As the orange-red sun sank below the horizon, they returned to the hotel. After they’d both washed up, Jiang Wenzhe began packing his bags in preparation for his return to China the next day.
Although the two had been sleeping in the same bed, Jiang Wenzhe had still booked a suite when he made the reservation.
He had always been a neat and tidy person who disliked clutter; everything within his sight had to be simple and uncluttered. So, even though they were staying in just one room, he used the adjacent room to store their luggage.
When he pushed open the door to the adjacent room, he was startled to discover that Lin Sangyu had filled it to the brim at some point.
The bed was piled high with Jellycat stuffed animals, and the table was covered with local chocolates and butter cookies—some of which had already been opened, half-eaten, then rewrapped and neatly put away.
Jiang Wenzhe could even picture Lin Sangyu, trying to avoid being caught by him, crouching timidly in this room all day, on edge as she snacked.
Pulling open the cabinet door revealed an even more chaotic jumble—a dizzying array of handbags, refrigerator magnets, tea bags, perfumes… and a bottle of Scotch whiskey.
Naughty little rascal.
Jiang Wenzhe picked up the bottle and called out in a deepened voice, “Lin… Sang… Yu.”
“I’m here, I’m here.”
Hearing Jiang Wenzhe’s displeased tone, Lin Sangyu immediately rushed over at lightning speed; the moment she saw what he was holding, her face went pale.
The glass bottle clunked against the tabletop with a muffled thud. Jiang Wenzhe’s demeanor grew a notch colder; his jaw tightened as he narrowed his eyes and said, “Explain yourself.”
“I haven’t drunk any,” Lin Sangyu said frantically, snatching the bottle from him and holding up the intact seal to show him. “Look.”
“Of course I know you haven’t drunk it, but you bought it—which means you’re going to drink it later.”
Tap, tap, tap—
Jiang Wenzhe’s fingertips tapped rhythmically against the tabletop. He narrowed his eyes slightly, watching Lin Sangyu with unhurried composure, waiting to see what excuse she’d come up with this time.
Lin Sangyu blurted out, “Who said I’m going to drink it? Don’t slander me. I just bought some local specialties to display at home. Don’t you have plenty of wine in your cabinet, too?”
“Is that the same thing? Have you ever seen me drink?” Jiang Wenzhe retorted.
“You did drink at Tang Lin’s wedding last time—I saw you,” Lin Sangyu replied matter-of-factly.
“…But I don’t drink in private. That was a necessary public occasion,” Jiang Wenzhe said, casually tossing the bottle into a bag. He warned, “I don’t smoke or drink, so don’t go down the wrong path. If I catch you, you can guess what’ll happen to you.”
Lin Sangyu let out a sigh, but knowing she was in the wrong, she didn’t press the issue.
“It’s for your own good. If you really want to drink, stick to fruit wine—drinking too much of this kind of distilled hard liquor isn’t good for your health,” Jiang Wenzhe said, reaching out to pick up a cookie from the table. “Are you taking this back to China, too?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Lin Sangyu replied eagerly.
“Can’t you buy them back home?”
Even if I can’t, I can still have someone buy them and ship them back.
“That’s not the same, is it? Remember to pack them all up and bring them back—don’t waste them. I want to eat them,” Lin Sangyu said with a smile, hugging Jiang Wenzhe playfully and resting her chin on his chest.
Jiang Wenzhe ignored her cuteness. “Don’t buy so much next time. If you want something, you can always buy it once we’re back home.”
“But it just feels different.” Lin Sangyu hugged him even tighter.
“…Well, whatever you say.”
After a few more moments of small talk, Lin Sangyu hurried back to her room to edit the video. Although she might seem unreliable, she was definitely the type of person who, as long as a task could be completed that day, would never put it off until the next.
Deep into the night, the two went about their respective tasks without disturbing each other, each focused on their work on either side of the wall.
Compared to the workload of Lin Sangyu’s video editing, Jiang Wenzhe finished packing his bags much more quickly; once he was done, he slipped back into the room without a sound.
A gilded crystal chandelier cast a soft, warm glow. Lin Sangyu sat cross-legged on a single chair, headphones on, one hand holding the mouse while the other tapped rapidly on the keyboard.
On the screen were more than ten videos shot earlier that day; as the mouse moved, the footage played back frame by frame before his eyes.
Jiang Wenzhe stood quietly behind her, his gaze fixed and unmoving.
More often than not, Jiang Wenzhe had to admit that Lin Sangyu—who appeared a bit spacey on the surface—was actually quite remarkable in every way.
So remarkable that, despite having gone through so much, those hardships seemed like nothing more than a trivial drizzle in the course of life—once the wind died down and the rain stopped, the sun would come out, drying her off and warming her heart until it burned.
When she first took human form—when she saw her claws transform into human limbs—what was she thinking then?
Did she tremble with fear, thinking she was a monster?
When she first entered the orphanage—bullied, going hungry and without warm clothes—did she shed tears and wail just as she did in front of him? Or did she not even dare to cry, grieving alone in solitude?
And when she turned back into a sugar glider again, if one of her own kind tried to steal her food, would she win the fight? Would she get bitten? Would she lick her wounds all alone in the pitch-black night?
Jiang Wenzhe unconsciously raised his hand to touch the scar on his chest—one that had faded so much it was nearly invisible.
