Lin Tao couldn’t remember whether she had ever answered him. She only knew that by the time she came back to herself, she had already been stripped of every stitch of clothing.

Jiang Yan kissed the corner of her lips. His warm breath swept down over her like a tide, and the bodies pressed close together seemed to grow hotter by the moment.

Lin Tao was acutely aware of the change between the two of them. The air conditioning in the room seemed to have entirely ceased functioning at that point.

“…… Jiang Yan.”

She was somewhat nervous. Her fingers gripped tightly at his arm, and the nails — freshly trimmed but still slightly sharp at the edges — pressed deep into his skin, leaving a series of faint, shallow marks along the pale surface of his forearm.

Jiang Yan gritted his teeth and paused. He was half braced above her, his arm tucked alongside her face. His fingers found the softness of her earlobe and held it gently. His breathing was unsteady. “What’s wrong?”

There was not a single point of light in the room. Lin Tao looked up at the bright clarity of his eyes and suddenly felt much less afraid — like someone adrift on the surface of the sea who had found a piece of driftwood to hold onto.

She steadied her breathing as best she could. Her voice came out a little hoarse. “Nothing.”

Jiang Yan looked at her like this, swallowed quietly, and closed his eyes slightly. In a single instant, his breathing grew more and more disordered.

Lin Tao’s face burned. She was suddenly glad the light was off — that neither could clearly see the other — and that she could look openly at his every expression, feel clearly every change in him.

The air conditioning hummed on without stopping. The clothes that had fallen beside the bed tangled together in an intimate mess, like the two people on the bed, lost in a closeness that drove the senses to the edge of madness.

……

The interlude lasted a very long time. So long that Lin Tao had not an ounce of energy left to give him any response at all.

When it was finally over, she was exhausted to the point where her whole body had gone limp. She couldn’t even lift her eyelids. There was only a faint trace of awareness left — enough to register that someone had gotten off the bed beside her, and then light came into the room, and a silhouette crouched before her.

Lin Tao barely raised her eyelids. All she could make out was Jiang Yan’s blurred outline.

Jiang Yan reached over and gently smoothed the hair that had fallen across her face, then bent down close to her ear and murmured, “Shall I carry you to the bathroom for a wash?”

Lin Tao was deeply exhausted and seemed to give some half-conscious reply — though she couldn’t be sure what she had actually said. A moment later, she felt something warm and damp moving slowly across her legs.

Perhaps sensing what Jiang Yan was doing, she dimly felt she ought to do something herself — but her body was too spent, and she could not manage any movement at all.

Jiang Yan wiped her down with the warm cloth, cleaning away what traces remained. Then he went into the bathroom himself and rinsed off. When he came out, Lin Tao was already wrapped up in the covers and asleep.

He walked to the bedside and crouched there, watching her quietly for a moment. Then he reached out and gently pinched her slightly parted lips, and a smile surfaced in his eyes.

The night was deep.

Jiang Yan tidied the disarray at the bedside, then picked up Lin Tao’s phone from where it had fallen on the floor. His finger accidentally brushed against the fingerprint sensor, and the screen lit up for a moment.

He glanced at it without particular intent and was about to set the phone back down when a notification suddenly appeared in the system bar.

— Your answer to “In a romantic relationship…” on Zhihu has been liked by user ‘doesn’t eat cilantro’ and 5 others.

Jiang Yan’s eyebrow lifted. He followed the prompt and tapped in. Without any surprise, he found Lin Tao’s answer right there.

— Anonymous user: He probably doesn’t know yet — that post on the forum back then, about someone having feelings for him, was actually posted by me.

Seeing Lin Tao’s answer, Jiang Yan was taken aback for a moment. A long pause followed, and then he gave a quiet, low laugh. He found the link to the question and sent it to his own phone. Then he logged into his own Zhihu account and answered the question anonymously as well.

Once that was done, Jiang Yan set both phones on the desk to charge, then switched off the light and lay back down under the covers.

The sleeping Lin Tao instinctively burrowed toward him. Jiang Yan folded his arms around her and drew her closer, then bent his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Good night,” he said softly.

—

The next morning, Lin Tao — whose internal clock was always reliable — woke from sleep. The room was perfectly quiet, with only the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Jiang Yan wasn’t awake yet. His arm was tucked beneath her head, his body turned on its side to face her, half a shoulder exposed above the covers. The loose strands across his forehead shadowed part of his brow and eyes. His lashes were thick and curled.

