Zhou Ya had just gotten Ma Huimin’s medicine from the pharmacy window when his nose itched, and he couldn’t hold it back, sneezing sharply as he turned his face away.

He was about to wipe it carelessly with his sleeve when someone beside him handed over a tissue: “Use this.”

Looking at the person standing before him, Zhou Ya froze for a moment before taking the tissue: “Thanks.”

Zeng Keyun smiled faintly, noticing the X-ray envelope in Zhou Ya’s hand, and asked: “Getting X-rays taken? Where are you hurt?”

“Not me, my mom fell this morning.” Zhou Ya stuffed the balled-up tissue into his pants pocket, glancing briefly down at Zeng Keyun’s rounded belly before quickly looking away.

Zeng Keyun asked: “Is Auntie okay?”

Zhou Ya was polite: “Thanks for asking, nothing serious.”

“That’s good.”

The conversation stalled there. The spot where the two stood was blocking others’ way a bit; Zhou Ya stepped aside first, walking a few paces over, and Zeng Keyun turned to follow—when he stopped, she stopped.

Before Zhou Ya could ask, Zeng Keyun explained first: “I’m here for a prenatal checkup, due date’s in half a month.”

This time Zhou Ya answered quickly: “Congratulations.”

Less than half a year after breaking up with him, Zeng Keyun had gotten married.

Her husband was seven or eight years older than her, his family in the tea business. The wedding banquet, besides being held at the fanciest restaurant in town, also went back to the groom’s village, with dozens of tables set up outside the ancestral hall—quite the grand affair.

Zhou Ya hadn’t received an invitation, but he’d gotten a text from Zeng Keyun saying she was getting married. Zhou Ya had asked a friend attending the banquet to give a red envelope to Zeng Keyun on his behalf. After that, he hadn’t had any contact with her.

It was just that the small town was so small, chance encounters like this were unavoidable—but seeing Zeng Keyun again, Zhou Ya’s heart was as calm as a windless lake.

Zeng Keyun absentmindedly touched her round belly, smiling as she asked: “What about you? When are you getting married? I need to return the favor with a red envelope.”

“Still a ways off, not even a hint of it yet.”

“Then shouldn’t you hurry up? After the New Year, you’ll be thirty.” Zeng Keyun said, then shook her head. “No wait, we count by nominal age here. You’re already thirty.”

“Since when did you join the marriage-pressuring crowd too?” Zhou Ya’s mouth curved up slightly. “Don’t even have a girlfriend yet.”

Zeng Keyun’s eyes widened slightly, somewhat surprised.

Zhou Ya was a good person, but he wasn’t a gentle one.

During the time she’d dated Zhou Ya, Zeng Keyun had always felt he was like a stone—when heated up, like a stone baked red in fire; when cooled down, like a stone tossed into ice water.

He didn’t smile much, often kept a cold face, and because of his throat, he didn’t like talking much either.

But the Zhou Ya in front of her now was somewhat different from the one in Zeng Keyun’s memory—he’d softened quite a bit.

Zeng Keyun’s smile faded a little; some words had reached the tip of her tongue, but in the end, feeling it wasn’t the right time, she said nothing.

Zhou Ya didn’t continue the topic, glancing around, asking her: “You came alone for the checkup?”

“…My mom came with me.” Zeng Keyun paused a few seconds, then continued, “We were about to head back, but I spotted you from far off, thought I should come over and say hi.”

“Alright, say hello to Auntie for me.” Zhou Ya lifted the bag in his hand slightly. “I need to head back too, my mom and Fang Long are still waiting over there.”

“Oh, your sister came too? Then hurry along.”

Zhou Ya nodded: “I’m off.”

Zeng Keyun stood in place for a while, watching until the tall man’s figure was out of sight before turning to leave.

She protected her belly, avoiding the crowd, slowly walking out of the hospital gate to the roadside.

Several motorbike drivers and taxi drivers were calling out loudly. Zeng Keyun found a taxi, negotiated a price, and got in.

Ever since the first ultrasound, her husband and in-laws had grown noticeably colder toward her, and even her own mother had suggested she just accept this pregnancy and try harder next time.

At the time, Zeng Keyun had felt as if she’d fallen into an ice cellar, instantly seeing clearly where this marriage of hers was headed.

This seemed to be the fate of many small-town girls.

From childhood, learning all the elaborate, tedious steps of worshipping the gods, burning paper offerings every first and fifteenth of the lunar month; not needing good grades, since after vocational school it was either working in the big city or quickly marrying some man with a bit of family money; the betrothal gift money received never touched, all of it saved for the younger brother’s “wife fund”; after marriage, expected to have two children within three years, ideally a boy on the first try—if not, keep going until one arrived with the right parts…

Looking at the dusty gray sky, the dusty gray street, Zeng Keyun felt like she too was dusty gray.

The little one in her belly moved; she gently caressed it, suddenly feeling a wave of despair.

She felt that this life about to arrive would be, just like this small town, dusty gray too.

