At the clinic, only one doctor was on duty. After knocking for a while, someone finally came to answer the door.

After sitting down, Chen Qingwu described her symptoms.

The doctor recorded them while asking, “When was your last menstrual period?”

“Last Wednesday.”

The doctor nodded and began typing the diagnosis on the keyboard.

At this point, Meng Fuyuan asked, “We can rule out morning sickness, correct?”

He was always very careful to take precautions, but he worried it wasn’t one hundred percent foolproof.

“Morning sickness appears at 5-6 weeks of pregnancy. Theoretically, we can rule that out in her case.”

Meng Fuyuan nodded.

The doctor determined it should be indigestion, prescribed medication to aid digestion, told them to go back and monitor the situation, fast for eight hours, and drink water appropriately.

As they were about to leave, Chen Qingwu vomited again. This time, what came up was basically only liquid.

Leaving the clinic, the rain outside had lessened somewhat.

Chen Qingwu wanted to walk on her own, but she couldn’t prevail against Meng Fuyuan. His shoes, socks, and pant legs were already soaked anyway—no need to let her get wet too, in case she caught a chill, which would be even worse.

They retraced their route, got in the car, turned around, and returned to the guesthouse.

Pei Shao was waiting in the living room. Hearing movement, he immediately stood up. “How is everything? Are you all right?”

Chen Qingwu smiled. “I’m fine, just indigestion. Sorry for making you all worry. You should go rest now.”

“Good that you’re okay. No need to be so polite.”

Returning upstairs, Chen Qingwu changed into pajamas and lay down.

Meng Fuyuan took off his wet clothes and took another hot shower.

The two slept in the dim light. Meng Fuyuan would ask from time to time if she still felt like vomiting.

Having thoroughly emptied her stomach, there was some slight discomfort, but no more urge to vomit.

Before long, Chen Qingwu unknowingly closed her eyes.

Meng Fuyuan waited until she had been asleep for half an hour, confirming there would be no recurrence, before finally turning off the light to sleep.

The next morning, when Chen Qingwu woke, she vaguely felt hungry.

Meng Fuyuan said he had already asked the kitchen staff to help cook some congee—she could try drinking a bit later.

Chen Qingwu brushed her teeth, nodding.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and suddenly said, “Last night when you heard the doctor say we could rule out morning sickness, were you a little disappointed?”

“Was I?”

“Weren’t you?” Chen Qingwu smiled.

“Then let’s make one now.” Meng Fuyuan made as if to embrace her waist.

Chen Qingwu blinked. “All right.”

Instead, Meng Fuyuan put on a stern face: “Have some awareness that you’re a patient.”

Pei Shao and Zhao Yingfei had already gone to the dining room and were eating breakfast.

A server brought hot congee. Chen Qingwu, fearing she might feel unwell again, only drank a third of the portion.

The owner came over to apologize. Although the responsibility didn’t lie with the guesthouse, he still waived one day’s room fee.

Outside, the rain had stopped, and the surrounding mountains were all shrouded in heavy clouds and mist.

The weather wasn’t suitable for going out, and Chen Qingwu’s body was still recovering.

Fortunately, the guesthouse had various entertainment facilities—reading, drinking coffee, playing billiards and board games, strolling through the garden… The entire day passed quickly.

By evening, Chen Qingwu paired her plain congee with some light vegetables, basically confirming she was all right.

At ten-thirty, everyone returned to their respective rooms.

After washing up, Chen Qingwu went to bed early. She played with her phone for a while, then locked the screen, connected the charging cable, and said to Meng Fuyuan beside her, “I’m going to sleep now.”

“You sleep first, Qingwu. I’ll reply to a few messages.”

Chen Qingwu nodded.

Meng Fuyuan adjusted the lamp on his side to the lowest brightness. “Will this bother you?”

“No.”

She didn’t know how long she had slept when Chen Qingwu suddenly woke to the sound of light footsteps.

Looking up, she saw Meng Fuyuan holding his phone, seemingly about to go out.

Meng Fuyuan noticed she was awake, turned around and said, “The person on duty at the company called. There’s a small problem—I’ll handle it. You sleep first. I’ll go downstairs to take the call.”

Chen Qingwu nodded.

Hearing the sound of the door closing, she closed her eyes again.

When she opened them again, daylight was already faintly showing through the curtains.

Chen Qingwu reached for her phone to check the time—eight in the morning.

There was an unread message on WeChat.

From an hour ago, Meng Fuyuan had sent: Qingwu, tell me when you’re awake.

Chen Qingwu replied: Are you already up?

Meng Fuyuan replied instantly: Come to the window facing the courtyard.

