Seven years of dust and frost, innocent words melt away the ice.
Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, spilling into the living room with its light gray carpet, turning the dust particles in the air into tiny golden specks. Xiao Fuzhou sat on the beige sofa, his five-year-old daughter, Xiao Qingyan, perched on his lap. The little girl had her hair tied in fluffy pigtails with pink ribbons at the ends, her tiny hands tugging at his dark gray tie, her chubby little legs kicking in the air, her eyelashes fluttering like two little fans as she looked at him: "Daddy, Grandma said you used to stare out the window all the time, were you thinking about something delicious?"
Xiao Fuzhou looked down at the light mole between his daughter's eyebrows, which was exactly the same as Xu Yanchi's. The coldness in his eyes instantly melted away, and a gentle smile appeared on his lips. He reached out and ruffled her soft hair, his fingertips brushing against the delicate baby hair: "Silly girl, Daddy was thinking about something." He was nearly twenty-nine years old this year. The sharp jawline of his youth had been softened by the years, and two light lines would appear at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. He had lost his former coldness and gained a touch of fatherly tenderness.
Just then, Chen Ningyi came out of the kitchen carrying two cups of hot milk, the white ceramic cups still damp with warm steam. Seven years hadn't left many marks on her face; only her once sharp features had softened into a gentle grace. A beige knit sweater accentuated her serene demeanor, and even her walk had a light, measured rhythm. She walked to the sofa, gently tapped her daughter's reddened nose with her fingertip, and said with a hint of reproach, "Stop teasing Daddy. Your cold isn't better yet; if you run around like that, you'll cough."
Xiao Qingyan immediately wilted, like a sapling that had been dried by the sun. She shrank into Xiao Fuzhou's arms, rubbing her little head against his shirt collar, and said in a muffled voice, "But Daddy's body is warm, warmer than Mommy's hot water bottle."
Xiao Fuzhou chuckled, reaching out to embrace his daughter's waist. His gaze lingered on the mole on her brow, but his thoughts drifted back seven years. He and Chen Ningyi had been married for two years then, their marriage filled with silent compromises. His grandmother, Li Nianci, yearning for a grandson, had lost her former tranquility, constantly subtly hinting at the end of the Xiao family line at the dinner table. Until one late night, when he returned from work, his grandmother brought him a glass of "calming water," saying it would help him sleep. Without thinking, he drank it—only later discovering it was a secretly switched medicine.
The burning sensation from that night is still vivid in his mind; it felt like his whole body had been thrown into a scorching furnace. In his hazy state, he mistook Chen Ningyi, who had come to check on him, for Xu Yanchi. He gripped her wrist tightly, pulled her into his arms, and murmured in a hoarse voice, his nose brushing against the scent of gardenias in her hair: "Yanchi, I've been waiting for you for so long. Why did it take you so long to come see me..." He couldn't remember the details that followed, only that when he woke up, Chen Ningyi was facing away from him, her shoulders trembling slightly, and a few strands of her long hair were on the sheets.
Later, Chen Ningyi stood before him with the pregnancy test results, her expression calm to the point of indifference, simply saying, "I'm pregnant." He looked at the "positive" on the report, then at the undisguised aloofness in her eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed for a long time before he finally uttered, "I will take good care of you both." On the day his daughter was born, he clenched his fists outside the delivery room, and when he heard "Mother and daughter are safe," his eyes welled up with tears. They named her "Qingyan," "Qing" meaning he hoped her life would be bright, and "Yan" representing the secret he had kept hidden in his heart, never uttered to anyone.
"What are you daydreaming about? The milk's getting cold." Chen Ningyi's voice pulled him back to reality. She handed him the milk, her tone tinged with a familiar reproach, "If we don't leave now, Qingyan will be late for kindergarten. Yesterday, the teacher said that if she's late again, she'll be punished by having to hand out candy to the other children."
Xiao Fuzhou snapped out of his reverie, took the milk, and took a sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat, warming his chest. He bent down to pick up his daughter, and the little girl immediately wrapped her arms around his neck, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek. Her adorable voice exploded in his ear: "Daddy's the best!"
Xiao Fuzhou looked down at his daughter's radiant smile, then at the tenderness in Chen Ningyi's eyes. The silence and compromises of their seven-year marriage, the obsessions stemming from Xu Yanchi, the grudges born from his grandmother's scheming—all seemed to melt away in his daughter's clear "Daddy," and the familiar warmth of Chen Ningyi as she handed him milk, transforming into an unyielding tenderness in his eyes. He picked up his daughter and stood up, his steps light as he walked towards the door. In the morning light, the shadows of the three of them stretched long, filling the room with a soft, warm glow.
Clutching handfuls of candy, Xiao Qingyan skipped and jumped into Li Nianci's arms. Her five-year-old laughter, like silver bells, filled the living room with warmth. Li Nianci, nearly ninety-three years old, had her silver hair neatly combed. Her wrinkled hands stroked her great-granddaughter's soft hair, and the smile in her eyes softened the wrinkles: "Slow down, the candy will melt."
Xiao Fuzhou stood there, watching the harmonious scene of grandmother and granddaughter, but his throat suddenly tightened—the grandmother's gesture of handing him the candy overlapped with the night seven years ago when she handed him the "calming water." That candy felt like a poisoned needle, piercing the most hidden corner of his heart. The burning pain all over his body that night, the absurdity of mistaking someone for someone else, and Chen Ningyi's pale face when he woke up all surged up instantly.
