30. Gradually freezing

Autumn is deepening. Ginkgo leaves are beginning to turn golden, and the wind carries a noticeable chill. Yi Yi's morning runs, however, are starting earlier each day, as if she wants to use the warmth of her footsteps to dispel the chill that creeps up from the depths of her heart with the changing season. Her pace has stabilized at around six and a half minutes per kilometer, and her breathing and strides are gradually finding a synchronized rhythm. Her body is adapting, and she's even beginning to vaguely anticipate this hour of solitude in the early morning, a time akin to meditation.

Life seemed to have regained its order. Weekly recipes and shopping lists were posted in the kitchen, and the refrigerator was filled with neatly portioned ingredients. Kaikai's homework checks, extracurricular activity arrangements, and household bill payments were all incorporated into a clear schedule, which she executed efficiently and silently. She even started taking an online introductory video editing class every Wednesday evening. The young teacher on the other end of the screen spoke rapidly, explaining video tracks, keyframes, and transition effects. Kaikai followed along, slowly but attentively.

A cold, efficient normality.

Zhuang Jia observed all of this. He saw the house, so tidy it was almost uninhabitable; he saw Yi Yi's routine, almost strict, routine; he saw her slightly furrowed brow and pursed lips as she stared at the computer screen. She was no longer emotional, no longer "unreasonable," and rarely showed signs of fatigue or complaint. She was like a recalibrated precision instrument, steadily fulfilling her roles as "wife," "mother," and "self-improver."

He should have breathed a sigh of relief. Wasn't this exactly what he had hoped for? A partner who was emotionally stable, methodical, and no longer "causing him trouble"?

But for some reason, the unease in his heart did not dissipate; instead, it spread quietly like dark moss at the bottom of the water.

A more "sophisticated" calm returned between them. The cold war was over; the harsh words were gone. The dialogue was polite and efficient.

"I'm going on a business trip tomorrow and will be back on Tuesday." "Okay. Send me your flight number. It's getting chilly, so bring a thick coat." "Do you need me to take you to the English corner this weekend?" "No need, He Miao is going that way, I've already arranged it with her." "We're having fish for dinner, steamed is fine, okay?" "Sure."

Like two roommates who work together seamlessly, they manage their shared space and daily life perfectly, yet never overstep their boundaries or touch the lake within each other that may already be frozen.

This calm felt even more suffocating to Zhuang Jia than their previous arguments. He would rather she were like before, arguing with him over trivial matters, even if it meant quarreling; at least then he could feel her warmth and presence. But now, she seemed to be wearing an impeccable mask, politely shutting him out.

He also tried to break through the ice shell.

One evening after dinner, he suggested, "How about we go see a movie this weekend? It's been a long time since we've gone together."

Yi Yi was clearing the table when she heard this. She paused for a moment without looking up: "Kai Kai has a football match this weekend."

"After his match, should we go tonight? Or next week?"

“I signed up for the offline editing workshop next week, it’s all day Saturday.” Her voice was calm and even. “We’ll see.”

"Oh," Zhuang Jia responded, watching her deftly place the dishes into the dishwasher and wipe the countertop, her movements fluid and efficient. He suddenly felt that his invitation to the movies was like a clumsy, misguided attempt to disrupt someone else's established routine.

Now, she asks for nothing.

He Miao keenly noticed the change in Yi Yi.

“Have you been…excited lately?” He Miao looked her up and down when they met at a coffee shop. “Your complexion is better, but you seem…” She tilted her head, searching for the right words, “You seem so 'tight'? Like you’re wound up like a toy.”

Yi Yi stirred the Americano in her glass and smiled faintly: "No, I just want to keep myself occupied. I can't just sit around doing nothing."

"What about Zhuang Jia? How are you two doing now?" He Miao leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Is that thing from last time over?"

"What is it?" Yi Yi looked up, her eyes clear, as if she really didn't remember.

He Miao was taken aback by her reaction: "Well... about the argument! And about your health, did you tell him?"

"He told me," Yi Yi nodded. "He knows now. That's good."

"What do you mean by 'it's all good'?" He Miao pressed. "What was his reaction? Did he... show you any concern?"

“The reaction is normal. As long as I know what I need to know, that’s enough.” Yi Yi avoided the word “concern.” “I’m busy with classes and sending out resumes right now, so I don’t have time to think too much.”

