Stepping off campus, Jing Qichi made an international call to Song Cong, recounting every detail of his meeting with Mark. At the end, he asked, "Lao Song, did I just cause trouble for Huan'er?"
"Trouble might be overstating it. Your visit probably gave him a wake-up call," Song Cong analyzed carefully. "But this guy isn't easy to deal with, especially when it comes to academic bias between a mentor and student. These things are hard to pin down. He could easily claim your situation is just like that, and he’s simply tailoring his teaching—nothing wrong with that."
"Huan'er has already applied to return home early."
"Early?"
"Yeah, six months at most."
"That’s great news. You two have finally made it through," Song Cong said with a laugh. "What a coincidence—you just got transferred there, and now Huan'er is coming back soon."
"Do you think her advisor here might not approve?"
"Probably not." Song Cong, naturally more experienced in these matters than Jing Qichi, answered with confidence. "She went there as a visiting scholar, and her primary advisor is back home. Besides, more hands mean more work gets done—the team back home would be thrilled to have her return sooner. And if it’s for research needs, the reason is solid. There’s no need to deliberately block her."
Jing Qichi felt slightly relieved. "With your reassurance, I’m less worried."
"But," Song Cong cut straight to the point, "don’t go looking for him a second time. That guy is still Huan'er’s overseas co-advisor and has some influence. You don’t want to escalate things."
"I won’t." Jing Qichi paused, then asked, "Should I tell Huan'er about this?"
"What do you think?"
"I wasn’t planning to."
Song Cong chuckled. "If you’ve already decided, why ask me?"
"I’m just… not entirely sure."
This meeting couldn’t be called a success, though Jing Qichi hadn’t even defined what "success" would look like beforehand—this wasn’t a business negotiation where both sides had bottom lines to haggle over. His goal was simply to make the other party acknowledge the problem and rein in his arrogance. But Mark’s ambiguous response left Jing Qichi uncertain about what might happen next.
Telling Huan'er would allow her to prepare, but it would also inevitably add to her worries. That’s why he hesitated.
"The decision is yours to make. I can’t advise you on this," Song Cong said. "After all, you’re the one who knows Huan'er best."
"Hanging up now."
"Wait." Song Cong stopped him hurriedly. "When you come back, can you bring Du Man a Paddington Bear plush? The one with the red hat. She loves that movie."
Jing Qichi smirked. "Reimburse me when I get back."
"Consider it today’s consultation fee," the other replied shamelessly. "You’re getting a deal—no need to thank me."
Jing Qichi teased him, "Then I’ll ask Du Man for reimbursement."
"Don’t you dare!" Song Cong laughed but threatened, "If you send even one message to Manman, I’ll spill everything about today."
"Guard against thieves, fire, and your own brothers, huh?" Jing Qichi exaggeratedly sighed, walking off campus while speaking into the phone. "Fine, even if I don’t make it back myself, I’ll make sure the bear gets to you safely."
"Buy a few more. Pick the cute ones."
"Bye." Jing Qichi grinned as he ended the call, then pulled up images of Paddington Bear on his phone. After skimming through a few, he muttered to himself—Don’t these bears all look the same? How is there even a cute or not cute distinction?
Huan'er returned to the apartment at seven, and even through the door, she could smell the aroma of Chinese cooking.Amidst the sentiment, a layer of worry crept in—the stir-fry would produce a lot of smoke, and she hoped this guy wouldn’t accidentally set off the smoke alarm.
As it turned out, her concern wasn’t unfounded. The moment she opened the door, flames leaped half a foot high from the stove, and Jing Qichi was frantically turning on the faucet to fill a pot with water.
Huan’er rushed over, pulled out a lid from the cabinet below, and swiftly covered the pan. The flames died down, and she let out a long sigh of relief.
“I… I didn’t know where the lid was,” Jing Qichi said, turning off the faucet. He was wearing her apron, his expression a mix of sheepishness and helplessness.
“Now you know?” Huan’er replied. Seeing him reach barehanded for the lid, she slapped his hand away, deftly grabbed oven mitts from the nearby rack, and lifted the lid. The aroma of braised pork, mingled with a hint of burnt scent, wafted through the air.
“Total disaster,” Jing Qichi groaned in frustration.
Huan’er took the water from him, poured in half a bowl, and gave the contents a couple of stirs with a spatula. Smiling, she said, “It’s edible. Smells pretty good, actually. Braising meat requires low heat, you little dummy.”
The culprit pouted. This scene was clearly a far cry from the grand culinary display he’d envisioned for himself as the mighty Chef Jing.
As she stirred the pot, Huan’er suddenly asked, “Where did you buy the pork belly?”
She knew that local supermarkets only sold pork belly sliced thin for grilling, packaged in whole trays. These thick, two-to-three-centimeter cubes were definitely not available at the corner Tesco.
“I went to the Chinese supermarket,” Jing Qichi said, nodding toward the desk. “Picked up some snacks for you while I was at it.”
“You… knew how to get there?” Only then did Huan’er notice the chopped garlic stems and cured meat on the cutting board—items only sold at Chinese supermarkets. The store was so far away that in all her time here, she’d only been once.
It looked absolutely delicious.