Lin Tao reached up and brushed his lashes. He seemed to sense the touch — his brow furrowed slightly, his arm tightened a little around her — but his eyes stayed closed.

Lin Tao smiled, and gently lifted his arm away. She pulled a nearby pillow over and tucked it into his embrace in her place, then slipped out of bed.

Last night had gone on quite late, and all the tidying up afterward had been done by Jiang Yan. Even the sleepwear Lin Tao had on now had been put on her by Jiang Yan — the sleep pants were his, a matching set with hers.

After getting up, Lin Tao went to the bathroom for a warm shower. When she came out, Jiang Yan was still asleep, and one corner of the covers had slipped off and was hanging down toward the floor.

She walked over, picked it up, raised the air conditioning temperature by two degrees, then changed out of the sleep clothes. With her phone in hand she went downstairs.

Before long, Jiang Yan was startled awake by the sudden ring of his phone. He rolled out of bed and answered the call, only to discover the room was empty.

While walking toward the bathroom, he sent Lin Tao a message.

— Where’d you go?

Lin Tao sent him a photo — the breakfast stall at the mouth of the lane.

— Buying breakfast.

— Wait there. I’ll be right over.

After replying, Jiang Yan set his phone on the little shelf nearby, took a few minutes to brush his teeth and wash his face, then went out to change and jogged downstairs.

After breakfast, the two of them started packing to head home.

They had only been back for two days, so there wasn’t much — just one suitcase. On the way to the airport, Lin Tao received a call from Meng Xin.

Over the phone, Meng Xin said that Lin Qichen’s heart condition had somehow flared up again. Lin Yongcheng had come to her family’s home early that morning, hoping she could help contact Professor Gu Cheng, who had been responsible for Lin Qichen’s surgery at the time.

After listening to Meng Xin, Lin Tao was quiet for a moment before saying softly, “Xin Xin, I never used to believe in the saying that evil meets its due. But today, I suddenly believe it.”

Meng Xin had nothing to say to that.

After the call ended, Lin Tao looked out the window at the unfamiliar scenery flashing past, and felt a strange, inexplicable sadness come over her.

Jiang Yan glanced at her but said nothing. He simply reached over and quietly took her hand.

Regarding Lin Yongcheng and Lin Qichen, Lin Tao told Fang Yisong nothing of it after returning home.

She had always understood, deep down, that Fang Yisong had never truly let go of what had happened. But sometimes, there are things that, no matter how much grief and pain they cause, serve no purpose to dwell on.

Once a crack exists, no amount of mending changes the fact that it happened. It does not disappear, and it is not forgotten.

Life after returning to school was busier than before. But fortunately, this semester, neither Jiang Yan nor Lin Tao had too many external obligations. Both of them were largely at the university.

A few days into the semester, Lin Tao learned that Meng Xin’s mother and Meng Xin had come to visit Fang Yisong at home. That evening, she and Jiang Yan made a special trip back from school.

After dinner, Jiang Yan received a call from a classmate at the lab saying there was a problem with the progress of an experiment, and had to go back to school on his own.

Lin Tao and Meng Xin stayed at home and kept the two elders company for a while, chatting. When Meng Xin’s mother saw that Lin Tao, who was the same age as her own daughter, was already married with her certificate in hand, she inevitably began to urge Meng Xin again to find a boyfriend.

Meng Xin deflected with a few vague remarks and pulled Lin Tao away.

The two of them went upstairs to Lin Tao’s room.

Lin Tao shut the door and went to sit on the sofa, looking at her with curiosity. “Aren’t you with Guan Che-gege? How does your family not know?”

“I haven’t told them yet.” Meng Xin picked an orange from the fruit bowl on the table. “And if I let my mom know I’m dating now, she’ll definitely manage to investigate Guan Che’s entire family line going back eighteen generations. You know what she’s like.”

Lin Tao gave her a look that said may good fortune find you, picked up her phone, and sent Jiang Yan a message asking if he’d made it back to school yet.

Jiang Yan took a few minutes to reply.

— In a meeting. Will find you later. Be good.

Lin Tao replied with a simple “okay” and set down the phone, then squeezed in beside Meng Xin, thoroughly curious. “But I really do wonder — how did you and Guan Che-gege end up together? Back in high school, there wasn’t the slightest hint between the two of you.”

Meng Xin pushed her head away. “How else — familiarity just turned to feelings over time.”

Lin Tao laughed. “Then the time it took for familiarity to become feelings between the two of you was a bit on the long side.”

