He insisted on flying back to Shanghai for He Dongli to examine his injuries.
He Dongli had cried until her vision darkened.
After stitching him up that night and staying with him until morning, Zong Chi’s mother specially prepared a convenient breakfast to take to the hospital.
Yu Weishi’s words stayed with He Dongli: “For the sake of him, who at fourteen or fifteen would stay behind in the country for you without hesitation, please understand a mother’s feelings. I know his terrible temper. But if two people are together and can’t compromise or tolerate each other, the truth is, maybe you don’t really love him.”
“Don’t really love him.”
“Don’t love him.”
“Him.”
The temperature had dropped a lot these days.
He Dongli had forgotten where she put the air conditioner remote.
She usually didn’t turn on the heater in winter when living alone.
When Zong Chi entered from the outside corridor, he saw she had at least turned on the heater.
The remote lay on the sofa.
The hostess invited guests to sit anywhere.
She said so and turned to go to the bathroom, closing the sliding door behind her.
When He Dongli returned, it was clear she had washed her face.
Though her expression was composed, her eyes, which had been wiped, showed she was trying hard to stay alert.
Zong Chi looked back at the person at the door.
On his lap lay a Tang Dynasty Daily Life book he had struggled to find on her moving bookshelf—the one he understood best.
He watched her enter and said, “The books on your shelf don’t involve your work or patients, do they?”
He Dongli followed his gaze.
“Look if you want. You can take one if you like.”
“Not that important?”
“I’ve read it. A professor I know gave it to me. The signed edition is with my mom.”
“How’s your mom?”
“Good. Thanks.”
The open room connected to the bedroom.
Zong Chi’s eyes swept over all the displays and arrangements.
In the vast space, only the sound of turning pages remained.
The rustling stopped.
He spoke, “She and Xu Maosen still haven’t registered their marriage?”
He Dongli suddenly turned and looked at Zong Chi with an unexplainable warning in her eyes.
Zong Chi was unfazed.
He closed the book on his lap and stood up quietly.
Tossing the book on the coffee table, he knocked over a rattan storage box but didn’t mind.
He took a few steps toward He Dongli, speaking as he walked, “Don’t misunderstand, I mean no offense. Just a reminder: common-law marriages like that can be at a disadvantage later in inheritance and property disputes if there aren’t enough records and agreements.”
He Dongli stood by the bar, silent for a long while.
This prompted Zong Chi to nudge her, “Hmm? Are you listening?”
“Zong Chi, why are you here?”
“What do you mean?”
He looked into her freshly washed eyes.
“Didn’t you say you were on a business trip? Not here to discuss the acquisition?”
He smiled and stepped closer, “Turns out doctors aren’t that busy—they watch the news too.”
“Zou Yan saw it and didn’t understand how to pronounce your name. He asked me, so I saw it.”
Zong Chi’s smile instantly faded.
“Oh, so you’re as uneducated as I am.”
“Not recognizing rare characters is normal.”
He Dongli defended objectively.
“Then why is the ‘Yan’ in your name wrong? Isn’t it the ‘Yan’ from ‘perfunctory’?”
Zong Chi immediately changed his tone, arguing pedantically.
He might not have mentioned it, but once he did, He Dongli couldn’t help but pick that thread.
“Which Chinese teacher taught you to introduce someone’s name using a derogatory term? Saying your Chinese is poor was already me trying to save face. Next time I introduce you, I’ll say you’re the ‘Zong’ from ‘Zong Sang’—you like that?”
“I’d like it. Your mom has scolded me before.”
“Then you deserve it.”
He Dongli admitted she couldn’t resist. Just moments ago, she had resolved not to get entangled with him or waste words.
But once she spoke to him, she’d fall into his web.
It was maddening.
It was already late.
She had worked all day and wanted to leave rationally.
Zong Chi shouldn’t interfere with her rest.
But coming down from the hotel rooftop today, everything was irrational.
Since she could bring other men in at night and accept their gifts, Zong Chi thought all the talks of upbringing and endurance she had given him before could go to hell.
“When did I deserve to be scolded?”
He reached out, but He Dongli predicted his move perfectly, subtly dodging and pulling a swivel chair between them.
The chair spun and bumped into Zong Chi’s knee, which he caught with his hand.
The first time Yu Xiaohan caught her daughter alone with Zong Chi was in their former Tongcheng home during the National Day holiday.
He Dongli hadn’t gone to the Xu family, so Yu Xiaohan came looking for her.
He Dongli had a slight fever afterward.
Zong Chi drove to buy medicine.
Thinking he had come back, He Dongli, disheveled, lay on the pillow and asked him to find her nail clipper—her nail was broken.
Yu Xiaohan noticed her daughter’s fever rose to 39°C.
Later, she smelled an indescribable odor in the bathroom.
After that, Zong Chi learned to tie up the used condom bag before disposal.
Still, it never stopped Yu Xiaohan from mentioning him before and after people, calling him “Little Zong Sang.”
He Dongli went behind the bar and opened her laptop to read literature.
Two boxes of Butterfly Pastry, gifts from Jiang Xingyuan, sat on the bar.
She opened one box and ate a piece, savoring its crispness.
Zong Chi stood across, reaching for one, but He Dongli neither invited nor stopped him.
Instead, she watched his hand movements carefully.
Zong Chi wasn’t fond of sweets.
Even the tangyuan he ate at Lantern Festival had no filling, and the rice dumplings he ate at Dragon Boat Festival contained only plain glutinous rice, no beans or meat.
Now, the Butterfly Pastry was opened by himself.
He Dongli hadn’t shared a single bite.
Only after he ate did He Dongli belatedly remember hospitality and offered, “Want something to drink? Coffee or tea?”
Zong Chi glanced at her.
He Dongli lazily explained, “Eating them alone is too sweet.”
“Who drinks coffee so late?”
She left it at that, stood up, and brewed him some lightly brewed tea.
When placed near his hand, he watched her with suspicion several times.
He Dongli pretended not to notice.
After he ate and drank, she gently added, “The Butterfly Pastry was from Jiang Xingyuan. She knows you too—she’s a classmate from Yizhong.”
The man drinking tea inspected his handcrafted camellia cup.
The eater, however, remained bluntly arrogant, “Hmm, male or female?”