Chen Qingwu got up, threw on an outer layer over her nightgown, walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, and pushed open the window frame.

A vast expanse of pale purple seemed to surge into her vision.

Chen Qingwu’s breath stopped abruptly.

A moment later, she realized they were all purple freesias.

An ocean of freesias filled the entire spacious courtyard to the brim.

Meng Fuyuan stood with his hands in his pockets amid the sea of flowers, looking up in her direction.

“Big Fish” was her favorite movie.

The male lead said, “I’ve been calling all over five states looking for daffodils. I said that’s the only way I could get my wife to marry me.”

He stood in a sea of yellow daffodils, gazing at the person he loved.

An almost perfect recreation of that scene from the film, except yellow daffodils had been replaced with purple freesias.

Chen Qingwu met Meng Fuyuan’s gaze. In his deep, intense look, her heart surged.

After a moment, as if finally coming to her senses, she immediately left the window and rushed downstairs.

In the courtyard, that purple sea of flowers was even more breathtakingly beautiful up close.

Chen Qingwu walked through the carpet of flowers to stand before Meng Fuyuan.

“You…” Her throat tightened momentarily, unable to speak.

Meng Fuyuan caught her hand, lowering his head, first placing a kiss gently on her fingers.

His skin was slightly cool—perhaps he had been waiting since early morning for her to wake.

“Qingwu…” Meng Fuyuan’s eyes lowered.

Chen Qingwu didn’t make a sound, her eyelashes trembling slightly beyond her control.

“When I was ten, I participated in a model aircraft competition and won first prize in the youth division. At eleven, I tried to memorize the entire Oxford dictionary—failed, of course…”

At twelve, after finishing the elementary-to-middle-school exam, he played soccer by himself all afternoon.

At thirteen, in his first year of middle school, he self-studied an entire semester’s curriculum in one month, then secretly read extracurricular books during all subsequent classes.

At fourteen, he declined three invitations to raise the flag on Monday morning assembly, until the teacher threatened that if he didn’t agree, the grade advisor would deduct points from their class’s merit banner.

Chen Qingwu was initially somewhat puzzled, but gradually understood—he was telling her about the life he had lived during all those years she hadn’t been watching.

At fifteen, he became obsessed with cinematic art, reading through all the filmmaking reference books available on the market at that time. That same year, he tried self-pleasure for the first time but only felt self-loathing afterward.

At sixteen, he snuck into an internet cafe, where someone offered him his first cigarette.

At seventeen, he seemed to become a good student in the traditional sense—waking early and sleeping late regularly, doing many practice problems, memorizing many English phrases. That year, he completely killed his dreams.

At eighteen, he was admitted to the most prestigious university, but it didn’t even seem to bring as much joy as beating a video game.

From nineteen to twenty-two, his deepest memories were just that the cafeteria food was terrible, the course registration system was awful, physical education was boring. But occasionally he would audit film appreciation electives, sleeping on the hard desks of the lecture hall during film clip screenings.

At twenty-three, he went to Los Angeles. For the first time in his life, it felt like surfacing from underwater. He met some new friends but also became certain he would never be a social person.

At twenty-four, he attended Mira’s sister’s wedding, secretly picked a fresh lemon from their yard, brought it back to his apartment, and used two slices a day to flavor his water.

At twenty-five, he returned to China, rented an office in the east district, ate countless 7-Eleven bento boxes.

“…At twenty-six, I met you during a layover in North City. Qingwu, my life has actually always been unremarkable—until I realized I had fallen in love with you.”

Meng Fuyuan had kept his eyes lowered the entire time. Only now did he slowly raise them to look into her eyes.

Since being with her, he no longer wore glasses on many occasions, including now.

She could therefore clearly see the emotion in his eyes—ice and snow boiling.

“This year, I’m thirty-two. I’ve always felt that the probability of me standing before you today saying these words is lower than a comet striking the earth.”

Meng Fuyuan paused, as if he had to take a deep breath before continuing.

“Qingwu… would you be willing to marry me?”

Chen Qingwu’s eyes were filled with a haze of tears, like a secluded valley that had just received rain. From the moment Meng Fuyuan spoke his first word today, a continuous dull ache had emanated from her heart. She believed all things had their destined fate, yet in this moment she was also greedy—if there were a time machine, she would definitely travel back to the year Meng Fuyuan was born and accompany him through that “unremarkable” life.

“I’m willing…” She choked up, immediately moved closer, and threw her arms around him. “I’m willing.”

Meng Fuyuan lifted her off the ground, lowering his head to deeply inhale her scent, exhaling a long breath.

In that instant, he finally felt an irrepressible hidden pain in his heart.

After a long while, he set her down and took a ring from his pocket.

