Chapter 51 For us Wife, you are so sweet
The nightscape of Hyde Park resembled an ink painting, its shades of ink smeared across the landscape. Streetlights cast dappled halos of light through the shadows of the trees, gilding the paths with a silver edge. Wen Mu stood beneath the oak tree near Speakers' Corner, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of his phone.
Seven fifty-five.
She came too early.
The night breeze, bringing the coolness of early summer, brushed against his cheeks. Wen Mu gathered the collar of his knitted cardigan. Not far away, a couple walked hand in hand, their laughter resonating distinctly in the still night.
Wen Mu looked away, gazing out at the lake. Moonlight shattered into thousands of silver flakes on the water, gently rippled by the waves.
"You're still so punctual."
A familiar voice came from behind.
Wen Mu turned around. Ming Yang stood at the edge of the streetlight's halo, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his right palm wrapped in thick gauze. He looked much more haggard than when they last met in the cafe, with dark circles under his eyes, but a relieved smile played at the corners of his mouth.
"Your hand." Wen Mu couldn't help but ask.
Ming Yang looked down at the gauze and chuckled, "It was bitten by a dog."
Wen Mu frowned. He had always been afraid of dogs, so this was a poor excuse.
But she didn't ask any further questions, just nodded: "Are you leaving?"
"Yes, I'm on a flight tomorrow." Ming Yang stepped forward and stood beside her, looking out at the lake together. "MIT's invitation to be a research assistant professor."
"Congratulations." Wen Mu said sincerely.
Ming Yang turned his head to look at her, the light from the street lamp reflecting off his glasses, obscuring his eyes. "You're not going to ask me why I asked you out?"
Wen Mu was silent for a moment: "Goodbye?"
"Apologize." Ming Yang corrected.
"And goodbye."
The bench by the lake was empty, and the two of them walked over and sat down in tacit understanding. Ming Yang's right hand remained resting on his knee, the gauze glaring white in the moonlight.
"Wen Mu," he took a deep breath, "I'm sorry about everything that happened before."
The night wind rustled the oak leaves.
Wen Mu looked at the broken moonlight on the lake, waiting for him to continue.
"I've used you, lied to you, and even tried to destroy your marriage." Ming Yang's voice was low. "None of this should have happened."
Wen Mu turned to look at him. The man's profile was particularly clear in the moonlight, and there were already fine lines at the corners of his eyes. The boy who had once blocked her in the library was now stained with the marks of time.
"I accept your apology," she said softly.
Ming Yang's shoulders relaxed slightly: "Thank you."
He paused, "I went back to Europe this time because I wanted to make up for the regrets I had back then."
"But now I understand that some things are missed once they are missed."
A nightingale began to sing from the treetops, its melodious melody echoing in the night. Wen Mu recalled her days at ETH, when Ming Yang had recorded the nightingale's call for her, saying it was more melodious than any alarm clock.
“You’ll like MIT,” she said finally. “The observatory there has a great view.”
Ming Yang smiled, a smile of relief in it: "Yeah, at least the weather is better than in Zurich."
He looked at her: "What about you? What are your plans for the future?"
"Continue my research," Wen Mu replied softly. "Perhaps, apply for a position at the London Observatory."
"For him?"
Wen Mu did not deny: "Also for myself."
Ming Yang nodded, his eyes falling on the wedding ring on her ring finger: "He is really lucky."
Wen Mu: "Me too."
Silence stretched between the two of them, but it wasn't awkward.
A bell rang in the distance, striking eight times and echoing in the night sky.
"I should go now." Ming Yang stood up. "I have a flight tomorrow morning."
Wen Mu also stood up: "Have a good trip."
Ming Yang looked at her, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just extended his hand: "I wish you happiness, Teacher Wen."
Wen Mu held his hand, and the rough touch of the gauze made her frown slightly.
"Thank you, take care of yourself too."
Ming Yang turned to leave, but then stopped. In the night, his back looked a little lonely.
"Wen Mu," he said without looking back, "He really loves you."
Wen Mu's heartbeat suddenly quickened.
"I know."
"That's good."
Ming Yang's voice floated in the night wind.
