’s taste; floor-to-ceiling glass windows surrounded it, and right now the thick dark green velvet curtains were drawn, with the deep blue of night faintly visible through the gaps.
Overhead was a transparent glass dome, and if you looked up, you could see the sparse winter stars.
The long table was covered in an off-white linen cloth. At the center sat a cluster of candleholders of varying heights, made of rough pottery and holding scented candles of different lengths. The flames flickered, mingling with the light scent of eucalyptus and cedar.
The dishes were all home-style, but plated beautifully: steamed sea bass topped with fine slivers of scallion and rings of red pepper; pork rib and lotus root soup served in a coarse ceramic bowl, the broth milky white and dotted with a few goji berries; stir-fried choy sum, bright green and neatly arranged.
“They’re all your favorites; try them quickly.” Grandma kept using serving chopsticks to add dishes to Wen Yan’s plate, while barely eating herself. “I specially had them catch this fish; it’s wild from the reservoir, very fresh. The lotus root in the soup is also an old variety; soft and floury.”
Zhang Lijun and Jin Linglong also acted as though Wen Yan would starve if they didn’t keep piling food into her bowl, all while urging her to eat more.
“Grandma, Dad, Mom, I can serve myself, this is enough...” Wen Yan looked at the bowl that was already about to overflow, a little helpless, yet her heart was full to bursting with warmth.
“Eat more; surgery takes your energy.” Grandma’s words were brief and to the point, and she added another piece of meat.
During the meal, the adults also told some embarrassing childhood stories about Jin Zijin to go with the food.
That naturally led Zhang Lijun to bring up Jin Zijin’s childhood “artistic creations.”
“When she was five, she insisted she was an alien princess. She cut two holes in my silk bedsheet, draped it over herself as a cape, and used my lipstick to paint an entire wall in the living room full of a battle with bionic humans.”
As she said this, she glared at Jin Zijin, but her eyes were full of laughter. “Her father insisted that was the early budding of abstract expressionism and wouldn’t let us wipe it off. He actually left it there for half a year until the wall was repainted.”
Jin Zijin pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mom, can you stop dragging up old stories at my birthday dinner?”
“How can I not say it? Yan Yan isn’t an outsider.” Zhang Lijun smiled and ladled a bowl of soup for Wen Yan. “Later she stopped painting walls and started dismantling clocks and radios at home, saying she wanted to study the mechanical soul of time and sound.”
“Her father actually bought her a whole set of professional tools and said interest is the best teacher.”
“She also took apart a washing machine!”
The moment those words fell, laughter erupted around the table.
Jin Zijin’s brow twitched. Fortunately, this group knew to save her some face and didn’t bring up how she still wet the bed at age three!
Wen Yan ate small bites of the mountain of food in her bowl, listening to these trivial, ordinary memories. In the flickering candlelight, her vision slowly blurred.
Those words, those memories, were like strands of warm, resilient thread, silently weaving around her, forming a dense and soft net that gently wrapped her up.
This was something she had never experienced, but had secretly imagined countless times on lonely childhood nights: a “home.”
How nice.
Wen Yan sniffled and, with tears in her eyes, ate another full bowl of rice.
——————
After dinner, the table was cleaned up quickly.
Zhang Lijun said to Wen Yan, “Your dad and I will put on a little performance for you.”
As soon as she finished speaking, Mother went to sit at the piano and nodded to Jin Linglong.
Jin Linglong understood immediately, picked up his cello from the corner, and sat down beside the bench.
No announcement, no explanation.
Zhang Lijun’s fingertips fell.
The clear, spring-like melody of the piano flowed out first; it was the prelude to Happy Birthday, but reworked into a slower tempo with richer harmonies and ornaments, sounding solemn yet gentle.
Then Jin Linglong’s cello joined in, deep and mellow, like the steady breath of the earth, supporting the piano’s lively melody.
The two instruments intertwined and conversed, turning a simple birthday song into a deep and sincere little chamber piece.
Wen Yan froze, staring dazedly at the two of them playing in the candlelight.
Jin Zijin quietly took her hand, her fingertip lightly scratching Wen Yan’s palm as she whispered, “Their annual special performance; they used to do it for me, and now they do it for you too.”
