Chapter 116 I’m Hungry (Part 3)
It was an extremely thick, elegantly bound hardcover book. Its dark blue cover, with gilded English cursive letters faintly visible in the dim light, read: Stanford University Yearbook. The years were those during Zhao Chen's study abroad.
Yu Ling was stunned.
Zhao Chen squatted beside the bed, like a child presenting a treasure, and handed the yearbook to her again. The eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses seemed particularly bright in the dim light and carried a hint of imperceptible nervousness?
"Take a look? Maybe there's someone you know in there?" He asked tentatively with a hint of uncertainty in his tone.
Yu Ling's heart felt like it was being gently bumped by something. She hesitantly reached out her hand, her fingertips touching the cool, smooth cover.
She sat up, leaning against the headboard, holding the huge yearbook in her arms. It felt heavy. Zhao Chen immediately turned on the bedside lamp, and the warm yellow light instantly dispelled the dimness.
Under the clear light, the yearbook's weight and history come to the fore. The cover features Stanford's iconic Hoover Tower and the Galleria.
Yu Ling opened the heavy cover with a hint of confusion and inexplicable nervousness.
Behind the title page was a densely packed list of graduates and their photos. She subconsciously searched for Zhao Chen's name, and soon, on the School of Engineering page, she found it.
It was a face much younger than he is now. He wore a simple dark T-shirt, and the backdrop was Stanford's famous Palm Avenue. Sunlight filtered through the leaves onto his face, outlining his clear and handsome features.
His eyes were less profound than they are now, but more sharp and focused. He stared directly into the camera, with a faint, confident smile that belonged to a talented young man.
Below the photo was his name: Chen Zhao. Next to it was a dazzling array of honorary titles and awards: Summa Cum Laude, the Dean's Medal of the Academy of Engineering, the Gold Medal of the ACM International Collegiate Programming Contest...
Yu Ling's fingers gently brushed across the young, spirited face in the photo. This was Zhao Chen, a man she had never seen before.
A brilliant and radiant child at a top university. The "playboy who loves to have fun" that Gu Qianqian mentioned? The focused and pure eyes in the photo were enough to shatter all rumors.
She continued flipping through the pages. The yearbook recorded various academic activities, club activities, and sports events.
She saw Zhao Chen wearing a lab coat, concentrating on debugging equipment in the laboratory; she saw Zhao Chen speaking eloquently as a student representative at an academic conference; she saw Zhao Chen discussing issues with a group of equally young classmates of different skin colors on the grass, with a bright smile on his face.
I even saw... a photo of him and an Asian girl with a bright smile, also wearing a lab coat. The two of them were standing next to a trophy. The small words under the photo read: Computer Science Department Research Team Champions - Chen Zhao & Minji Kim.
There are no bright lights, no extravagance, only a pure ocean of knowledge, only the collision and sweat of genius, and only the vibrant youthful imprint of a top university.
Is this the Zhao Chen that Gu Qianqian mentioned, who "needed a celebrity to pave the way"? He himself is the most dazzling light source!
Yu Ling flipped through the pages, feeling shocked and filled with indescribable emotions.
Her feelings of inferiority seemed to be gradually diluted by the real and powerful power contained in this thick yearbook. Her husband had never been a vine that needed to cling to anyone; he was a towering tree in his own right!
Turning to the last few pages of the yearbook, which contained photos of clubs and interest groups, Yu Ling's eyes were drawn to one of them.
Is it a small food club called the Global Palate Club?
In the photo, a group of young people in aprons were busy at the workbench in a bright and spacious kitchen, with happy smiles on their faces. In the corner of the crowd, Yu Ling spotted a familiar figure!
Zhao Chen! Young Zhao Chen! Tied around his waist was an extremely plain, even somewhat rustic plaid apron! He was frowning slightly, holding a huge, oddly shaped, seemingly unprovoked dough in his hands? His expression was unprecedentedly serious and clumsy?!
