25. Going crazy

At six o'clock in the morning, the alarm clock did not ring.

Yi Yi woke up with a familiar, bone-deep exhaustion. Her body felt like it was filled with lead, and her eyelids were too heavy to lift. It was still dark outside, and the only sounds in the room were the low hum of the air conditioner and Zhuang Jia's even breathing beside her.

She didn't move, nor did she open her eyes, only listening to her own heartbeat, slow and heavy. The internal machine that kept sounding alarms seemed to have exhausted all her emotions and motivation along with it. The words she had poured out yesterday in her drunken anger now only made her feel more exhausted and... a little absurd.

What's the point of saying it? Will he understand? Maybe he just thinks she's being unreasonable and making a fuss over nothing.

Zhuang Jia stirred beside her, turning over and unconsciously reaching out his arm. Yi Yi froze, not moving. The arm lingered for a few seconds before slowly withdrawing. Then, she heard him quietly get up, rustling as he dressed, and leave the bedroom as silently as possible, gently closing the door behind him.

There was no conversation, no eye contact, not even a tentative touch. Like two tacit strangers, each keeping to their own silence on the same shipwreck.

The house became completely quiet.

She walked to the window and watched Zhuang Jia's car drive out of the complex. The cool early autumn sunlight shone on the glass, reflecting her pale, blurry face. She suddenly remembered a morning many years ago, after an argument, when she stubbornly ignored him, but he got up early, clumsily burned some eggs, and then, holding that plate of blackened mess, scratched his head and grinned foolishly at her. Back then, her grievances would turn into tears of joy.

Now, the tidy house feels colder to her than a burnt fried egg. Because there is no clumsiness, no effort to make her laugh, only a detached "correctness" of completing a task.

She made herself a cup of black coffee, without sugar or milk. The scalding liquid slid down her throat, bringing a brief, sharp sense of clarity. She needed this stimulation to combat the sticky, pervasive feeling of powerlessness that enveloped her.

My phone vibrated; it was their small group chat. He Miao posted a photo of a cup of coffee with the caption: "A lifesaver after a hangover. How did last night go? @YiYi"

Ding Xiaojuan replied instantly: "I was carried home. No combat capability report yet. It feels like going back to the days when I got drunk in college and my roommates carried me home. Tsk, I'm too old for that. @YiYi, are you still alive?"

Yi Yi stared at the screen, her finger hovering in the air. She wanted to say, "No, not at all. Zhuang Jia and I had a fight that's probably irreparable. I feel like I'm on a deserted island." But in the end, she only typed one line: "Living is a headache. The house is tidied up, as virtuous as he is."

Between the lines, there is self-deprecation, but also a hint of stubbornness that refuses to show weakness.

He Miao: "You've cleaned it up? Wow, Zhuang Jia is amazing! You deserve praise!"

Ding Xiaojuan, however, keenly sensed something: "'As virtuous as he is'... Why does that sound a bit sarcastic? Did something go wrong last night?"

Yi didn't reply. She put down her phone, went to her study, and turned on her computer. The document was blank, the cursor blinking. She needed to do something, even something mechanical and meaningless, to fill this suddenly terrifying emptiness of time and thoughts.

Resume. The video company Zhuang Jia mentioned a few days ago.

She opened her email and found the address. The mouse pointer hovered over the send button. A resume that had seemingly vanished without a trace, and a job offer that might similarly disappear without a trace. What could this change? Could it fill the emptiness in her heart? Could it stop the panic of being "acceleratedly depreciated"?

She didn't know. But perhaps, it was a signal, a signal to herself and to Zhuang Jia: I'm still trying, I haven't completely given up.

She began composing the email, attaching the resume that hadn't been updated in ages. The sound of her typing echoed clearly and tinged with loneliness in the quiet room.

Meanwhile, Ding Xiaojuan's family is experiencing a different kind of "post-war reconstruction".