When the piece ended, the last echoes gently reverberated beneath the glass dome.
Smiling, Zhang Lijun stood and walked to Wen Yan, then produced a long scroll wrapped in dark green velvet from behind her back like magic.
“Yan Yan, happy birthday.”
She unrolled it; it was a small silk painting in color.
The painting showed mountains and pine branches under moonlight, rendered with a delicate, warm hand; clearly the work of a female painter.
And in the blank space at the upper right, there was a neat yet elegant inscription in small regular script, signed by Jin Linglong.
“This is my painting, and your dad’s inscription.” Zhang Lijun placed the painting gently into Wen Yan’s hands. “It’s nothing expensive, but the pines, stones, and moonlight in it are what we saw when we were sketching in Mount Huang in our youth.”
“The last time we saw you at the birthday dinner, the two of us remembered that mountain moonlight again—clear and quiet, just like you.”
Wen Yan’s fingers brushed over the smooth, cool silk surface, over the delicate brushwork, the restrained colors, and her father’s heartfelt poem and blessing.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out; her eyes only grew hotter and hotter.
Grandma came over with a cane, holding an open sandalwood box.
Inside were not dazzling gold ornaments, but three seemingly plain objects with a long, lingering charm.
A brooch inlaid with lapis lazuli in old silver; the silver had oxidized into a warm black, while the lapis remained a deep blue like the starry night.
A small boxwood comb, the back carved with an unbroken pattern of entwined lotus vines.
And a piece of uncarved natural Hetian jade seed material, egg-shaped, with a warm yellow skin and a surprisingly warm touch.
“This is from Grandma.” The old lady personally pinned the brooch to Wen Yan’s lapel, placed the comb in her palm, and gently set the seed stone into her hand.
Her hands trembled a little, but every movement was extremely solemn and slow, as if carrying out some ancient ritual. “Silver and lapis ward off evil and calm the mind; the wooden comb smooths the hair and also smooths the heart. Wear this jade more often; it’s good for you.”
She held Wen Yan’s hand, her old eyes looking at her with clarity and warmth. “Yan Yan, you’re also a child of our Jin family.”
“Your dad and mom and I will love you just like we love Zijin.”
Wen Yan’s hand trembled slightly. The brooch was cool, the comb gentle and warm, and the seed material sat heavily in her palm, carrying the weight of an elder’s body heat and the accumulation of years.
She nodded hard, and at last tears rolled silently down, landing on the tightly clasped hands and splashing into tiny droplets.
“Alright, alright; the birthday star can’t cry.” Zhang Lijun gently wiped her tears and clapped toward the kitchen.
The lights dimmed, leaving only the candlelight.
Jin Zijin came out from the kitchen pushing a two-tier cake. The cake’s design was exquisite.
In a pine forest covered with white snow, there was a tiny deer and a wooden cabin; even the chimney on the roof was really sending out a wisp of white smoke.
At the top of the cake, written in edible gold powder, were the words: For our Yan.
The candles were lit, and the pine forest shimmered.
The family gathered around again and softly sang the birthday song in the flickering candlelight.
The tune was simple; the voices were uneven, and Grandma and Jin Zijin were even a little off-key, but it made Wen Yan’s heart burn warmer than any perfect performance ever could.
Amid the warm singing and the gazes turned toward her, Wen Yan closed her eyes.
What should she wish for?
She suddenly remembered what Jin Zijin had said the night before: “Then make a wish for me.”
So in her heart she whispered softly: May this moment last forever.
She opened her eyes and blew out the candles.
Applause and laughter rose; the lights came back on.
Jin Linglong had already set up the camera and tripod. “Come on, birthday star, sit in the middle.”
He directed them, “Zijin, sit next to your wife. Mom, sit here. Lijun, stand beside me.”
Wen Yan was pushed to sit in the center. Jin Zijin sat tightly beside her, her arm naturally circling Wen Yan’s shoulder.
Zhang Lijun stood by her husband’s side, one hand lightly resting on Wen Yan’s other shoulder. Grandma sat on Wen Yan’s other side, holding her hand.
“Ready—” Jin Linglong set the self-timer and quickly walked to his wife’s side, taking his place.
The red light on the camera blinked.
