Chapter 8
Mo Daoyan lay on the sofa, reading a German-published science book. Tong Yufei sat at the table, sewing quickly, her fingers like freshly peeled bamboo shoots, gleaming with a pinkish-white sheen. Her thick, freshly blow-dried hair was fluffy and flowing, making her complexion even more rosy. She seemed to have no other pastimes, constantly washing and sewing. Today, she was embroidering a pair of mandarin ducks playing in the water. The male's crest was made of blue-purple thread, its neck was a chicken-bone-white band, its wings were a combination of golden and chestnut, and its tail feathers were a striking orange-yellow, a vibrant and eye-catching whole. The female's color scheme was more plain, a mixture of gray and brown, with a plain, light gray belly. It was almost identical to the one Mo Daoyan had seen at the zoo, and from a distance, it looked lifelike.
Judging from the size, it was embroidered for him.
She's so thoughtful and considerate, what more could a husband ask for? Ninety percent of men in this world would be longing for a woman who combines both beauty and virtue. But Mo Daoyan is one of the remaining ten. She's not sure what kind of partner she wants, but she doesn't need a good wife or mother. He can wash clothes, cook Western meals, and give her leather shoes and sneakers free insoles with activated carbon for deodorization. They fit perfectly and are made of comfortable material. She doesn't have to do the chores of carrying snow and plugging wells. How much better to use that time to read and improve herself.
No one is perfect, and no gold is flawless. If someone is too "perfect", it's hard to say that they are not pretending to hide their flaws. Thinking of this, he really felt sorry for her. She should have been treated like a treasure, but he was indifferent and looked down on her. Unable to eliminate this feeling, he didn't want to enjoy the fruits of her perfection: "Don't embroider anymore. I can't use up all the gifts. And I don't wear scarves."
"It's done."
She glanced at him, lowered her eyes, and put the insole into the water-patterned bag.
"I'll sleep on the sofa."
Sleeping on the sofa for a long time would hurt the spine. In addition, Mo Daoyan had a tall stature, so he felt very cramped when sleeping and couldn't even stretch his legs. She had much more room to sleep. The room originally belonged to him, so they should take turns.
Mo Daoyan closed the book: "You can't sleep."
It would be hard to believe if she told anyone that she was so graceful when awake, but once she fell asleep, she lay sideways, the difference between being asleep and not asleep was so huge. This was something Mo Daoyan thought had happened to her so far, and it was a unique and interesting thing. Even the most perfect people would eventually lose control of themselves, and only when they fell asleep could they remove their disguise. Fortunately, she was wearing pajamas, otherwise the scene of her tossing and turning...
Mo Daoyan didn't allow himself to use his imagination.
He slept in the same room for four nights and picked up the quilt nine times, picking it up three times on the second night alone. On the fifth night, the pearly white silk quilt became the boots in Su Wenmao's stand-up comedy "Throwing Boots", and he could not sleep well unless it fell to the ground.
In the dead of night, when the room was still, a moonlight elf, wrinkled by the wind, crept in through the cracks in the curtains, scattering glittering, dancing silver coins. Mo Daoyan's instep suddenly felt heavy, and the boot had finally landed. He lifted his leg, hooked the quilt up, and returned it, then turned sideways and continued to sleep. Within five minutes, it had slid back to his side again. He patiently got up, picked up the quilt, and walked to the bed. She was lying on her back, her hands unconsciously opening and closing, as if instinctively grabbing something warm. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes were closed, and her eyelashes, like small fans, trembled slightly. She was like a soldier's spirit, trapped in the heat of the battlefield, fighting in a desperate and thrilling manner. The corner of her shirt was rolled up at an angle, revealing her soft, white waistline without a trace of excess fat.
Mo Daoyan bent down, pulled Tong Yufei's clothes back into place, crossed his arm under her neck, slowly raised his body, and with his other hand, he held the quilt and pushed it under her back, trying to wrap her like a newborn. Just as he pushed one corner, she suddenly crossed her arms and hugged his neck, hugging him so tightly that he sank down suddenly. In a moment, he bent his elbows and supported himself on the bed board above her shoulders to avoid crushing her.
Tong Yufei still didn't let go, as if she was trapped in a nightmare, grabbing a life-saving piece of driftwood, hunched over and pressed against him. Mo Daoyan noticed that she was sweating, and the wet hair at her temples stuck to his face. In order to prevent her from catching a cold, he jumped on her, straddling her legs with his knees, and put her down. He bent down and pressed his body against her, with the quilt draped over her back, spreading it as far as possible to cover her tightly.
He raised his hand and patted her shoulder: "Wake up."
She murmured in a half-awake state: "Dad..."
"Tong Yufei!"
Mo Daoyan called out a few times but to no avail. He used a little force to pry her arms free. Tong Yufei groaned in pain and opened her eyes. Her tense body softened. Her hands slid from Mo Daoyan's broad back to his strong shoulders. He looked gentle and refined, but he was not a weak scholar. He liked all kinds of ball sports and was proficient in tennis and ice hockey. He also learned boxing from his German roommate. Every strong and tight muscle was the result of years of exercise.
She couldn't see his expression. His solid figure blocked the faint light source. The surroundings were dim and she could only feel his hot breath on her face. She was not surprised or panicked. Their posture was ambiguous, but that man was Mo Daoyan. He had no improper thoughts about her and would not have any bad intentions. Even if he did, given their relationship, he would not need to be sneaky.
His next words indirectly confirmed her speculation: "Can you take your hand away?"
Fortunately, he didn't let the light in, so her blushing face escaped: "Did I kick the quilt?"
He brushed away the long hair that was tangled around his lips: "As you can see."