Zhou Ya went back to get Ma Huimin, wanting to carry her on his back again to get to the car like before, but Ma Huimin refused, feeling it was embarrassing, and with Fang Long’s support, walked unsteadily to the parking lot instead.

Zhou Ya’s van had been modified, with ingredients still loaded in the back, only room for two in front.

After helping Big Auntie into the car, Fang Long said to Zhou Ya: “You take Big Auntie home first, I’ll go buy some things.”

Zhou Ya asked her: “Buy what?”

“You’ll find out later.” Fang Long waved and ran off toward her own motorbike.

Driving home, Zhou Ya suddenly thought it was time to buy another proper car for household use.

The town’s roads were narrow, especially in the old district, where driving was far less convenient than riding a motorbike, and parking was troublesome too, so Zhou Ya had never thought to add another small car.

The current van was only suitable for buying groceries and hauling goods—carrying one more person meant bringing along a small stool to sit in the back—wanting to take his mother and that girl out for a couple days’ trip wasn’t even possible.

He and Fang Long arrived home one right after the other. Fang Long brought over the items she’d bought at the small supermarket by the hospital, introducing them to Ma Huimin one by one carefully: “Big Auntie, this cushion ring you can use when you’re watching dramas in the living room these days, sitting won’t hurt as much. And I picked out this cane for you too! Try it out—I tried a bunch of them one by one, this one’s light but sturdy. You’ll need to use it wherever you go these next few days.”

Ma Huimin was naturally moved, feeling deeply touched: “Our Long Long has really grown up, knows how to take care of people now. Thank you.”

The sudden thanks left Fang Long a bit embarrassed, pouting as she muttered: “Ugh, why are you being so polite with me…”

Zhou Ya had wrung out a hot towel and brought it over to wipe Ma Huimin’s face and hands. Glancing at those two small items, the corner of his mouth curved up unconsciously as he teased: “Mom, don’t praise her, this one can’t handle compliments, one praise and she’ll float straight up to the sky.”

Fang Long glared fiercely at him: “Shut up, you!”

By the time they’d gone to the hospital and back and gotten their mother settled, it was already nearly two in the afternoon.

Zhou Ya’s stomach growled loudly, only then reminding him that no one had eaten lunch yet. He hurried to the kitchen, planning to casually cook some noodles for everyone to make do with.

He hadn’t expected someone to already be in the kitchen.

Fang Long stood in front of the stove, holding long cooking chopsticks, stirring in the pot, wisps of white steam rising in waves.

She stood sideways to the kitchen doorway, her sweater sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her hair tied up exposing a stretch of snow-white neck, the midday sun gently pressing against it, even the fine down on her neck visible clearly.

Zhou Ya slowed his steps, and from a distance, watched the figure wrapped in pale mist.

A lake calm as a mirror, effortlessly stirred into ripples by her, rippling and colliding inside Zhou Ya’s chest.

Fang Long picked up a noodle strand, eager to test if it was done, pursing her lips to blow on it twice before moving to put it in her mouth.

A low voice suddenly sounded behind her: “Careful, don’t scald yourself to death.”

Fang Long jumped, startled, her hand trembling, the noodle falling back into the boiling soup. She whipped around, shooting Zhou Ya a sharp glare: “Scalding wouldn’t kill me, but you scaring me like that nearly would!”

“You’re not that faint-hearted, your guts are bigger than my fist.” Zhou Ya stepped forward, reaching up to switch on the range hood. “You’re cooking this meal?”

“Yeah, just making noodles.” Fang Long hadn’t eaten breakfast, was starving already; seeing Zhou Ya busy in Ma Huimin’s room, she’d thought to make something simple to eat.

The beef brisket broth was something Zhou Ya had cooked before and portioned into bags frozen in the cold storage. Add some water, thaw and melt it down, and you could cook noodles in it. She’d also added beef balls and tender chunks of braised brisket.

The noodles were nearly soft enough. Fang Long skimmed the foam clean from the edge of the pot, tossed in a handful of washed lettuce, and turned off the heat.

“I’ll do it.” Zhou Ya said concisely, taking the chopsticks from her hand, picking up the large porcelain bowl nearby, quickly ladling out bowl after bowl.

Fang Long rolled her sleeves back down, thinking to use them as oven mitts to hold the noodle bowl.

Zhou Ya shot her a look, tone disdainful: “That’s a sweater. If it gets oil on it, it’ll be a pain for me to wash.”

Fang Long pouted: “Who said you’re washing it? I keep meaning to wash it myself, but you always secretly wash my clothes for me first.”

Zhou Ya paused, and the next second his words came out stumbling: “I—I didn’t… no, that’s not it, I didn’t…”

Fang Long ignored him, carrying the noodle bowl and walking out, tossing back: “Tch, you don’t even dare admit it.”

The range hood was loud, but Zhou Ya could still clearly hear her light, breezy remark.

The sun was warm, steam rising, and Zhou Ya, rubbing his brow with a knuckle, found that he’d broken out in a sweat from the heat.