Mu Jing showered quickly and emerged with her head down. “Go ahead and shower.” She avoided looking at Qu Hua while drying her hair with a towel.
Qu Hua took the towel and dried her hair gently, meticulously. Their faces drew closer—at this distance, they should have been able to see each other clearly, yet neither looked into the other’s eyes. Water droplets from Mu Jing’s hair slid onto Qu Hua’s fingers. This close, Mu Jing thought he would kiss her, but he didn’t. Several times she said she could dry it herself, but Qu Hua ignored her and continued. After what seemed like ages, he smelled her hair and said it was done.
Mu Jing pointed to the bathroom and said again, “Go shower.”
“Let’s eat first.”
His hair was still wet from the rain. Before leaving, Mu Jing took a towel and gave it a couple of wipes, but Qu Hua’s stare made her uncomfortable. She pushed the towel into his hands, “You finish drying it.” Qu Hua grabbed her hand and kissed her mouth. She closed her eyes, searching for that earlier gentleness, but Qu Hua wasn’t accommodating. He kissed her forcefully, using that intensity to tell her not to try appeasing him with the same intimacy she’d shown her former boyfriend. He kept reminding her who she was facing now.
Mu Jing had no time to think of her previous boyfriend, the one who would ask permission even for a kiss. She’d thought they would be good together forever, but in the end, he even left the breakup decision to her. He loved her, but he wanted an easier life. She made the final decision for him.
Qu Hua never needed her to make decisions. She disliked this about him, but if he weren’t this type of person, he wouldn’t have withstood the pressure to marry her.
Qu Hua’s fingers revisited their nightly routine, rekindling certain bodily memories in Mu Jing.
When apart, Mu Jing rarely missed him or recalled their time together, but seeing him brought everything rushing back. She didn’t dislike physical contact with Qu Hua—most times she even enjoyed it. Perhaps Qu Hua hadn’t noticed, but he always worked hard to please her during intimacy, though he might not see it that way, possibly viewing her pleasure as proof of his conquest. For Mu Jing, though, she was genuinely pleased most times. She liked his fingers, his effort. At such times, his sarcasm seemed ridiculous—after standing for hours in the operating room, he’d come home and still have to please her in bed. Sometimes, feeling the sweat on his back, she’d wonder whether he sweated more in surgery or bed.
Outside, the rain fell steadily. Mu Jing lay on the bed breathing heavily, her face redder than after the hot shower, but Qu Hua didn’t go further. He buttoned her up from bottom to top, saying, “Let’s go eat.”
The bed bore an impression of where they’d lain. Mu Jing fixed her disheveled hair in the mirror. Her hair was messed up from his kisses, and the flush hadn’t left her face. She couldn’t go out looking like this.
“I’m not very hungry. Why don’t you go ahead?”
“If you don’t want to go out, I’ll bring food to you.”
Mu Jing sat across from Qu Hua at dinner. His hands smelled of soap from washing, probably a habit from surgery—he scrubbed hard even for routine washing. Mu Jing could still smell the soap on his hands.
She tried to ignore his fingers, which always triggered certain associations. Compared to on the bus, she talked more, asking about his grandmother’s health and his parents. Qu Hua’s responses were simple: “Fine,” “Okay.”
Qu Hua placed some deboned fish in front of Mu Jing. She automatically said thanks and lowered her head to eat. Qu Hua didn’t eat, just watched her.
Mu Jing moved the fish, saying, “Have some too.”
“I don’t like fish.”
Mu Jing smiled apologetically.
Qu Hua placed more boneless fish in front of her. “It’s not too late to know now.” She had been too busy dealing with his family at meals to notice whether he ate fish. While she was busy being perfunctory, he had ample time to observe her. He’d noticed she disliked picking out fish bones, eating a little when there were few bones but avoiding fish completely when there were many. So this time he’d specifically chosen a fish with few bones.
Mu Jing urged Qu Hua to eat more.
“I ate on the way.”
Qu Hua ordered a bottle of alcohol, warmed it, and asked if Mu Jing wanted some. She declined, as he expected. Someone as cautious as her would never drink in front of someone she didn’t trust. He poured himself a cup and watched her while drinking. “You must have had many suitors these years.”
“Besides you, I didn’t want to marry anyone else.”
Mu Jing’s words were so perfect that Qu Hua almost suspected they were false. Yet she had married him, not anyone else.
Mu Jing poured herself half a cup and took a sip, continuing dejectedly: “Actually, besides you, nobody wanted to marry me.” For both their dignity, she should have implied she had many suitors, including excellent ones, and that he won her over. It would have satisfied his vanity and shown how much she valued him.
But the truth was, among those who wanted to date her, few wanted marriage. Mu Jing saw through their intentions and couldn’t be bothered to meet them. Those who wanted marriage never really pursued her, instead directly listing their post-marriage requirements. Their conditions were far too dim compared to their demands. Mu Jing wondered if they were mentally unstable, but she just quietly refused, saying she wasn’t good enough for them. When she said this, they believed she truly felt inferior. He was the only one who properly asked her out to movies and determinedly proposed, who matched her aesthetic preferences without making unreasonable demands. However bad he might be, he was the best among them.