There's a small note below the photo: Chen Zhao attempting his first sourdough loaf. Result: Dense but Edible!
“Puff…”
Yu Ling looked at the photo of the young Zhao Chen holding the failed bread with a serious face, and then looked at the plaid apron around his waist which was even more rustic than the cartoon Shiba Inu apron he has now. Finally, she couldn't help but burst into laughter!
The laughter was nasal, but full of genuine laughter and relief.
Zhao Chen had been squatting beside the bed, nervously observing her reaction. When he saw her finally smile, he was obviously relieved, and a smile of relief appeared on his face.
He pointed at the clumsy "baker" in the photo, his tone filled with a bit of shame and self-mockery:
"See... my 'bad luck' with the kitchen is a long one. It started back at Stanford. The bread I made back then was jokingly called 'self-defense weapons' by the club members... it was far inferior to the truffle chicken stew we have today!" He didn't forget to flatter himself.
Yu Ling smiled, but tears blurred her vision once again. This time, they weren't tears of grievance or self-abasement. She closed the heavy yearbook and placed it carefully on the bedside table. Then, she raised her tear-stained face and looked at Zhao Chen, who was squatting beside the bed.
Under the warm yellow light, he squatted there, looking up at her, his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses so gentle they could drip with water. There was no sharp edge like in the yearbook photo, only her clumsy, warm protection.
"So..." Yu Ling's voice was heavily nasal, but no longer gloomy. She reached out and gently brushed Zhao Chen's handsome cheek. "All that 'help' and 'prospects' that Gu Qianqian talked about... are they all bullshit?"
Zhao Chen grabbed her hand, holding it tightly in his palm, feeling the warmth of her fingertips. His eyes were extremely serious, with a rock-hard determination:
"Lingling," his voice was low and solemn, like the most solemn oath, "all my future, all the meaning of my life, lies in..."
He paused, his eyes gently falling on her face, each word clearly said:
"I can make brown sugar water for you every day, I can tell the difference between truffles and mushrooms, and I can stay by your side and watch you drink the soup I stew."
"This is my greatest 'future', and it's also my father's..."
A faint, barely perceptible complexity flashed across his eyes, and was soon covered by a deeper tenderness. "...Leave me the most precious legacy."
Father?
Yu Ling keenly grasped this word, a word she had never heard him mention. But she didn't question it, simply firmly grasping his hand. A surge of warmth and a sense of security instantly filled the cold hole in her heart.
She lowered her head, resting her forehead against his, and nuzzling against his nose. Her voice was slightly hoarse after crying and full of coquettishness:
"Zhao Chen..."
"Um?"
"I'm hungry."
"ah?"
"Your 'self-defense weapon' bread... no, your truffle chicken stew. I haven't even taken a single bite yet." She raised her head, a sly smile on her tear-stained face. "The peak of your 'ordinary husband's' culinary skills shouldn't be wasted. Warm it up?"
Zhao Chen was stunned for a moment, then a huge feeling of joy and relief washed over him! He stood up suddenly, stumbling a bit due to the numbness from squatting for so long, but he didn't care, a bright smile blooming on his face:
"As you command! Mr. Chairman! I'll make sure it's heated to perfection! Truffles are truffles! No mushrooms mixed in!"
Watching his back as he rushed to the kitchen like a happy big dog, Yu Ling sat on the bed with her knees hugged, a genuine smile of surviving a disaster on her face.
She picked up the thick Stanford yearbook from her bedside table and ran her fingertips over the gilded letters on the cover again.
gap?
Maybe.
But at this moment, she was absolutely certain that what she had - this man wearing a cartoon apron, making her hot truffle chicken, clumsily guarding all her ordinariness and fragility, and the bowl of hot worldly fireworks he gave her - was the most precious and irreplaceable "future" in the world.
Soon, the slight hum of the microwave oven and the sound of Zhao Chen humming a tuneless little tune could be heard from the kitchen.
The overbearing and warm aroma of truffle stewed chicken gently spread again.
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