“……”

Lin Tao, seeing that nothing further was forthcoming, got up and rummaged through her bag for the case files she’d need for class the next morning and started organizing the contents.

Meng Xin, seeing her sitting on the rug, flopped down beside her, tugged a pillow under the back of her head, and settled in. As she withdrew her hand, she accidentally knocked Lin Tao’s phone off the sofa.

She picked it up and set it aside.

After a good while, Meng Xin’s eyes were sore from staring at her own phone. She set it down and sat up — and noticed the phone she’d put aside earlier was buzzing with a constant stream of incoming notifications. She picked it up and glanced: all Zhihu system alerts. She held it out to Lin Tao. “What’s going on with your Zhihu — notifications coming nonstop?”

Lin Tao looked up in puzzlement, took the phone, and after a few seconds staring at the screen: “…… Oh heavens.”

“What happened?” Meng Xin leaned in and looked at the answer on her screen. Below it: 1K upvotes, 5,394 thanks, 6,986 comments.

“Did you write this?”

Lin Tao made a sound of confirmation. “I posted it a few days ago. Yesterday it had maybe seven or eight upvotes. I have no idea why it suddenly blew up like this.”

“Did a big account repost it?” Meng Xin said. “Check the comments — someone should have said where the traffic came from.”

Lin Tao opened the comments.

The ones at the top were the high-upvote featured replies.

— Shangguan Zhuangxiu: I desperately want to know if you and the anonymous user in [this answer] are somehow connected!! If you don’t know each other — this is too much of a coincidence!! And if you do — this is way too sweet!!! (whispering) — Zhou Lisi: Came from Weibo!! Really want to know what happens next!! — Waiting for an old friend: So lovely. — Strawberry Fairy: AHHH little sister (?) did you see this answer?? [link] — Asi: Came from the right — anyone who came from there please give me an upvote!! — Not envying the immortals: Space observation squad checking in!!

……

Getting this far, Lin Tao had a fairly good sense of where all this traffic was coming from. She tapped the link embedded in the first comment, and the page redirected to another answer.

— Anonymous user: She probably doesn’t know yet — that post on the forum back then, about my feelings for her, I already knew was posted by her.

This answer and hers mirrored each other perfectly. To any outsider, it looked like two people who were in love with each other, each weaving a well-meaning little lie for the other.

Reading this answer, Lin Tao’s memory suddenly folded back to that night so many years ago — to that boy who was like a clear breeze and a bright moon.

Even though at this moment there was no concrete evidence to prove this answer had been posted by Jiang Yan, Lin Tao had an instinctive feeling that it was.

No one else could possibly have posted it.

That evening, Jiang Yan didn’t finish his meeting until eleven. When it ended, he saw a message from Lin Tao on his phone.

— Jiang classmate, you’ve been hiding things very deep [conflicted feelings.jpg] — [link] — If you’d been around during the war, you would definitely have been a spy within a spy.

Jiang Yan didn’t understand at first what she meant. But once he tapped the link and saw the content, he understood immediately, and called her, smiling.

The moment the call connected, he heard Lin Tao say: “Don’t say a word. I have just one question — when did you know that post was put up by me?”

“Not long after you posted it.” Since this door was now open, Jiang Yan simply went the full way. “Guan Che traced the IP address of the person who posted it, and then he looked up the source.”

Lin Tao paused. “So…… Guan Che-gege also knows about the post, and knows it was me who posted it?”

Jiang Yan confirmed this, and then heard Lin Tao say something to Meng Xin in the background: “I think you and Guan Che-gege might not actually be very well suited.”

Meng Xin: “……” Jiang Yan: “……”

Jiang Yan walked forward with his phone.

In the late summer night, the moon was radiant, and stars were strewn across the whole expanse of sky, glittering. The wind coming up from the south carried with it a cool, damp touch.

Over the phone, Lin Tao asked him why he had never exposed her — why he had instead pretended that he himself was the one who had posted it.

At those words, Jiang Yan stopped walking. Moonlight filtered through gaps in the leaves and settled on his shoulders, light and shadow dappled and soft.

He gave a quiet laugh, and his voice was gentle. “Because back then, Jiang classmate very much wanted to be with his Lin classmate a little sooner.”

Later, the two answers by Jiang Yan and Lin Tao were reposted in succession by several major Weibo accounts with followings in the millions, attracting enormous attention. The upvotes on both answers surged to over a million in a short span of time, with countless users leaving comments in the threads begging for updates.

