Chapter 79
The car rolled into the underground garage and pulled smoothly into its parking space.
The cabin was very quiet, filled only with the two of them breathing softly.
Wen Yan leaned back against the passenger seat, her eyes still swollen and red. She looked completely drained, limp in her seat as if every last ounce of strength had been pulled out of her.
Jin Zijin took off her own seat belt first, then leaned over to unbuckle Wen Yan’s as well. Her fingertips brushed lightly against Wen Yan’s tear-streaked cheek; the touch was cold, like a handful of freshly melted snow sinking into the softest part of Jin Zijin’s heart.
She lowered her voice, as if afraid of startling something: “We’re home. Let’s go upstairs.”
Wen Yan nodded without speaking.
She let Jin Zijin take her hand and lead her out of the car and into the elevator.
The mirrored wall reflected the two of them. Wen Yan was wearing a simple white shirt and a navy coat; somehow, a trace of iodine had gotten onto her lapel. The red veins in her eyes and the lingering swelling made her look especially disheveled, nothing like her usual calm, gentle self.
Jin Zijin stood at her side, never once letting go of her hand.
The warmth from her fingertips spread slowly, like the gentlest sedative, slipping from her palm straight into her heart.
Wen Yan stared at the hand in the mirror that was holding hers. The knuckles were distinct, the skin pale and slender, yet the grip was so tight, as if afraid she might disappear the next second.
The elevator doors opened.
The moment they pushed open the door at home, Mi Tang padded over on tiny quick steps, circling their ankles and meowing nonstop, its tail held high as it nuzzled and rubbed against them.
Ordinarily at this time, Wen Yan would bend down to pick it up, rub its head, kiss it twice, and smile as she said, “You miss Mom, don’t you?”
But today she didn’t.
Mi Tang looked up at her, round eyes full of confusion, and meowed again, even softer than before, as if asking: Mom, why aren’t you paying attention to me?
Wen Yan only reached back and closed the door.
Then she turned around, reached out, and hugged Jin Zijin tightly. Her movement was urgent and panicked, like a drowning person finally grabbing onto driftwood.
She pressed her face against Jin Zijin’s, her cold cheek rubbing against the warm skin there, her nose burrowing into the hollow of her neck as she greedily inhaled the familiar scent on her body.
A faint perfume, mingled with a little of the outside wind and dust, and the citrus fragrance Wen Yan knew best; it was Jin Zijin’s scent.
Like a frightened little beast finally finding its way home.
Jin Zijin immediately wrapped her arms around her in return.
Her embrace tightened as she steadied Wen Yan’s waist, letting her cling to her while the two of them retreated step by step.
They backed past the entryway, past the living room, until they reached the sofa and collapsed together into the soft cushions.
Wen Yan sat on the sofa and pulled Jin Zijin onto her lap.
Still cheek to cheek, her arms clamped around Jin Zijin’s waist so tightly that she buried herself completely in her embrace. She clung with such dependence, such need, like an enormous dog guarding its food, as if she wanted to knead Jin Zijin entirely into her own body.
Mi Tang followed after them, hopped lightly onto the sofa armrest, and tilted its head to look at them.
It glanced at Wen Yan, then at Jin Zijin, and let out a soft meow from its throat, as if asking: What are you two doing? Why aren’t you paying attention to me?
Wen Yan didn’t look up.
After a while, when its mother still had no reaction, Mi Tang jumped down from the armrest and padded lightly to Wen Yan’s leg, rubbing its head against her shin.
Once, twice, three times; the fuzzy touch came through her pants.
Wen Yan’s body stiffened slightly.
She loosened one arm from around Jin Zijin and reached down. Her fingertips touched that little fluffy body.
She didn’t look down, only gently stroked Mi Tang’s head with her fingers. Her movement was very light, carrying a trace of absent-mindedness, as if confirming: you’re here too.
Mi Tang meowed in satisfaction, rubbed against her palm, then curled up at her feet into a fluffy little ball.
“It’s okay now.” Jin Zijin lightly patted her back.
One stroke after another, slow and steady, like coaxing a wronged child.
She didn’t say anything else to comfort her.
Those “don’t be sad” and “it’ll get better” were too light; they couldn’t outweigh even one of Wen Yan’s tears from earlier.
So she simply stayed with her quietly.
