Chapter 20 This is something she can bear...
She tapped the unread message; it was a series of voice messages. With a light tap of her fingertip on the screen, the voice messages were converted into text and appeared in the chat box.
【Yaoyao, Auntie knows you're usually very busy and might not be able to meddle in other people's business, but Auntie still wants to ask you for a favor. Yueyue has always listened to you since he was little, and he's mentioned several times recently that he wants to go back to China to develop his career.】
His younger brother is also coming to New York to study next year. His uncle and I are actually hoping he can stay a little longer, at least to look after his brother. After his brother graduates, he can help him get a job on Wall Street. His uncle and I really can't offer much help from here in the US. If you have time, could you please try to persuade him? Thank you in advance!
The light from the screen reflected on her face, illuminating her calm eyes. She stared quietly at the few lines of text. She was all too familiar with this tone; it was the kind of language her mother used when dealing with relatives and elders—gentle and considerate.
But she knew all too well that behind these polite words lay a very subtle power. It didn't urge or pressure you, but it was enough to make you realize that you were being expected of something. That expectation was so gentle that it was impossible to refuse, and even more difficult to turn away from.
Of course, she understood Zhou's mother, the elder who had treated her extremely well since she was in kindergarten, gentle to the point of being loving, and who had never said a harsh word to her.
But the more she realized this, the more she understood the weight of this message.
That familiar feeling returned, a weight she had experienced countless times since childhood, a weight imbued with restraint and silent pressure.
She was well-educated: she couldn't be willful, she had to know her limits, she had to know when to advance and when to retreat, and she had to never disappoint anyone. She was always the option that satisfied her family the most, but she was never allowed to be weak.
She knew that Zhou Yue had never truly had a "safe haven" that he could unconditionally rely on since he was a child.
He was always afraid of leaving, and always wanted her to stay with him. It wasn't just a simple act of coquetry, but a request that he could only utter with all his might.
She did consider staying, but she knew very well that she was not entering into a simple love affair, but into a whole, weighty game of life.
Somehow, she was suddenly pulled back to a summer long ago.
At that time, Zhou Yue was just a boy next door who was a few years younger than her. He was fair-skinned, quiet, and always quietly did his homework with her at the desk.
Every time he looked up and called her "Sister Zhiyao," his voice was soft and gentle, filled with sweetness, warmth, and the kind of dependence and purity that only belonged to adolescence.
That summer, he would often run to her house with his homework, quietly sit at her desk and write, without making a fuss or a sound. The only sounds were the soft scratching of the pen tip against the paper and the humming of the old electric fan in the corner.
After finishing their homework, the two of them moved their small stools to the living room to wait for TV. She brought out a slice of chilled watermelon, one for each of them.
He swung his leg, took a big bite, juice dripping from the corner of his mouth, and laughed without restraint: "Sister Yaoyao, summer like this is so wonderful."
However, their summer, like a book that was not yet finished, was suddenly closed, and when they opened it again, they could no longer find that page.
Later, Zhou Yue moved out of her grandparents' house and moved with her remarried mother into a new neighborhood closer to the school.
They were still in the same middle school, she was in high school and he was in junior high. Their school uniforms were different colors, but they would still accidentally brush past each other on the playground fence and in the corridor of the teaching building. Their lives had changed, but they had not really cut off their connection.
The summer of her college entrance exam year, she sorted and packed her years of accumulated notes and exercise books into boxes, with a thick book on top—a destination for her and a bridge for him.
Three years later, Zhou Yue was admitted to her university. A few years later, she completed her master's degree at Columbia University and returned to China to intern at Hay Group.
One evening, she opened her door and saw a slender, tall young man sitting at the coffee table, wearing a white T-shirt, light-colored jeans, and thin-rimmed glasses, talking to her mother.
Zhou Yue's profile was quiet and calm, with a hint of his youthful self in his eyes and brows, but with an added touch of composure honed by time.