Wen Yan looked into the lens, then couldn’t help turning her head to look at Jin Zijin beside her, at the hands on her shoulders from her parents, at Grandma’s kind smile.
Then she turned back and smiled brightly at the camera.
Great!
She finally had a perfect family photo.
——————
It was late at night, and the elders returned to their rooms one after another.
Wen Yan and Jin Zijin went back to the villa that belonged to them.
The moment Wen Yan closed the door, she was stunned by the sight before her.
On the living room carpet, several opened velvet gift boxes and document folders were arranged neatly, glowing softly under the warm yellow light.
“These are... ”
“Birthday gifts; open them and see.” Jin Zijin leaned by the door, a smile at the corner of her mouth. “They had them sent up while we were eating.”
Wen Yan stepped closer and first picked up the most eye-catching document folder.
Inside were property ownership certificates for two prime-location residences. The owner column was unmistakably written with her name.
Attached beside them were a simple notarization document and a handwritten note; the handwriting was Grandma’s. “Yan Yan, these two places are both close to your hospital and Zijin’s company. When you’re tired, you can always stop by and rest. The key is in the drawer.”
In another thick folder was a copy of a bank asset custody agreement.
Wen Yan flipped to the last page and stared at the number beginning with a 1 and followed by a long string of zeros for a full five seconds.
One hundred million.
Cash.
“Grandma said,” Jin Zijin came over and wrapped her arms gently around Wen Yan’s waist from behind, resting her chin on Wen Yan’s shoulder, “gold and jade are too vulgar; houses and money are practical.”
“You need a place that will always belong to you, and you also need the confidence to never have to bow your head for money.”
Wen Yan’s throat moved. She put down the documents and opened the two deep blue velvet boxes.
The first held a full set of imperial green jadeite jewelry: necklace, earrings, and ring. The green was deep as a pool, the stone was translucent and pure, and in the light it flowed with a warm, restrained luster.
Below it was a card from Zhang Lijun: “Yan Yan, jade nourishes the body and even more so the heart. May it protect you with peace and clarity for life.”
The second box held a set of ruby-and-diamond jewelry, designed with a distinctly modern style. The main stones were two pigeon-blood rubies; their color blazed like fire, the cutting precise, the setting nearly invisible.
The card came from Jin Linglong: “Rubies symbolize passion and strength. May you always keep the flame of life.”
Beside each box lay a quiet check for ten million.
Wen Yan looked at everything one by one, her fingertips brushing over the cold gemstones, the texture of the paper, and those numbers carrying such heavy intent.
Did this count as... real recognition of her?
Wen Yan thought for a while, then turned to start tidying up in an orderly manner.
She stacked the documents in sequence, closed the jewelry boxes and put them back in place, and tucked the checks into the card holder she carried with her.
Her movements were steady, her expression serious, as if she were performing a delicate surgery.
Once everything was sorted, she lifted her head and looked at Jin Zijin, who had been quietly watching her all along.
“All done,” Wen Yan said, her voice very soft but remarkably steady. “I’ve opened everything and put it away.”
Jin Zijin looked at her, amusement spreading in her eyes.
She said nothing, only walked one step closer to Wen Yan, then another, until their toes touched.
As their breathing drew near, the woman reached out, her fingertip lightly hooking the top button of Wen Yan’s shirt and exerting a little force to loosen it by a sliver.
“There’s one more gift,” Jin Zijin said in a very low voice, her breath brushing Wen Yan’s suddenly sensitive neck. “You haven’t opened it yet.”
Almost instantly, Wen Yan understood what she meant.
She blinked, her long lashes casting trembling shadows beneath her eyes.
A moment later, she reached out, wrapped her arms around Jin Zijin’s waist, and pulled her toward herself until their noses were almost touching.
“Is that so?” Wen Yan looked at her with lowered eyes, smiling in her voice, her breath warm. “Then... ”
She paused, her fingertips sliding slowly down along Jin Zijin’s spine to the hollow of her waist, then giving a slight tug as she drew her into her arms. “I’ll open it now.”
TL Note:
"pupil earthquake" (瞳孔地震) means eyes widening in shock; a meme-like way to describe a strong reaction.
rougui (肉桂) is Chinese cinnamon; I've never tried so I don't really know what it tastes like.