Looking at her friend's calm and composed face, He Miao felt an increasingly strong unease. This wasn't the Yi Yi she knew. The Yi Yi who would cry her eyes out over a movie, who would be indignant about a news story, who would open her heart to her friends—it seemed to be wrapped in a transparent, hard shell. She seemed perfectly normal, even "better," but He Miao felt that the real, flesh-and-blood Yi Yi was, little by little, shrinking, or freezing away behind that shell.

“Yi Yi,” He Miao held her hand, noticing her fingertips were icy cold, “If you’re still upset, don’t bottle it up. Talk to us, talk to Zhuang Jia, it’s all fine. Don’t… stubbornly bear it like this. It’s exhausting to watch.”

Yi Yi gently withdrew her hand, her smile remaining composed: "It's really nothing. I just feel that I might have overthought things before, but now I understand that I just need to do what I can. I won't force anything else."

These words sounded insightful and enlightened, but they made He Miao's heart sink. This wasn't "seeing things through" at all; it was clearly... utter disappointment, closing her heart, and no longer having any expectations of anyone, including herself.

Zhuang Jia ultimately declined the offer from the private company.

The reason was sound: after careful consideration, they felt the risks outweighed the opportunities, and that family stability was more important at this stage. The other party expressed regret but also understanding.

On the night he made the decision, he felt a strange sense of relief, as if he had escaped a vortex that could have swallowed him whole. But at the same time, a deeper sense of powerlessness and self-doubt followed. He chose "safety," which meant that he might truly be entering a long, slow period of stagnation, or even a downward spiral, in his career.

He told Yi Yi about his decision after dinner, when Kai Kai went back to his room to do his homework.

Yi Yi was rinsing fruit at the sink when she heard this. She turned off the tap, dried her hands with a towel, turned around, and showed no surprise or judgment on her face.

"Well, you should think it through yourself," she said. "Anyway, there will be gains and losses no matter what you choose."

There were no "I told you so," no "You should take a gamble," and no "It's better to play it safe." She simply accepted his decision calmly, as if it were only his own business and had little to do with her or the family.

This absolute "non-interference" made Zhuang Jia's disappointment at his unfulfilled expectations even more pronounced. He vaguely hoped she would say something, even something as simple as "I trust your judgment" or "It's okay, I'm here for you." But she didn't. She simply placed the washed grapes in a fruit bowl, took it to the living room, picked up her laptop, sat down at the dining table, and continued her coursework.

Zhuang Jia sat on the sofa, watching the flickering images on the TV screen, but he couldn't concentrate on a single word. Out of the corner of his eye, he could catch a glimpse of Yi Yi's focused profile, the screen light reflecting off her face in a dim, intermittent way.

The home was bright and clean, life was well-organized, the children were sensible, and the wife was ambitious. Everything seemed to be moving in a positive direction.

But why did he feel an unprecedented loneliness? It was as if he were standing alone in a huge, perfectly functioning but empty and silent glass dome, able to see everything outside but unable to touch any real warmth.

He recalled a long time ago, shortly after they got married, when they rented a small apartment. In winter, the heating was inadequate, and the two of them would watch old movies wrapped in the same blanket. Yi Yi's feet were icy cold, and she would quietly tuck them into his arms, which he would grumble as he held them tightly. Back then, material things were scarce, the space cramped, and the future uncertain, but their hearts were connected, and that warmth remained.

Now, the house is bigger, the income is stable, and life seems perfectly "correct." But between them, it's as if there's an ever-thickening, ever-cold pane of glass. He's on this side, she's on the other. They can see each other, but they can no longer get close, no longer find warmth in each other.

Late at night, driven by a vague longing, Zhuang Jia reached out and gently embraced Yi Yi, who was sleeping with her back to him. Her body was warm, but it stiffened almost imperceptibly the moment he touched her. Then, very slowly, it relaxed again, but there was no response, and she did not unconsciously snuggle into his arms as before.

She remained there quietly and obediently in his arms, her breathing even. Like a warm, soulless doll.

Zhuang Jia's heart sank little by little in the darkness, sinking into a cold lake.

He knew that something was slowly freezing in a way he couldn't stop. Not a violent collapse, but a silent, slow, irreversible "ALS" process.

He didn't even know when it started, or how to make amends.