Mu Jing took another sip. At least she had work now. She noticed Qu Hua’s expression change. This truth had been unnecessary to tell, but she couldn’t help it then. She thought Qu Hua could guess most of it—lying to inflate her worth would only earn more contempt. But she hadn’t expected him to think so highly of her, believing she had many choices. Once spoken, the truth embarrassed them both. She chose him not because he was one in a million, but because she had no other options.
She didn’t care much—even if those men had wanted to marry her, she wouldn’t have wanted them. But a man’s ideal wife would be one pursued by many yet choosing only him. The latter only has value with the former. In her youth, many had pursued her, several neither understanding nor liking her, only wanting the face value of winning her. That value was now lost.
Though Mu Jing had often felt uncomfortable with Qu Hua before, this level of awkwardness was unprecedented.
Qu Hua gave her another piece of fish, saying, “Then they must have been blind.” Though he knew of Mu Jing’s circumstances, in his impression she was still someone his classmate would write to under false names, someone whose name recruiters would use to attract students, someone pursued by many but accepting none, compromising with him only because her brother needed care. The reality was even bleaker than he’d imagined.
Mu Jing should have thanked Qu Hua for his discerning eye, but she couldn’t say anything. She continued eating, quickly, chewing with her mouth closed.
Qu Hua’s chopsticks intercepted the fish she’d just picked up. “Watch out for bones.”
Mu Jing gave herself no space to talk, keeping her head down while eating. Her hair fell forward, and Qu Hua reached to tuck it behind her ear, revealing her whole face. Mu Jing turned away, put down her chopsticks, and walked to the bathroom. Qu Hua heard running water, guessing she was washing her face. The sound separated from the rain outside. About five minutes later, the water stopped.
Mu Jing emerged with her usual expressionless face. Her face had always refused to show emotion.
When Qu Hua kissed her again, she responded passionately. She lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling light. Qu Hua buried his face in her neck, and Mu Jing’s hand hovered over his hair, withdrawing before touching it to grip the bedsheet tightly.
Qu Hua unbuttoned Mu Jing’s clothes one by one, undressed her, and wrapped her in the blanket. “Get some good sleep. You can sleep until noon.”
Mu Jing had thought one of Qu Hua’s purposes in coming was to be intimate with her, but he didn’t take that step.
Wrapped in the blanket, she listened to the bathroom water mixing with the rain outside.
That night, Qu Hua lay in the other bed. When he arrived, this double room was all that was left, and he hadn’t planned on sleeping separately. But now, he wanted Mu Jing to know their relationship wasn’t just about what happened in bed—other kinds of relationships were possible.
Lying in bed, he asked Mu Jing, “Are you asleep?”
It seemed like a difficult question to answer. After a while, Mu Jing said, “No.”
The night rain continued falling as he brought up the teaching materials she’d left him. They exchanged questions and answers, neither saying it was late and time to sleep. As they talked, Qu Hua noticed Mu Jing’s lips getting dry. He went to the window and poured her a glass of water. Mu Jing sat up wrapped in a blanket to drink. Qu Hua saw her face was flushed—not believing her shyness would last this long, he placed his hand on her forehead, gave her the cup, and dug through his luggage for a thermometer. Getting to a hospital wasn’t convenient here, so he’d brought a medical kit.
Qu Hua reached into Mu Jing’s blanket for the thermometer. “How long has it been?”
He gave her medicine, saying, “If your fever hasn’t broken by tomorrow morning, I’ll take you to the hospital.”
Before Mu Jing could respond, Qu Hua tucked in her blanket corners. “Go to sleep now.”
At night, Qu Hua heard Mu Jing talking in her sleep—even in dreams, she was working. He went to her side, placing his hand on her forehead to check her temperature. In the dim light, he looked at her face straight on, remembering their first meeting when she lay in his bed, frowning even in sleep.
Early the next morning, Qu Hua took Mu Jing to the machinery factory, not using any of Old Wu’s approved leave time. His bulging suitcase was empty when he left.
At lunch, when Mu Jing finished work and went to the cafeteria, she saw Qu Hua at the entrance again. She nodded to others and stayed at the door. Qu Hua spoke faster than usual, telling her he’d arranged milk delivery for her daily, and the bag contained fruit and ham he’d bought nearby. He delivered things to the dormitory, checked his watch, and said, “Go eat quickly—don’t you have a meeting later?”
Mu Jing watched Qu Hua leave, growing distant. Her colleague was surprised she returned so soon and was about to ask why she hadn’t stayed longer when she noticed Mu Jing’s gaze fixed on one spot, completely unaware of her. Following her line of sight, she saw a man’s back. The figure was memorable—she knew it was Mu Jing’s husband.
The colleague called Mu Jing’s name, startling her. She hurriedly returned to the dormitory to get money and industrial coupons. Qu Hua walked quickly; by the time Mu Jing got the money and ran after him, she couldn’t catch up. She saw the bus to the train station arriving, still quite far from Qu Hua.
She could only call his name, at first barely audible to herself. Seeing the bus door open, Mu Jing finally raised her voice.
She saw Qu Hua’s figure stop. When she reached him, sweat had formed on the tip of her nose.
Qu Hua wiped the sweat from her nose with his finger. “I was waiting here. Why the rush?”
“I haven’t had time to buy things for the family. Can you buy some to take back?”
“I know. Keep your money.”
Mu Jing grabbed Qu Hua’s wrist, forcefully pressed the money into his hand, then quickly withdrew her hand behind her back.
They stood there waiting for the next bus to the train station.