“I can’t take it anymore, hurry up and open the door!”
“This lock needs to be replaced.”
“Hurry! I’m about to faint!”
“I’m opening it, I’m opening it.”
The key jammed at least three times on its way into the keyhole. Even after it finally slid in, it refused to turn despite being twisted left and right. The boy’s hands were shaking from the pressure of being rushed. After a long moment of frantic clicking and turning, there was finally a satisfying click.
The door creaked open just an inch before the person behind him shoved him aside and zipped into the house. Her movements were so nimble it was as if the person who had been gasping for air with every step just a moment ago was someone else entirely.
Cong Yixing shrugged helplessly. He pushed the door wide open and hauled several oversized shopping bags from the hallway into the apartment, not forgetting to remind her: “Change your shoes first!”
Jiang Ting wasn’t listening. She had already collapsed onto the living room sofa, her feet—still clad in sneakers—dangling off the edge.
Well, at least the “Little Ancestor” hadn’t actually stepped onto the cushions with her shoes on.
After moving the shopping bags into the entryway, Cong Yixing closed the door. He had just finished changing his shoes and hadn’t even started organizing the haul when he heard Jiang Ting wailing from the sofa.
“My feet hurt so much! My toes are suffocating! Ah—!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming. Stop yelling.” He had no choice but to set aside his chores to help Jiang Ting take off her shoes.
As he pulled them off, he warned her, “The balcony window is open. If you keep wailing like that, the neighbors upstairs and downstairs will hear everything.”
“!” Jiang Ting was so startled she clamped her hands over her mouth. She strained to lift her head at a forty-five-degree angle. Her small, round face was flushed and pale from the heat, her bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat. She stared at him with wide, accusatory eyes.
Cong Yixing was a sucker for that look. He explained, “You hide in the house with the AC on every day. Since you finally agreed to go out for once, I had to open the windows to let the place air out.”
Jiang Ting finally realized what was missing and urged, “Quick, turn on the AC!”
Cong Yixing sprayed her shoes with disinfectant, arranged them neatly on the shoe rack, and placed her slippers by her feet. Heading toward the bathroom, he said, “Go wash your hands and face. Once you’re done, go straight to the bedroom to cool off. The living room AC uses too much electricity.”
Jiang Ting sighed, “I’m moved to tears. You really know how to manage a household. Cong Yixing, the Good House Husband—you’re the king of saving on the electric bill!”
As she marveled at him, she gave a symbolic wiggle on the sofa before announcing in a weak voice that she had reached her limit. “I’m so tired. My whole body aches. I can’t get up!”
Cong Yixing washed his hands and hung the foaming net—filled with scraps of leftover soap—back on its wall hook. He grabbed a used face towel from a small, handmade woven basket by the sink—one Jiang Ting had used earlier to wipe her face—and dried his hands. After using it one last time to wipe down the vanity, he finally tossed the triple-recycled towel into the trash.
Ignoring Jiang Ting’s grumbled complaints from the sofa, he walked into the bedroom, turned on the AC, and swapped his sweat-soaked T-shirt and beach shorts for a fresh, nearly identical set from the closet.
As the air from the vent began to chill, he took his dirty clothes back to the bathroom. While tossing them into the washing machine, he asked Jiang Ting, “Do you want to shower now or later?”
“Now, I guess.” After lying there for a while, Jiang Ting’s heart, which had been hammering from the heat and exhaustion, finally calmed down, though she still felt drained.
She pushed herself up from the sofa, shuffled over to the bathroom door in her slippers, and saw Cong Yixing already adjusting the water heater for her—she liked her showers a bit hotter.
Jiang Ting sighed, “Baby, what would I ever do without you?”
Cong Yixing rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. Even though you’re so lazy that only your mouth can move, if you didn’t have me, you could always just hire a professional live-in caregiver for the disabled.”
Jiang Ting threatened him: “I’m revoking your ‘Baby’ status!”
“I was wrong. My apologies.”
Having secured another petty victory, Jiang Ting stripped down right there in the bathroom. However, her request for Cong Yixing to help wash her hair was flatly rejected.
