Chapter 137 The New York City Flood at the End of April…
Late April in New York is often accompanied by light drizzle. Ren Xiyao was awakened by birdsong from her window. Morning light streamed through the blinds, casting long, thin shadows on the carpet. She checked her phone: 6:03 AM. She thought to herself that humans are truly strange creatures. Even during her years of military service, she was so disciplined, yet she still needed an alarm clock to wake up precisely at this time. Now that she had more free time, she could actually get up right on cue.
A slight noise came from the kitchen. She grabbed a piece of clothing without checking whose it was and walked over in her slippers. Kwon Ji-yong was bending over, rummaging through the refrigerator. His soft black hair fell across his forehead, his glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose, and he was clutching an uncapped marker in his hand. He wasn't nearsighted, but she couldn't understand why he liked wearing glasses so much.
"What are you looking for?" Ren Xiyao leaned against the door frame.
Kwon Ji-yong straightened up, holding a carton of milk in his hand, his eyes still half-closed, but he noticed that Ren Xiyao was wearing his clothes. His eyes lit up immediately: "I stayed up until three last night and wanted something cold."
"Iced milk is bad for your stomach." She walked over, took the milk from his hand, and handed him a carton of room-temperature milk instead: "You were in the army, and you still stay up all night writing songs every day. Did you not retain any of the good habits from the army?"
Kwon Ji-yong pouted and leaned against the kitchen counter watching her prepare the porridge: "Writing songs requires inspiration, and besides..." He reached out and tugged at the hem of her clothes: "You go to bed early, and it's no fun for me to be alone in the study."
Ren Xiyao paused, the steam from the boiling pot rising and blurring her features. In the years they'd been apart, she'd often stretched alone in the morning light of the ice rink, while he'd probably spent countless late nights in his studio, staring blank sheet music. And now, in this very morning light, the clock of fate had finally turned, bringing them back on track.
After arriving in New York, it took her some time to get to know the city and the neighborhood. Once she was comfortable with life there and familiar with the surrounding streets, Ren Xiyao resumed her usual healthy and light diet. She had asked Quan Zhilong about his tastes, and he wasn't picky and accepted Ren Xiyao's preferences. So, breakfast consisting of congee and side dishes became their daily routine.
Halfway through breakfast, Kwon Ji-yong suddenly remembered something, got up and went to the study to fetch a laptop, opened it and played it for her: "I wrote a melody yesterday, would you like to listen?"
This is common these days; every beautiful melody is just like it always was, and she's always the first person Kwon Ji-yong wants to share it with.
The demo on the computer had a strong rhythm, but it was also strangely comfortable and familiar. Ren Xiyao listened to it while drinking porridge, and when she heard the chorus, she suddenly laughed: "This rhythm is very Kwon Ji-yong."
Kwon Ji-yong's eyes lit up, and he leaned closer, their noses almost touching: "So, do you like it? Do you think it's good?"
“Kwon Ji-yong’s style is, of course, Kwon Ji-yong’s style,” she swallowed the last mouthful of porridge, took a step back, and reached out to ruffle his hair: “But if it were me to say it… it would sound very good.”
Kwon Ji-yong, like a cat being stroked, obediently sat back down, but then suddenly complained, "You don't praise me anymore. Before, when I wrote songs, you would say 'You're amazing.'"
Ren Xiyao glanced at him, then turned to clean up the dishes. She didn't call him out on it, after all, every time she said "You're amazing" before, it was just to appease him after he had gotten angry.
He just seems to get easily angered now.
He has also learned to be persistent; after all these years apart, his coquettishness seems to have become even more skillful. For example, right now he followed Ren Xiyao step by step into the kitchen, put down the dishes and chopsticks, and then went into the bedroom.
Like a clingy but also flustered cat, he made Ren Xiyao laugh. She said helplessly, "That's because you're already amazing now," with a hint of dry humor in her tone. "And you're a professor and a superstar. Be more mature. It's not good to always act like a child."
He didn't argue, but followed her to the dressing table. Before she sat down, he gently hugged her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder: "Maturity is for others to see, not for you."
The rain outside the window hadn't stopped, its patter soft and steady. Ren Xiyao felt a little dazed; more than two months had passed since their reunion. It seemed there had been no awkward separation, no period of estrangement; they had simply gotten along naturally. For a moment or two, it felt as if they weren't in their New York apartment, or in 2024, but in 2015, in their Seoul apartment. It felt as if they hadn't experienced those twists and turns, those unavoidable hardships, as if they had never been separated at all.
Kwon Ji-yong also experiences this kind of dazed state, a beautiful, dreamlike moment he wrote about in his lyrics...
In the afternoon, the rain finally stopped, and the sun shone brightly for once. Ren Xiyao sat cross-legged on the carpet by the window, several thick books on art history spread out in front of her, and a steaming cup of goji berry and red date tea beside her. The team leader said it was a must-have for people her age to replenish their qi and blood.
The house was in a good location and very quiet, with only the rustling of her turning pages and the faint, intermittent sound of a piano coming from the study next door.
This is their daily routine.
Harmony in diversity, each element tacitly divided into its own "voice," yet blending seamlessly into a unified whole. Everything in this apartment exudes this harmonious balance. On one side of the living room, professional music equipment, its cables tangled, mirrors his occasionally chaotic thoughts; on the other side, yoga mats, massage rollers, and a medicine box with Chinese labels, along with some frequently used professional books, are neatly arranged, just like its current owner.
