About love

The recovery period felt like being soaked in lukewarm honey water—slow, viscous, and with an almost unreal sweetness.

Qi Shuo's legs became more agile day by day, and the scars on his shoulders and back faded considerably under the nourishment of the special ointment. Tan Huaiyu's tense nerves, which had been taut for nearly three months, finally relaxed completely, and he became lazy, like a cat that had sunbathed to its heart's content.

On a Saturday afternoon, the warm autumn sun shone through the glass doors of the balcony onto the cushioned rocking chair.

Qi Shuo leaned back in his rocking chair, a mechanical blueprint book spread out on his lap, but he didn't really look at it.

His gaze fell on Tan Huaiyu, who was squatting on the ground not far away, intently pruning the dead leaves of several potted plants.

Tan Huaiyu wore loose, light gray loungewear, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing a section of his fair forearm. His brows were slightly furrowed, his expression focused, as he held a small pair of scissors, carefully avoiding the tender buds and only trimming the yellowing leaf tips. Sunlight fell on his fuzzy hair and long eyelashes, casting a pale golden halo, making the lines of his profile incredibly soft in the light and shadow.

As Qi Shuo watched, a corner of his heart softened like honey melted in the sunlight. A calm, profound, almost overflowing sense of satisfaction filled his entire being. He could even clearly hear the steady, powerful beating of his own heart, one beat after another, blending with the occasional birdsong flitting past the window, creating the most harmonious background music in this tranquil afternoon.

Is this what "love" is?

It wasn't a deliberate approach with ulterior motives upon first meeting, nor was it the ambiguous tug-of-war during the probing phase, nor the intense possessiveness when feelings were at their peak.

It seems to have shed all its dramatic veneer, settling into this state—he sits here, and looking at him, one feels a sense of peace and tranquility, as if even the air itself is sweet.

"What are you looking at?" Tan Huaiyu seemed to notice his gaze, looked up, met his deep eyes, her cheeks flushed slightly, and muttered softly.

"It's up to you," Qi Shuo replied frankly, his voice carrying the languidness unique to the afternoon.

Tan Huaiyu's ears turned even redder at his blunt words. She glared at him reproachfully, then lowered her head to continue tending to her flowers and plants, but the corners of her mouth involuntarily turned up.

Qi Shuo's gaze remained fixed on Tan Huaiyu. He recalled the days and nights he spent in the hospital with serious injuries, the way Tan Huaiyu tried to remain calm despite his red eyes, his meticulous care for him, and how Tan Huaiyu would become flustered and helpless at the slightest frown from him... Back then, "love" was fear, heartache, and the burning desire to take his place.

He recalled even earlier, in the factory's machine repair shop, Tan Huaiyu clumsily following behind him, trying to understand the cold steel and intricate circuits, simply because she wanted to be closer to his world. In the rented room in the urban village, Tan Huaiyu, wearing an apron, frantically tried to follow a recipe, just wanting to give him a hot, home-cooked meal. Back then, "love" was about looking up, following, cautiously approaching, and clumsily giving.

So, what shape does love actually take?

It was that umbrella Tan Huaiyu handed over during that torrential rain when they first met, and those clear yet stubborn eyes under the umbrella.

Was it the light that instantly lit up in Tan Huaiyu's eyes when he decided to stay, and the trembling "I'll wait for you" he uttered?

When he learned that he might be paralyzed, Tan Huaiyu turned pale but held his hand tightly and said, "I will take care of you."

Or is it this moment, the silhouette of someone quietly pruning branches in the sunlight, and the unspoken tranquility that fills the room?

It seems to be all of them, yet it also seems to be neither entirely of them.

Love seems to have no fixed shape. It is like water, adapting to any container. When he is strong, it is adoration and attachment; when he is vulnerable, it is support and protection; when he is lost, it is a lighthouse and a place to return to; when he is ordinary, it is sunshine and air, omnipresent and taken for granted.

"A-Shuo," Tan Huaiyu's voice interrupted his thoughts. He had finished trimming the flowers and plants, washed his hands, and walked over, carrying the fresh scent of sunshine and plants. He sat down next to the rocking chair, naturally resting his head on Qi Shuo's uninjured shoulder, looking at the drifting clouds outside the window, and asked softly, "What are you thinking about?"

Qi Shuo turned his head, rubbed his chin against the top of his soft hair, and after a moment of silence, spoke in a low and calm voice: "Thinking about...you."

Tan Huaiyu chuckled and poked his muscular arm: "I'm right here, what's there to think about?"

