Strange Contracts in the Morning Light
The moment the gas stove clicked open, Ah Yu's fingertips trembled slightly. As the blue flame shot up, she instinctively recoiled—this was the seventh day of her marriage, and the first time she had used this enormous appliance, embedded in the dark gray countertop, on her own. The half-hour she had spent studying the ignition angle in the instruction manual last night had finally come in handy: turning the knob fifteen degrees to the left, the gas and air met perfectly at the burner, like a precise chemical equation.
The rice from Northeast China unfurled in the boiling water of the enamel pot, and white steam climbed up through the gaps in the range hood, condensing into tiny droplets on the glass of the wall cabinet. Ah Yu, wearing a faded cotton nightgown with a small bear patch sewn on the neckline from her university days, looked completely out of place in the exquisitely decorated kitchen. As she tiptoed to reach a blue-and-white porcelain bowl on the top shelf of the cabinet, half a bag of instant oatmeal fell from her sleeve—it was the one he had brought back from his business trip last week, neatly stacked on the third shelf of the storage cabinet, forming a distinct triangle with the chicken breast and rye bread.
The cast-iron pan sizzled on the stove, melting butter slowly coating the egg. Ah Yu stared at the gradually browning edges of the egg white, suddenly recalling his hands as he cut the cake amidst the guests on their wedding day: long, slender fingers, impeccably manicured nails, even the way he held the knife seemed like he'd undergone etiquette training. And now, those hands were about to grasp the fried egg she was making—this realization made her wrist tremble, oil splattering onto her hand, causing her to gasp in pain.
The sound of slippers scraping against the wooden steps echoed down the stairs just as the fried egg was flipped. A man in light gray loungewear stood in the kitchen doorway, his hair still streaked with sleep, a thin layer of fog clinging to his glasses. His gaze swept over the two sets of tableware laid out on the counter: her usual white porcelain bowl paired with his own blue and white earthenware plate, and in the middle of which sat a new glass vase bought the night before, with three pale purple lisianthus stems arranged at an angle, water droplets rolling down their petals.
"Good morning." Ah Yu's voice was like a damp cotton ball. As she turned around, she bumped into him as he came to get a tray. Her shoulder blade brushed against the button on his chest, the stiff cotton fabric digging painfully into him. He took a half step back, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes behind his glasses—at this time yesterday, she was still holding a bread machine, at a loss, the smell of burnt toast lingering in the house all day.
"Good morning." His fingertips, as he took the tray, touched the burn on her wrist. The heat was fleeting, yet it made them both freeze. Ah Yu quickly withdrew her hand, her gaze falling on the unbuttoned buttons of his collar, where a small patch of pale collarbone was visible, like a stark rock in the snow. She suddenly remembered their wedding night, when he had also been wearing a shirt, sitting on the sofa dealing with emails, the lamp casting a deep gray shadow on his eyes, until three in the morning before tiptoeing into the guest room.
The vase on the dining table reflected their images of each other, the shadows of the lisianthus swaying on the tablecloth like a blurred dividing line. His white porcelain spoon clinked against the rim of the bowl, making a clear, melodious sound that startled the sparrows perched outside the window. Ah Yu counted the number of times he scooped the porridge, and on the third scoop, she finally heard him speak: "The porridge... the rice aroma is very strong."
The words echoed in the silent space, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool. Ah Yu looked up and met his gaze, which quickly shifted away. Those eyes, which had solemnly promised to "protect each other" in their wedding vows, were now fixed on her stray hairs. She subconsciously brushed her stray hairs away, and as her fingertips brushed behind her ear, she caught a faint scent of cedarwood perfume—his usual cologne, now mingled with the aroma of porridge, weaving a fine net in the morning light.
“I saw you eating salad for breakfast yesterday…” Ah Yu suddenly started to speak, then hurriedly bit her lip. Last night, while tidying up the refrigerator, she noticed that there were portions of chopped chicken breast and broccoli in the food storage container, with date labels written in silver marker, neat as if printed. He paused in his action of picking up the fried egg, the yolk trembling on the porcelain plate, like a heart hanging in suspense.
The moment his phone vibrated in his pocket, his brows furrowed sharply. The instant the screen lit up, Ah Yu glimpsed a meeting schedule on the lock screen, densely packed blocks of color filling the entire surface. His posture instantly shifted: back straight, jawline taut, fingers tapping rapidly on the table. "Okay, I'll be there in fifteen minutes." As he hung up, his tone carried the cold, hard edge of a seasoned professional.
The sound of the dining chair dragging across the floor was ear-piercing. Ah Yu watched him rush into the entryway, his dark gray suit jacket casually draped over his shoulders, his tie askew at his collarbone. She suddenly remembered their engagement party three months ago, when he had finished a phone call and given an apologetic smile, saying, "Something came up at work," leaving her alone to face a table full of polite elders. Now, his leather shoes were crushing the fluffy slippers she had forgotten to put away the night before, flattening the rabbit ears, but he didn't have time to bend down and straighten them.
After the door slammed shut, the kitchen timer chimed. Ah Yu stared at the half-eaten bowl of porridge he had left, faint fingerprints still visible on the spoon handle. The lisianthus petals swayed gently, water droplets falling onto the tablecloth, leaving pale purple spots, like someone had accidentally spilled their worries. She picked up the plate he had used, her fingertips touching the extremely fine crack on the edge—was it from when they moved to the new house, or was it there long before? Just like their marriage, arranged by their elders, outwardly glamorous, but concealing subtle wounds within.
The water in the sink gushed out, the foam clinging to the oil from the fried eggs gradually dissipating. Ah Yu gazed at her slightly pale face in the mirror, the wedding ring on her ring finger gleaming coldly in the morning light. It was a style chosen jointly by both sets of parents; the platinum band was engraved with their initials, yet it felt like a delicate shackle. She suddenly remembered the day they got their marriage certificate, when the auntie at the Civil Affairs Bureau smiled and said, "The young couple should be considerate of each other." At that moment, staring at the stamp on the red certificate, those words felt even more unfamiliar than the terms of a contract.
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