Chapter 49 A Beautiful Waste: Crying in the Stairwell and at the Desk…

Xu Aida considered herself a perceptive reader, capable of quickly penetrating the text, understanding the author's intentions, and connecting them to relevant knowledge. But now, she began to hate this ability of hers.

She pressed the home button hard, and the line of text disappeared from her sight, but her good memory still instinctively highlighted the important part.

"...Humans are often adept at using expectant thinking to cover up the truth and deceive themselves."

"...After being cruelly hurt in an intimate relationship, how could you possibly give in to that relationship again?" [Note 1]

She didn't want to admit that she was also one of the ordinary masses, a master of self-deception.

The prefrontal cortex is still chattering away. Ada, the author is clearly referring to children who have experienced domestic violence. Don't overreact. Keep going, you're almost finished with the first chapter.

To hell with the author's original intent! She doesn't care about the author's original intent now!

She rushed out of the study, pressed the elevator button, then regretted it. What if she ran into Ned and Cohen when she went down?

In her panic, she opened the small door. The narrow, long staircase was pitch black.

She didn't turn on the lights, didn't go upstairs, and plopped down on the wooden steps. An inexplicable sense of grievance and resentment overwhelmed her, forcefully breaking through all her rational defenses.

She hated him; she hated that he had chosen a distant dream and career.

In his past life, he went to Los Angeles, then went to Hangzhou for a "short-term variety show," and later he was always involved in projects and stayed there.

She requires herself to "be positive" and to show understanding and support.

Acting is a passive profession; he has no control over when filming begins. Hollywood is very unfriendly to Chinese-American male actors; he did the right thing by returning to China.

But she just felt wronged. If he had stayed in the lab, they wouldn't have had to face this conflict between career and love. That way, she would never have realized that she was actually put last.

See, she's just deceiving herself. Actually, it's not about changing careers at all. It's that she's fallen back to reality from her dream and seen the limitations of love.

Even the most loving person will inevitably think more about themselves than their partner.

What's so hard to understand about that? She herself admitted that if Hangzhou hadn't provided her with sufficient research funding, cutting-edge computing power, and interdisciplinary collaboration platforms, she wouldn't have gone—she's not the kind of person who would lose her mind for love.

She could understand, she could… She kept telling herself that, but she just couldn’t stop the tears.

She wanted to be righteous and demand that he stay for her, but she never dared to reveal how willful she really was.

Reason and emotion, past and present, were locked in a fierce struggle, turning her chest into a battlefield where nothing could survive.

This is her—a divided, pathetic person, hiding in the stairwell, stuck in the middle.

The crying gradually subsided, and her breathing finally became somewhat even, leaving only a few irregular, shallow gasps.

She returned to the study, where thankfully there was a small bathroom where she could wash her face.

She wrung out a cold towel and applied it to her eyes, then changed it again after a few minutes. But her eyes were still so red. If she said she had an allergic reaction, would he believe her?

Xu Aida quietly pushed open the bedroom door, only to find that Liang Siyu was not downstairs, but was writing a thesis at his desk.

He glanced back at her: "So early... are you hungry?" The pause made her pause for a second.

She lowered her head: "I suddenly feel like taking a shower."

She didn't want to see his reaction, so she hurriedly hid in the bathroom. The steam was thick, and her eyes, which had been crying, felt a little sore.

When she came out, he had already turned off the computer and was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Are your eyes uncomfortable? Luckily, there's some artificial tears in the fridge. I've brought one up. Here, take a few drops."

She lay down in a daze, and he moved gently, two drops of clear medicine falling down, coolly soaking everything.

Then, a towel wrapped with an ice pack was applied.

After about ten minutes, she took off the ice pack: "It's so cold, it's freezing! It's giving me a headache!"

She squinted and accused him, her tone much more exaggerated than usual, "This is murder."

"Then you are framing me."

He took the ice pack and lightly flicked her forehead, but there was no lighthearted smile in his eyes as usual.

"Believe me, if I keep applying it for five more minutes, I'll be so cold I'll lose the ability to speak." She kept babbling on.

