“Sorry.”
Song Wenwei suddenly spoke, her apology coming without any preamble.
Her lips pressed into a straight line, hiding the originally plump cupid’s bow. Her soft face paired with those expressionless eyes looked anything but good.
She should have been smiling. She should always be smiling.
Now it was Lu Nan’s turn to be at a loss. This sudden apology hit her like a heavy hammer, making her heart skip half a beat.
“I…” Lu Nan’s words came out haltingly. She grew a bit anxious and muttered, “I just wanted to flirt with you like they do online… I didn’t mean to say anything about you.”
“Why are you apologizing? Don’t apologize. I don’t even know what to say now.”
The person in front of her said nothing. She had responded with a few words before, but now she didn’t say a single one. What was Lu Nan supposed to do? Lu Nan panicked even more.
Those online lines really couldn’t be trusted!
The two had already reached the edge of the lake. The water flowed calmly, with bubbles occasionally popping up. A circle of iron railings surrounded it, as if to prevent anyone from accidentally falling in. A red warning sign in bold letters reminded visitors to stay away from the lake surface.
Lu Nan raised her hand, and the wide sleeve was blown onto Song Wenwei’s face by the wind. The soft fabric tickled her face a little.
Her hand brushed over those soft lips, wanting to smooth away that unsightly straight line.
“What are you sorry for?” Lu Nan’s dark eyes looked into hers as she asked, “Why do you need to apologize?”
Song Wenwei looked extremely saddened, her expression laced with regret. Lu Nan didn’t know what she had to apologize for, but seeing her like this hurt. It was piercing, making it hard to breathe.
She hadn’t done anything wrong to her. That was exactly why Lu Nan disliked apologies—accurately, she disliked Song Wenwei apologizing.
She believed love could encompass everything. When two people were in love, there was no need to say sorry. As long as they didn’t violate ethics or morals, Song Wenwei didn’t need to apologize to her.
She asked, “What have you done wrong to me?”
“My foot.”
Her reply was as curt and direct as ever, seeming completely out of left field. In her daze, Lu Nan wondered if their personalities had swapped.
“What foot?” Lu Nan responded listlessly, her brain not fully catching up.
With no good response, she was even less willing to speak. What was the point? Saying things one word at a time was too dull.
Song Wenwei didn’t speak. The wind swept over the strands of hair scattered outside her ear, making them dance wildly and outlining her unique expression. Lu Nan reached out to tuck the hair behind her ear.
“Why aren’t you talking again?” Lu Nan asked.
The woman’s voice carried a slight hoarseness as she said, “I’m afraid I’ll cry.”
Lu Nan touched her face and took a step forward, closing the distance between them. In the dim light, she wanted to see every expression on her face clearly.
“Why cry? Did I do something to hurt you? Don’t cry, okay? It doesn’t look good. I don’t want you to cry.”
Lu Nan spoke hurriedly, her words jumping around. Song Wenwei had clearly said it was because she felt she owed her something, but in her panic, Lu Nan pinned it on herself.
Song Wenwei broke into a smile through her tears and promised, “I’m not sad anymore.”
She took out the bottle of medicine she’d bought from her pocket. She’d kept it there the whole way, warming it with her body heat. The glass bottle held her temperature.
Song Wenwei held it out in front of her, keeping it at a distance—at least farther than directly staring into Song Wenwei’s expression.
Lu Nan asked, “What’s this? I can’t see clearly.”
There wasn’t much light here. Lu Nan could only make out a dark rectangular object shaking in front of her. She realized her eyes weren’t adjusting well to the darkness.
No good. She needed to eat more carrots tomorrow.
“Medicine,” Song Wenwei said.
She took a step closer to Lu Nan but said no more than that single word. Amid her unhappiness, Lu Nan felt something was off. Why buy medicine out of nowhere? She took a step back.
“What medicine? You…”
Before she could finish, Song Wenwei swiftly squatted down, pulled up her pant leg, rolled it up, and exposed a section of pale skin.
She unscrewed the cap and poured some onto her hand.
Lu Nan realized this medicine was specifically for her foot and stopped struggling. For some reason, even though it was just care, tears crept into her eyes unbidden.
