Chapter 66

Wang Yun’s stew was delivered at half past eleven.

Wen Zhixu’s phone rang again right then. She stood up, pulled out the chair, and headed out, gently closing the ward door behind her while holding the phone in one hand.

Her gaze swept over the twelve missed calls—all from the same person.

Wen Ru.

The phone vibrated once more, overlaying the home screen. Wen Zhixu answered and held it to her ear. After a three-second pause, Wen Ru spoke: “Why didn’t you pick up?”

“I was busy just now.” Wen Zhixu’s eyelids drooped as her hand left the door handle.

“What were you doing?”

Wen Zhixu fell silent at first, then said, “I’ll be back on the 18th.”

Wen Ru’s voice squeezed through the electronic tone: “Where are you?”

“Chongqing.” Wen Zhixu lifted her gaze to the white wall across from her.

Wen Ru went quiet first, then after a short moment said, “Let me know when you’re back.”

Wen Zhixu hummed in acknowledgment, and the line went dead. Her mind turned to Wen Ru’s attitude. If they brought up the matter again when she got home, how was she going to convince her?

The sound of a door opening came from behind. Wen Zhixu glanced back—Wang Yun had come out.

She stood and called out. Wang Yun’s face still held that gentle smile.

“Xiao Xu, it’s noon. What do you want to eat?” Wang Yun asked.

Wen Zhixu peered through the gap. Grandma was blocking Jian Shichu’s figure. She slowly let out a breath and was just about to speak.

Wang Yun shut the door. “There’s a decent restaurant nearby. We can grab something there.”

“What about Grandma?”

“Grandma already ate at home.” Wang Yun’s hand brushed her arm.

Wen Zhixu nodded. “Okay.”

She and Wang Yun had eaten together on set before too. With their prior collaboration, they got along smoothly.

There was a small restaurant near the hospital—new tables and chairs, the owner boasting about a recent renovation. Noon had drawn a decent crowd.

Wen Zhixu and Wang Yun picked a spot by the wall. Wen Zhixu deferred to Wang Yun for ordering, but after some back-and-forth, it landed on Wang Yun anyway.

“Xiao Xu, besides peanuts and spicy stuff, anything else you can’t eat?” Wang Yun eyed the menu, glancing up at her.

Wen Zhixu’s gaze dropped to the menu too. “Nope. I can handle a bit of spice—no problem.”

Wang Yun ticked off selections on the menu. “Better play it safe. The food here’s pretty good.”

After marking the last dish, she passed the menu over and pulled a tissue to wipe her phone screen.

“Doudou’s old school was right around here—not far.” Wang Yun said. “She hurt her leg in high school once, and I brought her to this very hospital. Back then, the area outside was nothing but old houses waiting to be torn down. It didn’t start developing until around her graduation.”

Wen Zhixu looked out. Hospitals were always bustling with all sorts—cold gates of life and death, hotspots of human warmth and cruelty.

Wen Zhixu asked, “What was she like back then?”

“Same as now.” Wang Yun smiled. “No real difference. But high school turned her into a whole different person.”

“We couldn’t stop her from going to Beihai for university.” Wang Yun let out a soft sigh, her words laced with world-weariness.

“Doudou’s always been obedient, never a worry. The year she came out and said she liked girls… that moment, Lao Jian and I thought the sky was falling. Whatever life she picks, honestly, I respect it. Mine was the traditional man-woman deal, so I worry—can she handle the weird looks? How’s she gonna treat someone right when it’s another girl? She’s blunt, temper’s no picnic. Who’d put up with that long-term? And as she ages, Lao Jian and I won’t be around forever to watch out for her.”

Wang Yun’s voice trailed into a long sigh here, fully at peace with it now, her tone brimming with acceptance of Jian Shichu’s path.

Watching Wang Yun’s expression, Wen Zhixu asked, “And later? How’d you accept it, Director Wang?”

“What choice did I have? She’s who she is—my acceptance changes nothing. Force a marriage? A kid?” Wang Yun chuckled. “I’d gain zilch, she’d gain zilch, and she might never be happy. That’s the parents’ real fear: you bring a kid into the world, you’re responsible for their life.”

Wang Yun had a point. Wen Zhixu figured she’d feel the same with a child of her own—but Wen Ru wouldn’t see it that way.

Did Wen Ru ever truly care? The details said yes. Those years raising her hadn’t been easy; Wen Ru wouldn’t accept help or questions.

“I get it,” Wen Zhixu said. “The road’s long and rough. Book says it best: through mountains and ten thousand paths, all for that enduring marriage lot that never fades. Don’t worry, Director Wang—I’ll do my best.”

Wang Yun smiled. “Xiao Xu, I liked you from the first sight—such a proper, gentle girl. If Doudou ever ticks you off down the line, tell me. I’ll chew her out. She’s got plenty of flaws.”

“No, she’s wonderful.” Wen Zhixu smiled back as the dishes arrived.

Over the meal, Wen Zhixu and Wang Yun talked loads about Jian Shichu—the first time ever. Never touched those topics on set.

After eating, Wang Yun headed home—Jian Shichu’s uncle and aunt were there, with snacks in the car. Wen Zhixu tagged along to the garage to grab them.

She watched the taillights recede, bags dangling to her knees in both hands, until the car vanished from the garage. Only then did Wen Zhixu turn.

A loud ‘bang’ echoed nearby—the trunk slamming shut. She traced the sound; Feng Xi’s figure jumped into view.