"goodbye."
His figure gradually merged into the darkness of the park and eventually disappeared. Wen Mu stood there, feeling a strange sense of relief, as if a knot that had been lingering for years had finally been untied.
The nightingale was still singing, and the moonlight on the lake was still broken and beautiful. She took a deep breath, turned and walked towards the park exit.
Ming Yang's farewell was calmer than she had imagined, and even came with blessings.
In the taxi on the way back, Wen Mu looked at the flowing lights outside the window, his mind full of thoughts.
The light in the villa shone warmly through the curtains.
Wen Mu took a deep breath at the door and pushed it open.
In the living room, Song Xingran was sitting cross-legged on the carpet playing a game, the controller clicking in his hands. Hearing the door open, he shouted without turning back, "Wife! Come help me get through this level! It's too hard!"
Wen Mu placed the key in the bowl at the entrance: "Aren't you known as a game master?"
"That's because my teammates are so bad!" He wailed, then turned to look at her, with a tuft of black hair sticking up on top of his head, like a big, messy dog.
"Where's the fruit?"
Wen Mu raised the plastic bag in his hand: "Don't you want to eat watermelon? I'll go cut it."
Just as she was about to go to the kitchen, the man dropped the controller and jumped up, rushing to her in two steps and hugging her in his arms.
"I missed you." He buried his head in her neck and took a deep breath, his voice muffled.
Wen Mu's heart softened: "I've only been out for an hour."
"An hour is also very long." Song Xingran raised his head, his amber eyes sparkling in the light, "especially when my wife is not holding me."
Wen Mu smiled and pushed him away: "Don't give me that. Are you taking it out on me because you lost the game?"
"No!" Song Xingran protested, but still took the watermelon bag obediently, "I'll go cut it, you sit down."
Wen Mu sat on a high stool in the kitchen, watching Song Xingran clumsily but diligently handle the watermelon. His right hand wasn't very flexible yet, so his left dominated the cutting, making his movements somewhat comical. The light fell on his raven-feathered eyelashes, casting a subtle shadow on his cheek.
This scene was so ordinary and yet so precious that it made her chest tighten.
"What's wrong?" Song Xingran keenly noticed her gaze and looked up and asked, "Is there something on my face?"
Wen Mu shook his head: "No."
Song Xingran placed the cut watermelon on a plate, put a fork on it, and brought it to her: "Try it, is it sweet?"
Wen Mu picked up a piece with a fork, and the sweet juice exploded in his mouth: "Hmm, very sweet."
Song Xingran also ate a piece and suddenly frowned: "Are you unhappy?"
"No."
"You're lying." He leaned in close, his nose almost touching hers. "When you're happy, the corner of your right eye droops slightly, but it doesn't now."
Wen Mu was speechless. She herself hadn't noticed this little detail.
Song Xingran's observation skills are always used in strange places.
"I..." She put down her fork, "I just met with someone."
The air froze instantly. Song Xingran paused for a moment, but quickly returned to normal, picking up another piece of watermelon with his fork. "Oh."
That's it? An "oh"?
Wen Mu's prepared explanation got stuck in his throat, unable to be put down.
"You, don't you want to ask who he is? Don't you want to ask why?" she asked tentatively.
Song Xingran fed the watermelon to her mouth: "You will say it naturally if you want to."
"Besides, I'm not a fool who knows nothing."
So, he knew it a long time ago?
Really, she should have thought of it earlier. Given Young Master Song's personality, he would not be content.
In other words, she worried for nothing.
Wen Mu bit off the watermelon, chewing it mechanically. "He was the one who texted me to ask me out. He said he was leaving and wanted to see me one last time."
"Yeah, I know."
"Exactly, a farewell and an apology." Wen Mu observed Song Xingran's expression and found him unusually calm. "He said he wanted to teach at MIT."
Song Xingran nodded and fed her another piece of watermelon: "It's good."
Wen Mu finally couldn't help it: "Is this all you react to?"
Song Xingran put down his fork and looked her straight in the eye. "What reaction do you want? A rage? Banning you from leaving the house? Or flying to Boston overnight to beat him up?"