“Babe, I believe in evidence-based medicine, not exaggeration.”

He placed the ice pack on the bedside table and turned off the light. "Lie down for a while. I'll call you for lunch."

She then realized that the thick blackout curtains were drawn, and only the small bedside lamp was on, which was why she didn't find it glaring at all.

She touched the long cushion beside her, then suddenly turned around and threw herself into his arms: "Ned."

“I’m here, I’m here.” He hugged her.

She took a deep breath. Ah, it was still that crisp, clean scent of the pine forest—pine needles, soil, and grass.

It was as if she were having a dream. She was walking on thick pine needles, the soil was soft and fragrant, there were wildflowers she didn't recognize on the path, and birds were singing in the distance.

A familiar voice said, "There's an apple orchard up ahead; we usually walk there before going home."

Go home? Is this the way home? She hesitated.

The chef prepared a cold tomato soup for lunch, accompanied by simple Spanish potato omelets, a small plate of Manchego cheese, and nuts.

He asked the chef to add more almonds and took the plate back to his room. Almonds are good for magnesium, and she should take some recently to help calm her nervous system.

Of course, it would be best if she could go for an in-person consultation. However, let's take it slow and not rush it or put pressure on her. Nutritional supplements can be used as an alternative support, such as fish oil, vitamin D, magnesium glycine, and B vitamins.

"Ada, wake up." He gently called to her.

Xu Aida took a few bites before realizing, "Oh, is Cohen eating lunch alone downstairs?"

“No,” Liang Siyu laughed. “The lady in the portrait in the restaurant is with him.”

Xu Aida almost choked again: "Ned, can you at least give a heads-up before telling a lame joke?"

He withdrew his hand that was about to pat his back: "Babe, I made sure you swallowed the food before I said that, otherwise you would have accused me of murder again."

She glared at him, but still feeling down, she didn't bother to say anything more and just focused on eating.

The tomato cold soup was refreshing, and the crab meat inside was sweet and delicious, so she couldn't help but eat a few more bites.

A few more sips of soup, the sweet and sour taste awakened my taste buds, and my appetite seemed to return.

He cut her a piece of potato and egg pancake. She took a bite and squinted her eyes in satisfaction: "Delicious, the texture is so smooth and creamy."

He handed me another almond: "Here, have another almond, it goes especially well with this dish."

After finishing lunch, he took the tray downstairs and came back to ask, "Want to go to the attic to soak up some sun?"

Since she had already slept in the morning, he didn't want her to take another nap, as sleeping too much during the day would make it difficult for her to fall asleep at night.

She shook her head, patted the sofa, and gestured for him to come over.

He squeezed into the large single sofa, and with a slight effort, pulled her onto his lap.

“Ned,” she leaned on his shoulder, her voice ethereal as if from a dream, “what do you think love is?”

“Actually, I’m not sure either.” He gently nuzzled her cheek. “However, Rilke once wrote that loving someone is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks.” [Note 2]

He took a deep breath, his voice becoming softer and warmer: "So, don't think about it alone. Let's do it together, okay?"

He paused for a moment. “If you can’t sleep at night, wake me up. Maybe there’s nothing I can do, but I don’t want to sleep in ignorance. We can stare at the dark ceiling together, even if that’s all.”

His chest became damp and warm, and he lowered his head to kiss her eyes, her eyelashes, her wet cheeks, and her salty world.

He picked her up, gently rocked her, and steadily walked towards the bathroom.

After washing her face, she accused, "Were you just soothing a child? Why were you rocking them like that?!"

He pressed her down onto the sofa: "Madam, you're deliberately framing me again. If this continues, I might..."

He dragged out his words, and she glared at him: "What about you? Are you going to call your lawyer?"

He shook his head: "No, do what the law allows me to do to my adult girlfriend."

She blushed with embarrassment.

"Of course, I still need her consent for me to be legal. Does she consent?"

She angrily punched him: "I disagree! Not only today, I disagree..."

Her words were cut short by a kiss, a clean kiss that reminded her of the California sun and lawns.

In the afternoon, they went to Xicun to relax.

