When Mu Jing returned to the room, Qu Hua was smoking by the window. When she coughed from the smoke, he immediately extinguished the cigarette in a flowerpot where flowers were blooming nicely.
Qu Hua’s clothes remained crumpled in the corner of the wardrobe. Mu Jing wasn’t sure whether to fold them properly, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it under his gaze. Instead, she sat at the desk to prepare her lessons. She could feel his eyes on her back, making her whole body tense. As she heard footsteps approaching, she abruptly closed her notebook and pretended to study the textbook, though there was nothing particularly interesting to see.
“Do you feel uncomfortable when I’m at home?”
“You misunderstand.” Mu Jing now found it impossible to write with someone watching, even from behind, no matter how hard she tried.
“If you distrust me so much, why did you marry me?”
“Why would you ask that? First, absolute trust doesn’t exist—don’t you have secrets from me too?” Mu Jing smiled. “Second, I’m sure plenty of people would want to marry you. My wanting to marry you shouldn’t be surprising.”
“Do you think your life is better now than before marriage?”
“Of course, it’s better. I’m happy to be married to you—I hope you feel the same. When is Grandmother’s surgery scheduled?” After all, wasn’t their rushed marriage meant to convince Grandmother to have surgery? That goal had been achieved.
“Grandmother enjoyed the pastries you sent and asked me to thank you. She wants to meet you—would you mind visiting again tomorrow at noon?”
“The person Grandmother wants to see might not be me.”
“I told her your name is Fang Mu Jing.” Qu Hua paused before continuing, “Have you told your parents about our marriage?”
“I have no contact with them now.”
“I remember you have a brother. Didn’t you tell him about the marriage either?”
“My brother’s work is… special. I couldn’t reach him.”
“So none of your family knows we’re married?”
Mu Jing thought Qu Hua’s statement was imprecise—she was family too, and she certainly knew about the marriage.
“That’s not important.”
“What do you think is important?”
“What’s important is that Grandmother has agreed to surgery.” This marriage had benefited Qu Hua too; she wasn’t the only one who gained something.
Qu Hua turned to study her face directly. Mu Jing lowered her head, unsure whether she looked more like Yan Yan with her head down or up. She always felt someone was standing between her and Qu Hua.
Qu Hua stared at Mu Jing’s face. Her profile strongly resembled his deceased girlfriend. That day on the train, when he heard hysterical cursing and looked over, he saw that similar profile. He had looked at her several times, not just because of the resemblance, but because the crude cursing seemed incongruous coming from such a mouth. Mu Jing hadn’t noticed him then, as she was focused on pushing her way into the crowded carriage, displaying a kind of heroic brazenness in her fierce behavior.
Mu Jing raised her head to meet Qu Hua’s gaze. “Do you remember? You once said I reminded you of someone you knew.”
“Did I? When did I say that?”
“On the train. There’s no need to deny it.” Mu Jing continued, “I thought then that she must have been someone very important to you, for you to help me just because I resembled her. Yan Yan was your girlfriend, wasn’t she?”
Qu Hua was silent for a while before responding: “You’re not very similar. You’re much smarter—she was always doing foolish things.”
When you love someone, no matter how clever they are, you tend to find their foolishness endearing, feeling they need your protection. Mu Jing smiled, realizing that in Qu Hua’s eyes, she was the smart one.
“Your love story must be touching. Would you tell it to me?” Mu Jing assumed an attentive listening pose, willing to be an audience to someone else’s love story.
“You’re quite magnanimous.” Qu Hua suddenly smiled at her. “But just listening to love stories is boring, especially other people’s. I’m more interested in our story right now. We got married yesterday—how should things develop today?”
Qu Hua gripped Mu Jing’s chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. “Tonight we should make up for what we should have done yesterday.”
He kissed her forcefully, leaving no room for rejection, pushing her toward their bed. The kiss grew increasingly intense—or rather, it was more like biting. He had expected her to resist, or perhaps even curse like that day, but she simply closed her eyes, appearing completely passive.
Though they hadn’t even held hands before marriage, once Mu Jing had agreed to marry, she had prepared herself for intimacy—how could one avoid it after marriage? If he had come home yesterday, she would have naturally consummated the marriage with him. To both of them, it was merely a physical act, especially for Qu Hua, who as a doctor was familiar with human anatomy. Since it was purely physical contact, Mu Jing tried to view Qu Hua purely physiologically—his build was the type she could appreciate, and his face was handsome, so she wasn’t getting a bad deal.
But his absence yesterday had given her false hope of postponing this moment. When he kissed her, Mu Jing felt a strong reluctance, purely psychological—her body showed no resistance, her face and body both saying “Do as you please.” If this day had to come eventually, now was as good a time as any. She didn’t consider it a big deal, something a hot shower could wash away.
Sometimes resistance can ignite passion, but Mu Jing’s wooden response quickly extinguished Qu Hua’s sudden impulse. When he first saw her, she had been fierce, but warm—though that warmth hadn’t been abundant.
He leaned over her, getting an even clearer view of her profile. Mu Jing reached to turn off the light, but he caught her hand. “Is there something you don’t want seen?”
Mu Jing closed her eyes, letting Qu Hua look as he pleased. She was trying to do him a favor—in the light, he would surely notice all the ways she differed from his former girlfriend.
She heard the light switch off.
Mu Jing felt her buttons being undone and kept her eyes closed as she felt his fingers. He had scrubbed his hands thoroughly before leaving the hospital; they still carried traces of soap. She thought of her previous lover, once prominent in their student days—his face had grown blurry in her memory, but she still remembered the poems he’d written her. Those poems seemed mawkish now, though they hadn’t then, probably because they were meant for her alone.
When he later proposed breaking up, she forgot how she felt then, only remembering that she had simply said “okay.” He had nearly cried in front of her, saying he wanted an easier life. She had turned away before his tears fell, wishing him happiness—she had no energy to comfort him, nor did she want to cry with him. The scene would have been too ridiculous, and she needed to save her strength for other things.
Just as now, she wasn’t wasting energy on resistance—she was still waiting to write out the proof she’d been thinking about earlier.
Qu Hua stood up from the bed, leaving Mu Jing lying there with her buttons undone. He covered her with a thin blanket and sat down to light a cigarette. Mu Jing pulled the blanket over her face, unable to suppress her coughing.
When Qu Hua left, the lights were still on, and Mu Jing lay in bed.
Hearing the door close, she pulled away the blanket and methodically rebuttoned her clothes.
The crumpled clothes in the wardrobe were gone—likely Qu Hua wouldn’t return for the next week.
After fastening her buttons, she got up to write the proof she’d been thinking about.
The next morning at breakfast, Old Qu suggested that Mu Jing’s younger brother come to stay with them.
In Old Qu’s view, memory loss wasn’t a serious matter—ability could be cultivated, and if others couldn’t do it, he could help with the training.
Mu Jing thanked her father-in-law for his kindness but didn’t immediately accept. Her brother’s injuries had come from saving someone’s life—both the Youth Office and the hospital had a moral and practical obligation to care for him. If he came here, he would become her burden, and a dependent couldn’t maintain any dignity. However, her father-in-law had one valid point: her brother was different from her—he had changed his class status by saving someone.
Whether or not he recovered his memories wasn’t crucial; those memories might not even benefit him if restored. What mattered most was regaining his ability to care for himself. Depending on others wasn’t realistic in the long term; it would be best if she took care of him. She remained caught between these two choices.