Using the warmth of her palm, the steadiness of her heartbeat, and the solid presence in her arms, she waited for Wen Yan to sort through the surging emotions herself, little by little.
The living room was quiet.
Only Mi Tang’s faint purring by Wen Yan’s feet, like a fluffy little portable pacifier.
The abusive words seemed very far away now, like something from another world.
Wen Yan just held Jin Zijin like that for a very, very long time.
So long that the sky outside had gone completely dark, so long that Jin Zijin’s legs had begun to feel a little numb, before she finally slowly lifted her head.
The redness in her eyes had faded most of the way; her emotions had already settled. Her voice was still a little hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing over wood: “I’m okay now. I feel much better.”
Jin Zijin cupped her face, her fingertips lightly sweeping away the tear tracks beneath her eyes; the motion was so light it was like a feather brushing across the surface of water.
She studied Wen Yan’s eyes carefully. Those eyes were usually bright, always carrying that light unique to Wen Yan. Even now, with the traces of crying still there, the light had already returned.
“Really?” she asked softly.
“Mm, really.” Wen Yan nodded, the corners of her lips curving.
The smile was faint, but genuine. Like the first ray of sunlight slipping through a break in the clouds after the rain.
“I’ve cried already, and I’ve felt wronged already; I can’t keep sinking into it forever.”
As soon as the words fell, there was a rustling at her feet. Mi Tang had apparently woken up at some point; it was using both front paws to scratch at Wen Yan’s leg, hind legs pushing against the floor as it tried to climb up.
Wen Yan looked down at it. The little thing was looking up at her, round eyes fixed on her, mouth open to reveal a tiny pink tongue, meowing as it asked to be held.
Wen Yan paused for a second.
Then she bent down, slipped one hand under Mi Tang’s belly, and lifted it up. The little creature naturally climbed onto her shoulder and rubbed its head against her cheek. The fuzzy touch brushed over the still-damp tear tracks, bringing with it a slight itch.
Wen Yan tilted her head away from the nuzzling, but the corners of her mouth lifted.
“It knows you’re upset,” Jin Zijin said as she watched, her eyes full of warmth. “It came to comfort you.”
Wen Yan didn’t speak. She simply took Mi Tang down from her shoulder and set it on her lap, then stroked its fur again and again.
The little one closed its eyes in comfort, emitting soft little purring sounds, its paws stepping lightly at her palm as if kneading dough.
The touch was soft, warm, alive, and burning.
Watching it, Wen Yan suddenly felt the thing clogging her heart loosen a little more.
Looking at her like this, Jin Zijin felt both proud and bitter.
Proud because this person was her wife; after all that rotten mess, she was still able to stand up again so quickly.
Bitter because she hadn’t needed to stand back up this fast at all. She could have leaned on her a little longer; she could have been a little weaker.
“Aren’t you sad anymore just like that?” she asked, her eyes full of concern.
“I’m not sad anymore.” Wen Yan’s tone was calm, but it held an iron-like resilience. “Emotion matters a lot, but it doesn’t matter that much, either.”
“I have several scheduled surgeries on Monday. I need to get myself back in order and be responsible for the patients coming up next. I can’t let all that nonsense online delay real work.”
She paused, then looked down at Mi Tang in her lap. The little thing had already flipped over, exposing its fluffy belly, its paws scrabbling at the air.
Wen Yan’s lips curved. “Besides, I still have you all at home. You, Mi Tang, Dad and Mom, Grandma, and Master and Madam.”
“So many people love me. If I get stuck in that mess and can’t come out, I’d be making too much of those people’s feelings.”
Jin Zijin looked at her, and all the feelings she wanted to say crowded up to her lips, but in the end they became only a gentle reminder: “Actually, you can have emotions.”
“Sadness, unwillingness, anger; I can take all of it.”
She paused, then gently brushed Wen Yan’s cheek with her fingertips. “Whenever you want, you can tell me. You don’t have to bear it all by yourself.”
Wen Yan looked at her.
Only one floor lamp was on in the living room; its warm yellow glow draped over Jin Zijin, making the tenderness in her eyes especially clear.
The woman’s gaze looked like a pool of spring water, warm enough to melt away all sorrow inside it.
At some point Mi Tang had climbed onto Jin Zijin’s lap and was now pushing its head into her hand, demanding pets too.
