The day little Nian Nian was born, he symbolically cried once, then closed his eyes and went to sleep.

It wasn’t unusual for newborns to sleep all the time. But when he slept, his little face wrinkled up. Newborn babies already look like monkeys, but with his face all wrinkled, he looked even worse. Liang Chengmin glanced at him and suddenly felt worried, whispering to Luan Mingrui: “Do you think he’ll grow up to be unattractive?”

“Nonsense. How could my son not be good-looking?” Luan Mingrui looked at little Nian Nian—he was quite unattractive. He worried inwardly, wondering if the child would grow up to be especially ugly. He checked himself in the mirror and felt he didn’t have any particularly unattractive features. As for Liang Chengmin, she was a beautiful woman! In his heart, Liang Chengmin was the most beautiful; all other women paled in comparison.

Liang Chengmin lay weakly in the hospital bed. Every time she turned her head, she saw little Nian Nian’s wrinkled face, which dampened her mood. Even after being discharged and returning home, this feeling hadn’t dissipated. Little Nian Nian slept beside her, his brows furrowed. He looked like an old man when sleeping, but when nursing, he was relentless—suckling with snorts and grunts, using all his strength.

It was in the middle of the night that Liang Chengmin discovered the child truly had a bad temper. That night, he was hungry. Luan Mingrui got up and said he would change the diaper first, then feed him. Being a new father, he wasn’t skilled at changing diapers. When he took a bit too long, the baby started crying. When he cried, his face turned red, almost to the point of fainting, howling like a slaughtered pig. In the dead of night, Liang Chengmin and Luan Mingrui broke out in a sweat from their crying. Even with the nipple in his mouth, he wouldn’t eat, spitting it out and continuing to cry. He only nursed after he had tired himself out.

While feeding him, Liang Chengmin said to Luan Mingrui: “It’s confirmed, this child has inherited both our tempers.”

Luan Mingrui was dismissive: “He’s not even a month old, and you can already tell he has a bad temper? I was just too slow, and he was so hungry that he cried so fiercely.” Luan Mingrui began to reflect, even mentally practicing how to change diapers more quickly.

During Liang Chengmin’s postpartum confinement, both sets of parents came to help during the day. But Luan Mingrui wasn’t at ease, wanting to oversee everything. He insisted on preparing her confinement meals himself. At that time, it was said that new mothers should eat eggs every day, but Luan Mingrui disagreed: “Wouldn’t you get sick of eating eggs every day? Wouldn’t it be nauseating?”

He didn’t even like eating them every day! Why should Liang Chengmin have to?

So he prepared a variety of dishes for Liang Chengmin. The elders said that during confinement, one should protect the teeth and avoid hard foods. He would mash shrimp into a paste to make shrimp ball soup; steam fish after removing the fishy smell; simmer crucian carp soup until the broth turned snowy white; stew chicken soup until the meat fell off the bone. Everything was low in oil and salt but delicious.

The aroma from their home was so distinctive that neighbors could tell what they were cooking. During casual conversations, people would say: Dr. Liang married the right person—look at what she gets to eat during her confinement compared to what others eat.

In that era, not many families could afford to eat eggs during confinement, yet their home had a constant supply of fish, meat, and shrimp.

Luan Mingrui was well aware of how much all this cost, but he didn’t mind at all. When he decided to marry her, he had promised she would never want for shrimp and crab for the rest of her life—he had to keep that promise.

Not only did he ensure Liang Chengmin ate well, but he also kept her in good spirits. Throughout her pregnancy and after giving birth, her temper was poor, but Luan Mingrui never argued with her. Sometimes when she angered him to the point of exasperation, he would put on his coat and stand in the courtyard, comforting himself, only returning to the room once he had calmed down.

He had become a little gentler.

Can marriage truly change a person? Perhaps it can.

Luan Mingrui had once been such a stubborn person, a hard bone to chew on no matter the situation. Liang Chengmin was the same. Two hard bones living together—at first, they clashed loudly, both getting hurt.

Gradually, they both learned to yield, and life began to sweeten.

After giving birth, Liang Chengmin slowly became gentler.

It wasn’t an immediate change, but gradual—so gradual she didn’t even notice it herself. She would still bicker with Luan Mingrui, but it wasn’t real arguing. Sometimes in the middle of bickering, she couldn’t help but smile. Her face was naturally bright, and when she smiled, she looked very gentle, sometimes leaving Luan Mingrui in a daze. He would secretly tell his friends: “I feel like I’ve got a different wife.”

