Happy birthday, Mr. Wei!
The sycamore branches were just sprouting tender yellow buds, and the morning mist had already tinged the glass curtain walls of the office building with a hazy milky white. Ning Zhichu squatted on the carpet in her study, her fingertips holding a silver paperclip, carefully securing a New York ferry ticket stub in her photo album—the edges of the stub were already yellowed, a memento they had taken on the Hudson River last late autumn, and an important piece of material for the birthday surprise she was preparing for Wei Ting.
When the study door was gently pushed open, she quickly covered the photo album with her lap like a startled animal, and grabbed a financial magazine from the side to cover it. Wei Ting leaned against the door frame, wearing a light gray cashmere sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing the Patek Philippe on his wrist, his eyes filled with a smile: "What are you hiding for? I can smell the glue."
As he approached, the scent of cedar mingled with the cool outdoor air. Ning Zhichu's fingers trembled as she gripped the magazine, her ears burning hot—Wei Ting's birthday was in early March, just a month after the Lunar New Year. She had started preparing for it on the second day of the Lunar New Year, her study filled with boxes of various materials, and she even thought about whether a handmade photo album would be too childish while she was sleeping.
"I wasn't hiding anything, just organizing my interview notes." She tried to appear calm as she flipped through the magazine, but Wei Ting bent down and snatched the photo album from the bottom. He sat on the carpet, his fingertips gently stroking the cover—it was a dark brown genuine leather cover that she had custom-made at a leather goods store, with "W&N Anniversary" embossed in gold, and small star and moon patterns embroidered along the edges, just like the design of that collarbone chain from New York.
"For me?" Wei Ting's voice trembled slightly. He turned to the first page, where a Polaroid photo came into view: last winter, they were in front of a pan-fried dumpling shop. She was biting into a pan-fried dumpling and smiling, sauce smeared on the corner of her mouth. He reached out to wipe it off for her. The background was the warm yellow streetlights under the sycamore trees. Next to the photo was her handwritten note: "This is the first time I've discovered that President Wei doesn't dip his pan-fried dumplings in vinegar. He's even more picky than me."
Ning Zhichu turned her face away, not daring to look at him, her fingers unconsciously picking at the carpet fibers: "It's not finished yet... I was planning to give it to you on your birthday." She heard the soft sound of the photo album turning, each page holding her thoughts: the receipt from the Japanese restaurant on their first date in Shanghai, the hot cocoa coaster he bought for her when he accompanied her to work overtime, and even the cufflinks he left at her house—that time he had to go to a board meeting at the last minute and forgot to take them with him in his haste, so she secretly kept them for half a month before returning them to him.
Wei Ting turned to the last page. Beside the blank beige cardstock lay a silver fountain pen, one she had specially chosen, its nib engraved with his initials. As he looked up, he caught her stealing glances at him, the panic in her eyes like that of a startled fawn. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head, his voice warm and gentle: "If you're like this, I feel like loving you for a lifetime wouldn't be enough."
She leaned against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, and all her tension suddenly turned into grievance: "Isn't this too childish? I originally wanted to order a luxury watch, but I feel that none of those are as meaningful as something I made myself..." Before she could finish speaking, he grabbed her chin and turned her around.
Warm light streamed through the blinds, falling on his face and casting soft shadows on his eyelashes. He lowered his head and kissed her blushing earlobe, his fingertips gently caressing her lips: "Not childish at all, this is the best gift I've ever received." He placed the photo album on his lap and flipped to the page with the cufflinks. "I've been looking for these cufflinks for ages, I thought I'd lost them in the boardroom."
"Who told you to always be so forgetful?" She turned her head away from his breath, but he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed her down onto the carpet. The warm light in the study cast overlapping shadows on them, and a photo album lay open beside them. Next to the photo of the silver cufflink, she had written, "Evidence of President Wei's forgetfulness. Keep it safe."
Wei Ting's kiss landed on her forehead, the touch as gentle as if he were handling a fragile object. His fingertips slid down her back, stopping at her waist: "Actually, I knew you were preparing all along." He chuckled softly, "Last week I went to the study to get some documents and saw you looking up 'how to decorate a handmade photo album' on the computer, and you even secretly called my mom to ask me what I liked when I was little."