Jin Zijin laughed softly, one hand stroking Wen Yan’s hair, the other rubbing Mi Tang’s head; the three of them, one person and one cat, were packed together on the sofa, bathed in the warm light.
“I know.” Wen Yan wrapped her arms around her waist and tucked herself a little deeper into her embrace.
She pressed her face against Jin Zijin’s chest and listened to that steady heartbeat.
Thump, thump, thump; one beat after another, like the most reliable metronome in the world. By her leg, Mi Tang had curled into a fluffy little mound, its warmth seeping through her pants.
Wen Yan’s voice turned soft and lazy, full of contentment: “Zijin, you’re so good to me.”
“I love you, so this is only right.” Jin Zijin lowered her head and pressed a light kiss to the top of her hair.
The instant her lips touched Wen Yan’s hair, Wen Yan felt that faint warmth, like a feather brushing gently across her heart.
Jin Zijin’s fingertips moved through her long hair, stroking it one pass at a time, as if she were smoothing the fur of a large cat. “Is there anything you want to do to let it out? No matter what it is, I’ll do it with you.”
Wen Yan thought about it.
Rock climbing? Too tiring.
Drinking to drown her sorrows? Pointless.
Arguing with netizens? A waste of time.
She shook her head and tightened her arms around Jin Zijin a little more. “No need. Let’s just sit quietly for a while. It’s enough, as long as I have you all with me.”
Mi Tang meowed at just the right moment, as if agreeing with her.
Jin Zijin smiled. “All right, I’ll do whatever you say.”
She stopped talking and just nestled quietly in her arms, accompanying her.
The night outside deepened completely.
Inside the living room, only the warm yellow floor lamp was on. Its light spread softly, stretching their shadows long and winding together so that it was impossible to tell which was Wen Yan and which was Jin Zijin.
Mi Tang curled up between them, moving occasionally to find a more comfortable position before resuming its contented purring.
Even time seemed to slow down.
Then, all of a sudden, Wen Yan’s phone, left on the coffee table, rang.
The screen lit up; the caller ID read “Mom.”
Wen Yan’s gaze brushed over the screen, her fingertips pausing. She didn’t answer, only pressed decline and flipped the phone face-down on the coffee table.
The movement was light, but decisive.
Mi Tang was startled by the ringtone and lifted its head to glance over. Seeing that nothing had happened, it buried its head back between Wen Yan’s legs.
Jin Zijin didn’t say anything, only gently combed through her hair.
Before long, the phone, still face-down, started dinging over and over with text notifications; the sounds came one after another, especially clear in the quiet living room.
It was like someone standing outside the door and pressing the doorbell again and again.
Mi Tang was annoyed enough to sit up, stare at the endlessly ringing phone, and flick its ears before looking back at Wen Yan as if asking: That thing keeps shouting; Mom, aren’t you going to pay attention to it?
In the end, Jin Zijin couldn’t help herself. She reached over, picked up the phone, and lit the screen to glance at it.
The text was long.
It began with a mild, perfunctory line: “Yanyan, Mom saw what happened online. Are you all right?”
Then it immediately turned urgent: “Is what they said online true? Was the surgery really your fault? If there’s really a problem, hurry and let Zijin think of a way to settle it. Don’t let it get out of hand and affect the company’s stock price. If that happens, your grandfather will lose his temper again.”
Not a single word held real concern.
Only calculation.
Only pros and cons.
Jin Zijin’s expression went cold in an instant.
As if a basin of ice water had been dumped over her head, the warmth from just now froze into frost.
She pressed the screen off with her fingertip and put the phone back where it had been, her movements almost vicious, as if she were trying to slam all that disgusting filth back into the phone.
She reached out, cupped Wen Yan’s face, and said in a voice both gentle and firm: “This weekend, you’re going to rest properly. Don’t worry about anything else, and don’t look at anything else.”
Wen Yan looked at the coldness in her eyes and felt warmth spread through her chest.
Mi Tang seemed to sense the change in atmosphere. It stood up on Wen Yan’s lap, rubbed its head against her hand, and let out a soft meow.
Wen Yan lowered her head to look at it. The little thing was looking up at her, round eyes full of concern.
She reached out and rubbed its head, obediently nodding. “Okay, I’ll listen to you.”
