Chapter 17 I haven't had a home for a long time...
Night enveloped the wooden cabin in a tranquil, snowy glow. The fire in the fireplace flickered, casting shimmering shadows on the log walls. Outside the window, the shadows of the trees were stretched long and slanted by the moonlight.
Xia Zhiyao sat curled up in a corner of the sofa, wrapped in a thick blanket, with her legs bent to the side. She was as quiet as a painting, but her eyes revealed an unconcealable weariness.
Zhou Yue came out of the kitchen carrying two glasses of red wine. He handed one to her, and she took the glass, staring at the wine slowly swirling in it for a moment before suddenly asking softly, "Did you take all your annual leave this time?"
He sat down beside her, not answering immediately, but looking at her with honest and gentle eyes: "Yes, a little over two weeks."
“We’ll be in the Hudson Valley for the next two or three days. Didn’t you say you wanted to go to a winery? I’ve booked a private wine tasting experience.” He spoke gently, deliberately lowering his voice. “Then, we’ll go north to the Catskills for a few nights. There are snow-capped mountains, lakes, you can fish, and it’s quiet enough—perfect for you to sleep.”
"And what about the last few days?" she asked softly, as if afraid that a single word would shatter this fragile peace.
He chuckled softly, his voice hoarse: "Finger Lakes. I want to take you there. The lake is huge, and there are few people in winter. It's the best place to see the stars."
He looked into her eyes, his tone casual yet carrying a subtle hint of probing and seriousness: "Would you... be willing to spend this holiday with me? Even if we do nothing, just stay together."
Xia Zhiyao put her wine glass aside, leaned back on the sofa, and quietly looked at him. The firelight reflected in her eyes, and at that moment, her gaze was soft yet distant: "Why do you always say things like that?"
She paused, then asked casually, "Are you that afraid I'll leave?"
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, his tone devoid of any smile, “I’m scared. But I still want to try. Even if it’s just this once.”
She stared at him, remained silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled, a smile tinged with drowsiness and tenderness: "Why does this sound like your dying wish?"
“It’s kind of like it to me,” he said softly. “You always appear in my dreams, and now you’re alive and well in front of me. I can’t let you get away again.”
She didn't say anything, but reached out and tugged at his sleeve, pulling him closer. They leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, the blanket covering their clasped hands.
The fire crackled softly, and the snowy night quietly spread outside the window, while inside the small wooden cabin, a subtle warmth was quietly filled.
The morning breeze still carried the chill of last night, and Christmas decorations remained on the streets, with wreaths and red ribbons at the doorways bent askew by the wind.
Xia Zhiyao and Zhou Yue walked side by side on the main street of the town. Under their feet was snow that had not yet been swept away, which made a soft crunching sound. The coffee shops on the street were not yet open.
She was wearing a black down jacket, her face hidden in a scarf, only her eyes showing. The wind blew the ends of her pink hair, brushing past her ears.
Zhou Yue straightened her scarf, which had been ruffled by the wind. When his fingers brushed against her neck, she trembled slightly but did not flinch.
The Christmas tree on the street corner was still lit up, but it lacked the festive atmosphere filled with laughter. Xia Zhi looked at the tree and suddenly said, "The holiday is over, everyone should be going home now."
Zhou Yue hummed in agreement: "It should return to normal in a few days."
Zhou Yue hummed in agreement, his voice slightly hoarse from the wind: "It should be back to normal in a few days, just like our Spring Festival, only not as lively."
She glanced at him sideways, her tone calm: "You haven't been back for years, have you? When are you planning to go back and visit?"
He paused for a moment, leaving a slightly deep footprint in the snow, but his tone was relaxed: "I'm not going back this year."
"Hmm?" She seemed not to have heard him clearly, or perhaps she wanted to hear him explain in more detail.
Zhou Yue looked at the street ahead and said, "I'll stay with you this year, and go back next year. My brother can go back this year."
He said this in a very casual tone, as if he were stating something he had already decided long ago, as if being able to spend this year with her was something he took for granted.
But Xia Zhiyao suddenly felt as if something had gently touched her heart, like a small spark that suddenly jumped up from the fireplace and landed in a soft and sensitive corner of her heart.
She paused for a moment, then bent down and kicked at the snow on the ground, her tone indifferent: "When your brother goes back, won't your mother ask you anything?"
"Go ahead and ask." He chuckled softly, his tone tinged with a hint of helplessness. "I've said before that I have too many projects and can't go back."
"You usually listen to your mother, don't you?" Xia Zhiyao asked casually, but unconsciously recalled Zhou Yue's mother, that elegant, restrained, taciturn woman with sharp eyes.
“You have to consider the situation before you listen to her.” Zhou Yue turned to look at her, his eyes calm and deep. “If I listened to everything, I would have gone crazy by now.”
The wind suddenly picked up a bit, causing the Christmas tree on the street to sway gently. A golden star hanging on a branch was blown off by the wind and fell onto the snow with a soft thud. The sound of it shattering was slight, yet exceptionally clear.
Xia Zhiyao stood still, slowly raising her head to look at him. Her gaze swept across his face and then landed on the blue denim shirt inside his open coat.