Ning Zhichu's face instantly turned red, and she reached out to push him away: "Then why are you pretending not to know!" He grabbed her wrist and pressed it onto the carpet, his lips getting closer and closer to hers: "I wanted to wait for you to give me a surprise yourself." His breath brushed against her lips, "However, now that I see the half-finished product, I'm even more looking forward to my birthday."
For the next two weeks, Ning Zhichu devoted all her spare time to birthday preparations. In addition to a handmade photo album, she also wanted to give a practical and meaningful gift. On Friday afternoon, she slipped out of the editorial office and went to a custom cufflink shop on Nanjing West Road—Wei Ting's shirts always needed to be paired with cufflinks, and he wore the pair of pearl cufflinks she had given him almost every day.
As the shop assistant took out the metal template, her fingertips brushed against the mold engraved with the New York coordinates, and she suddenly remembered their photo on the Brooklyn Bridge: "Could you engrave these coordinates, and add a small camera icon next to them?" The camera was a symbol of her profession, and New York was where their relationship blossomed; she wanted to engrave both of their marks on it.
"Of course," the clerk said with a smile. "We can even engrave the date, like the date of your first date." Ning Zhichu gave the date without hesitation—October 15th last year. She was late for her interview that day, and Wei Ting waited for her in the rain for forty minutes, holding a cup of hot cocoa in his hand, the temperature just right.
As she left the cufflink shop, dusk had already fallen over the glass curtain walls of the office building. Her phone vibrated; it was a message from Wei Ting: "I'm downstairs at your company. I'll take you to a newly opened Japanese restaurant." She walked quickly toward the familiar black Bentley and saw Wei Ting leaning against the car door smoking, the cigarette between his fingers glowing in the night. When he saw her, he immediately stubbed out his cigarette and came to greet her.
"What were you doing?" He opened the car door for her. A box of strawberry cake, her favorite brand, sat in the glove compartment. "You have some glue on your face." He reached out and wiped it off, his fingertips gently stroking her cheek. "Is your handmade photo album almost finished?"
"Soon." She bit the cake spoon and deliberately changed the subject, "Is Mr. Wei busy with his birthday party lately? I heard from your assistant that you booked a restaurant." Actually, she had secretly asked her special assistant last week and found out that Wei Ting had originally booked a revolving restaurant on the Bund to surprise her, but she didn't know that she had already thought of a more private way to celebrate.
Wei Ting's ears turned red instantly, and he avoided her gaze as he started the car: "It's just inviting a few friends to dinner." What he didn't say was that the restaurant had specially arranged a band to play "My Way," which she had hummed in New York, and they had also prepared a diamond ring—not for a proposal, but to have her name engraved on the ring as a memento of their relationship.
The day before her birthday, Ning Zhichu asked Wei Ting to wait for her at an old record store in SoHo in the afternoon, citing "interview needs." In fact, she had already rented the store, and she had asked the clerk to pretend to be the owner. She had completely redecorated the store: the walls were covered with their photos, the record player was playing Frank Sinatra's vinyl records on a loop, and on a small table in the corner was a tiramisu she had made herself, next to a handmade photo album full of memories.
At three o'clock in the afternoon, Wei Ting appeared at the record store entrance on time. He was wearing a navy blue suit with the pearl cufflinks she had given him on the collar. He saw the "Closed" sign hanging at the entrance and was about to call Ning Zhichu when he heard familiar laughter coming from inside the store.
The moment the door opened, warm yellow light wafted in, carrying the sweet aroma of cake. Ning Zhichu stood by the record player, wearing a beige dress and the pearl necklace he had given her, the star and moon pendant shimmering with tiny sparkles. Seeing him enter, she nervously gripped the hem of her dress, her voice trembling slightly, "Mr. Wei, happy birthday." Wei Ting's heart skipped a beat. He suppressed the urge to take her home right then and there, and hugged Ning Zhichu tightly.
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