Another man stood beside him, the pair talking. The vast garage amplified every echo.

“Coming over tonight?”

Feng Xi shot back: “Not sure. Kid might be home. Tang Yuan’s coming after New Year too.”

Wen Zhixu caught Tang Yuan’s name and froze, still watching, her steps unconsciously softening as she edged closer.

“When are you cutting things off with him?” the other man asked.

Feng Xi: “What gives you the right to grill me?”

That’s where Wen Zhixu tuned in. Suddenly, the man’s eyes landed on her. Feng Xi turned, face a touch awkward.

He dodged her gaze two seconds, coughed, then: “Xiao Xu, what’re you doing here?”

“Had something to handle.” Wen Zhixu kept staring at the other man, lips sealed on what she’d overheard.

“I’m out. Call you later,” the man replied.

As the car pulled away, Wen Zhixu’s focus wasn’t on it. Feng Xi’s black leather shoes clacked loudly on the concrete as he approached.

Drawing near, he asked again: “You feeling okay?”

“Not me.” Wen Zhixu met his eyes. “Uncle Feng, I just heard you mention my dad coming to Chongqing.”

She locked onto his face, not missing a twitch. Feng Xi’s sharp inhale was unmistakable. He glanced at the vanishing taillights, hands settling on his waist with his exhale.

“Yeah. Didn’t give details—probably some business.”

Feng Xi held her gaze after. Wen Zhixu nodded lightly and headed for the elevator.

Something felt off. Feng Xi stood beside her as they waited.

Hospital elevators crawled. Numbers ticked from 13 to 15 before Feng Xi spoke: “Xiao Xu, office for some tea?”

“No thanks, Uncle Feng.” Wen Zhixu smiled it off.

Feng Xi nodded slowly, hand in pocket. Both eyed the button.

“Chongqing for New Year this time?” Feng Xi asked.

“Home in a few days.” Wen Zhixu replied. “You, Uncle Feng?”

Feng Xi pondered, then: “Chongqing.”

Chitchat fizzled quick—someone joined the wait, turning it awkward.

Wen Zhixu hit her floor; Feng Xi clocked it.

The day’s events left her uneasy. Back in the ward, her mind wandered. That “when are you cutting it off?” hung heavy with subtext.

Grandma greeted Wen Zhixu and left. No one had slept right since Jian Shichu’s dunk.

Jian Shichu watched the door ease shut, then carefully propped herself up.

“What’s up?” Wen Zhixu followed her line of sight and smiled.

“Need a shower. I feel gross—hair reeks of fish pond.” Jian Shichu threw off the blanket, yanking her hair tie free in one tug.

“Doctor clear it?”

“Discharging tomorrow—what’s the holdup?” Jian Shichu sidestepped her.

Wen Zhixu snagged her wrist mid-pass. “Lemme check with the doc first. Feels safer to wait till discharge.”

She leaned in as she spoke, lifting the hair ends for a sniff. No funky smell on Jian Shichu’s hair.

“Are you cold?” Wen Zhixu saw she was dressed so thinly and pulled her wrist, letting her sit on the bed.

Jian Shichu sighed helplessly. “I’m not cold. I just feel uncomfortable all over.”

“Where do you feel uncomfortable?”

“Everywhere.” Jian Shichu leaned back. Her body felt a bit weak right now, and standing too long made her chest feel stuffy.

“Alright, we’ll be home tomorrow. You can take a nice bath then, okay? Be good.” Wen Zhixu coaxed her, picking up an apple. “Want some? I’ll peel it for you.”

Jian Shichu looked at her and couldn’t help laughing. Looking up, she said, “Sure. Feed me, and I’ll eat.”

“Okay, I’ll feed you.” Wen Zhixu sat on the sofa by the bed.

Jian Shichu sat up and scooted next to her. “Xiao Xu, with that tone of yours, I always feel like I’m the one acting spoiled.”

Wen Zhixu turned her head to look at her. “Aren’t you? You were just acting spoiled.”

“I… Does that count as acting spoiled?” Jian Shichu was bewildered, her eyebrows twitching. “I’m not as good at it as you.”

Wen Zhixu paused in peeling the apple, her tone turning serious. “Jian Shichu, are you eating or not? Keep talking, and I won’t peel it.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t say anything.” Jian Shichu was intimidated by Wen Zhixu’s serious look. She looped her arms around her waist and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek.

Wen Zhixu’s face instantly flushed red. Her eyes shyly darted to the side before finally meeting Jian Shichu’s, a flicker of fire in them. Jian Shichu naturally noticed these little gestures.

She tilted her head forward, drawing her into a slow, seductive kiss—gentle and unhurried, light touches that gradually deepened. She pulled her into her arms, her hold tightening with the motion.

Wen Zhixu was utterly consumed by the wet kiss, her strength draining away. The apple slipped from her hand with a ‘pa,’ smashing onto the floor. At the sound, Jian Shichu released her, and both their gazes dropped to the ground.

The apple still had its peel dangling. Jian Shichu’s eyes shifted to Wen Zhixu’s hand—her right hand gripped the fruit knife tightly, the silver blade gleaming with moisture.

“Give it to me. Let’s start over.” She took the knife and tossed it onto the table.

Wen Zhixu immediately said, “You’re still sick…”

Her words were cut off by a searing kiss. Jian Shichu moved swiftly, pressing down on her, the kiss more urgent than before.

Amid their ragged breaths, she heard Jian Shichu’s voice.

“I won’t go too far. Just a kiss.”