The color made him look slender yet warm. She didn't know what she was looking at; was she checking if he was cold, or trying to find out how much sincerity was hidden in his words?
"Are you not going home because of me?" she finally asked, her voice so soft it was as if she were afraid of shattering the tranquility of the snowy night.
Zhou Yue didn't answer immediately. After a long while, he said in a low voice, "It's not that I don't want to go home." He spoke slowly, his voice low and hoarse, as if he were only speaking to her. "I just... don't want to go to a place without you."
Those words were like a soft, warm flame, quietly settling on her heart. They were silent, yet they sent a shiver through her.
Xia Zhiyao turned her head to look at him, her lips slightly raised, and gently brushed aside the heavy, burning words: "What you said sounds... a little scary?" He also smiled, the smile hidden between his eyebrows and eyes: "If I really wanted to scare you, I should lock you in the house and not let you go anywhere."
She looked down and kicked the golden star that had fallen from the Christmas tree at her feet, burying it little by little in the snow with the tip of her shoe, as if deliberately avoiding it, or as if she was hiding something in her heart.
After a while, she said softly, "But I'm not your home."
As soon as he finished speaking, Zhou Yue seemed to be unable to hold back any longer. He suddenly reached out from behind her and pulled her into his arms.
It was an almost instinctive action, filled with urgency and long-suppressed grievances. He buried his face in her neck and shoulders, his voice low and hoarse as if squeezed from the depths of his chest: "I haven't had a home for a long time."
“From now on…” he said, each word distinct, his voice close to her ear, burning hot, “you are my home.”
She froze abruptly, her arm rising and stopping in mid-air before slowly falling back down. She didn't turn around, but simply stared quietly at the golden star that had sunk into the snow. Her heart suddenly tightened, as if something was slowly rising and then getting stuck in her throat.
The snow was still falling, the Christmas tree lights flickered in the distance, and the streets were quiet and pale in the night. It was as if only the two of them were left in the world, standing silently in the snow, shoulder to shoulder, not speaking, but neither of them willing to let go first.
His embrace was tight, as if he wanted to hold the whole world within him. She closed her eyes, finally reached out, and gently hugged him back.
Even just a little bit is enough.
The snow hadn't stopped during the day, and large swathes of white lay quietly in the forest, as if time had slowed down. The living room of the wooden cabin was warm and cozy, and the firelight in the fireplace flickered, releasing a unique aroma of pine.
Xia Zhiyao nestled in the soft sofa, a novel clutched in her arms. She leaned against the armrest, her long hair cascading down, her fingertips slowly turning the pages, her expression serene.
A corner was slightly fogged up by the stove fire, obscuring the view outside. From the kitchen came the sound of spatulas clattering against bowls. Zhou Yue stood in front of the stove, wearing an apron, staring at the chicken soup simmering in the casserole while intently kneading dough on the cutting board.
Xia Zhiyao heard him muttering things like "proofing time" and "temperature can't be too high," so she couldn't help but put down her book and watch him busy at work from the kitchen doorway.
She raised her eyebrows, a smile playing on her lips: "You can even make dough?"
Zhou Yue didn't turn around, still kneading the dough in his hands, his tone excessively serious: "Of course I can, my grandma taught me. She said that all the men in the Zhou family should know how to cook. It's a pity that I can only learn how to make noodles, I still don't have much talent for cooking dishes."
She raised an eyebrow, slowly walked over, stared at the lump of dough in his hand, and couldn't help but laugh out loud: "Wow, Zhou Yue, a finance prodigy who graduated from Columbia University, making me steamed buns in a wooden cabin in the snow? If I had said this before, no one would have believed me."
“I don’t care whether they believe me or not,” Zhou Yue glanced back at her, a slight smile playing on his lips, but a hint of undisguised seriousness in his eyes. “Didn’t you say yesterday that you wanted to eat steamed buns? They’d go perfectly with chicken soup.”
Xia Zhiyao stared at him for two seconds. "Then I'll go prepare the dishes and chopsticks." She turned and took a few steps, then looked back at him, smiling gently and mischievously. "If you fail to make the steamed buns, you'll have to make it up to me twice as much tonight."
"Double?" Zhou Yue raised an eyebrow and smiled, continuing to knead the dough, but his voice drifted over softly, "Sure, double the chicken soup, or something else?"
Xia Zhiyao walked back to him, raised her hand, and suddenly cupped his face. Her palm was covered in flour, which fell onto his cheek, leaving a small white mark.
She stared at him for two seconds, then teased him with a hint of seriousness, "Seriously...aren't you tired of this every day?"
He blinked, feigning ignorance: "What?"
What do you think?
The smile in Zhou Yue's eyes deepened. The next second, he bent down, lowered his head, and bit the tip of her nose. The movement was light, but it carried a hint of punishment.
"How could I get tired of you?" He whispered in her ear, his voice low and husky, carrying a warm, oppressive quality.
As he spoke, he pulled her towards the stove, putting his arm around her waist. "You're putting a lot of pressure on me," he joked with a smile, but his eyes were intense. "Do you think my technique is too good? Do you need to lower the frequency?"