A few days later, the anonymous user from the second answer revealed their identity.

— Jiang Yan: Update — already known, already married, to her.

The moment that update appeared, it pulled in even more attention. A blogger traced Jiang Yan’s Zhihu profile and discovered he was a student at Qingda University, then tagged Qingda’s official account on Weibo, half-joking, asking if there were any more young men like him at the school.

What was expected to be a joke that would go unanswered — Qingda’s official account, which always maintained an air of serious dignity, actually went ahead and liked the blogger’s post.

Shortly after, a Qingda alumni who saw the official account’s like recognized the Jiang Yan from the second answer as the Jiang Yan from the physics department.

The story of Jiang Yan and Lin Tao’s relationship had long been widely known at Qingda. Though the two of them kept an extremely low profile at school, that did nothing to contain the curiosity and enthusiasm of the student body. All manner of posts about the two of them could be found with a quick search on the Qingda forum, and someone had even dug up the video from Hu Hanghang’s concert where Lin Tao and Jiang Yan had kissed, revealing that the two of them were close friends of Hu Hanghang — the enormously popular idol whose star was continuing to rise.

Even the blogger who had been liked by the official account was receiving a flood of private messages from fans, along with several photos of the two at school. The blogger picked a few of the more distinctive shots and posted them to their Weibo page, and among them was the photo someone had secretly taken of Jiang Yan and Lin Tao at graduation.

Very quickly, the blogger received dozens of private messages, all containing the same thing: a link to the same post. The blogger spent more than ten minutes reading through the contents of that post and then published a new Weibo.

— World’s Luckiest Blogger V: Submitted by user @PealsOfSuddenExcitement: The Lin classmate and Jiang classmate from this post — could they be the ‘she doesn’t know / he doesn’t know’ couple from Zhihu? [link] [image] [image] [image]

After that Weibo post went out, it drew a wave of users going to dig through the original thread. When everyone got to the final update the original poster had ever made — that photo with the faces obscured — they all arrived at the same conclusion: the Lin classmate and Jiang classmate of the thread were indeed the same couple from Zhihu.

— FatHomebody Loves Happiness Juice: I am deceased please just kill me [lemon.jpg] — MilkTeaLightIceLessSweet: I have a partner and I’m still sour [covering face.jpg] — SanSan: I can’t believe this — what kind of perfect, ethereal couple is this!! [lemon x100.jpg] — I’mExhausted: Is this what love actually is?!! — CaptureABrotherAsBF: I’m too invested in this!!!!! — SillyFish: [picture comment] [nauseous.jpg]

……

The unmasking came without warning. By the time Lin Tao heard about it from Liang Yue and learned that the post she’d written in her crush-pursuit forum thread had been publicly exposed on Weibo, it was already too late to lock the thread or delete it.

Because every single piece of content from her post had already been screenshotted, collated, reposted, and re-reposted by users from every corner of the internet, and the story of her and Jiang Yan was spreading through Weibo in a great wave of discussion.

The overflow of online attention translated in real life into very real scrutiny. After the post was exposed, Lin Tao and Jiang Yan moved out of school and back home.

One evening after dinner, Lin Tao went back to the room and found Jiang Yan scrolling through the post again. She dashed over and snatched his phone away from him, saying somewhat uncomfortably, “Can you please stop reading it?”

Jiang Yan laughed softly. “Alright, I won’t read it.”

Lin Tao had just set the phone down when she heard him add, “I’ve already read through it all anyway.”

“……”

Jiang Yan reached over and drew her into his arms, his chin nestling against the top of her head. In a low voice he said, “I suddenly feel like I must have been quite slow back then.”

“……” Lin Tao looked downward, toying with his long fingers. “Why do you say that?”

Jiang Yan didn’t explain further. He just hooked his fingers through hers and softened his voice. “Lin Tao.”

“Hmm?” She tilted her head back to look at him.

“Thank you.” Jiang Yan bent down and pressed a kiss to her brow, his expression gentle, his voice low and sincere. “And — I love you.”

Lin Tao smiled. She laced her fingers through his, holding tight. “I love you too.”

—

After the post became public, Lin Tao received all kinds of messages every day — private messages through various platforms, WeChat, the Qingda forum, and even her email inbox was full of messages from strangers.

After a while, the constant stream of messages began to have too much of an impact on daily life. Lin Tao ended up sending a private message on Weibo to the blogger who had started it all.

