They found a suitable house in the hillside affluent neighborhood—sun-drenched with open views, featuring a sprawling hundred-square-meter balcony perfect for unrestrained enjoyment, and directly opposite the best international school in Bogotá. Miao Jing frowned at the price, which was exorbitant, but Chen Yi signed the papers without hesitation, spreading his hands generously: "I've got the money."
What was meant to be would come, and what was meant for her was finally being fulfilled, bit by bit.
Chen Yi's income had far surpassed hers, and he truly carried an air of triumphant vigor. Those colleagues and friends who had once whispered behind Miao Jing’s back were belatedly astonished—they never expected someone so seemingly careless and nonchalant to actually make something of himself. Was it sheer luck or just a stroke of fortune?
The couple moved into their new home a month before the due date. At that time, Miao Jing was still working, having handed over some of her responsibilities to colleagues while keeping core tasks under her own supervision. Cen Ye had recently inquired about her situation, and it happened that Chen Yi was present—he snatched the phone from her hand and hung up with a scowl.
During the move, friends came to help and threw a welcome party. Miao Jing, heavily pregnant, took charge as the general director. Perhaps because of the pregnancy, her face had lost its usual aloof pride, her voice soft and gentle, with a tender grace lingering at the corners of her eyes and brows—like a soft breeze brushing through branches, carrying a faint glow and subtle fragrance, exuding a gentle and compliant demeanor.
The baby supplies at home were all prepared. They hadn’t let the doctor reveal the gender, so everything was chosen according to Miao Jing’s preferences, in both pink and blue. The only catch was that Bogotá lacked facilities like postpartum care centers, so they needed a reliable babysitter.
Si Nan accompanied Miao Jing in the bedroom, organizing clothes, her tone full of envy: "You two are really so happy."
Truly so happy. Among so many people in the world, and so many futile or unfinished relationships, how could they have met someone so perfectly matched?
Miao Jing smiled faintly.
The due date arrived as scheduled. One evening, after stepping out of the bathroom, Miao Jing sensed something unusual in her body.
The couple drove to the hospital, having pre-booked a private room and a delivery doctor. Yet, the scene was chaotic. During the contractions, Miao Jing turned pale with pain and bit down hard on Chen Yi’s wrist in frustration.
Lying on the delivery bed, drenched in cold sweat and moaning, she gripped Chen Yi’s hand. The tall man was utterly flustered, his eyes red and swollen as he fought back tears.
It was unclear how he had managed those prenatal classes—in the end, he panicked and forgot everything.
Fortunately, the little angel was resilient and didn’t torment her mother too much, arriving with a cry in the early hours of the morning.
It was a tiny, wrinkled girl. They say newborn daughters resemble their fathers but grow to look more like their mothers—and indeed, the little one’s delicate eyebrows and mouth were carved from the same mold as Chen Yi’s.
The infant was placed beside Miao Jing’s pillow. She tilted her head, gazing dazedly at the child, her eyes filled with soft radiance. Chen Yi wrapped his arms around both mother and daughter, his face pressed against Miao Jing’s cheek. She could feel his hot, wet tears sticking to her skin, heavy and warm with each breath.
“It’s alright,” she comforted him weakly, her fingers stroking his tousled hair. “Good boy.”
His hand touched her neck, and his fingers brushed her cheek with solemn care, like a heartfelt caress and confession.Their daughter's name was chosen by both of them—it didn't require much thought, just two simple characters: Ling Cheng.
Chen Yi didn't want the child to inherit his surname Chen, which came from Chen Libin and held nothing worth passing down. Miao Jing didn't think the surname Miao was particularly memorable either, as it came from a father who had never fulfilled his parental duties. Of course, using Wei Mingzhen's surname felt somewhat awkward too. Eventually, they settled on Chen Yi's mother's surname—her maiden name was Ling.
Little Chengzi.
It was also a subtle metaphor for "love."
Miao Jing stayed in the hospital a few extra days to recuperate, while Chen Yi attentively attended several childcare training sessions offered by the hospital. A week later, they carefully carried their baby home.
The household was bustling with people. Chen Yi had hired a nanny named Pereira to care for the child, while Megis handled the household chores. They were also fortunate to find a Cantonese auntie who had come to Bogotá to visit relatives. Hearing that Cantonese-style soups were particularly nourishing, Chen Yi invited her to prepare Chinese meals for Miao Jing over two months.
During her postpartum confinement, Miao Jing's eyes were the busiest—watching the three aunties huddle together to coax the baby, carry Little Chengzi to the balcony for sunlight, and take turns changing her diapers. Only during feeding times would Little Chengzi be placed in her arms.
The daily Cantonese menu was incredibly hearty, with various soups and sweet desserts. Combined with Colombian customs emphasizing postpartum nourishment, Miao Jing not only didn't lose weight but actually gained a little. By the time she suddenly realized it, Chen Yi's hands had already pinched her countless times.
Much of the soups and dishes she couldn't finish ended up in Chen Yi's stomach. Miao Jing poked his rock-hard abs in disbelief: "Why isn't your stomach soft?"
Chen Yi scoffed, curling his lips.
He had been living like a monk for months, waking up at six every morning to run and work out, all in hopes of making her utterly captivated and obsessed with him again, returning to the peak of their affectionate relationship.
Unfortunately, Miao Jing's heart was entirely devoted to Little Chengzi—at the slightest sound, her eyes would dart over, largely ignoring the living, breathing man beside her.
His charm had completely faded.
As it turned out, Little Chengzi was far from an angelic baby—not that well-behaved.
She resembled Chen Yi, with only her eyes taking after Miao Jing—a mix of innocence and boldness. When she cried, it was earth-shattering; when she didn't, she'd fuss and whimper. She wasn't particularly fond of sleeping, preferring to lie wide-eyed, her gaze darting around.
During the day, Miao Jing could breastfeed on schedule, hold her, and soothe her. Little Chengzi would lie obediently in her arms. But at night, Chen Yi forbade Miao Jing from staying up late, sending Little Chengzi to Pereira's room. Miao Jing, occasionally sleepless, couldn't resist checking on the baby, worried she might cry in the middle of the night.
"Do you not like Little Chengzi?"
"Why would you say that?"
"You rarely hold her. You come home, glance at her a few times, and then walk away." Miao Jing felt a tinge of melancholy. "And you won't even let her sleep with us."
"She's so small—what if I break her or drop her? With so many people at home, you're all constantly doting on her. You've been exhausted from the pregnancy—you should rest well at night. Besides, Pereira is more professional and experienced than you. She knows how to care for a child."
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