"I..." Wen Mu was speechless, "I thought you would be angry."
"I am angry." Song Xingran's voice lowered, "But not at you."
"Then why?"
"Because you told me." Song Xingran interrupted her, "You could have kept it to yourself, but you chose to tell me. This shows that you trust me."
He reached out and wiped the watermelon juice from the corner of her mouth. “So I will trust you too.”
Wen Mu's eyes suddenly felt a little sore.
She looked down at the watermelon plate. The red flesh was dotted with a few black seeds, like stars in the night sky.
"I just don't want any secrets between us." She said softly.
Song Xingran was silent for a long time, so long that Wen Mu thought the topic was over.
Suddenly, he reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Wen Mu," his expression was more serious than ever before, "I always believe in you, no matter what you do."
"The last piece." He changed the subject and pointed to the last piece of watermelon on the plate. "Who wants it?"
Wen Mu came back to his senses: "Scissors-paper-scissors."
"That's too much trouble." Song Xingran grinned, revealing his signature fangs. "Whoever gets the fork gets it."
In a flash, the two men attacked at the same time, and the forks met above the watermelon, making a crisp "ding" sound.
"I go first." Wen Mu insisted.
"It's obviously me!" Song Xingran was playing tricks.
"Song Xingran, how old are you and you're still grabbing watermelons?"
"Three years old!" The man said, "Do you understand how to respect the elderly and love the young?"
Wen Mu raised an eyebrow: "I'm old?"
"So I'm younger?" Song Xingran blinked. "Or does Teacher Wen like younger ones?"
Wen Mu was shocked by his shamelessness.
Song Xingran suddenly put down his fork: "Forget it, I'll give it to you."
Wen Mu looked at him suspiciously, and only picked up the watermelon after making sure there was no trap. Just as she put the watermelon into her mouth, the man came over, held the back of her head with one hand, lifted her chin with the other, and kissed her.
The sweet taste of watermelon was exchanged between their lips and teeth, and the pink juice slid down the corners of Wen Mu's lips, flowed along her graceful neck line, and disappeared deep into her collar.
Song Xingran's tongue chased that hint of sweetness, swallowing all of Wen Mu's exclamations and protests in this kiss.
When they finally separated, both were breathless.
There was watermelon juice on the man's lips, which shone seductively under the light.
“So sweet.”
He licked his lips with satisfaction, not knowing whether he was talking about watermelon or kissing.
*
In Zurich in August, the sunlight is like melted gold, covering every cobblestone road on the ETH campus.
Wen Mu stood in front of the Physics Department building, looking up at the familiar spire, feeling as if he were in another world.
It had been almost three months. She hadn't set foot here since she hurriedly left on the day Song Xingran got into trouble. The research report in her backpack had been sitting there for so long that the edges had yellowed.
The corridor was filled with the smell of coffee and books. Several students hurried past with materials in their arms and stopped in surprise when they saw her.
"Dr. Wen! Are you back?"
"Just temporarily." Wen Mu smiled and nodded.
Schmidt's office door was ajar, and the sound of typing could be heard from inside. Wen Mu knocked gently on the door.
"Come in."
The professor's voice was as steady as ever.
Wen Mu pushed open the door. A white-haired old man was hunched over his computer, his glasses slipping to the tip of his nose. The sunlight shone through the French windows, gilding his white hair with a layer of silver.
"Professor." Wen Mu called softly.
Schmidt looked up, his eyes instantly lighting up: "Luna!"
He immediately stood up, walked around the desk and gave her a hug, "You're finally back."
Wen Mu was a little confused. She had thought she would face disappointment or even blame, but now it seemed that the professor didn't care at all.
"Professor, I'm sorry about the project."
"Shh." Schmidt released her and motioned for her to sit down. "Coffee?"
"good."
Schmidt walked to the coffee machine in the corner and operated it skillfully. Wen Mu sat in the visitor chair and looked around - the office was almost exactly the same as when she left, except that the plants on the windowsill had grown more lush and there were a few new books on the bookshelf.
"We've almost finished processing the Kepler-13b data," Schmidt said, turning his back to her and placing the coffee cup in front of her. "Although we've missed the optimal observation period, we'll still have another chance next year."