"I was thinking," Qi Shuo grasped his mischievous fingers, cupped them in his palm, and slowly rubbed them, "Were you scared back then?"

He didn't say when, but Tan Huaiyu understood instantly. His body stiffened almost imperceptibly, then relaxed, burying his face deeper into Qi Shuo's shoulder, his voice muffled: "Scared."

How could he not be afraid? The long wait outside the operating room, the doctor's words "it may affect nerve function," the hideous wound he saw every time he changed the dressing, and Qi Shuo's unconscious groans of pain at night... every moment was enough to drag him into the abyss of fear.

"Are you afraid I'll never be able to stand up again?" Qi Shuo asked, his tone revealing no emotion.

Tan Huaiyu was silent for a moment, then shook his head and nodded again: "I'm afraid. But I'm even more afraid... afraid of you being in pain, afraid of you suffering, afraid of you... feeling that life is meaningless." He raised his head, his eyes slightly red, but his gaze was clear and firm, "Qi Shuo, as long as you live, as long as you're by my side, even if you're in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, I'll accept it. I'll take care of you, push you wherever you want to go. But I just... can't bear to see you in pain, can't bear to see you suffer."

His voice wasn't loud, and it even sounded a little choked up, but every word seemed to carry a tremendous weight, striking Qi Shuo's heart hard.

Qi Shuo's throat tightened, and his arms silently tightened, pulling Tan Huaiyu deeper into his embrace. He kissed Tan Huaiyu's forehead and whispered, "Fool."

"You're the idiot." Tan Huaiyu retorted softly, but her hands tightly hugged Qi Shuo's waist.

Neither of them spoke again, but simply nestled together quietly, listening to each other's heartbeats and feeling the warmth of the sunlight.

All the fear, pain, and torment I had felt before seemed to be soothed and calmed by the warm sunlight and the close touch of body heat.

“Actually,” Tan Huaiyu suddenly spoke after a long while, her voice very soft, as if she were talking to herself, “sometimes I feel that love may not always be dramatic, nor does it necessarily require sacrifice. Just like now, you are here, and I am here, we bask in the sun together, we daydream together, even if we don’t say anything, it’s still very good.”

Qi Shuo looked down at him. Tan Huaiyu had his eyes closed, his long eyelashes casting a small shadow beneath them, and a serene, contented smile played on his lips. Sunlight danced on his face, making even the fine downy hairs clearly visible.

At that moment, the deep and complex lake of "love" in Qi Shuo's heart seemed to have a small pebble thrown in, creating clear ripples.

He suddenly understood.

Love may truly have no shape. It is formless and intangible, yet it is everywhere.

It is an umbrella in a downpour, a bowl of porridge by a hospital bedside, a hand held tightly in pain, and a vow to never give up in fear.

It is also a shoulder to lean on in the sunlight, a silhouette while pruning flowers and plants, a tacit companionship without words, and the most ordinary yet most precious "being together" in the long river of time.

When strong, it can withstand wind and rain; when vulnerable, it needs mutual support. It is both armor and weakness. It inspires courage and fear. It is complex and ever-changing, yet also pure and simple.

Ultimately, love may simply be—"You are here, and I am here. We are together."

Whether rich or poor, healthy or sick, in good times or bad, as long as we are "together," love takes shape, life gains weight, and the future finds direction.

Qi Shuo lowered his head, found Tan Huaiyu's lips, and placed a gentle and lingering kiss on them. There was no lust, only endless cherishing and confirmation.

Tan Huaiyu was taken aback at first, then relaxed and responded obediently. Sunlight shone on their embracing and kissing figures, warm and eternal.

When the kiss ended, Tan Huaiyu was slightly out of breath, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes were watery yet surprisingly bright.

Qi Shuo gently brushed his lips with his fingertip, looked at him, and spoke in a deep, clear voice, as if stating an eternal truth:

"Yes, let's be together."

Tan Huaiyu smiled, her eyes curving into crescents, and nodded vigorously:

"Yes, let's be together."

Sunshine, green plants, rocking chairs, and lovers embracing.

Love, at this moment, takes on its most concrete and warmest form.

Meanwhile, in a quiet riverside café in the western part of the city, time seemed to slow down and stretch out under the autumn afternoon sun.

The corner by the window on the second floor of the café is secluded and offers a superb view. Outside, the moat flows gently, its surface shimmering in the sunlight, and the leaves of the plane trees on the banks are already tinged with gold, swaying softly in the breeze. Sunlight streams in warmly through the clean floor-to-ceiling windows, casting dappled shadows on the wooden floor.