Tong Yufei moved his hand away and sincerely apologized to him: "I'm sorry."
He uncovered the quilt and returned to the sofa bed: "Go back and see dad if you miss him."
Tong Yufei's voice was as soft as a mosquito's: "It's not him."
This simple answer was profound, hiding an unspeakable helplessness. Mo Daoyan didn't ask any further. She wanted to say that he would listen attentively, and if she didn't say anything, he wouldn't pry into other people's privacy. Compared with these, how can new products break through the impact of foreign capital, how can they use backhand interceptions to suppress Qiao Zhuocheng's high-pressure balls... all take up more brain capacity.
He just wants to sleep and wait for new challenges tomorrow.
Tong Yufei caught a cold and sneezed, "Can you turn on the light?"
The switch was on Mo Daoyan's left hand side, and he could reach it with just one hand. With a "click", a bright white light shot out from the ceiling-mounted fluorescent tube, breaking through the dimness of the room. Tong Yufei got off the bed, folded the quilt and stuffed it into the square on the right side of the wardrobe. She moved a chair and placed it between the wardrobe and the sofa. She stood on tiptoe and rummaged through the things on the top panel of the wardrobe. Her pajamas were made of thin fruit green linen fabric, with fishtail pleats six or seven centimeters long at the trouser legs. Her smooth and white ankles were intermittently drawing beautiful arcs.
On the top panel of the wardrobe were five or six quilts and two bundles, covered with a light blue cotton cloth. Tong Yufei untied the cotton cloth and took out the cream-colored bundle inside. The bundle was heavy and big, and she pulled it out too hard. Her feet suddenly slipped and she fell off the chair with the bundle. Seeing this, Mo Daoyan turned over and sat up. With lightning speed, he opened his arms and caught her firmly.
Tong Yufei's bag rolled off the sofa and onto the floor, and Renze fell half-sideways into Mo Daoyan's arms. It was a close call, but it was a sudden commotion. Mo Daoyan was caught off guard, one hand wrapped around her waist, the other hand firmly clasped across her chest, a stream of warmth flowing through the silk fabric to his palm. In her haste, she made a mistake, blushing as she went to pick up the bag, forgetting to say "thank you". When she suppressed the embarrassment that welled up in her heart and wanted to say thank you, she caught a glimpse of the faint smile on his lips.
She asked back, "What are you laughing at?"
Mo Daoyan saw it clearly. As she nodded and lowered her brows, a subtle hint of anger shone through her. The 45-degree water finally revealed some of its original state, the residual warmth of boiling water after cooling down. The tiny ripples it created were like the suppressed anger after being slighted. He leaned back on his goose down pillow, his arms folded behind his head, a playful smile in his eyes: "Am I laughing?"
"Laughed."
"Just laugh if you want to."
"What are you laughing at? Why are you laughing?"
"Miss Tong is the best at smiling at people. Why is that?"
"Changing the subject, are you guilty?"
"Laughing is a thief, aren't you the thief crying thief?"
He and she were exchanging sharp words, and that faint smile still remained on the corner of his mouth, like a blazing light, stinging her.
She bit her lips that were twitching with anger: "Do you think I'm seducing you?"
"I didn't say that."
"You think so."
"It's too sensitive to be happy from the heart."
She pulled out a quilt from her bag. It was a sleeping bag made from two quilts sewn together, with sleeves sewn on the sides and a zipper in the middle to prevent kicking the quilt. The sleeping bag was too ugly and took up space, and since it was hers, she'd put it away when he arrived and used a regular quilt. Whether they had separate beds or separate quilts was up to him. Now that she knew he was going to sleep in separate beds, and she didn't want to disturb his rest, she took it out and used it. However, because of her unnecessary "mistake," it became evidence of a conspiracy. How could she have such magical powers, calculated every step carefully, and deliberately bumped into his hand?
It was her who was touched, but he still smiled like that, as if she was a prostitute, or the kind he looked down upon. Tong Yufei returned to the bed dejectedly and crawled into the sleeping bag. There was not a sound in the silent night.
After a long while, her stubborn voice rang out in the darkness: "I didn't seduce you. You are very good, but not everyone is Miss Chen Ruchao."
Mo Daoyan's eyes narrowed: "You are indeed not her. Her IQ is higher than yours, but she is not as smart as you."
A few days ago, he even thought of describing her as "big-breasted and brainless", which was the biggest misunderstanding of her. Some people are wise but appear foolish, while some people's foolishness is that they exactly meet other people's expectations and can handle it with ease. Foolishness is just a protective color.
Perhaps the word he wanted to use was shrewd, because the blatant mockery was replaced by cleverness. Tong Yufei hummed back, "When it comes to intelligence, you admit to being second, and no one dares to claim to be first."
"If I admit to being second, I'll just be called hypocritical."
He was clever, and he immediately put on airs, skillfully turning her serious protest into a farce. Though she wasn't exactly tongue-tied, she couldn't gain any advantage over the more skilled Mo Daoyan, nor would she gain any tangible benefits even if she did. What would become of a falling out? Would he be forced to concede defeat, or would she be able to prove her resolve by divorcing him? They say one should judge a person by their actions, not their hearts. She was the one who wanted to marry him, the one who wanted to be married. Whether it was her heart or her actions, she couldn't leave him. At seventeen, she had the audacity to kiss him in a movie theater and beg him to marry her. So, when he wanted a divorce, why wouldn't she assume she was using some seductive tricks to keep him, even within the confines of a legal marriage?
What happened? How could she lose her composure like this? It was just a smile. She shouldn't have lost her temper. If she lost the big picture because of a small thing, she couldn't forgive herself.
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