“You don’t like it?” His friends teased him. They remembered how Liang Chengmin had once tormented him.

“No, I’ve hit the jackpot.” Luan Mingrui felt life was going too smoothly, with absolutely nothing to complain about. When life was smooth, his entire demeanor showed a hint of spring-like success. This contentment illuminated his entire decade and spanned his lifetime.

By the time the child was over three months old, he could finally sleep for several uninterrupted hours at night. Liang Chengmin nestled in Luan Mingrui’s arms, her face against his chest, feeling that life had become easier.

Luan Mingrui gazed at her in the dim light, noticing her face was a bit fuller than during pregnancy. His daily feeding hadn’t been in vain; he had finally restored her to her former appearance. Pleased, he lightly pecked her once, then again.

Liang Chengmin tilted her head up to kiss his chin, cradling his face in her hands, looking at him endlessly.

“What is it?” Luan Mingrui asked, a bit distracted by her open collar.

Liang Chengmin said nothing, her tongue lightly tracing his jawline, landing on his Adam’s apple, her teeth gently biting it as it bobbed beneath her tongue.

Liang Chengmin remained still, then suddenly pushed him down.

She pressed on top of him, looking at him.

Medically speaking, Liang Chengmin knew that after childbirth, the body undergoes changes and needs time to recover. Though she appeared nonchalant, she had secretly been doing exercises: deep breathing, tightening, relaxing. She believed in science but for the first time felt a bit apprehensive.

Luan Mingrui embraced her. In the darkness, they examined each other for a long time, gradually brewing a storm.

But both felt uncomfortable because the baby was sleeping right next to them.

Luan Mingrui kissed her gently, their tongues meeting, both finding the other delicious.

“Not in this room,” Liang Chengmin said. She had been chatting with a colleague who shared an embarrassing story: when their child was three years old, they were amid lovemaking when they heard their child call “mama” and sit up, watching the intertwined parents. Liang Chengmin was psychologically scarred by this story.

“Alright.” Luan Mingrui took her to another room, usually unoccupied, with cold bedding. When Liang Chengmin’s body touched it, the coldness made her curl up. Luan Mingrui pressed against her, enveloping her. She heard herself moan, only to have her lips sealed by his: “Don’t wake Nian Nian.”

He said.

Having abstained for so long, both had trouble controlling themselves. All of Liang Chengmin’s attention was focused on sensing how much she had changed, how much she had recovered, but she couldn’t tell—she only felt that all her emotions were overflowing.

Luan Mingrui competed with the baby for food, finding it sweet and delicious, reluctant to let go. Liang Chengmin felt embarrassed yet enjoyed the experience. When their tongues met again, she tasted herself.

Luan Mingrui was extremely, extremely gentle.

He had done his homework. After his cousin gave birth to Luan Siyuan, the couple’s first time resuming intimacy hadn’t gone well, causing his cousin’s wife to be resistant for nearly half a year. His cousin had complained to him: Why was it so difficult now? Luan Mingrui took this to heart and was especially gentle.

Even though he was desperate, he still dared not be too rough, constantly asking: “Is this okay? How about this?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Do you need me to stop?”

Liang Chengmin was on the verge of tears. Luan Mingrui was so cautious, unlike himself. So she pushed him down.

A storm swept over them, bringing immense pleasure.

Luan Mingrui felt he had passed a hurdle.

The next day, he was especially gentle with the child. At a hundred days old, the baby finally didn’t look like a little old man or a monkey anymore—he had become somewhat cute.

The two sat side by side watching the baby gnaw on his hands, making himself whimper, and they would look at each other and sigh.

“Mom, was Luan Mingrui like this as a child?” Liang Chengmin asked her mother-in-law. She had seen her colleagues’ children, who weren’t like Nian Nian. Other hundred-day-old babies would giggle when played with. But Nian Nian? He would symbolically chuckle once, then retract his smile, as if everyone else was foolish. And look at him now, unprovoked and undisturbed, gnawing on his hand until he frustrated himself.

“Each child is different. Mingrui wasn’t as easily agitated as Nian Nian when he was little.”

“Then he takes after you,” Luan Mingrui finally found an opportunity to attribute the child’s strange temperament to Liang Chengmin.

“Nonsense, my mother said I was very obedient as a child. People would hold me, pinch my cheeks, kiss me—I was never impatient. Not like Nian Nian, who won’t let anyone touch him.”