After they spoke, Lin Tao learned that this blogger went by the name Bai He, and was a first-year graduate student at Jing’an Media University who had been running their Weibo account for many years. After learning what Lin Tao wanted, Bai He expressed willingness to post something on her behalf, but suggested that Lin Tao might also want to consider opening her own Weibo account.

Lin Tao declined.

Both she and Jiang Yan were ordinary people with no interest in stepping into any public space. Opening a Weibo would inevitably invite unnecessary complications. Sometimes it was better to keep a certain distance from strangers on the internet — even those with good intentions.

After Bai He’s Weibo post went out, the volume of messages Lin Tao received dropped noticeably. She still received various messages afterward, but since she consistently ignored them, over time the stream thinned considerably.

Yet the comments section under that post in the crush-pursuit forum still had new entries appearing daily asking for updates. The talented artist who had once drawn character illustrations based on imagination — and who had gone through the Weibo unmasking — now had a face to work from, and every so often would post a new drawing in the comments.

By the time winter arrived, the artist’s drawings had filled two-thirds of the post’s comments, but Lin Tao had been too busy to pay much attention.

Before the new year, while Lin Tao was out helping Fang Yisong shop for goods for the holiday, Fang Yisong suddenly brought something up. “A while ago your father called me. He wants to know if you’d like to go back and visit after the new year.”

“I don’t want to.” When it came to Lin Yongcheng, beyond the basic respect owed to a father, what Lin Tao felt toward him was mostly resentment.

Fang Yisong looked at her and said gently, “The divorce is something between your father and me. He did wrong — but no matter what, in law and by blood, he is still your father. You don’t need to carry the grievances between him and me as though they were your own.”

“Mom, I understand what you’re saying.” Lin Tao let out a quiet sigh. “Maybe it’s just that I still can’t get past it in my heart.”

At those words, Fang Yisong only patted her hand and said no more.

Later, when Lin Tao brought this up with Jiang Yan, she asked, “If I said I never wanted to see him again for the rest of my life, would you think I was being too cold-hearted?”

Jiang Yan could see this was weighing on her heart. He shook his head slowly. “No.”

Lin Tao looked at him, the tip of her nose stinging. She buried her face against the curve of his shoulder, her voice coming out muffled. “I used to think that no matter whether he truly loved me or not, as long as he loved my mother forever, that would be enough. But I never imagined that in his heart, a son who could inherit the family business mattered more than both my mother and me put together.”

“He was willing to abandon everything a husband owes his wife for the sake of a son. That is something I will never forgive, not for the rest of my life.”

Jiang Yan tightened his arms around her. His chin brushed the top of her head — a gesture somewhere between comfort and reassurance. “Whatever decision you make, I support you. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. Never forgiving him for a lifetime is perfectly fine too. As far as I’m concerned — you are always, always right.”

Lin Tao gave a deep, quiet sound of acknowledgment.

Though that was what was said, things rarely proved as simple as “if you don’t want to see him, then don’t.”

One morning, Lin Tao was still in the midst of sleep when her phone rang and startled her awake. Jiang Yan, who was a light sleeper, woke the moment she did. He reached over and picked up the phone, his voice still thick with sleep. “Meng Xin is calling for you.”

Lin Tao rubbed her eyes, took the phone, and smiled. “Xin Xin, you’re up so early.”

Over the phone, Meng Xin’s voice was heavy and subdued. “Tao Tao, Lin Qichen is gone.”

—

The previous summer, Lin Qichen’s condition had shown signs of recurring. Lin Yongcheng had gone to Meng Xin and asked her to help contact Professor Gu Cheng, who had handled Lin Qichen’s surgery.

The child, after all, was innocent. And a healer’s heart is compassionate. Meng Xin could not stand by and do nothing, and so she helped contact Professor Gu on Lin Yongcheng’s behalf.

Afterward, Lin Yongcheng brought Lin Qichen to Jing’an City First People’s Hospital for treatment. After a full series of examinations, Professor Gu Cheng told Lin Yongcheng that Lin Qichen’s condition was not merely a recurrence — his situation was already far more serious than it had been the first time. If a second surgery were performed, the success rate was only fifty percent. But without surgery, he might not survive more than six months.

Surgery was the only possible lifeline for Lin Qichen in these desperate circumstances. Lin Yongcheng had no choice but to accept the fifty-fifty odds of success or failure.

Throughout the months in Jing’an, Meng Xin had in fact been involved in the treatment of Lin Qichen’s illness — though she had told Lin Tao none of it.