Wen Mu held the coffee cup, the heat transmitting through the ceramic to his palm. "I can help with the data collection, or your next project. I'll help you."
"Luna," Schmidt interrupted gently, "you don't have to make amends. You did the right thing by caring for your injured husband. You did it well."
"Thank you," she whispered.
Schmidt sat back in his chair, his eyes full of wisdom behind his glasses. "So, what's next?"
Wen Mu spun his coffee cup. "It's not confirmed yet, but I think he'll probably stay in Europe."
She paused and said, "Professor, I have a question for you."
"About your husband?"
Wen Mu looked up in surprise: "How do you know?"
Schmidt smiled. "Your expression doesn't change at all—when you're unsure about a statistic."
Wen Mu smiled bitterly and told the professor about Song Xingran's decision to return to the competition, as well as his own concerns.
"I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted he'd 'take care of everything.'" Wen Mu's fingers unconsciously circled the rim of the cup. "But he's so reckless, so impulsive. He's only twenty-five... How could he really take care of everything?"
Schmidt listened quietly: "Luna, you made a mistake."
"What's wrong?"
"You underestimated your husband." He took off his glasses and wiped them. "In my opinion, Mr. Song possesses the most important qualities of a mature man."
"What?"
"Sense of responsibility." The professor put his glasses back on.
"Think about it, what was the first thing he thought of after he was injured?"
Wen Mu recalled the scene in the hospital: "He said, don't tell me."
"Yes. Even in that situation, he considered your feelings first." Schmidt leaned forward. "And from what I understand, he's been preparing you for your career advancement, correct?"
"yes."
"A reckless person wouldn't consider these things." The professor leaned back in his chair. "Luna, we study celestial bodies and should know this better than anyone else. Appearances can often be deceiving."
"Just like some stars appear dim, but are actually the brightest objects in the universe, they are just too far away."
It seems that it is true.
She has always used the immature standards of men to measure and judge Song Xingran's behavior, but she ignored the fact that he has been changing, changing for her.
Or maybe, in fact, he was not as "young and reckless" as everyone saw him to be.
"You're right," she admitted softly, "I've always thought of him as the reckless boy I first met at the racetrack, but I've overlooked his growth."
The professor smiled with relief: "Don't thank me, it's your husband, he did a great job."
He stood up and said, "Come on, come home with me."
Wen Mu looked at his watch and said, "My flight is at 2pm, so I'm afraid I won't be able to have dinner at your house."
"Not eating." Schmidt winked mysteriously. "Get your dog."
Wen Mu almost knocked over his coffee cup: "Is the gasoline at your house?"
"Yes," the professor repeated in broken Chinese, "gasoline."
"It's lovely, Professor Laura and I both love it."
"But how did it come out?"
She didn't care about anything else and went straight to the airport. The door was locked.
"Ming Yang sent it." The professor said calmly.
Wen Mu paused in his tracks. The clouds outside the window just blocked the sun, playfully squeezing out the light in the office.
"He came to me that evening and said you were going to London and asked him to take care of the gasoline," Schmidt recalled. "But he was going to the United States the next day, so he sent it to me."
So, Ming Yang lied.
To her, and to the professor.
Wen Mu remembered something at that moment, but shook his head and suppressed the thought.
"I see." This was all she said in the end.
The professor was considerate and didn't ask any more questions. He just picked up his coat and said, "Let's go. Gasoline will be happy to see you."
In the Schmidt family's garden, Gasoline was chasing a butterfly. When it saw Wenmu, its black bean-like eyes lit up instantly and it rushed towards her like a small cannonball.
"Gasoline!" Wen Mu squatted down and was pounced upon by the excited dog.
Gasoline's wet nose rubbed against her face, and his tail wagged like a propeller.
"It seems he hasn't forgotten you." Professor Laura came out of the house, holding a dog leash. "He's been giving us a hard time these past few months. He insists on sleeping where he can see the stars every night."
Wen Mu took the dog leash and felt a pang of sadness in his heart.
Gasoline has always maintained the habit of stargazing with her.
"Thank you for taking care of it," she said sincerely.