He clenched his fist tightly, biting his lower lip hard between his teeth. The taste of blood instantly filled the air, the astringent, rusty sensation overpowering the sweet metallic taste in his throat. Afraid of disturbing others, he turned and strode quickly towards the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, but unable to extinguish the burning desire in his eyes. The man in the mirror had frighteningly red eyes, his jawline taut, the tenderness of seven years of marriage shattered into sharp thorns in that moment—he had never truly forgiven that scheme, only temporarily suppressing it in his heart with his daughter's laughter and Chen Ningyi's compromise.
On the way to kindergarten, Xiao Fuzhou remained silent the entire way, not even responding to his daughter's plea for him to sing a song. After dropping Qingyan off, he didn't go to the company or go home; instead, he drove aimlessly towards the outskirts of the city. As he passed an ancient temple, he stopped the car. The sandalwood incense wafting from the temple gate into the car window surprisingly eased his tense nerves somewhat.
He entered the temple, and amidst the swirling incense smoke, watching the monks sweeping the floor, he suddenly recalled Xu Yanchi's words from years ago: "I want to find a quiet place to watch the clouds drift by." That afternoon, he stayed in the temple for a long time, until dusk fell.
When Chen Ningyi discovered he was missing, it was already late at night. She reported it to the police, checked surveillance footage, and inquired with relatives and friends, but to no avail. Three days later, someone sent to investigate brought back news from an ancient temple on the outskirts of the city: someone had reportedly seen Xiao Fuzhou become a monk there. His family furiously berated him for being foolish; his grandmother, Li Nianci, nearly fainted. Upon waking, she berated Xiao Fuzhou, leaving behind his wife and daughter, making Chen Ningyi a single mother. His family wanted to go to the temple to bring Xiao Fuzhou back, but Chen Ningyi stopped them: "No need. I knew this would happen. I respect his wishes."
Chen Ningyi held the worn-smooth strawberry hair clip, sitting in the empty living room, the sound of her daughter's sleeping breathing outside the window. Seven years of marriage, beginning with scheming, ending with his "departure from the world," she suddenly smiled, but there were no tears in her eyes—perhaps, this was the liberation he truly wanted, and also hers.
Inside the ancient temple, Xiao Fuzhou, dressed in a grey monk's robe, swept fallen leaves from the courtyard. The wind swirled the leaves past his feet, and he suddenly remembered his daughter's laughing, tugging at his tie. A flicker of tenderness crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by calm. At the moment of his tonsure, he finally let go of his obsession with Xu Yanchi, and also of that absurd marriage. He only wondered how Chen Ningyi would answer when Qingyan asked, "Where did Daddy go?" years later. Tiny dewdrops clung to Xiao Fuzhou's eyes, rolling and rolling with time, landing on his nose, trickling from the corner of his mouth, and slowly flowing down the back of his neck.
“Xu Yanchi, after all these years, I still can’t forget you,” Xiao Fuzhou murmured to himself, as if mocking himself, a smile still lingering on his lips. “Over the years, I’ve drunk alcohol, taken medicine, seen doctors, and even smoked, but I just can’t forget you.” He closed his eyes, recalling the past, as if his heart was bleeding. “For so many years, my world has always been marked by your presence. Everyone else is moving forward, but I’m still stuck in the past, unable to break free. Now I’m a father, an appendage to this marriage.” He paused, then continued, “But do you know? No one has ever cared about my feelings. I don’t love Chen Ningyi, but my grandmother forced me to marry her. I made a scene, but my grandmother was watching me every moment. She sent people to arrest me, ordering them to lock me in a room. They wouldn’t let me eat unless I gave in.”
Once, Xiao Fuzhou argued with his grandmother, Li Nianci, again. This was the first time he had ever lost his temper with his beloved grandmother. She insisted on his marriage to Chen Ningyi, and even physically assaulted him. Enraged, he cried out, "This is my own life, this is my marriage! Why should you decide?!" His grandmother ignored him, merely sneering a few times, and cut off his food for the next three days. When he opened the door, his lips were parched, his eyes vacant, and his body swayed as if he might collapse at any moment. Finally, his grandmother had no choice but to have her servants bring him food. In the following days, although his grandmother didn't mention it again, she secretly contacted Chen Ningyi's parents to discuss the engagement. For the first time, Xiao Fuzhou realized how ruthless his grandmother could be. She could go to such lengths for the sake of the family's interests and the generations-long friendship between the two families. The kind and gentle grandmother he remembered was gone, replaced by the blood on the ground. He hated his grandmother, hated how unfair the world was to him, and hated his parents' indifferent attitude towards him. Perhaps they loved Xiao Fuzhou, but that love was misplaced, suffocating Xiao Fuzhou.
"It's also my fault. The two people I've wronged the most in my life are Chen Ningyi and Xiao Qingyan." Xiao Fuzhou gave a bitter laugh, a sorrowful atmosphere filling the air. If the world could start over, since I couldn't give them the happy life they wanted, or even play the role of a good husband and father as they envisioned, then please don't let me have anything to do with them. As his memories crumbled, Xiao Fuzhou slowly came back to his senses, his eyes vacant, his body cold, his lips trembling. Since Xu Yanchi left, he seemed to have fallen ill. He would unconsciously think of her, of the countless sleepless nights, and an impulse would rise within him. It was the aroma of apple pie in the air, the cold confrontation in court, the justice of reporting a crime at the police station—he never wanted to think about these things again.
"An apple doesn't smell as good as you, nor does it blush as your face." "Xiao Fuzhou, this bookmark is for you." His eyes were filled with tears, and large drops of water instantly fell to the ground. He gently closed his eyes.
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