Nian Nian indeed wouldn’t let any neighbors touch him.

It wasn’t that he was afraid; he just wouldn’t allow it. If you touched him, his little face would turn red with anger. What kind of personality was this?

Maybe he would improve when he got older!

Liang Chengmin devoted all her heart to medicine and the child, relegating Luan Mingrui to third place.

Gradually, Luan Mingrui became dissatisfied. He began to be jealous of the child.

“This isn’t right.”

“What’s not right?”

“You’re supposed to spend your life with me,” Luan Mingrui reasoned with Liang Chengmin. “You should consider me the most important.”

“Do you need someone to watch you poop and pee now? Do you need someone to breastfeed you?”

“I don’t need someone to watch me poop and pee, but breastfeeding… that would be fine.”

Liang Chengmin’s face instantly reddened: “Go away!”

Although Liang Chengmin told him to leave, she realized that Luan Mingrui was jealous, so she often comforted him at night. They both enjoyed this activity, always taking it very seriously. With their bodies satisfied, their moods improved.

Liang Chengmin blossomed under Luan Mingrui’s nurturing.

Before, she had been the number one formidable woman in the small town—a young surgeon whom everyone remembered for her serious demeanor in the clinic, overlooking the fact that she was also a woman. Now, walking through the small town, people would wonder: who is that beautiful woman? Oh, isn’t that Dr. Liang from the hospital? Dr. Liang is married to Luan Mingrui from the Luan family. Look at Dr. Liang, marrying the right person has made her even more beautiful!

Occasionally overhearing such comments, Liang Chengmin would pretend not to hear and walk by with a blush.

By the time the child was almost a year old, he could already take a few steps. Liang Chengmin noticed that whenever they were outside, if he fell, he wouldn’t get up but would instead try to dust himself off. Since he didn’t know how to do this properly, he would become frustrated. When encountering muddy areas, he would refuse to walk through; if his hands got dirty, he would insist on washing them immediately; if his clothes became slightly soiled, he would tug at them, demanding a change. Moreover, he disliked damaged toys.

Liang Chengmin realized that her child might not be like other likable children; he was somewhat different. So she and Luan Mingrui had lengthy discussions, deciding never to criticize him for his strict living habits, but to guide him appropriately without forcing him.

Their efforts had only a tiny effect.

Nian Nian’s first real fight occurred when he was just over three years old. While playing with another child who snatched his toy, he suddenly became physical. Children’s fights are usually symbolic—a scratch here, a push there, nothing harmful. But Nian Nian straddled the other child and scratched his face, which terrified Liang Chengmin. She forcibly picked up her angry son and said to the other parent: “Teach your child not to take others’ toys. My child can be quite violent.”

Liang Chengmin was afraid. That night, after the child was asleep, she discussed this with Luan Mingrui. His lips twitched, but he said nothing. He dared not speak—the child had truly inherited this trait from him. He had been a fighter since childhood; people in the small town would warn their children: “Stay away from Luan Mingrui, don’t provoke Luan Mingrui.” Luan Mingrui thought it was normal for boys to be aggressive. Liang Chengmin didn’t feel this way—his actions were too violent, as if he were being fierce and belligerent.

She began to find time to read books on child psychology and behavioral science, starting a systematic study of her child’s behavior. She knew her child had violent tendencies and showed signs of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

How much care would it take to nurture such a child? Liang Chengmin knew, and so did Luan Mingrui. The two of them devoted all their energy to this task.

By the late 1980s, Luan Mingrui wanted to go to America. The Luan family had many distant relatives who had gone to America years ago. Though they hadn’t seen each other for decades, they had gradually reconnected in recent years. He discussed it with Liang Chengmin, saying if she didn’t want to go, he wouldn’t either. Liang Chengmin didn’t object; she wanted to continue her studies in America and pursue medical research. So the two began learning day and night—language, customs, habits—and they included Luan Nian in their studies.

On the day they left their homeland, Liang Chengmin said to Luan Mingrui: “I will return one day. I want to properly conduct medical research and contribute to our country and humanity.”

“Then I can only focus on making money to support your medical research.”

They started a new life but never gave up on each other. The initial days were difficult, but every night they would lie together, reflect on the day, and encourage each other. Gradually, life improved. Liang Chengmin continued her advanced studies, then joined a research group to formally begin medical research.

Luan Mingrui faced a world full of temptations, but he never wavered.

They only dated once in their lives, only loved one person, and grew old together with that person.

Neither felt any regret.