Chapter 022
At eight o’clock in the morning, Dudu rolled over in bed, then huffed and puffed as he sat up clutching his little blanket. He opened his wide eyes to look at his father beside him, who was grinning foolishly while holding his phone, seemingly unable to understand what could possibly make Ming Huai so happy.
“Daddy—” Dudu’s soft little body pounced onto Ming Huai. Clinging to him, the boy gripped Ming Huai’s wrist, his short legs swinging back and forth as he blinked up innocently. “What are you looking at?”
A broad smile lit up Ming Huai’s face, deepening the dimple on his left cheek. His beautiful eyes, identical to Dudu’s, sparkled with tiny shards of light, making him look utterly radiant. Setting his phone aside, he pulled Dudu completely into his embrace, gently pinching the boy’s fair, tender cheeks. “Someone just said good morning to Daddy,” he replied in a cheerful tone, “so I’m very happy.”
Dudu seemed only half-understanding; in his young mind, it must have been simply hearing the words “good morning” that made Ming Huai so joyful. Thus, he offered a sweet grin, planted a loud kiss on Ming Huai’s cheek, and exclaimed brightly, “Daddy, good morning!”
Ming Huai paused for a fleeting moment before realizing what Dudu meant. Suddenly, his heart felt even lighter and brighter. Lifting his gaze toward the window, he watched several gray birds soar past, leaving trails of varying hues against the pale blue sky.
“Good morning, Dudu!” Ming Huai withdrew his gaze, pressed a gentle kiss to Dudu’s cheek, and spoke in a soft voice.
Gazing at the little face before him, so reminiscent of Ji Tingqian in its features, Ming Huai wondered when he had become so easily contented. A single “Good morning” was enough to make his heart bloom with joy, making everything seem beautiful, as if flowers were blossoming within his soul.
Even though they already had a child with Ji Tingqian, even though the two of them had shared moments of utmost intimacy, and even though they had been together since he was eighteen, a simple “Good morning” still made his heart flutter. It felt like youth again—innocent, elated, and brimming with joyful leaps.
Suddenly, he felt overwhelmingly optimistic. So what if Ji Tingqian had forgotten him? They could simply fall in love all over again. In the past, Ji Tingqian had treated him with endless devotion; now, why shouldn’t he take the initiative himself?
Having a response was enough. Ming Huai suddenly broke into a smile. In the days to come, he wanted to wake up every morning in Ji Tingqian’s broad, warm embrace, followed by a lazy yet deeply satisfying “Good morning,” and then, after freshening up, share a lingering kiss tinged with the refreshing scent of mint.
A family of three—perhaps soon to be four. Ming Huai encouraged himself: it would happen, it absolutely would.
Carrying this wonderful mood, Ming Huai moved lightly through everything he did all day. In the afternoon, while Dudu was napping, he went to the room at the end of the second floor, pushed open the door, and began to clean.
Inside were entirely things related to him and Ji Tingqian. Back then, everything had happened so suddenly; only after matters had settled and his health had somewhat improved did Ming Huai move all their belongings one by one to the place where they now lived.
Ming Huai never entrusted the cleaning of this room to anyone else. Neither the housekeeping auntie nor Auntie Chen had ever entered this room; only Ming Huai possessed the key.
By the time he finished cleaning, it was already four in the afternoon.
Ming Huai sat on the rug, leaning against the cabinet, as the slanting light from outside fell upon the photo album in his hands. He flipped through the pages little by little, reminiscing about their past—from childhood to adolescence, from youth to young adulthood—one album after another.
Every photograph in these albums had been placed there one by one by Ji Tingqian himself. Ming Huai only learned of the existence of the oldest few albums after he and Ji Tingqian had confirmed their relationship.
In truth, Ming Huai had stumbled upon them by accident. He still remembered how twenty-two-year-old Ji Tingqian, with ears flushed red, had solemnly spoken words of love. In the end, however, it was Ming Huai whose ears turned crimson—not just his ears, but the corners of his eyes as well—and who ended up crying, teased mercilessly by Ji Tingqian, right there in bed.
