As if struck by a sudden enlightenment, Zhao Xiyin immediately found the crux of the problem.
——
In the afternoon, Zhou Qishen sent her a message: "Boarding now, arriving in Beijing tonight."
Upon seeing this, Zhao Xiyin's lips curled slightly upwards. She didn't reply, glanced at it, and then turned off the screen. Cen Yue slowly walked past her. "Zhao Xigua, are you in love?"
Zhao Xiyin covered her phone, remaining noncommittal, and winked at her, "So obvious?"
“It’s obvious.” Cen Yue held up her finger and gestured a length. “Your lips are upturned this high.”
"Nonsense." Zhao Xiyin scratched her earlobe, secretly pleased, but still retorted seriously, "Then it would be a monster."
Zhou Qishen's flight was delayed by an hour, and by the time he calculated, he would arrive in Beijing around 7 or 8 o'clock.
Zhao Wenchun is really meticulous. He swapped classes with another teacher today and had two long classes on Chinese aesthetics in the evening, but at 5:30, he called Zhao Xiyin right on time to ask if she had gotten home yet.
Zhao Xiyin sent him a video, spinning him around 360 degrees, "I'm at home. Here's our TV, refrigerator, and sofa. See? Did I lie to you?"
Teacher Zhao was satisfied. "That's more like it."
As soon as she hung up the phone, Zhao Xiyin grabbed her bag and went out the door.
This time when she went to Fanyue, no security guards stopped her. They greeted her politely, "Hello, Miss Zhao."
Zhao Xiyin went to the supermarket, took two peaches out of the bag and handed them over, saying, "Thank you, please have these."
On duty, with strict discipline, they naturally wouldn't accept it. Zhao Xiyin didn't make things difficult for anyone; she went into the guard post herself, put the peach down, and then left.
Zhou Qishen's apartment is considered a prime location, with a well-proportioned and square layout. He was willing to spend money, tearing down all the original hard furnishings and renovating it before moving in. Everything in the house is top-of-the-line, except for the bookshelf, which is not very big. Perhaps Zhou Qishen didn't value it much, as there were only a few books on it. The only book within easy reach is a complete set of "Military World" from this year.
Zhao Xiyin knew that joining the army after high school and never having properly attended university was his lifelong regret.
The house was large, but it didn't have the sloppiness or laziness typical of single men. The blankets were always neatly made after he got up, and the wardrobe was filled with suits and shirts, all hanging in sets. The drawers below contained underwear, folded neatly and all black.
When Zhou Qishen arrived home, Zhao Xiyin was busy in the kitchen. Hearing the noise, she didn't even need to come out to look; she simply called out, "Zhou Qishen, come and help me out."
Zhou Qishen hadn't even changed into slippers when he unpacked his suitcase and walked in barefoot. A fragrant aroma filled the air, and steam rose from the pot; brightly colored scallions, ginger, and chili peppers were arranged on a plate. A soup was simmering on the stove, already bubbling away.
"This is so hot, pick it up." Zhao Xiyin pointed to the soup pot, her slender fingers still glistening with water droplets.
Zhou Qi chuckled, "Aren't you afraid of burning me?"
"Let's deal with the burns first. Don't you have bandages in your first-aid kit? Just wrap them around yourself a couple of times," Zhao Xiyin said with a grin.
Her bright smile instantly dispelled the fatigue of her long journey. Zhou Qishen's gaze fell to her waist. "You're not wearing an apron?"
"Not found."
Zhou Qishen didn't say anything, turned around and went to the bedroom. When he came back in, he took a linen suit and tied it around her waist. "Make do with this. Don't get your clothes dirty."
Zhao Xiyin glanced down and asked, "You still have clothes in this color?"
"Hmm?" Zhou Qishen hadn't noticed before, but now that he was paying close attention, he remembered, "This belongs to Gu Heping. He left it at my house last time. Go outside, I'll take care of it."
Zhao Xiyin didn't let her, saying, "You should rest."
Zhou Qishen stopped insisting and obediently left the kitchen.
After dinner, Zhao Xiyin came out and saw him leaning against the sofa, his eyes closed wearily, his right hand constantly pinching his brow and occasionally shaking his head. Zhou Qishen's headache had flared up again; he probably couldn't adapt to the damp cold of the south and wasn't feeling well in Shanghai.
Suddenly, a soft spot appeared on his forehead, and he heard Zhao Xiyin say, "Don't move, let me massage it for you."
Zhou Qishen opened his eyes slightly, feeling a little uncomfortable. She stood behind him, her expression and features obscured. Two strands of her long hair fell over his shoulders, carrying a captivating, faint fragrance. Soft, warm fingers moved from his forehead to his temples, gently, clockwise.
Old feelings, wrapped in memories, rushed in, and Zhou Qishen's eyes welled up with tears. He dared not move, dared not utter a sound, and dared not even breathe heavily. He feared that this great dream would be disturbed and vanish into nothingness.
Three years later, a long-awaited moment of peace.
Zhao Xiyin suddenly flicked his forehead, "Zhou Qishen, can't you ever get any better?"
It wasn't strong; it was intentional.
Zhou Qishen turned his head to the side, a faint smile on his lips, his shamelessness undiminished, "I didn't dare to die, nor did I dare to get better. I have to hold on until you come back."
"Don't say such discouraging things." Zhao Xiyin was slightly annoyed. "I'm not a massage therapist. Go find a young and pretty one and massage you to death 24 hours a day."
Zhou Qishen chuckled softly. He was genuinely in pain; his eyes were red from staying up all night. He couldn't hold on any longer and said, "I'll sleep for half an hour, then I'll get up and keep you company."
A nightlight was on in the bedroom. He didn't sleep well, so he rarely turned on bright lights at night. Just as he sat down on the bed, he saw Zhao Xiyin walk to the bedroom door, her worry clearly visible in her eyes.
Their gazes lingered on the distance, silently intertwining. Zhou Qishen couldn't resist and reached out his hand to her, "Come here."
Zhao Xiyin was obedient and leaned against the bed when Zhou Qishen suddenly wrapped his arm around her waist.
His face rested on her stomach, his eyes closed, and he said in a low voice, "In the years since you left, I haven't had a good night's sleep. I'm afraid of light, afraid of sound, and even more afraid that when I close my eyes, all I can think about is you. I go to see a psychologist, but I can only manage to doze off for two hours in the consultation room. As soon as I come back, everything is ruined. When I really can't take it anymore, I take sleeping pills, and I can fall asleep, but I still have dreams. In my dreams, I treat you badly, and when you left, there were knives stuck in your back."
As he spoke, his voice became hoarse and his breathing became labored.
Zhao Xiyin chuckled, her voice choked with emotion, "Zhou Qishen, are you telling a ghost story?"
"Xiao west." He hugged her tighter. "Stay with me for a little while."
The man's faint fragrance wafted into her nostrils, overwhelming her with an imposing aura, like a fire igniting within her, making Zhao Xiyin's internal organs burn. Her hand trembled as she gently covered his hair with her palm; it was hard, scraping against her skin, with a heart-wrenching force.
Zhao Xiyin lay half-reclined, and Zhou Qishen turned to his side, not getting completely close to her. They maintained a distance between them, proceeding cautiously and gradually.
Zhao Xiyin looked at him for the third time, finally losing her patience, "Why aren't you asleep yet??"