Shen Ci sat on the sofa by the window, a thick lesson plan open in front of him, a pen in his hand, deep in thought, occasionally jotting down a few lines on a piece of paper. His profile was sharply defined in the sunlight, his eyebrows and eyes clean, his expression focused.

On the sofa opposite him, Qingran was curled up like a lazy cat, already asleep. She was covered with a neatly folded off-white knitted cardigan that Chen Ci had taken off, revealing only her small, serene face.

She rested her head on a soft pillow, her cheeks flushed with a healthy blush from deep sleep, her long, thick eyelashes casting a small fan-shaped shadow under her eyelids, her lips slightly pursed, and her breathing even and shallow.

She came with Shen Ci to "work overtime." Shen Ci needed a quiet environment to organize some teaching materials on the weekend, and since he had promised to keep Qing Ran company, he brought her along.

Qingran was very well-behaved, quiet and peaceful. She brought her own puzzle and picture book and played quietly by her side. Later, when she got tired of playing and her eyelids started to droop, Shen Ci let her lie down on the sofa to rest and covered her with his cardigan.

At that moment, Shen Ci looked up from her lesson plan, her gaze naturally falling on the sleeping person opposite her. The afternoon sun shone on her, giving her a soft golden glow, making even the fine downy hairs on her face clearly visible.

She slept soundly and peacefully, as if this unfamiliar environment had become the safest haven because of his presence.

Shen Ci put down his pen and quietly looked at her for a while. His eyes were gentler than ever before, like a spring stream flowing gently through his heart.

He recalled the first time he met her in the school corridor, the girl in the red dress, her eyes innocent yet clear like a fawn's, timidly asking him, "Where's the restroom?" He remembered the satisfaction he felt later when he patiently helped her with puzzles, read her stories, and watched her make progress little by little.

She also recalled the scrutinizing and subtly wary look in Qi Shuo's eyes every time he came to pick her up.

He knew Qi Shuo's concerns. Qing Ran's situation was special; she was as pure as a blank sheet of paper, and anyone who got close to her would inevitably be scrutinized under a magnifying glass.

But he never thought of getting anything from her, except... this moment of pure tranquility and trust.

He loved seeing her smile, loved hearing her softly call him "Brother Chen," and loved the sparkle in her eyes when she did something small.

This fondness is clean and peaceful, devoid of any calculation or desire from the adult world. It's more like an instinctive desire to protect beautiful things, or like... taking care of a small flower called "daisy" that needs patient nurturing.

Shen Ci reached out and, with extremely gentle movements, tucked a soft strand of hair that had slipped down Qing Ran's cheek behind her ear.

My fingertips accidentally touched her warm skin, as delicate as fine porcelain.

Qingran seemed to be aware of something in her sleep. She unconsciously smacked her lips, rubbed her head against the pillow, and buried herself deeper into the cardigan that smelled of clean soap and a faint scent of books. The corners of her mouth curved slightly upward, as if she were having a sweet dream.

Shen Ci's lips involuntarily turned up, and the smile in his eyes was so gentle it could drip water.

He withdrew his hand, picked up his pen again, but no longer looked at the lesson plan. Instead, with the flowing river outside the window and the peaceful sleeping face of the person next to him, he casually wrote down a few scattered lines of poetry in the blank space of the lesson plan.

The pen tip glides across the paper, making a soft rustling sound, which, mixed with Qingran's even breathing and the faint sounds of flowing water and wind outside the window, creates a unique and tranquil autumn afternoon concerto.

The sunlight moved slowly, from Qingran's hair to her shoulder.

Shen Ci would occasionally look up to see if she was sleeping soundly, or if the sunlight was too bright. Sometimes, he would stop writing and just quietly watch her, his gaze lingering, as if through the stillness of the moment he could see a distant and tender vision of a future of protection and companionship.

There were no earth-shattering vows, no surging passion.

There is only this window of clear sky, this still river, this warm sun in the room, and a girl sleeping peacefully beside someone she trusts.

And a guardian who is willing to use the purest gentleness to create a small patch of sunshine for her.

Love comes in many forms.

Some are as fiery as a raging fire, some as deep as the ocean.

And then there is another kind, perhaps like this moment—quiet, clear, like a daisy quietly blooming under an autumn sky, and a gentle gaze silently watching over.

Take your time, don't rush, don't compete or grab.

Just to accompany you, just to protect you, just... I hope you can always be like this, safe and sound, without worries.