Lin Qichen’s surgery was scheduled for November. The procedure, though complex, was a success. Today was supposed to have been his discharge day. But no one had expected that he would suddenly suffer acute heart failure. Professor Gu Cheng had fought to bring him back for half an hour and in the end could not pull him from the grasp of death.

This was something no one had anticipated.

Not the hospital’s medical staff.

Not Meng Xin.

Not Lin Tao.

……

When the news reached Lin Yongcheng, he collapsed on the spot outside the emergency room and had not yet regained consciousness.

By the time Lin Tao and Jiang Yan arrived at the hospital, Lin Qichen had already been taken away. In the hospital room where he had once lain, only the blankets — still holding the faintest warmth — bore any trace that he had existed at all.

Lin Tao stayed in Lin Qichen’s hospital room for a while. On the pillow beside the bed, she found a small protective amulet.

It was the one she had prayed for at the temple in Xi City the summer before last — praying for him to be safe and healthy, free from hardship all his life.

Lin Tao picked up the amulet. Tears fell on it and bloomed into a spreading stain. Jiang Yan stood beside her in silence, accompanying her.

Meng Xin stood in the doorway. “Tao Tao — would you like to go and see him?”

“Yes.” She gave a quiet answer.

Meng Xin brought her to where Lin Qichen lay. He was not yet three years old. His body was small, and lying there, he was a small, small bundle.

Lin Tao lifted the white cloth covering him and looked at his face — as if he were only sleeping — and called to him gently, the same way she had before. “Little Qichen.”

But no one answered. Not even the simplest babble.

As for Lin Qichen himself — Lin Tao had truly come to care about him. Even after everything that had happened, she had never been able to transfer to him the resentment she felt toward Lin Yongcheng.

The child was entirely without blame. Because of the selfish choices of adults, he had been brought into this world against his will — and before he had had any real chance to see it, the chance to live had already been taken from him.

Lin Tao didn’t stay long. She tied the protective amulet she had brought from the room around his wrist, the red cord wrapping around once and then again.

Lin Qichen.

The name was taken from a line in the Ode to Pan: “The distant Huai tribes come to offer their treasures.” It was meant to signify a precious jewel.

Lin Tao looked at him once more, then gently covered him again with the white cloth. A single tear fell and landed on it.

Little Qichen — goodbye.

I hope that in your next life you are born into a good family. I wish you nothing grand — only that you may be safe and well, and become the precious treasure of everyone around you.

……

In the end, Lin Tao did not go to see Lin Yongcheng. Even if he had realized he had taken a wrong path and made wrong choices, not every “I’m sorry” can be answered with “it’s alright.”

After they returned home, Lin Tao told Fang Yisong the truth about Lin Qichen’s passing without holding anything back. Fang Yisong listened in silence for a long time, then shut herself in her study for an entire day.

Lin Tao knew she was hurting, and didn’t go to disturb her.

After that winter ended, Lin Tao began to learn, in fragments, through Meng Xin, some of what had been happening with Lin Yongcheng.

After Lin Qichen passed, Lin Yongcheng had gone white at the temples overnight. His health had also declined in several ways. After handling Lin Qichen’s affairs in Jing’an City, he brought the ashes back to Xi City.

After returning to Xi City, Lin Yongcheng stopped throwing himself into work. He engaged professional managers to handle the company’s affairs while he himself began to invest heavily in charitable causes across the country. He established funds for medical care and education at various orphanages in Xi City, and later invested in founding the Xi City Neonatal Heart Disease Medical Aid Center, which waived all medical fees for families without the financial means. Beyond this, he established the Qichen Scholarship at Xi City Medical University to support students from disadvantaged backgrounds.

During the summer break of Lin Tao’s second year of graduate school, she returned to Xi City for research fieldwork on a project and, when visiting Meng Xin’s parents, learned that Lin Yongcheng had not long before adopted two children — a slightly older girl and a slightly younger boy.

Meng Xin said that Lin Yongcheng doted on those two children tremendously. Perhaps it was a form of making amends — or perhaps he had placed into them the love he had carried for Lin Tao and Lin Qichen.

Lin Tao heard it at the time and only smiled, saying nothing more.

Later, Lin Tao heard another piece of devastating news.

The two children Lin Yongcheng had adopted were involved in a serious traffic accident on their way home from school. The driver died on the spot, and both children were critically injured. They were taken to the hospital but did not survive long before they passed.

This was a heavy blow to Lin Yongcheng. He was bedridden in the hospital for an entire month. Lin Tao went to see him once during that time.