The two of them simply left their phones in the living room and went back to the bedroom hand in hand.
Mi Tang trotted after them in tiny steps, hopped lightly up the stairs, and pitter-pattered all the way into the master bedroom.
No matter how the outside gossip fermented, they didn’t look at it again.
As Jin Zijin put it, why rush? Let the bullets fly a little longer.
Mi Tang jumped onto the bed, curled up by their feet in a comfortable spot, and soon began to purr steadily.
They slept well through the night.
Early the next morning, just as the sky was beginning to brighten, Wen Yan woke.
The morning light slipped through the gap in the curtains, laying a thin silver-gray wash across the floor. The person beside her was still asleep, her breathing even and long, her sleeping face quiet as a painting.
The fluffy little bundle by her feet was still asleep too, its belly rising and falling; every now and then a paw twitched, as if it were chasing mice in its dreams.
Wen Yan very carefully withdrew the arm Jin Zijin had been using as a pillow, tucked the blanket around her properly, then gently patted Mi Tang’s head before tiptoeing out of the bedroom.
The morning wind carried a chill through the open edge of the living room balcony window. Wen Yan changed into a set of light workout clothes and went to the gym, where she followed her usual routine and practiced a full set of punches.
Her strikes cut through the air; every movement was crisp and steady.
Every form was executed with absolute focus, her breathing falling into rhythm: inhale—exhale—inhale—exhale—
All the grievances, frustration, and unwillingness she had accumulated overnight slowly scattered into the wind with each rise and fall of her fists.
Halfway through, soft footsteps sounded by her feet.
Mi Tang had somehow woken up and come downstairs; it was squatting in the corner by the doorway, head tilted as it watched her practice, its eyes following her movements back and forth as though it were watching something novel.
By the final form, Wen Yan gathered herself and stood still, a thin sheen of sweat beading on her temples.
She felt much clearer all over.
Mi Tang ran over to rub against her ankle, meowing for food.
“Got it, got it; I’ll open a can for you right away.” Wen Yan bent down to pick it up, rubbed its head, and walked toward the kitchen.
After washing her face, she tied on an apron and went into the kitchen. First she opened a can for Mi Tang; the little one buried its head and ate happily, its tail held high and twitching.
Then Wen Yan opened the refrigerator, took out the steamed buns, eggs, and lettuce the housekeeper had prepared in advance, and started making simple bun sandwiches.
She heated the pan and brushed on a thin layer of oil. She sliced the buns into thick pieces and fried them until both sides were golden and crisp, crackling softly.
She cracked in the eggs and cooked them sunny-side up, the yolks trembling slightly. Then she added the washed lettuce leaves and a bit of low-fat salad dressing to Jin Zijin’s portion, layering everything neatly.
Healthy and filling.
Mi Tang finished its can of food, hopped up onto a barstool by the island, and sat there watching Wen Yan cook, meowing now and then as though critiquing her skill.
Jin Zijin was awakened by the fragrance from the kitchen and Mi Tang’s calls together.
She rubbed her eyes, came downstairs, and saw Wen Yan standing at the stove in a beige apron, just plating the last sandwich.
Morning sunlight poured through the glass window and warmed the floor. Mi Tang sat on the barstool, looking up at her and meowing occasionally. One person and one cat made a scene so cozy it seemed unreal.
Last night’s fragility and embarrassment were nowhere to be seen.
She was back to being the steady, gentle Dr. Wen.
“You’re awake?” Wen Yan turned at the sound and smiled at her, her eyes curving. “Go wash your hands. Breakfast will be ready in a moment.”
Mi Tang also jumped down from the stool and ran over to rub against Jin Zijin’s ankle, as if welcoming her on Wen Yan’s behalf.
Jin Zijin walked over and hugged Wen Yan from behind, resting her chin in the hollow of her shoulder and rubbing her cheek against hers.
Her voice still carried the soft, sticky laziness of someone just waking up: “Why did you get up so early? You didn’t even call me.”
“You were sleeping so soundly that I couldn’t bear to wake you.” Wen Yan turned off the heat and turned back to hug her.
She looked down at the person in her arms.
Jin Zijin had just woken up; her hair was a mess, and her eyes weren’t fully open yet, like a lazy cat. But it was exactly this expression that made Wen Yan’s heart soften completely.