That day, he came to ask for advice on applying to study abroad. He listened attentively as she talked about his major and recommendation letters. His eyes showed a newfound confidence as well as a long-lost expectation. The boy who used to do his homework at her desk had finally embarked on a path parallel to hers.
Memories flooded back into her mind, one after another, from the cicadas chirping in the summer in the family compound, to the boy in the white T-shirt by the coffee table in the living room, and then to the young man who came against the light when they met again.
The scene is like a film negative blown about by the wind, flashing through clear yet distant details, finally settling on the snow and wind outside the bar that night.
Xia Zhiyao didn't know how much longer she could stay with him. She only knew that she could leave Zhou Yue. It wasn't that she wasn't in pain or reluctant to leave. She had long since learned to withdraw when it was time to go. It was an instinct left over from years of self-protection.
But she didn't know if Zhou Yue could accept it.
He was used to loss from a young age. He had survived his parents' separation, the reorganization of his family, and the breakdown of his family ties, but that did not mean he could bear her leaving.
She feared that this departure would leave an unhealable scar on his heart, and that she would become the one who would steal away the last bit of warmth.
But she knew even better that if they stayed here, one day their relationship would slowly deform under the weight of reality and expectations, until it was unrecognizable. This was a pain she could bear, but not necessarily a pain he could endure.
After a long while, she slowly lowered her eyes, tapped the screen lightly with her fingertip, and replied:
"Don't worry, Auntie, I'll talk to Zhou Yue properly."
The door was gently pushed open, and Zhou Yue walked in after taking a shower, his footsteps deliberately light. The bedside lamp was shining warmly, and Xia Zhiyao was leaning against the bed reading a book.
Zhou Yue's gaze softened. He walked over, bent down, and gently pulled her into his arms, whispering, "Stop reading and look at me."
She didn't break free, but sighed, her tone half lazy and half teasing: "You're doing this again."
But she still didn't move, letting his body heat seep in inch by inch. The feeling of being held tightly was so familiar and so easy to become addicted to, so much so that even though she knew she should keep her distance, she still couldn't push him away.
A few seconds later, she noticed that his hand was starting to wander, his fingertips tracing her outline lightly, with an undeniable desire beneath the gentle touch.
She frowned slightly, her tone both helpless and teasing: "These past two days, you've been eating two or three times a day on average. Did you secretly eat something you shouldn't have?"
Zhou Yue lowered his head and smiled, a slightly frivolous smile curving his lips, but his eyes burned like the night sky: "You are my aphrodisiac." His voice was as low as a feather brushing against her, yet as fiery as a flame, falling close to her ear with a temperature that could make her heart race.
She glared at him, intending to feign impatience, but her cheeks slowly flushed red.
But his hand had already gripped her chin, forcing her to raise her head and look directly into those smiling yet almost obsessive eyes. There, she saw not just desire, but a bottomless possessiveness and longing that belonged solely to her.
"Do you know?" His voice was even lower, like a promise made in the night that only she could hear, "My desire for you has never been just physical."
Her Adam's apple bobbed slightly, and she reached out to push him away, trying to sound as relaxed as possible: "I'm warning you, don't keep coming over here. Go run a few laps downstairs when you have time, cool yourself off."
Her voice had softened, and the subtle emotion in her eyes was impossible to hide. Her smile held a mixture of shyness and reluctance, like the shimmering light on the surface of water ruffled by the evening breeze.
Zhou Yue chuckled softly, gently pressing his forehead against hers, his nose almost brushing against her face. His tone was a mixture of reluctance to resist her gentle coaxing and a touch of stubbornness: "The more you try to drive me away, the more I want to stay here."
Their breaths grew heavier, like an invisible vein intertwining with the night, binding them as well. Emotions slowly rose in the stillness, like light snow piling up little by little, until they completely covered the distance between them.
At that moment, his breath and body temperature almost completely enveloped her, leaving her no way out.