At the breakfast table, the atmosphere was subtly harmonious. Haha quietly ate the scallion pancakes her mother-in-law had made, occasionally stealing a glance at her father across from her. Gao Sheng, dressed impeccably in a shirt, was carefully reading the morning news on his phone, but Ding Xiaojuan noticed that his gaze would drift towards his son every now and then, with an observant, even somewhat cautious, air.

"I have a meeting this afternoon," Ding Xiaojuan said casually, taking a sip of soy milk. "It'll probably end around five. Do you have any plans for tonight?"

Gao Sheng looked up from his phone: "No. Do you need me to pick you up, haha?"

"Well, I have to go to the law firm after my meeting; I have some documents to finish," Ding Xiaojuan said, glancing at the document with a chuckle. "Please try to finish your homework at school, okay?"

Haha nodded: "Yes, I've got it."

Gao Sheng nodded: "Okay, I understand."

The dialogue was concise and practical, devoid of any emotional language, yet it resulted in a smooth task handover. Like two teammates who had been working together for some time, although their teamwork needed improvement, they were at least willing to adhere to basic passing rules.

The mother-in-law watched this scene without saying a word, but smiled and added another half bowl of soy milk to everyone's bowl.

After seeing off those who had gone to work or school, only the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law remained at home. The mother-in-law was clearing the dishes when Ding Xiaojuan leaned against the kitchen door, lost in thought.

"Mom, do you think he... can persevere?" She asked abruptly, but her mother-in-law understood.

"You never know." The mother-in-law turned on the tap, and the water gushed out. "But it's a good thing that he's willing to start. Men are sometimes like donkeys; you have to stroke their fur the right way, you can't just pull them. Yesterday you made him carry you on his back, and that was the right thing to do."

Ding Xiaojuan laughed: "That's called stroking your hair? I was just being cheeky."

"As long as it works." The mother-in-law dried her hands, turned around, and her eyes revealed a worldly wisdom. "Xiaojuan, don't be too tense. He just came back and doesn't know where he's in yet, and neither do you. You used to be the one holding up this family, but now there's another pillar. You have to learn to share some of the weight, even if that pillar is a little crooked and a little sharp at first. Adjust it slowly; it's better than carrying it all by yourself."

Ding Xiaojuan was silent for a moment, then nodded. Perhaps so. Marriage, like a building, needs constant repair and adjustment of its load-bearing structure. For the past ten years, she was the sole main beam; now, another main beam has taken its place. Even if it requires adjustment, even if the burden is temporarily unevenly distributed, at least theoretically, the space under the roof should be more stable.

But every tremor during this adjustment process was nerve-wracking.

He Miao's life continued amidst a dramatic contrast.

Still throbbing from her hangover, she was sprawled on the sofa, directing He Tian to find her hangover cure. "The left drawer, no, the one further to the left! Oh dear, not the white bottle, it's green! He Tian, ​​are you colorblind?"

He Tian patiently rummaged through the drawer until he finally found it, unscrewed the cap, poured in some warm water, and handed it to her.

He Miao swallowed the pill, looking at her husband's calm, expressionless face. The words he had spoken to Gun Gun that day resurfaced in her mind. She suddenly asked, "He Tian, ​​do you treat me... the same way you treat Gun Gun? Do you have a set of 'game logic'?"

He Tian was picking up a Lego piece that had rolled off the ground last night when he heard this. He looked up, adjusted his glasses, and asked, "What kind of game logic is this?"

"It's just... you never seem to get angry with me. When I get angry, you listen; when I complain, you nod; when I ask you to do something, you do it. Don't you ever get annoyed? Don't you ever think I'm being unreasonable?" He Miao stared at him, trying to find even the slightest trace of pretense in his honest expression.