“Did you run out to buy this?” Lu Nan looked down. She could only feel a pair of hands covering her foot, followed by the liquid spreading smoothly with them.
“Yeah, I bought it just now and called you out right after.”
“No wonder. You wanted to apply medicine for me. The whole ‘looking at the moon’ thing was just an excuse, huh.”
Lu Nan strained to open her eyes wide, but the person in front of her looked like a mosaic blur no matter how hard she tried.
Then those hands rubbed back and forth several times. Her feet, chilled from going out in slippers, warmed up. Even the air carried a faint medicinal scent.
“It’s not exactly an excuse,” Song Wenwei said as she squatted beside her. Lu Nan’s foot felt bony in her grip. She’d planned to rest it well, but after leaving the hospital, they’d been running around. Once they got back, she’d make up for the lost recovery.
Song Wenwei said, “All done.”
Lu Nan pulled her foot back. She wasn’t used to this. Her leg had been tense for so long, and she didn’t want Song Wenwei saying any more polite words.
“See, I didn’t lie. The moon really is round tonight,” Song Wenwei picked up the earlier conversation.
Hearing this, Lu Nan squinted and looked up at the darkening sky. Her vision brightened a bit, less blurry. At the same time, her eyes sparkled. “There are lots of stars too.”
“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen a sky like this.”
In the city, small buildings pressed against tall ones. Skyscrapers blocked the view, so looking up only showed glowing billboards and malls with lights that never went out, replacing the starlight.
Here, there were only plains and low buildings. Just tilting your head up revealed the vast horizon.
If they were on a mountaintop, they’d look down at the city’s eternal electronic galaxy and up at the brilliant stars.
“Let’s find a comfortable place like this to spend our old age in the future,” Lu Nan said, closing her eyes to feel everything around her. The medicine on her foot cooled in the breeze, carrying a refreshing chill.
The shadows of the trees by the river swayed. Under the bright moonlight, they danced back and forth with the wind.
The breeze carried the unique scent of herbaceous plants.
Song Wenwei’s gaze was tender as water, fixed straight on the woman. She said, “Okay. We’ll get a pet too. We’ll definitely find a scenic spot perfect for retirement to live in.”
They were envisioning their shared future.
Lu Nan leaned on the railing, smiling. “That’ll be so far in the future.”
“Decades from now.”
Her thoughts drifted. They were only in their mid-twenties now. Retirement was far off—decades away.
Decades…
Such a distant number.
The lake shimmered under the lights. Lu Nan gathered her hair. The night wind had dried much of her semi-damp hair.
She glanced at the bright moon again. It really was round. Song Wenwei hadn’t lied.
“Let’s head back,” Lu Nan said.
They’d stayed long enough, and the wind off the lake was starting to chill them. Staying longer would mean both wives catching colds tomorrow.
Song Wenwei nodded. It was indeed time. The medicine was still in her hand, so she handed it over and instructed, “Here. Apply it tomorrow too.”
Lu Nan didn’t take it. Tomorrow she’d apply it anyway. The show wrapped up tomorrow afternoon. What did it matter who held it? Once they were home, it was the same.
She shook her head. “I won’t take it. Tomorrow at home, you apply it for me.”
Song Wenwei looked at her with a probing gaze. “Why?”
Only after saying it did she remember the show ended tomorrow afternoon—they could go home.
Lu Nan said, “You know, my foot…”
Her words paused meaningfully there, her eyes blinking at Song Wenwei twice. The implication was clear.
Song Wenwei got it. She was instantly speechless. Lu Nan had picked up all sorts of nonsense online and now knew how to act spoiled.
She smiled faintly and tucked the bottle back into her pocket. “Alright. Tomorrow we go home, and I’ll apply it for you.”
A faint medicinal scent lingered on her hands.
Lu Nan’s lips curved up in a smug smile. She nodded emphatically.
“It’s getting cold. Let’s go back.”
“Okay.”
Song Wenwei looped her arm around hers. Warmth flooded in, like a little furnace radiating heat.
They looked like they were just huddling together against the cold for warmth—a good excuse to cover it.
Lu Nan’s expression froze in surprise. What did this mean? The significance!
