Still waters run deep
Time flies, and the seasons change. In the blink of an eye, Xiaoxi is already three years old. Like a little tail, he follows Lin Xueyin around, calling "Mom" in a baby voice.
Song Zhiyuan's small courtyard in western Beijing had long since lost its original quiet and peaceful charm. Lin Xueyin had carved out a small flower garden in the yard. In spring and summer, roses, jasmine, and gardenias bloomed in succession, filling the air with rich fragrance. A grape trellis had even been erected in the corner, providing shade in the summer, making it a perfect place for Xiaoxi to play.
Colorful building blocks and stuffed toys were scattered on the living room sofa. In the study, Xiaoxi's graffiti—a distorted sun and an indistinct little figure, carefully held down with magnets—was permanently placed in a corner of Song Zhiyuan's large mahogany desk.
When Song Zhiyuan came home from work that day, he just pushed open the gate when a small figure rushed over like a cannonball and hugged his legs.
"Dad!" Xiaoxi tilted her rosy little face up, her eyes sparkling.
Song Zhiyuan's stern expression softened instantly. He bent down and easily scooped his daughter into his arms, letting her sit on his strong arms. The little girl hugged his neck and chattered about what new nursery rhymes she had learned in kindergarten today and what delicious snacks her mother had made for her.
Lin Xueyin came out of the kitchen wearing an apron. Seeing this scene, a gentle smile naturally spread across her face. She walked over and naturally took the coat that Song Zhiyuan had taken off and hung it on the hanger beside him.
"Are you back? Wash your hands and eat. The soup is almost ready."
Her voice was soft, carrying the tranquility of a homely life. Time seemed to have been especially kind to her; childbirth hadn't left many marks on her, but rather, it had enhanced her with the unique charm of a mature woman, as calm as water and as gentle as jade.
The dinner table was no longer a silent ordeal. Xiaoxi was the undisputed star, chattering non-stop, her childish ramblings often making Lin Xueyin burst into laughter. Song Zhiyuan remained quiet, but he listened patiently, occasionally serving her food and clumsily wiping rice grains from the corners of her mouth. His gaze was mostly fixed on Lin Xueyin, watching her carefully care for her daughter and seeing her smile.
After dinner, Song Zhiyuan would have a regular "parent-child time." He might watch ants moving in the yard with Xiaoxi, or he might give her a "horse ride" on his neck. Or, he might simply hold her in his arms, sitting in a rattan chair under the grape arbor, pointing at the stars and telling her the names of the ancient constellations. Although Xiaoxi probably didn't understand, his deep, steady voice was a perfect lullaby.
Lin Xueyin stood by, either clearing the dishes, tending to the flowers, or simply sitting quietly, watching the father and daughter interact. The orange light streamed through the living room, shrouding the three figures in a warm glow.
This kind of happiness isn't dramatic, but rather a profound, everyday experience. It's hidden in the ordinary daily grind of a bowl of porridge or a meal, in the babbling of a child, in the light that's always on when he returns home late at night, and in the tacit understanding between each other that can be understood with just a glance.
The stormy waves of the past have long since turned into vague reefs deep in memory. The hatred and resentment, the struggle and hesitation, have been washed away and mellowed by the warmth of day after day, and settled into an inseparable part of the rings of each other's lives.
At night, after coaxing Xiaoxi to sleep, Lin Xueyin returned to the bedroom. Song Zhiyuan was leaning against the bedside reading a book. When he saw her come in, he put the book down and patted the seat next to him.
Lin Xueyin lay down, and he habitually stretched out his arm for her to rest her head on. His arm was strong and firm, with a reassuring warmth and breath.
"Next weekend, Dad said he wants to take Xiaoxi to Xiangshan to see the red leaves," Lin Xueyin said softly. The "Dad" she was referring to was Song Zhiyuan's father. Over the years, Song's father and mother had sincerely accepted her as their daughter-in-law, especially Xiaoxi, and loved her very much.
"Well, you arrange it." Song Zhiyuan replied, his fingers unconsciously curling her hair scattered on the pillow.
After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked in a low voice: "Do you still hate me?"
He hadn't asked this question for a long time.
Lin Xueyin was stunned for a moment, not answering immediately. She turned and, in the dim light, met his eyes. They were still deep, but they reflected her own image clearly. There was no trace of the coldness and compulsion of the past, only a quiet tenderness and a subtle hint of nervousness.
She reached out and gently smoothed his slightly furrowed brow, her movements natural and familiar.
"I haven't hated you for a long time." Her voice was soft, but it carried a sense of calmness, as if everything had settled. "It's good like this now."
Yes, it was great. I had a well-behaved daughter, a silent but affectionate husband, a stable and prosperous life, and a thawed relationship between our parents. Those magnificent fantasies of love in my youth had long been replaced by this tangible, down-to-earth happiness.
Song Zhiyuan grabbed her hand and held it tightly in his palm, as if confirming something. Then, he lowered his head and placed a gentle, cherishing kiss on her forehead.
"Go to sleep," he said.
Lin Xueyin closed her eyes, snuggled in his arms, listened to his steady heartbeat, and felt the intermingling of their body temperatures.
They had hated, resented, and struggled, but in the end, time, in the simplest way, brought two hearts that were once far apart closer together and merged them.
Perhaps happiness is just like this - not wandering in the clouds, but having a warm home in this mortal world and someone you can walk hand in hand with to watch the long flow of water.
Outside the window, the moonlight is like water, silently flowing over the eaves of the capital, and also flowing through this small courtyard, the happy time of quiet and deep flow.
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