“Followed the GPS. Went pretty smoothly,” Jing Qichi said, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll do the cooking. You be my coach.”
“No way, I’ll handle it,” Huan’er said, reaching to untie his apron. Unexpectedly, Jing Qichi grabbed her hand and held it firmly. His gaze was earnest and pure. “A life together can’t rely on just one person knowing how to cook. I should at least learn some basics.”
Perhaps it was the phrase “a life together,” a simple sentiment usually reserved for their parents’ generation, or perhaps it was the way their shared apartment today felt like home—but Huan’er looked up at him and asked, “Will you ever get tired of spending your life with me?”
They had known each other since childhood, their lives intertwined for so long. The only thing that never grows tiresome to gaze upon is the steadfast Jingting Mountain—because mountains stand firm, unwavering, never leaving. But human futures are filled with countless unpredictable twists and turns.
Jing Qichi set down the spatula and took both her hands in his. “You know I changed my college preference, right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Back then, Teacher Xu asked me why I insisted on changing it. He said it was a major life decision, one that could shape my entire future.” Jing Qichi looked at her steadily. “Honestly, I hesitated. Beijing is good—close to home, easy to find a job after graduation, and Song Cong and the others are all there. But then I thought, you’d be alone down south. That one reason alone outweighed all the others.”
Huan’er’s heart clenched as if something had tugged at it. She wanted to cry—ever since he arrived, she’d been wanting to cry.
“So, how could I ever get tired of you?” Jing Qichi cupped her face. “I made the absolute best decision.”
“Changing your preference really scared me.”
“Not that,” he shook his head. “Falling in love with you, taking care of you, staying by your side—that’s the best decision I ever made.”Huan'er's eyes brimmed with tears—she had finally broken down.
Only Jing Qichi could strip away her armor—those phone calls to her parents where she only shared good news, silently enduring the assistant director's passive aggression while pretending it didn't matter, pulling all-nighters on New Year's Eve to finish lab reports, subsisting on endless cups of coffee to stave off sleepiness. She thought of so much, even trivial things like instant noodles turning soggy after two bites before being tossed in the trash. All her resilience crumbled before him.
"I missed you so much." Huan'er buried her face in the crook of his neck. "I wouldn't drink the Mengpo Soup even if it were right in front of me—I'd be afraid of forgetting to miss you."
Jing Qichi couldn't resist kissing her—lips, teeth, tongue. He reached over to turn off the stove, quickly shed his apron, and pulled her into his arms, lost in the kiss.
It was as if this deep kiss was an answer to all the longing accumulated during their time apart.
Only one thought filled his mind: This is my wife, the future mother of my children, the one who will walk beside me through the long years ahead.
Huan'er, loving someone truly makes you think of these things—of every possible future we could share.
"Wait," Huan'er felt the change in his body and quickly stopped him. "I'm in my fertile window, and we don't have protection."
Jing Qichi glanced down at the telltale reaction and sighed. "The selection at the Chinese supermarket really is lacking."
There was a Tesco on the corner, a pharmacy right downstairs. On his way back, he'd been so focused on cooking that he'd completely forgotten about this.
Opportunity really does favor the prepared.
"I'll buy some tomorrow," Jing Qichi scratched his brow. "Tomorrow."
"I love you." Huan'er said before kissing his lips again.
"Alright." Finally hearing those words, Jing Qichi fought to keep his bursting heart in check, feigning nonchalance. "Subject-verb-object structure. Just doing the verb alone wouldn't be proper."
Huan'er, who'd always scraped by in liberal arts, didn't immediately grasp his meaning. "What subject-verb-object?"
Jing Qichi ruffled her hair with a faint smile. "Think about it. 'I love you' is a complete subject-verb-object construction. If you just have 'love,' that's just asking for a public morals crackdown—pure hooliganism."
"You—!"
"Me." He turned the stove back on, his back to her. "I'm willing to do housework, share your burdens, weather hardships with you, care for you when you're vulnerable. I... I really need you, dummy. That's what 'I love you' truly means."
Huan'er hugged his broad back. She'd always felt this way—no matter what, Jing Qichi always seemed to be one step ahead of her.
When it came to love.
"The oil's ready, add the scallions." She issued instructions while clinging to him. "Yes, stir twice then add the garlic stems."
"Can you just stay put?" Jing Qichi could barely move with her hanging on him. Changing the topic like one would with a child, he added, "Go check the snacks. I bought jelly cups."
"Really?" Huan'er dashed to the desk to rummage through the shopping bag, eyes sparkling. "Big bro, I'm on duty tonight—I'll serve you well."
This girl could put on a whole theatrical performance by herself.
Jing Qichi couldn't help laughing. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow big bro will come properly equipped to summon you."
"Deal!" Huan'er tore open a jelly cup and popped it in her mouth. "Make it slippery."
"Chen Huan'er!"
"What! I didn't even ask for mango flavor!"Jing Qichi pretended to have a headache and patted his forehead. Occasionally, just occasionally, he truly felt inferior and had to admit defeat—being with a female Ph.D. who excelled in both biology and chemistry, it was a miracle if his little issues didn't become research material for her thesis.
What a pity, what a pity—but it was too late for regrets now.
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