Mianmian’s voice trembled with emotion:
“Senior, you can analyze the medical risks of early pregnancy, but you cannot insult Jin Man’s character. She is my best friend.”
Jiang Yu’an also raised his voice. The exhaustion from days of work and his concern for Mianmian stripped away his usual playful facade, revealing a rare, hard-edged elitism:
“You’re arguing with me over her? A friend? More like a bad influence! You should keep your distance from people like her from now on, so you don’t get led astray.”
Mianmian’s eyes welled up, but the tears stubbornly clung, refusing to fall:
“Yes, we’re just kids, immature, not as clear-sighted and promising as you, the great Dr. Jiang! But do you think everyone should be like you, calculating every step with perfect precision, walking the one and only correct, broad path in life? I happen to believe that’s a narrow-minded view! You don’t even have the tolerance to allow for diversity in the world!”
She turned and rushed back to her room, locking the door behind her, threw herself onto the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and sobbed loudly.
Jiang Yu’an stood in the middle of the living room, his fists clenching and unclenching.
He realized he had said the wrong thing, overstepped his bounds, trampling on the friendship and self-respect she cherished with his self-righteous correctness and so-called concern for her good.
But in that moment, seeing Mianmian’s stubborn defense of someone else, a mix of protective instinct, desire for control, and some deeper unease had made him lose his composure.
For the next two days, the air in the house seemed frozen.
They began a cold war, not only avoiding conversation but deliberately averting their gazes from each other.
Teacher Zhao keenly sensed the strangeness but only pondered it thoughtfully, not bringing it up.
Until one evening, Mianmian received a tearful call from Manman, saying her morning sickness was severe, she hadn’t been able to keep any food or water down all day, and she felt so miserable she just wanted to cry.
Holding the phone, Mianmian looked toward Jiang Yu’an, who was reading a medical journal in the living room.
After a moment of inner struggle, her worry for her friend outweighed the lingering resentment.
She walked up to him and spoke stiffly:
“Senior, if a pregnant woman is about one and a half months along and has severe morning sickness, vomiting everything she eats, is there any way to relieve it?”
Her words came quickly, her face clearly showing reluctance.
Jiang Yu’an was silent for a few seconds, closed the journal, and replied in a businesslike, steady tone, even concise and professional:
“Eat small, frequent meals; avoid an empty stomach. Try dry foods like soda crackers or toasted bread slices. Drink some ginger water or suck on ginger slices. Vitamin B6 might help, but it’s best to consult a doctor before using it. If the vomiting is so severe she can’t keep food or water down and shows signs of electrolyte imbalance, she must go to the hospital immediately for IV fluids.”
He didn’t apologize for the argument that day, but the information he provided was clear, direct, and useful.
Mianmian muttered a low “got it” and went out to the supermarket.
This wasn’t reconciliation; it was more like a temporary, functional cooperation based on an urgent situation.
But the harsh judgment was gone, replaced by purely technical support.
On the day of the engagement banquet, Jiang Yu’an drove Mianmian to the hotel.
Mianmian had changed into her bridesmaid dress—a light pink modified qipao that perfectly outlined her slender, youthful figure with its newly emerging curves.
She usually wore no makeup, but for the occasion, she had lightly powdered her face and touched up her lips. Her dark hair was tied into a neat bun at the back of her head, revealing her fair and graceful neck.
When she walked out of the room, Jiang Yu’an was leaning against the doorframe, looking at his phone. Hearing the sound, he glanced up, and his gaze landed on her, freezing for a moment.
He had seen her stubbornness wrapped in a school uniform, the softness of her loungewear, and the innocent vulnerability in her sleep, but he had never seen her so dressed up—somewhere between a youthful girl and a woman just coming into her own.
The high collar of the cheongsam accentuated her clear jawline. Her lightly made-up face glowed softly under the corridor light, and the touch of color on her lips wasn’t bold, yet it instantly brightened her entire face, carrying a breathtaking, understated allure.
His heart felt as if something had struck it, skipping a beat, followed by an unfamiliar, restless flutter.
He quickly averted his gaze, his Adam’s apple moving slightly, and only managed to utter two stiff words:
“Hurry up.”
When they arrived at the opulent entrance of the hotel, Jiang Yu’an parked the car but made no move to unbuckle his seatbelt.
“I’m not going up,” he said, looking straight ahead, his tone flat. “I’ll wait in the car. Call me when you’re done.”
This was his final, silent protest and concession—holding onto his disapproval while not forcibly stopping Mianmian from attending.
Mianmian glanced at him but said nothing, picking up her small clutch and stepping out of the car. Her slender figure in pale pink disappeared behind the revolving door before Jiang Yu’an slowly leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes, trying to dispel the lingering unease in his heart.
The engagement banquet was lively and conventional, filled with the genuine joy of a well-off family.
Jin Man, dressed in a bright red cheongsam, smiled with childlike delight, surrounded by guests.
Mianmian dutifully fulfilled her role as the maid of honor, staying by Jin Man’s side, collecting red envelopes, pouring water, and protecting her belly. Watching Jin Man’s pure, unclouded anticipation for the future, the worry in Mianmian’s heart gradually gave way to a complex, slightly melancholic sense of blessing.
During a break in the banquet, Jin Man’s childhood sweetheart—the future father of her child—was particularly enthusiastic. Seeing Mianmian alone and learning that the friend who had brought her was still waiting outside, he insisted on going out to invite Jiang Yu’an in.
Jiang Yu’an initially wanted to refuse, but the socially adept soon-to-be father was too enthusiastic, half-pulling and half-inviting him. Unwilling to cause a scene in public, Jiang Yu’an reluctantly stepped out of the car with a stern expression.
The photographer pulled them to the hotel garden, under a trellis blooming with pink roses.
“Move closer, yes! Hey, handsome, don’t look so serious, smile a little! And the maid of honor, look over here, yes, perfect!”
The photographer directed.
Jiang Yu’an stood rigidly, his brow slightly furrowed, his gaze toward the camera clearly annoyed and resistant.
Mianmian, meanwhile, leaned slightly to the side, maintaining a polite distance from him, her face wearing a forced, ceremonial smile.
The moment the flash went off, it captured a strikingly attractive pair, yet an unmistakable sense of unfamiliarity and distance lingered between them.
After the photos were developed, Mianmian brought one home and casually left it on the coffee table.
Teacher Zhao happened to see it, picked it up, examined it for a moment, and sharply remarked:
“Is this photographer even qualified? He made the two of you look so unwilling—anyone who didn’t know better would think you were being held hostage.”
Jiang Yu’an also grumbled:
“It looks awful. Don’t leave it out here where it’s an eyesore. I’m confiscating it.”