Xia Zhiyao was cornered by him and could only sit by the stove, swinging her legs back and forth, laughing as she patted him: "Can't you be a little more serious?"
“I’m serious now,” he shrugged, saying earnestly, “Isn’t this like making dough?”
"Weren't you being provocative?"
“I’ll send you both,” he said, nuzzling her forehead against hers, his voice close to hers, “I’ll send you noodles to eat, and I’ll send you some teasing to kiss.”
She couldn't help but laugh out loud, and reached out to hug his neck: "You really are... completely lacking in seriousness."
"But isn't this what you like about me?" He lowered his head and kissed her on the corner of her mouth, his tone half doting and half smug. "You, you always complain about me, but your body language tells a different story."
These seemingly insignificant details, gentle and subtle, gradually outline the contours of "home." No one mentions "the future," nor does anyone talk about "relationships."
Every day when they wake up, someone is frying eggs and making coffee in the kitchen; every night, someone is drinking mulled wine by the fireplace, playing puzzles, and betting on who will fall asleep on the sofa first.
These long yet fleeting moments together felt like a dream extended by the snowy weather, a dream no one dared to break or was reluctant to wake from.
Zhou Yue held a cup of hot fruit tea in his hand, leaning lazily against the corner of the sofa, his long legs stretched out naturally, his eyebrows and eyes relaxed. He seemed to have stopped so peacefully for a long time, and began to talk about his life in the United States over the years.
He said that when he first came to New York from China, he talked about his first Thanksgiving. He stood at the supermarket entrance and watched other people with their carts full of turkeys and desserts, while he only had a bag of instant noodles in his hand.
He also mentioned that when he was preparing for the financial certificate exam, he stayed up for three consecutive nights, and at five in the morning, he leaned against the dormitory window and watched the sky turn from pitch black to pale white.
He spoke very calmly, as if he were talking about someone else's story, his tone flat and without any attempt to create a sense of tragedy.
Xia Zhiyao could tell that behind those understated narratives lay his unspoken exhaustion and loneliness, his stubbornness and forbearance as he endured it all.
Xia Zhiyao listened quietly. This boy was braver and lonelier than she had imagined. As she listened, an uncontrollable impulse suddenly welled up inside her.
If, in the future, every night when he is so tired that he is about to give up, he returns to his house, opens the door, finds a light on, food warm, and someone smiling at him, wouldn't he feel a little better?
She paused in stirring the tea, the steam rising gently beneath her eyelashes, but her fingertips felt a little cool. Before that sudden tenderness could take root, it was quietly covered by a deeper sense of panic.
She knew she shouldn't indulge in this illusion.
But she also knew that what she feared more than trapping him in this wooden house was that she had no direction at all. Her life was far from as stable as it seemed. Only now did she realize that she was still standing in the wind, not even sure where to go.
She was four years older than him, but she was no more certain than him. She had simply learned to suppress her emotions earlier and hide her wavering more skillfully.
She took a deep breath, as if trying to suppress all her unease. When she looked up, a nonchalant smile had returned, and her tone had become light: "It seems that everyone has come a long way."
Zhou Yue sat beside her, his eyes still showing the same gentleness, but his breathing gradually became erratic, as if he had been startled awake from a too peaceful dream.
He knew he should be content. She was right there, leaning against him, quiet, warm, and within reach, yet that familiar fear throbbed like an old wound in the night.
She was so gentle, almost unreal. It was like a soft heart, a tender act of mercy before parting.
Will she leave tomorrow? Will she leave quietly like that year, leaving him alone, waking up in the empty morning?
He lowered his head and kissed the top of her head. "What's wrong?" Xia Zhiyao looked up at him, her eyes filled with clear concern.
Zhou Yue didn't say anything, but leaned down and kissed her again. The kiss was no longer gentle, but carried a hint of urgency and an uncontrollable desire: "Will you still be by my side tomorrow?"
Xia Zhiyao was startled and was about to speak when he pressed her down on the sofa. His movements were restrained yet hurried, as if he was trying to suppress some deeper impulse. His voice was low and husky as he whispered in her ear, "Don't move."
She looked up at him and saw that his eyes were filled with unconcealed anxiety and longing. It wasn't lust; it was a kind of almost obsessive confirmation, a fear of "don't leave me."
She mistakenly thought he was just overwhelmed by emotions, his memories flooding back, and he was just being sentimental. She didn't know that it wasn't just a fleeting feeling; he had dreamt of her countless times in the dead of night before finally capturing a real moment with her.
So she laughed and teased, "Are you sure you were drinking tea, not an aphrodisiac?"
He didn't answer, he just kissed her, held her tightly, over and over again, as if trying to etch his presence onto her.
That night, it was as if he was desperately trying to hold onto her, or as if he was fighting a deadly battle against the bottomless emptiness in his heart. The more he loved her, the more afraid he was of losing her; the closer they got, the more terrified he became, as if if he missed this moment, she would never come back.
But she didn't understand. She only thought he was getting closer. She didn't know that he was actually drowning.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