She bent down and pecked Jin Zijin’s lips. “Go wash your hands. Taste my cooking. I haven’t made you breakfast in a long time.”
Mi Tang sat by their feet, looking up at them and meowing, as if saying: I want kisses too.
The two of them sat across from each other at the dining table and ate breakfast. Mi Tang jumped onto the chair beside Wen Yan and sat there watching them, occasionally reaching out a paw to touch Wen Yan’s arm, reminding her that it was still there.
The crispy fried bun slices gave a satisfying crunch when bitten into; the runny yolk of the egg spilled out, mixed with the freshness of the lettuce, creating exactly the right texture.
Jin Zijin ate with her eyes curved into crescents, one bite after another, praising it without holding back. “It’s delicious. Even better than what the housekeeper makes.”
Wen Yan was praised so much that her eyes curved with a smile. She handed her a cup of warm milk. “Eat slowly; no one’s going to snatch it from you.”
She tore off a small piece of bun and passed it to Mi Tang, which took it and ate happily with its head down.
Jin Zijin took a sip of milk and looked up at her. “After breakfast, what do you plan to do today?”
Wen Yan thought for a moment, her eyes lighting up a little, like a child remembering her favorite toy. “I want to make a stone knife. It’s been a long time since I last did it; my hands are rusty. Today happens to be a good day to make one.”
“Sure; I’ll do it with you.” Jin Zijin agreed immediately, without the slightest hesitation.
Wen Yan was stunned for a moment, then smiled and tried to persuade her: “Making stone knives is really boring. It’s just hitting stone over and over. It might be dull for you. Are you sure you want to do it too?”
“Mm.” Jin Zijin nodded, her tone certain. “Whatever you do, I’ll do it with you.”
She paused, then curved her lips. “Besides, I’ve never seen you make a stone knife before. It’ll be a good chance to learn.”
Looking at the seriousness in her eyes, Wen Yan’s heart softened completely.
She smiled and nodded. “All right, then we’ll do it together.”
Mi Tang didn’t understand what they were saying, but seeing both of them smiling, it also meowed and swished its tail over the chair.
After breakfast, the two of them changed into old clothes that wouldn’t mind getting dirty, tied on sturdy canvas aprons, and went together to the workshop in the backyard.
Mi Tang trotted after them in tiny steps all the way to the workshop door, then crouched on the threshold and peered inside as if hesitating over whether to enter.
“Come in.” Wen Yan beckoned it over.
The little thing immediately scampered in, leaped onto an old chair in the corner of the workshop, and curled up there, ready to serve as their supervisor.
This was a space Wen Yan had specifically set aside.
The large, ventilated windows faced the sun, so when the light was good, the entire workshop was bathed in warm brightness.
Dozens of stone knives she had forged herself hung on the wall; their stone was fine-grained, their edges sharp, each one like a silent piece of art.
On the shelves beside them sat stone hammers and anvils of all sizes, along with baskets of selected flint raw material. Anti-slip rubber mats covered the floor; everything reflected the owner’s care.
Jin Zijin wasn’t entering for the first time, but every time she came in she still found it astonishing. She thought the place looked like a dwarf workshop out of a fantasy story.
She looked around curiously, lightly touching the stone knives hanging on the wall, her eyes full of wonder, like a child who had wandered into a museum. “You made all of these yourself?”
“Mm. I learned from archaeology students while I was in school, and later it just became a hobby.” Wen Yan smiled and selected two appropriately sized, dense pieces of flint from the basket, handing one to Jin Zijin.
The moment the stone was passed over, their fingertips brushed.
Jin Zijin took it and weighed it in her hand.
It was heavy; a cold sensation traveled from her fingertips.
“Look, when making a stone knife, the first thing is choosing the stone,” Wen Yan said, leaning over to explain while pointing at the one in Jin Zijin’s hand. “The best is this kind of flint. The texture is even and fine, and it’s hard enough.”
“Once you strike it open, it’ll give you a conchoidal fracture, which is very sharp and best suited for a stone knife. If the stone is loose or has cracks inside, it’ll shatter after just a couple of hits and won’t take shape at all.”
Jin Zijin listened carefully like a good student, nodding now and then.
Sunlight shone in through the window and fell across her profile, the shadow of her lashes trembling lightly.