Occasionally picking up a photo and flipping it over might reveal a surprise.
Ming Huai picked one up at random; on the back were written the words, “My beloved Ming Huai.”
“Fool,” Ming Huai snorted, then slipped it inside.
Before long, Ming Huai shifted positions. He lay on the sofa, a ring clutched in his hand, already fast asleep.
He dreamed of many things—of being fifteen or sixteen, an age when one knows just enough to be confused and not enough to understand. In those dreams, he fiercely chased away every girl who tried to get close to Ji Tingqian, like a young beast guarding its food. If he couldn’t win, he would cry, yet still act ferocious. Each time, Ji Tingqian would have to coax him back with stack after stack of cookies and mousse; once pacified, he would immediately call him “Brother” again.
As June arrived, the sun turned merciless. Life became unbearable without staying indoors under the air conditioning. Ming Huai gently ruffled Dudu’s soft hair; the boy was sleeping soundly across his lap, covered with a small blanket.
“Xiao Huai,” Aunt Chen whispered softly, “Let me carry Dudu to his room to sleep. Your legs will go numb soon.”
Ming Huai made a hushing gesture and whispered, “Let him sleep here for a while; I’ll just move him onto the pillow.”
“Alright then.” Aunt Chen turned toward the kitchen and soon returned with some light snacks, placing them on the low table before Ming Huai. “Freshly squeezed watermelon juice—it’s quite sweet. If you don’t think it’s cold enough, feel free to add some ice cubes from the fridge.”
“Okay, thank you, Aunt Chen,” Ming Huai said with a bright smile. “It’s getting late; you should go rest now.”
Aunt Chen nodded in agreement and added, “Just call me if you need anything.”
Ming Huai nodded repeatedly before Aunt Chen finally left.
After more than twenty minutes, Ming Huai, judging that Dudu was fast asleep, gently shifted the boy’s head onto a nearby cushion. He then stood up to stretch his legs before carrying Dudu upstairs.
Once downstairs, Ming Huai rummaged through the refrigerator for some snacks. With his fondness for spicy food, he pulled out boneless chicken feet and shredded chicken marinated in chili oil. He arranged them in a white porcelain bowl, drizzled them with the prepared chili sauce, and sprinkled a few sesame seeds on top. Picking up a piece with his chopsticks, he savored the perfect blend of fiery spice and refreshing coolness—it was simply irresistible.
He wasn’t accustomed to taking afternoon naps; besides, there were far more pressing matters at hand. After settling everything, he hurriedly opened WeChat, only to discover a new message—from Ji Tingqian.
Ji Tingqian: [Is Dudu asleep?]
This message had only just arrived. Ji Tingqian’s initiative in asking about Dudu stemmed from Ming Huai’s habit ever since his return: not only did he send daily good morning and good night wishes, but he also casually mentioned Dudu, saying things like, “Dudu said he misses that uncle from last time and asked when he could see you again,” “Dudu said he really likes you,” or “Dudu mentioned you again today.”
Of course, Dudu had never actually said any of these things. Before their next video call, Ming Huai couldn’t even be sure whether Dudu still remembered Ji Tingqian.
Yet, contrary to Ming Huai’s expectations, Dudu truly did remember Ji Tingqian. The moment the video connected, Dudu’s eyes crinkled into happy crescents as he called out, “Uncle Ji,” and then proceeded to repeat almost everything Ming Huai had previously claimed he said.
Ming Huai typed a few words: [He’s already asleep.]
Ji Tingqian: [That’s good then.]
Ji Tingqian: [Dudu is really adorable.]
Ming Huai: [Dudu says Uncle Ji is adorable too.]
Ji Tingqian: […]
Ming Huai leaned back, holding his phone, laughing silently as he looked up. He could easily picture Ji Tingqian’s expression on the other end. After a moment, he typed another message: “Brother Ji, Dudu wants to see you. Do you have time?”
The reply came swiftly, consisting of just one character: “Yes.”
In his heart, Ming Huai thought, Actually, it’s not Dudu who wants to see you—it’s me.