So back then, when she bit someone out of stress, was it because she felt she was still so far from happiness that she had to remain on constant alert?
His thick eyelashes fluttered closed and then opened again. In his line of sight, Lin Sangyu had shifted positions, cradling her laptop on her lap as she leaned lazily back against the chair.
In the still air, a faint sigh drifted by.
But it vanished quickly, replaced by the louder sound of keyboard clicks.
Did you suffer any injustices in the human world? Did thoughtless children ever throw stones at you? Did anyone ever try to capture you and keep you as a pet, causing you to flee in panic and confusion?
Jiang Wenzhe had so many “whys.”
But he didn’t dare ask a single one.
Because he knew Lin Sangyu had endured a great deal of suffering—so much suffering.
Yet she was remarkable; with a strong heart, she had weathered it all.
Just like now: even though she knew nothing at all, relying on her teacher’s guidance and her own trial and error, she had quickly gone from being a complete computer novice to someone who could now edit videos entirely on her own.
No self-destruction, no self-pity, and no surrendering of her sense of self simply because she was vulnerable.
Lin Sangyu is clearly a sugar glider, yet she hasn’t followed the migratory patterns of animals; instead, she is a resilient flower. No matter how barren the soil, she remains true to her origins, tenaciously sinking her roots deep into the ground to bloom into a vibrant flower.
Lin Sangyu is amazing—super amazing—and Jiang Wenze couldn’t agree more.
“Hey, since when have you been standing behind me?”
Lin Sangyu had just finished editing the video; her hands and neck were sore. She interlaced her fingers and stretched her arms wide in a big yawn. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Jiang Wenze standing behind her.
Jiang Wenze said casually, “For a while now.”
“Then why didn’t you call out to me?”
Jiang Wenze took a step forward, and Lin Sangyu leaned her whole body against his waist as if she had no bones, her expression relaxing.
“I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“So thoughtful?” It was rare for Jiang Wenzhe to say something nice, so Lin Sangu looked at him with her round, bright eyes, a touch of disbelief in her gaze.
“You bet,” Jiang Wenzhe said, curling his arm around her neck and wiggling a few times. “I can’t sleep until you’re done. We’ve got another ten-hour journey tomorrow, so I’ve got to take good care of myself.”
Well, looks like I overthought it.
“Pfft, you only care about yourself.”
“That’s true,” Jiang Wenzhe said with a serious expression, “so let me remind you again: there are only ten days left until my birthday. Remember to get me a birthday present—you can’t just half-ass it.”
“You’re actually asking for one? “How can you be like this?” Lin Sangyu lectured him. “I can give you something on my own, but you can’t just ask for it.”
“Where’d you pick up those jerk-like lines? I don’t get it. I’ve already given you my primary credit card—just pick something nice.”
Then, thinking of the cabinet full of cheap stuff she’d just organized, Jiang Wenzhe pinched her earlobe and added, “The price per item can’t be less than 100,000.”
“So you’re spending your own money? Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Lin Sangyu seemed to have a weight lifted off her shoulders, and her tone instantly lightened. “Just wait—I’ll definitely pick out the absolute best gift for your 32nd birthday.”
“Did you think I was spending my own money?” Jiang Wenzhe plucked a strand of Lin Sangyu’s hair hanging over her chest, rolling it back and forth between his fingertips.
“Yeah.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Lin Sangyu solemnly checked her bank balance.
It was a gleaming, staggering sum of 5,547.27.
“I know I have a lot saved up now, but it’s still not nearly enough to buy you a gift. When I first found out you wanted a birthday present, the pressure almost took my breath away.”
That was a bit out of line, so Jiang Wenzhe asked her, “Did I put that much pressure on you?”
“Yeah, who told you to be so extravagant? I’ve only just started earning money, and you’re already squeezing every last penny out of me. Who wouldn’t feel the pressure in that situation?”
Jiang Wenzhe summed it up objectively: “All right, I get it. You’re a penny-pincher.
Hit where it hurt, Lin Sangyu immediately flew off the handle: “You’re not allowed to call me that!”
Jiang Wenzhe repeated it nonchalantly: “Oh, penny-pincher.
Lin Sangyu retorted, refusing to back down: “Fine, freeloader.
“?” For a split second, Jiang Wenzhe’s expression betrayed disbelief. “Freeloader? Where’d you pick that up? Do you even know what it means?”
“It means you’re the one freeloading off me.”
“How so?” Jiang Wenzhe really wanted to crack open Lin Sangyu’s head to see what exactly was inside.
He was seriously considering cutting off her internet access.
Lin Sangyu adjusted her posture, kneeling upright on the seat cushion with her hands resting on the back of the chair, and explained in a calm, measured tone, “You called me a penny-pincher, but isn’t that just because you want me to spend money? And if you’re making me spend money, doesn’t that make you a freeloader?”
Jiang Wenzhe was completely exasperated by this sophistry and said, “All right, all right. You won’t have to spend a dime on this household from now on.”
If that makes you feel more secure.
Suddenly, a phone rang out of the blue.
When Jiang Wenzhe picked up his phone and saw who was calling, his expression shifted slightly, and he turned and walked out of the room.
An old-fashioned streetlamp cast a soft, hazy glow; thick fog lay hidden beneath the night sky, and the world was quiet.
The first words from the other end of the line were:
“Mr. Jiang, the final draft of the engagement banquet has been revised and is now in your email. Please take a look.”