Professor Laura waved her hand and said, "You're welcome. This little guy has brought us a lot of fun."
She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Ming Yang, is he okay?"
Wen Mu's fingers were wrapped around the dog leash, and he replied softly, "He went to teach at MIT."
"That's good." Professor Laura seemed relieved.
Wen Mu didn't respond, but just bent down to put a leash on Gasoline.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting mottled shadows on the ground. A gust of wind blew, causing the leaves to rustle.
"I should go now." Wen Mu stood up and said goodbye to the two professors. "Thank you again."
Schmidt patted her shoulder. “You’re welcome to come back anytime. Remember, ETH will always be your home.”
"I will," she promised softly.
*
The night sky over London is dotted with stars.
Wen Mu pushed open the door of the villa and saw Song Xingran lying on the carpet in the living room doing rehabilitation exercises. His sweaty T-shirt stuck to his back, outlining the contours of his muscles.
"Wife!" Hearing the door open, he immediately sat up, his eyes shining, "Did you see the professor?"
Wen Mu put down his backpack, and Jiayou immediately rushed over and circled around Song Xingran, his tail wagging so hard that it was about to break.
"I see." She took off her coat and hung it up. "The project is over."
Song Xingran's smile froze for a moment: "Well, what do you do next..."
"I've booked a flight back home," Wen Mu said calmly.
The living room suddenly became quiet, with only the excited breathing of gasoline as the sound remained.
The man seemed to be hit on the head with a stick, and the light in his eyes dimmed instantly.
"So soon?" His voice was a little tense.
Wen Mu walked to the sofa and sat down. "I originally came to Europe for a short-term study tour. After you got into trouble, I no longer have the energy to do any research."
She smiled bitterly, "If I don't pack up and go home, am I going to wait for the professor to send me back?"
Song Xingran moved in front of her with difficulty, knelt on one knee, and looked up at her.
"sorry."
"It's not your fault." She reached out and smoothed his frown. "It's my own choice."
"I can help you find a project," Song Xingran said eagerly. "London Observatory, or the Royal Society. I know some, no, I know a lot of famous scholars!"
Wen Mu couldn't help but laugh: "I'm not so bad that I need you to find a project for me."
"That's not what I meant!" Song Xingran grabbed her hand and put it on his face.
"I just... don't want you to leave."
The warmth of her palm softened Wen Mu's heart. She looked at the boyish figure in front of her, with his messy black hair and earnest eyes, and found it hard to connect him with the image of a "mature man" the professor had described.
But perhaps, people are inherently complex polyhedrons.
"I won't leave until after your birthday." She finally compromised.
Song Xingran's eyes lit up instantly: "Really?"
"Yeah." Wen Mu nodded, "There are still three weeks left, enough time for you to prepare a grand party."
Song Xingran cheered and rushed over to hug her, almost knocking them both to the ground. Gasoline also joined in the chaos, barking excitedly.
"Be careful of your injury." Wen Mu protested, but he kissed her collarbone.
"Wife. Three weeks is enough time to do a lot."
"I will cherish it."
There was a cunning glint in the man's eyes.
Wen Mu rolled his eyes at him and did not stop his restless claws.
She had a lot of questions she wanted to ask, but ultimately didn't.
"Next time, don't bother Alex's wife so much."
The man continued to kiss her gently and said vaguely, "It was my sister-in-law who offered to help. Alex said that my sister-in-law couldn't sit still, so she liked to drive around on the road."
"Seven hours. From Zurich to London. Very tiring."
Song Xingran ignored him.
"Did you hear that, ah!"
A distorted moan escaped from her mouth. Wen Mu looked forward in shock and found that her clothes had been stripped to the ground without her knowing when.
The location of that black head is clearly...
!
Song Xingran raised his head and wiped the water stains from his lips.
"It's really okay. You trust me."
"besides."
"Honey, you're so sweet."
Wen Mu covered his mouth weakly to swallow the embarrassing sound.
"Stop, stop for a moment."
The man blew air deliberately, causing the person under him to tremble.
"I, don't, stop."
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The author has something to say: Lick lick lick, sweet sweet!
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