Cong Yixing argued, “Your Ladyship, you really don’t listen to reason, do you? I kept telling you we had enough, but you kept stuffing the cart anyway. Think about how many frozen goods you bought. In this heat, if I don’t deal with them now, they’ll all melt. Do you want the food to turn into a puddle, or do you want to wash your own hair?”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself. Go do your chores,” Jiang Ting compromised. She then broke into a dramatic, operatic lament she had picked up from who-knows-where: “Why must the world… be so cruel… that one cannot have both… Alas~ Sigh~~”
Hearing her burst into song after a moment of silence, Cong Yixing couldn’t help but curl his lips into a smile as he organized the groceries in the living room.
What a little dummy.
Opening the shopping bags, he skillfully began sorting the items one by one.
First was a bag of frozen goods: a specific brand of pork and vegetable dumplings that Jiang Ting loved, Tangyuan from a “30-year-old traditional brand,” crispy pork strips for the air fryer, popcorn chicken, drumsticks, chicken tenders, pure meat sausages, and starch-filler sausages.
Pulling out a bag of vacuum-sealed frozen shrimp, Cong Yixing asked, puzzled, “The supermarket next door sells fresh shrimp. Why did we trek all the way to the big warehouse club for you to buy two bags of frozen shrimp?”
Jiang Ting, focused on scrubbing her hair, replied distractedly, “You aren’t home every day. It’s too much trouble for me to prep fresh shrimp myself.”
Cong Yixing: “…” Have you ever actually cooked a meal yourself?
Mentioning this made Jiang Ting indignant. “It’s all your fault! Why do you have to go to work? Just because you’re at work and can’t cook for me every day, I have to eat takeout. That’s why I’m gaining weight so fast!”
Cong Yixing asked good-naturedly, “How much do you weigh now?”
“You don’t even know my weight? You need to reflect on whether you’re a qualified boyfriend or not!”
Cong Yixing’s voice grew even gentler. “I know it was 104.5 lbs when you got up yesterday. Did you weigh yourself this morning?”
“I did.”
“Up or down?”
Jiang Ting: “Up!”
“So angry? How much did you gain?”
“…I broke 105.”
“That shouldn’t be right. Didn’t I make you a weight-loss meal last night? Tomato, napa cabbage, and beef soup—it sounds incredibly healthy.”
Jiang Ting, now rinsing the suds from her hair, stomped her foot in the bathroom, fuming. “It was a weight-loss meal, but other people eat a small bowl! You made a giant pot of it! And it was so delicious that I ate the whole thing without realizing it! Eating a weight-loss meal until you’re seventy percent full helps you lose weight. How am I supposed to lose weight if I eat the whole thing until I’m stuffed?!”
“…My fault, my fault.” Before Jiang Ting could explode, Cong Yixing quickly changed the subject. “So, what are we having for dinner tonight?”
At the mention of food, Jiang Ting’s attention shifted instantly. She thought for a moment. “Half an ear of boiled corn and a stir-fry with the mixed vegetables and shrimp.”
Remembering her almost-tantrum, she added a token of concern for her boyfriend. “You don’t have to diet with me. What are you going to eat?”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll just have whatever,” Cong Yixing said as he opened the refrigerator’s cooling compartment to put things away.
Then, seeing the packed fridge, he went silent.
Closing the fridge door, Cong Yixing took a deep breath, reopened it, and asked Jiang Ting, “Baby, what’s in this yellow takeout bag on the first shelf?”
“Should be the leftover potato and chicken stir-fry from yesterday’s lunch.”
“And the layer below that, what’s in the paper bag?”
Jiang Ting felt a little guilty. “The little cakes I ordered yesterday afternoon. I saved two for you!” (In reality, they were too sweet, and she couldn’t finish them).
“Wow, there’s more in the back. A blue bag, the packaging is actually quite nice. What’s in here?”
Jiang Ting’s guilt spiked. “That’s from the day before yesterday, I think? I forgot. I think it’s Malatang.”
Cong Yixing was silent for a moment. Then, from behind the fridge door, his voice came through sounding suspiciously full of energy. “Alright then! Looks like my dinner is sorted!”
Leftover potato stir-fry paired with Malatang, with a side of cake for dessert.
It sounded like a very miserable fate…
Overwhelmed with guilt, Jiang Ting thought: I am truly a terrible person.