Xia Zhiyao quietly looked at Zhou Yue, who was so close to her, but a strange feeling welled up inside her. She didn't resist, nor was she completely immersed in it, but rather felt a subtle, clear-headed, and cruel awareness.
She suddenly realized that perhaps Zhou Yue had never seriously considered how long this closeness between them could last.
Zhou Yue always hugged her tightly and kissed her passionately, as if to make sure she was in his arms. But she understood that behind this force was his fear of losing her.
She feared that the longer she stayed, the less he would be able to face life without her, and that one day, when she left, he would blame her for all the emptiness.
After Christmas, New York City experienced another drop in temperature. Overnight, snow piled up on the balcony, and the sky was dark, as if weighed down by thick clouds.
The room remained warm, with the heating running quietly. The aroma of coffee mingled with the sweet scent of laundry detergent, creating a fine, enveloping net around her.
Zhou Yue was still the same early riser. He would get up quietly, cook breakfast, and then squat by the bed to wake her up. Sometimes he would give her a morning kiss, and sometimes he would give her a sleepy, cuddly smile. Everything he did was so gentle that it was almost perfect.
But it was precisely this "too good" feeling that made her increasingly unable to breathe. She began to suffer from insomnia, and whenever she closed her eyes, the WeChat message, the phone call, and the words she had never had the courage to say would appear in her mind.
Every night, she would tell herself, "Let's talk about it tomorrow, when he's in a better mood, when the time is right." But she knew in her heart that the so-called "right" time would never come.
Anxiety began to seep into every crevice of her life, and she deliberately avoided Zhou Yue's gaze.
When he gets close, she still smiles, kisses him, and even responds to his increasingly passionate embraces.
But she knew in her heart that it wasn't because she felt at ease, but because she was afraid—afraid of missing any moment in the "last few days" before leaving.
So she began to leave her mark on Zhou Yue's life with very small, almost imperceptible actions.
First, the bookshelves. After Zhou Yue went to work, she took out the entire row of books one by one and arranged them by color.
When Zhou Yue got home, before he even reached the bookshelf, she reached out from behind and covered his eyes with her hand.
"What are you doing?" he asked with a low laugh.
"Let me show you the rainbow." She let go of his hand, took a half step back as if presenting a treasure, and showed him the neat and bright band of colors, quietly spread out on the bookshelf. In that instant, she pretended it was just for fun, but deep down she knew that this was a small mark she had left in his life, and even if she were gone one day, this rainbow would remain here for her.
Then came the kitchen. She opened each of the high cabinet doors, wiping the spice bottles and tableware clean. She squatted down and cleaned the dark corner under the sink for a long time until the original metallic luster returned.
I also went to the Chinese supermarket and bought him a lot of seasonings he usually needs for cooking.
Finally, there's the wardrobe. Although Zhou Yue has a great physique, his requirements for clothes are surprisingly casual. His wardrobe is almost entirely filled with simple men's basic styles, with colors so monotonous that you can see them all at a glance.
Some of them were already worn out, with the collars slightly loose, small pills forming on the cuffs of the sweaters, and the fabric of the shirts losing its original crispness due to repeated washing.
She carefully removed these old clothes one by one, looking down at the care labels on the collar and inside, noting down the brand, size, and fabric on her phone. Then she went to the mall to find the same style. The fabric was soft and the color was subdued. It was still his basic style, but the details were more in line with his figure and temperament.
She noted down the places he most often reached for, and deliberately placed the clothes she had chosen there.
She imagined that the first thing he would see when he casually opened the closet next time would be these colors and fabrics that she had personally selected.
She didn't tell him these things, nor did she expect him to notice them immediately.
Instead, he hopes that these details will silently catch his eye on some morning or late night when he is not paying attention, and that he might think of her, even if only for a moment.
But she also knew that this arrangement was more like a silent farewell letter, and every place she polished and tidied up was a rehearsal for her departure.
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