Lin Yongcheng had just taken his medication. He wasn’t asleep yet, but his mind was not fully clear either. He spoke in fragments, pausing between words.

Lin Tao could tell he was apologizing to her.

She stood at his bedside and bent over to tuck the covers more closely around him. In a quiet, flat voice she said, “Keep on living. As long as you are alive, there is still the possibility of being forgiven.”

The medication was taking hold. Lin Yongcheng slowly closed his eyes. Lin Tao didn’t know whether he had heard those words. But later, when she saw the two lines of tears that slipped from the corners of his eyes, she felt as though all the resentment she had carried toward him for so many years dissolved away in a single instant.

—

When Lin Tao graduated from her third year of graduate school, she received job offers from several of the country’s top law firms, as well as an offer from the firm where Liang Wei worked.

In recent years, Liang Wei’s firm had grown considerably. Earlier that year it had opened a branch in Jing’an City, with Liang Wei as the principal person in charge.

Better to choose the familiar over the unknown. Lin Tao turned down the other offers and joined Liang Wei’s firm before she had even officially graduated.

That same year, on Professor Ji Nan’s recommendation, Jiang Yan joined the Chinese Institute of Physics as a full-fledged researcher.

A year into their work, Lin Tao and Jiang Yan had their first child together.

The day Lin Tao found out she was pregnant happened to be New Year’s Eve.

Jiang Yan was working late at the research institute. She and Fang Yisong were in the kitchen preparing the reunion dinner. There was fish steaming in the pot. Fang Yisong asked her to taste it for seasoning. When she lifted the lid, the fragrance that usually hit her pleasantly was, in that moment, unbearably nauseating. Before she even had time to set the lid back down, she was crouched beside the rubbish bin, retching.

The housekeeper took one look at her and said with a smile, “Miss, are you pregnant?”

Lin Tao’s heart gave a jolt. She counted back in her mind to her last menstrual cycle. Sure enough, it was late. “Mom, I think I’d better go to the hospital.”

Fang Yisong smiled. “Go, go, go — straight there. Auntie, go and call Master Zhang over, we’ll all go together.”

“Oh right — and pack up some of that soup from the pot too.”

“And bring a few changes of clothes.”

“No no, that won’t do — have Xiao Song go to the shopping mall for a few new ones. Pure cotton. And while you’re at it, pick up a pram, a cot, some baby bottles — get a few of everything.”

Fang Yisong kept going without stopping, and the housekeeper followed along with everything she said.

Lin Tao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She caught hold of Fang Yisong. “Mom, I haven’t even confirmed I’m actually pregnant yet, and you’re already buying baby supplies — isn’t this a bit premature?”

“Better to be prepared early — we’ll need them sooner or later.”

“……”

At the hospital, after the examination — five weeks along.

Fang Yisong and the housekeeper were beside themselves with joy and went straight into arranging rooms. Lin Tao sat to one side holding her test results, and placed a hand on her stomach. There was something strangely wondrous about it.

At the far end of the hallway came the sound of hurried footsteps. Before Lin Tao had a chance to look up, a figure suddenly crouched down before her. The rapid breathing gave away just how fast the person had been moving.

Jiang Yan had rushed over from the research institute the moment Fang Yisong called. He was still wearing his white lab coat, and a thin sheen of sweat lay across his forehead.

Lin Tao looked at him, reached up and wiped a droplet of sweat from the side of his face, and smiled warmly at him. “What’s the rush — I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jiang Yan steadied his breathing. He swallowed. “Is it……”

Lin Tao teased him. “Is it what?”

Jiang Yan lowered his gaze to her hand resting protectively over her stomach, and the corners of his mouth curved. His own hand settled over hers, his eyes full of expectation. “In here — is there a small new life?”

Seeing him like this, Lin Tao’s heart went completely soft. She stopped teasing him and nodded with a smile.

Jiang Yan drew a slow breath. The smile in his eyes deepened. He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to the back of it.

Lin Tao didn’t have especially intense morning sickness in the early weeks of pregnancy. It wasn’t until the fifth month that her symptoms began to set in properly. Then they grew stronger and stronger — the things she used to love eating she couldn’t bear at all now, sometimes couldn’t even stand hearing the names of, and could barely eat anything. She started to lose weight.

Jiang Yan, aching to see her like that, quietly went to Professor Ji Nan on the side and arranged through him to have the research institute agree to a two-month long leave.