Taking her hand, his fingers trembled slightly as he slowly pushed the ring on.

Lowering his head, he reverently placed a kiss on the ring.

“…Was command one a marriage proposal?” Chen Qingwu suddenly had a flash of insight.

“Yes.”

Chen Qingwu laughed aloud. “It’s all Frankenstein’s fault—otherwise you’d already be my fiancé.”

Meng Fuyuan also chuckled softly, reaching out again to pull Chen Qingwu into his embrace.

“Qingwu, thank you.”

For being willing to redeem me.

I offer this entire “unremarkable” life to you.

Until death.

After a good while, they suddenly heard an outbreak of applause from around the corner.

Chen Qingwu immediately turned to look.

Zhao Yingfei, yawning, walked out with Pei Shao, who also looked sleepy.

Only now did Chen Qingwu have time to analyze the three people’s behavior from two days ago. “So you three have been sneaking around this whole time!”

Pei Shao laughed. “It rained the night before last, and we couldn’t even drive the car up. Nearly worried us to death.”

Zhao Yingfei said, “We’ve been arranging flowers since dawn—exhausting.”

“How many are there in total?”

“No idea. President Meng ordered directly from the flower cultivation base.” Pei Shao said, “Filled an entire large truck.”

Chen Qingwu looked at Meng Fuyuan and smiled. “…Are you crazy?”

“Possibly.” Meng Fuyuan raised an eyebrow slightly.

Zhao Yingfei yawned again. “Do you want photos? If not, I’m going to sleep—I’m dead tired.”

“Please help us take one.”

Zhao Yingfei took the camera Pei Shao was holding.

Chen Qingwu casually scooped up a bunch of flowers from the ground and held them in her arms.

The two stood side by side. Meng Fuyuan looked down at Chen Qingwu. Those solitary, melancholy flowers, held in her arms, also displayed a kind of silent fervor.

Meng Fuyuan put his arm around Chen Qingwu’s shoulder and looked toward the lens.

Leaving so many flowers here to rot would be too sinful.

Chen Qingwu suggested they sell them.

So, with help from the staff, that courtyard full of flowers was loaded back into the truck.

Zhao Yingfei was about to lose her mind: “I hereby declare I’m allergic to romance for the rest of my life!”

Chen Qingwu laughed heartily.

After lunch, the vehicle drove down to the town at the foot of the mountain.

The truck bed was opened, with a handwritten sign by Chen Qingwu beside it: One yuan per bunch, fair to all.

This was a tourist town, with no shortage of supporters, especially given such a reasonable price—practically the same as giving them away.

Moving through three towns, that truckload of flowers was finally, by sunset, half-sold and half-given away—eighty percent gone.

As they were about to leave, a little girl dressed in Qiang ethnic clothing timidly approached, clutching three one-yuan bills in her hand. “Excuse me… can I still buy some?” She spoke Mandarin very well.

Chen Qingwu quickly called for the driver closing the truck bed to wait, climbed up herself, grabbed three large armfuls of flowers from above, and handed them to Meng Fuyuan, asking him to help pass them to the little girl.

When the little girl received them, she was nearly buried by the flowers: “This is too much…”

Chen Qingwu jumped down from the truck bed and smiled. “Our bunches are this big.”

The little girl smiled shyly and said thank you. “What kind of flowers are these? I haven’t seen them at the flower shop here. They must be very expensive.”

“These are called freesias. This uncle gave them to me when he proposed to me.”

The little girl looked at her, then at Meng Fuyuan, her smile brightening further: “I wish you a hundred years of happiness together.”

“Thank you!” Chen Qingwu asked with a smile, “May I take a photo with you?”

The little girl nodded quickly.

The phone was passed to Meng Fuyuan.

On the screen, Chen Qingwu crouched down and put her arm around the little girl’s shoulder.

The instant he pressed the shutter, Meng Fuyuan felt this twilight moment was also frozen in time, to be replayed repeatedly throughout the rest of his life.

The remaining flowers were hauled back by truck.

There was still some distance from the guesthouse, so Chen Qingwu and Meng Fuyuan got out of the vehicle.

The two walked slowly along the small path. The air was slightly cold, and tender wild grass grew wildly along the roadside in the wind.

The sunset in the mountains lasted a long time. At this moment, there was still a trace of residual red evening light illuminating the snowy mountain opposite.

The mountain wind suddenly surged powerfully.

The two simultaneously stopped walking and gazed together at the towering snowy mountain across from them.

Their hands remained tightly clasped, not separating for a moment.

At this time, the mountains were silent and still, clouds and mist surging.

And he was the quiet abyss.

The snow with whom she would share white-haired old age.