In the corner, Mi Tang stood up from the chair and stared at the stones in their hands, its eyes moving back and forth, apparently very curious what those hard things were.
Seeing it like that, Wen Yan’s heart softened a little. She picked up a stone hammer of suitable size and led Jin Zijin to the stone anvil.
“Today we’ll use hard-hammer percussion, the most basic and most common method.” She raised the hammer as a demonstration. “See, the first step is to secure the raw stone on the anvil.”
“Find the point where the stone takes force; that is, its ridge line.”
“The hammer has to strike this ridge line with controlled force, not brute strength. The angle is roughly seventy degrees.”
She paused and slowed her voice. “Strike it one hit at a time, first to strip away the outer skin of the raw stone and create a flat striking platform, then slowly shape the blade and edge.”
As she spoke, she lifted her hand to demonstrate how to hold the hammer.
The palm should brace the end of the handle, fingers gripping the head steadily. Then she took Jin Zijin’s hand and slowly adjusted her posture.
Where their fingertips touched, the warmth gradually rose.
Wen Yan’s fingertips had a thin layer of callus from years of holding hammers. Now, pressed against Jin Zijin’s smooth hand, the sensation was so clear she could almost count every line and ridge.
“Watch closely; I’ll strike the first blow.” Wen Yan let go of her hand and fixed the raw stone on the anvil.
Her gaze landed precisely on the ridge line; her arm lifted, and the hammer came down.
With a crisp crack, a piece of irregular stone shell flew off, revealing the fine, lustrous stone inside, like peeling away a boiled egg to expose the smooth white beneath.
Mi Tang was startled by the sharp sound and pricked up its ears. It stared at the stone in Wen Yan’s hand for several seconds. Seeing there was no danger, it flopped back onto the chair and flicked its tail lightly.
“See?” Wen Yan looked up at Jin Zijin with a smile in her eyes. “Just like that. Find the right position, control the strength.”
She handed over the hammer. “Your turn. No rush; take it slow. Even if you hit it wrong, it’s fine.”
Jin Zijin accepted the hammer and copied Wen Yan’s movements, fixing the raw stone in place.
She took a deep breath, found the ridge line, and brought the hammer down.
The first strike missed the angle. It only knocked off a tiny shard, and the stone itself didn’t budge. She frowned and tried again, but it still missed.
“Don’t rush.” Wen Yan stood behind her, her arms loosely encircling her waist.
She leaned close to Jin Zijin’s ear and guided her in a soft voice, her breath brushing the shell of it and causing that little patch of skin to flush red: “Keep your wrist steady; angle it down a little more. Yes, that’s it—”
Jin Zijin adjusted her posture and, following Wen Yan’s instructions, brought the hammer down again.
Another crack.
At last, a piece of stone shell came away cleanly, revealing a flat striking platform underneath.
Jin Zijin’s eyes lit up instantly.
She turned back to look at Wen Yan, her gaze full of eager anticipation for praise. “I did it!”
“You’re amazing.” Wen Yan smiled and rubbed her hair, her indulgence nearly overflowing. “You learn really fast.”
In the corner, Mi Tang seemed to sense their good mood. It stood up from the chair, stretched with a huge yawn, then jumped down and wandered over to their feet at an unhurried pace, rubbing against their legs as if saying: I want to watch too.
The sound of hammering rose and fell through the workshop.
Sharp, dull, and sometimes with the faint brittle sound of stone breaking.
Sunlight poured in through the windows, falling over the two of them. Dust floated gently in the beams, like countless tiny grains of gold dancing.
Mi Tang sat by their feet, its head bobbing up and down with the rise and fall of the hammer, as if keeping time.
It felt as though even time had slowed down.
Jin Zijin gradually moved from initial awkwardness and clumsiness to a growing sense for it.
Bit by bit, she settled into it, watching the raw stone in her hand; starting from an irregular lump, she slowly stripped away the outer layer, shaped the outline of the blade, and gradually refined the curve.
A sense of accomplishment she had never felt before welled up from deep inside her.
She even forgot that she had originally come only to keep Wen Yan company. She had become fully absorbed, with nothing in her eyes but the stone and hammer in her hands, nothing in her ears but the crisp strikes and Wen Yan’s occasional quiet guidance.