She’d initiated it. Song Wenwei had initiated here! She’d done it herself!
Lu Nan didn’t pull away. Far from it—her inner self was practically setting off fireworks for this milestone. She lifted her hand slightly, and Song Wenwei leaned fully against her, pressing even closer.
Just like this, leaning all the way. Lu Nan thought.
They walked slowly back the way they’d come, reaching the entrance to San Village. The gilded gate loomed ahead. The threshold was under their feet. Crossing it meant entering the surveillance zone—and symbolizing the end of their brief closeness.
Song Wenwei’s hand loosened, starting to pull away. Cold wind rushed into the warm space between them.
“Don’t let go.”
Lu Nan stopped her movement and placed her other hand on top.
“We can be seen here,” Song Wenwei said.
They were now in the monitored area. Every move would be captured, maybe even edited into the main show.
They were already a hot topic. Their car accident history spoke for itself. The production team wouldn’t miss such clickable footage. She figured the earlier clips had been used, and this one wouldn’t escape either.
“It’s fine. I’ll just pretend I tripped outside and you’re the kind stranger helping me up. Keep holding me—just show a bit of concern and worry.” Lu Nan paused, then added, “Wenwei, don’t back down. Time to show our acting skills. Make it convincing.”
Song Wenwei chuckled helplessly. It was a clever plan, if a bit wicked.
“You really are…”
Lu Nan asked, “What?”
“Really… too smart,” Song Wenwei said.
Lu Nan nodded in satisfaction.
The wind rustled the leaves on both sides, accompanied by the chirping of cicadas.
This afternoon, the road had felt so long. Now it seemed too short. Couldn’t it be a little longer…?
Lu Nan grumbled, “Such a short road…”
“It’s long enough already. Walk any farther, and we’d top the WeChat step count today.” Song Wenwei joked, then added, “Your foot won’t heal if you walk this much.”
Lu Nan shook her head. She didn’t care—she was shameless about it.
“Actually, having you lean on me like this makes me so happy. I don’t want this happiness to end so soon.”
“Our happiness won’t be this short. We’ll have many days together ahead. You’re talking like we’re separating tomorrow,” Song Wenwei said. “Kinda scary.”
She knew Lu Nan meant the road was ending, and they’d have to go back to the house and stop this.
But her sudden words still made Song Wenwei’s heart tremble. If they hadn’t just left the hospital with a full checkup, she’d think something was wrong.
“It’s not like I’m cursing us…”
Lu Nan recalled news stories and countless TV drama tropes—
Like toasting and dreaming of a bright future one second, only for an accident to shatter it the next, separating them forever.
Just like six years ago with them: planning an amusement park date one moment, and the next, everything changed. Years later, they reunited.
Such things happened every day—seeming ordinary yet terrifying.
From childhood, she’d known to seize the moment. Nothing was more important than what was happening now. This fleeting happiness might be a lifelong memory.
“I’m really scared,” Lu Nan’s voice grew hoarse, the wind irritating her throat. “Scared we’ll miss each other again like before.”
The footsteps beside her halted.
Yes, she understood. Lu Nan cherished every second now because it was so hard-won.
Lu Nan did not tell her how she had spent those six years. In Song Wenwei’s eyes, it was something so heartbreaking that she could escape it, something she did not even dare to think about. But all those days, Lu Nan had lived through them alone.
Song Wenwei had once chatted with someone about whether two emotional people together would just wallow in sadness and cry together.
She remembered that person saying something unforgettable: “Not necessarily. They might both discover the beautiful things in life, might cry together, laugh together, and cherish it all.”
Song Wenwei said, “It won’t happen. Nothing will separate us like that again.”
“Ah, why do I keep saying these depressing things?” Lu Nan patted her cheek with her other hand, forcing away all the uneasy emotions. “It’s just that it’s easy to get sentimental at night.”
It was not that bad. They were doing well now. Time had not forced them apart. They had walked and walked until they found their way back to each other.
They still had many years ahead, many years to spend together.
Song Wenwei gripped her hand tightly and slowed her steps, even more than the “patient” beside her.
She was waiting for her, prolonging this road that was about to end.
…