During those two months, Jiang Yan went nowhere. Every hour of every day was spent at home with Lin Tao. When she had her tantrums, he soothed her. When she was unhappy, he soothed her. Whatever she wanted to eat, no matter how difficult to obtain — mountain delicacies, rare ingredients — he found a way to get it. Even when she suddenly woke in the middle of the night craving a snack, Jiang Yan would drag himself half-awake out of bed, drive to the nearest food street, and buy whatever she wanted.

As time went on, Lin Tao was nursed back to health — but Jiang Yan had lost an entire weight class. Fang Yisong watched and felt for him too, and told him to stop indulging Lin Tao so much. Jiang Yan would nod and agree, then immediately go back to giving her whatever she wanted.

And so it went, until one night, Lin Tao jolted awake. Jiang Yan, sleeping lightly, came awake at the same instant. His voice was heavy with sleep. “What’s wrong? Somewhere hurting?”

Lin Tao looked at his face, leaner now with even sharper contours, and felt a pang of guilt and tenderness at once. She reached up and touched his cheek. “I’ve been giving you too much trouble this whole time.”

“You’re my wife. Who else would you give trouble to.” Jiang Yan smiled and gave her hand a light squeeze. “Alright — I’m fine. Are you hungry? Should I go get you something to eat?”

“Not hungry. Let’s sleep.” Lin Tao leaned in and kissed his jaw, then said two quiet words.

Jiang Yan heard them and was inwardly overjoyed, but deliberately pretended not to. “What did you just call me?”

She didn’t suspect anything and said it a little louder: “Husband.”

Throughout their relationship and their marriage, both of them had always addressed each other by name. Pet names and affectionate titles were rare. Speaking of which, these were among the very few times she had ever proactively called him by that word. Most of the time, it only came out during certain moments, when he pushed his luck……

Best not to think about that.

Jiang Yan exercised restraint at the right moment, pinched her cheek gently, and said softly, “Alright, let’s sleep.”

“Mmm.”

Later, when the time came to give birth, whether the baby sensed that it had caused enough trouble in the womb and decided to behave — the delivery went unusually smoothly. While another pregnant woman who had entered the delivery room with Lin Tao was still crying out at the top of her lungs, the nurse had already brought the baby to Lin Tao.

“Congratulations — it’s a boy.” The nurse said. “Give him a little kiss — we’ll be taking him out for his father to see.”

Lin Tao looked at the little one, her eyes full of tenderness, and tilted her head to press a kiss to him.

The nurse rose and carried the baby out the door. When it opened, Jiang Yan leapt to his feet and stepped forward — his eyes apparently not registering the baby at all, his only thought to ask about Lin Tao. “How is my wife? How is she doing?”

“Your wife is perfectly fine.” The nurse smiled. “You really should take a look at your child first.”

At those words, Jiang Yan remembered the child and looked. He had only just glanced over when out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Lin Tao being wheeled out on the other side, and immediately looked away and walked toward her instead.

Though the delivery hadn’t been especially difficult, it had taken a great deal of energy all the same. Lin Tao looked somewhat worn out as she was wheeled out.

Jiang Yan crouched down at her side, took her hand, bent his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead, his voice low and rough. “You’ve worked hard.”

Lin Tao’s throat was a little dry. She didn’t speak. She just squeezed his fingers and gave a smile and a small shake of her head.

Jiang Yan’s eyes turned red. He looked away.

—

The child’s name was chosen by Lin Tao.

Jiang Yian.

A wish — that every single day of his life might be peaceful and safe.

The little nickname was chosen by Jiang Yan: Little Fish. Because it was from looking at fish that day that the pregnancy had been discovered.

Later, one day, while Lin Tao was researching Little Fish’s star sign, she suddenly realized that Little Fish’s birthday and Jiang Yan’s birthday were the same day.

The reason she hadn’t connected this earlier was that Jiang Yan had, many years ago, stopped celebrating his birthday. Lin Tao knew why, and had instinctively stopped storing any information in her memory related to his birthday.

Neither of them had imagined that this child would arrive at such a meaningful coincidence.

When Jiang Yan learned of this beautiful stroke of fate, he was silent for a long time. He — who had once given up on birthdays — had never imagined that so many years later, a small new life would come into the world on the very day of his own birth, and from that moment on, become the continuation of him.

That evening, Lin Tao logged back into the crush-pursuit forum and posted in the thread a photograph of Little Fish’s birth handprint, along with two lines:

— The third year of being married to Jiang classmate. — Mr. Jiang, I love you.

—— End ——