The tall sycamore trees cast green shadows, and on the dark red brick path, a few pigeons fluttered about, stirring up a summer breeze.

Xu Aida casually pushed open the door of a small shop. The green plants in the window made her think it was a flower shop, but when she went in, she found that it was a small antique general store.

Home decor items, vintage vinyl records, and retro accessories—a variety of trinkets are arranged in a pleasing and orderly fashion.

Her gaze swept lightly across the shelf, settling on a dazzling vase. Shaped like a large seashell, the lower half was a translucent cobalt blue, but transitioned to a bright lemon yellow and orange-red near the rim.

“Ned, this is so beautiful.” Xu Aida glanced at it a few times, then turned to find Liang Siyu.

The vase reminded her of CC; she had always loved bold colors.

Liang Siyu's gaze fell on the milky white vase next to her. It was made using the Murano glassmaking technique from Venice, but it imitated Chinese porcelain, which was quite interesting.

Hearing her call, he came back to his senses.

"You like this?" He gently picked up the seashell-shaped vase and examined it closely.

"It should also be Murano glass. Look at the bubble decorations and the different colors in each layer, it's very nice." But the color scheme? It's not her style.

"Really?" She didn't know much about these things, but she thought the color matched CC well. "What do you think about giving it to CC? Is it appropriate?"

Liang Siyu paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "It couldn't be more perfect. CC loves Matisse the most, and this style will definitely make her fall in love with it."

She was about to pick up the vase to pay the shop owner when he gently stopped her: "No rush, let's look around some more, see if there's anything you like?"

He sighed inwardly, suddenly realizing that she seemed to be a natural "minimalist," and he had almost never seen her buy these little trinkets.

Of course, it wasn't out of a desire to save money. For example, she enjoys hiking, frequently buys various types of rain jackets, and always uses the latest electronic products.

Xu Aida paused slightly. After listening to the advice, she walked around the store and said, "It seems like it's nice to look around, but there's nothing I want to buy."

To be honest, these little trinkets are quite cute, but they'd just gather dust if you bought them. But saying it like that, for some reason, she felt a little lost.

Liang Siyu had been observing carefully. He sighed, pulled her back to the glass cabinet, and asked, "Which one did you like just now? The stamp ring? The wooden dip pen?"

"Neither." She shook her head, met his slightly furrowed brows, and admitted shyly, "It's actually the wooden writing desk underneath."

Liang Siyu gestured for the shopkeeper to take it out for her to look at, but she shook her head, "No need, I won't know how to use it even if I buy it."

She's a staunch digital notebook user, so why would she buy this?

But he insisted: "Take it out and let's take a look first."

The shop owner smiled at her and said, "Do you also like Jane Austen? A friend of mine is a big fan of hers, so he had this portable writing box made."

Xu Aida didn't answer. She gently pulled open the side drawer, which was lined with fine velvet. When she touched it, her fingertips felt soft and warm.

That evening, he held her in his arms as they sat at the desk, and he doodled on a stack of old letters.

He could actually paint a few strokes in oil painting, but he hadn't practiced sketching properly, and she kept fidgeting, so the painting of peonies turned into a mess.

She looked at the mess and couldn't help but laugh: "Ned, we're completely wasting ink."

“Babe, this is a maidenhair fern,” Liang Siyu said shamelessly, “Besides, Sunday nights are meant to be wasted.”

He insisted on leaving both of their signatures, folded the doodle in half, and stuffed it into the drawer of his writing box.

She looked at his profile, her heart racing.

“Ned,” she whispered in his ear as if by some strange impulse, “maybe we can waste time in a different way.”

Her eyes darted around, glancing at him and then at the desk.

Liang Siyu froze instantly, like a small insect trapped in amber.

Her finger traced behind his ear: "What's wrong? Do I need to show you my ID so you can see my age?"

“Naughty girl.” His breathing suddenly quickened.

The amber melted, and the scent of pine filled her lungs.

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Author's note: [Note 1] Quoted from "The Body Never Forgets: The Brain, Mind and Body in the Healing of Psychological Trauma".

[Note 2] Rilke's seventh letter to a young poet