Just as she was about to sharpen the edge and strike a beautiful curve, her hammer came down too hard.
The angle was off by just a fraction, too.
Only a sharp crack was heard.
The nearly finished stone knife split cleanly in two down the middle.
Jin Zijin froze instantly.
She stared at the stone broken into two halves on the anvil, utterly stunned.
The satisfaction that had just surged through her vanished in an instant; a huge sense of frustration rushed up through her fingertips, and even her heart clenched hard.
Mi Tang was so startled by the cracking sound that it jumped up and backed away two steps, staring at the two broken pieces with its ears flattened.
Jin Zijin froze for a few seconds.
Then, with an annoyed huff, she set the hammer down on the anvil, picked up the two broken pieces, bit her lip, and said, “Again! I don’t believe I can’t make a complete one.”
Seeing her angry yet stubborn expression, Wen Yan couldn’t help laughing.
She remembered her own first time making a stone knife, and it had been just like this.
It was almost done; then one strike and it split in half. She had been so angry she nearly threw the hammer away and stood there glaring at the pile of broken stone for ten minutes.
Pretty much the same as Jin Zijin now.
“What are you laughing at?” Jin Zijin shot her a glare over her shoulder.
But there wasn’t any real anger in her eyes, only a bit of grievance, like a little cat that had failed to guard its food and then had it snatched away.
Mi Tang heard her voice, poked its head out from the corner, looked at her, then at Wen Yan. After confirming there was no danger, it slowly came back and rubbed against Jin Zijin’s ankle, as if comforting her.
“I’m not laughing at anything.” Wen Yan walked over and hugged her from behind.
Resting her chin on Jin Zijin’s shoulder, she coaxed her with a smile: “Everyone’s like this the first time.”
“The first time I did it, I broke three stones before I made one. You’re already very impressive. Don’t rush; I’ll help you choose a new one and we can take our time.”
The two of them stayed busy in the workshop the entire afternoon.
During that time, the phone rang intermittently several times.
Whenever it rang, Mi Tang would prick up its ears, stare in that direction for a while, then turn back to look at Wen Yan, as if saying: That thing is ringing again.
The first call was from Dean Wang Fu.
The old woman’s voice was gentle as she told Wen Yan not to mind the rumors online and to rest well. If her condition wasn’t good for Monday’s surgery, she could step in and cover for her first.
Wen Yan felt warmth in her chest and thanked her master with a smile, saying she was fine and wouldn’t delay work.
After hanging up, Mi Tang leaped onto her lap and rubbed its head against her hand.
Wen Yan looked down at it; the little thing was looking up at her, round eyes full of concern. She patted its head and said softly, “Mom’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Soon after came a call from Jin Zijin’s parents.
First they asked about Wen Yan’s condition and told her not to take it to heart; then they said that if she needed anything, she should just say so. The family would always have her back.
Not long after hanging up, Grandma Jin called too. The old woman didn’t mention the online mess at all; she only told Wen Yan to bring Zijin home for a meal over the weekend, and that she’d make her the braised pork ribs she liked.
Wen Yan held the phone, the tip of her nose turning faintly sore.
She kept answering “okay” again and again.
After hanging up, she lowered her head and looked at Mi Tang in her arms. The little thing had somehow fallen asleep again, curled up on her lap, its belly rising and falling as it gave off soft purrs.
Jin Zijin sat beside her, holding a stone knife that was only halfway polished, the side of her face warmed by the sunlight.
Every call was like a stream of warmth, slowly smoothing out the remaining creases in Wen Yan’s heart.
At four in the afternoon, just after the two of them placed the finished stone knives into water for polishing, Wen Yan’s phone rang again.
It was Jiang Linyue.
Wen Yan wiped the water from her hands and answered. “Senior.”
“Yanyan, are you all right?” Jiang Linyue’s voice came through the phone, cool and clear, but with unmistakable concern hidden beneath it.
Wen Yan smiled, her tone relaxed: “I’m fine, senior. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“That’s good.” Jiang Linyue exhaled in relief. “What about Zijin? Is she with you?”
“She is; she’s right beside me.”
“Can you take a video call? I want to see you two.”
Wen Yan agreed, hung up, and sent Jiang Linyue a video call.
Almost immediately, the call connected.