He Tian thought for a moment and answered honestly, "Yes. But there's usually a reason why you get angry, either you're tired or something unpleasant happened. Just listen to him and talk to him after he calms down. Trying to reason with him will only make him angrier, like going head-to-head with a boss in a game, which can easily lead to a team wipe. It's better to dodge his skills first, and then heal him (coax him) or deal damage (reason with him) after the boss (you) has cooldown (calm down)."

He Miao was dumbfounded, and for a moment she couldn't tell whether he was using a game analogy to make her happy or if he really meant it.

"...So in your eyes, I'm just a BOSS who needs to use skills at set intervals and has cooldown periods?" She laughed angrily.

He Miao's words were all cut off. Looking at this man who seemed to live in another dimension, the hangover-induced irritation and inexplicable anxiety in her heart were strangely soothed. Perhaps simplicity has its own wisdom. In his world, emotions are skills, problems are challenges, and she and Gun Gun are the most important instances, worthy of his study of their mechanics and patient conquest.

Life isn't programming; there's no absolute optimal solution. But at least in He Tian's self-consistent "system," she and Gun Gun are securely and unquestionably placed in the core program.

This feeling isn't bad.

In the evening, Zhuang Jia arrived home a little earlier than usual. He was carrying a supermarket shopping bag containing fresh vegetables and a fish.

Yi Yi was preparing dinner in the kitchen when she heard the door open. She paused for a moment but didn't turn around.

Zhuang Jia changed his shoes, walked to the kitchen doorway, and placed the shopping bag on the counter. "I bought a sea bass, it looks quite fresh. Steamed?" he asked, his tone casual, as if asking for dinner's opinion, yet also like a cautious probe.

Yi Yi hummed in agreement, took the bag, and began to process the fish scales. There was a half-meter distance between them; the air was filled with the smell of fish and the weight of silence.

"I've sent out the resumes," Yi Yi suddenly said, her voice flat, as if she were reporting on a trivial task.

Zhuang Jia paused for a moment, then realized what he meant: "Oh... okay. Have you received a reply?"

"It can't be that fast."

“That’s true.” Zhuang Jia nodded, seemingly trying to make conversation. “Well… the job content might be a little different from what you’re thinking. It mainly involves video content planning and some operations, so you’ll need to learn some new things. But you have strong writing skills, so you should be able to pick it up quickly.”

"Hmm." Yi Yi simply responded, focusing intently on scraping the fish scales, the blade rubbing against the scales making a soft, rustling sound.

Zhuang Jia stood there, looking at his wife's drooping neck and focused profile. The image of her tearful accusations last night overlapped with her current calm, stirring up a complex and indescribable feeling in his heart. He wanted to say something, apologize, or explain, but the words lingered in his throat, ultimately settling on just, "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Yi Yi paused for half a second. Then, without looking up, she said in a flat voice, "No need. Go keep Kai Kai company; he seems to have some crafts to do today."

There was no sarcasm, no emotion, just a calm statement, yet it made Zhuang Jia feel an invisible distance even more than the intensity of the previous night.

He turned and left the kitchen.

Yi Yi listened to his footsteps fade into the distance before continuing to wield the knife. She looked at the cleaned sea bass, its silvery-white body gleaming coldly under the light.

"help"……

This word, now like a tiny thorn, is stuck in every seemingly ordinary conversation.

She knew he might not have meant any harm, and might even be trying to get closer. But some wounds, once inflicted, heal far more slowly than they break. Once the porcelain of trust is shattered, even the finest glue can't mend it; the cracks will always remain, and it can never again hold that initial, unconditional warmth.

Steam rose gradually, blurring the glass door of the kitchen. The fish was about to be cooked, dinner was almost ready, and the house would continue to function as if nothing had happened.

But Yi Yi knew in her heart that some things had changed. Standing in front of the stove, watching the pot of everyday life about to boil, she felt an unprecedented clarity, and also an unprecedented loneliness.

The road ahead is uncertain; she must find the light that can pierce through the fog herself. The person beside her might be a companion, or perhaps, ultimately, just a signpost, or even… an obstacle.