Ren Xiyao glanced at the clock on the wall; it was four in the afternoon. She closed her book, stood up to stretch her stiff back, and headed towards the study.
The door wasn't closed properly, and she pushed it open a crack. Kwon Ji-yong sat with his back to the door, in front of the keyboard, his hair casually tied into a small bun, wearing a loose gray hoodie. He was frowning at the sheet music, with several sheets of draft paper covered in musical notes scattered beside him, along with a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.
"Professor Quan," Ren Xiyao leaned against the doorframe, her voice tinged with a hint of teasing, "Isn't it time for your 'office hours' to end?"
Kwon Ji-yong turned around at the sound of her voice. When he saw her, his furrowed brows instantly relaxed, replaced by a warm glow. He took off his glasses, rubbed his nose, and hummed in a slightly nasal tone, "Ten more minutes... just ten more minutes, and I'll have the melody right away."
“You said the same thing an hour ago.” Ren Xiyao remained unmoved, walked over, and picked up the cup of cold coffee: “This is confiscated. Don’t blame me for having an old person’s sleep schedule if you can’t sleep tonight.”
Kwon Ji-yong reached out to grab her, but she easily dodged. He then resorted to being cheeky, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face in her clothes, his voice muffled: "Just a little longer... I'll run out of inspiration if I miss this." In the years since they separated, he had become more direct in expressing his dependence, and this clingy, affectionate way of being affectionate had become increasingly easy for him.
Ren Xiyao felt a little ticklish from his rubbing, and gently ran her fingers through the stray hairs on the back of his head: "You're out of inspiration, but I think you have too much energy." Her tone was calm, but it carried a subtle indulgence: "Get up and come with me to the supermarket. I want to have soup tonight."
"Can't we order takeout?" He looked up, rested his chin on her, and blinked.
"No way. It tastes awful, either too salty or too sweet." She poked his forehead, using a bit of force: "It's also not good for someone like me who needs to take care of themselves."
Kwon Ji-yong also suddenly realized what the rehabilitation doctor had said, and stood up abruptly, but still held her hand tightly, his tone tinged with annoyance: "Yes, yes, my brain's rusted, Teacher Ren. You really deserve praise now." He looked down at her, his eyes softening: "Finally taking your physical injuries seriously. Keep it up."
These words were spoken in jest, yet they also revealed his true feelings. He knew that her departure from the ice rink, from the place where she had dedicated twenty years of her life, was not without its challenges. Coming to New York was both a matter of self-cultivation and a necessary career transition.
The first time I accompanied her to see a doctor, several doctors shook their heads at her medical records, and Kwon Ji-yong felt a sharp pain in his heart. Listening to the doctors' analyses was an indescribable discomfort.
Ren Xiyao sensed the barely perceptible apprehension in his words, interrupting him from continuing to think. She grabbed his hand firmly and said, "Stop being silly. Go change your clothes."
On their way to the supermarket, the setting sun cast long shadows of the two of them. Occasionally, they childishly played tag, pushing and shoving each other, chasing one another. The bright New York sunshine shone perfectly on them, casting a warm glow, as beautiful as a fairy tale.
The supermarket was crowded, but like any couple who comes to the supermarket, Kwon Ji-yong pushed the shopping cart while Ren Xiyao looked at the groceries beside him, occasionally picking up a box of vegetables and asking him, "Do you want to eat this?" The atmosphere was peaceful and tranquil, filled with the warmth of everyday life. Those heartwarming moments that were missed in order to avoid the ubiquitous cameras became part of their daily routine here.
"The new season," Ren Xiyao picked up a bag of mushrooms, her tone as casual as if discussing the weather, "seems to start next week."
Kwon Ji-yong paused in his pushing of the cart, turning his head to look at her. Her expression remained unchanged, still focused on the mushrooms in her hands, but he could sense a subtle shift in her aura for a fleeting moment. It was a professional reflex ingrained in her bones, an instinctive reaction to the word "season."
"Hmm." He responded without asking further, but in truth, he didn't want to say more either. Kwon Ji-yong was also deliberately avoiding the topic; he had his own selfish motives. He reached out and took the mushrooms from her hand, putting them in the car, then casually squeezed her hand: "Have you decided whether to put tofu in the soup?"
Ren Xiyao looked up at him and met his calm and understanding gaze. She suddenly relaxed, and the resentment she felt about the competition and her unfinished career seemed to be soothed by his warm hand at this moment.
"Go ahead." She nodded, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Something light is perfect for someone like you who stays up all night writing songs and needs to cool down."
Kwon Ji-yong sighed dramatically, "Ms. Ren, the way you care about people is really starting to resemble my health manager."
"Otherwise what?" Ren Xiyao raised an eyebrow, her dry humor kicking in at the opportune moment: "Do you expect me to make you coffee and energy drinks at three in the morning?"
The couple smiled at each other and slowly pushed their cart toward the fresh produce section. Passersby, watching their backs, could only think how loving they were. Outside the window, New York's city lights were just coming on, and for them, the everyday life they had rediscovered after seven years of separation, full of warmth and life, was just beginning.
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