Jiang Linyue’s face appeared on the screen. She was still in a plain-colored shirt, elegant and upright, with the background showing her laboratory, crowded with instruments.
“Senior.” Wen Yan held up the phone and smiled at her.
Jin Zijin also leaned over, waved at the screen, and greeted her with a smile. “Hi, senior.”
Mi Tang heard the voice, stood up from Wen Yan’s lap, and came closer to the screen, sniffing at it with its nose as if trying to figure out who the person inside was.
When Jiang Linyue saw a fluffy cat face suddenly appear on the screen, she paused for a moment, then laughed. “Is that Mi Tang?”
“Mm, it came to say hello to senior too.” Wen Yan smiled and moved Mi Tang aside a little so her own face and Jin Zijin’s could be seen.
Seeing the two of them standing together in good condition, with a cat drifting in and out of the frame, Jiang Linyue’s hanging heart finally settled completely.
Her smile faded a little, and her voice carried apology: “Yanyan, I know about what happened online.”
“Ultimately, this whole thing started because of me. I dragged you into it. I’m sorry.”
Wen Yan froze for a moment.
Then she frowned and said seriously, “Senior, how could you say that? This has nothing to do with you.”
She paused, then let her tone turn light, as if speaking of something perfectly ordinary. “People run into all sorts of awful things in life. At times like this, don’t blame yourself. Just think that heaven was never going to let you live too smoothly all the time; it has to throw a bit of trouble at you now and then. That’s just how it is.”
She curved her eyes with a smile. “After all, that’s fate. Without pain to contrast it, how could you even feel happiness?”
She paused, then looked at Jiang Linyue on the screen, her smile deepening. “Senior, you’re the one who told me that before.”
“Senior, I’m very happy now.” Wen Yan’s tone was firm, every word planted there as steadily as a nail. “Because I know all of you care about me.”
“Besides my family, there are so many people who love me and protect me. This little bit of wind and rain isn’t anything.”
She lowered her head and glanced at Mi Tang crouching by her leg; the little thing was looking up at her, round eyes full of reliance.
Then she looked at Jin Zijin beside her, who was holding her hand, her eyes filled with gentle light.
She curved her lips at the screen. “Look, I have such a wonderful wife, such a cute cat, and so many people who love me. What can those awful things really do to me?”
Jiang Linyue looked at the light in her eyes and froze for a few seconds.
There was no haze in her gaze at all, only openness; like sunlight washed clean after passing through a storm.
Jiang Linyue also smiled.
The apology and heaviness in her features scattered away, leaving only relief. “If you can think like that, I’m truly happy.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep holding on on my side too; I won’t let them get what they want.”
“Mm. I wish senior every success.”
The two chatted a little longer before ending the video call.
After the phone was set aside, Jin Zijin stretched out a finger and lightly poked Wen Yan’s waist.
Her tone was teasing, as if she had just discovered something interesting: “Oh? Our Dr. Wen is very happy, is she?”
“Yeah.” Wen Yan turned around and hugged her.
Resting her chin on Jin Zijin’s shoulder, she smiled until her eyes curved. “Even though my career ran into a bit of a setback, it’s precisely because of those setbacks that I can see even more clearly how the people who truly love me will act.”
She paused, her voice carrying a touch of softness and satisfaction: “So… I actually think that counts as a kind of luck.”
Mi Tang squeezed into the space between them, pushing against them with its head and meowing to join in.
Wen Yan laughed and, with one hand, scooped it into her arms too. The two of them and one cat were packed together, warm all over.
Watching the openness and optimism in Wen Yan’s eyes, Jin Zijin’s heart felt both sore and soft.
She thought: How can she be so optimistic?
How unlucky must a person be to go through so much nonsense and still be able to smile and call it luck?
The more she thought about it, the deeper the ache in her heart became.
She said nothing.
She only reached out and held Wen Yan tightly.
Jin Zijin drew her entire body into her embrace and rested her chin on the top of her head.
Mi Tang was squeezed enough to meow once, but it didn’t run; it only adjusted its position and continued curling between them.
Jin Zijin’s voice came muffled from her chest, carrying a slight nasal tone: “Mm. You’ll be this happy forever. I promise.”
Even if the end of the world were ice and snow, as long as they still had each other, that would be the greatest happiness in the world.