Wen Mingyao looked at him, wanting to say something, yet finding no words to begin.
She had never been the delicate, fragile type.
But facing Zhou Zhuo, meeting his frost-cold eyes and icy tone…
She felt an overwhelming sense of grievance, an inexplicable urge to cry.
She wanted to ask Zhou Zhuo what she had done wrong to earn his disdain.
Yet when she met his gaze, her throat seemed tightly stuffed with cotton, rendering her unable to speak.
Along with it came an indescribable panic.
Wen Mingyao urgently turned her back, refusing to look at him any longer. Then, taking a deep breath to steady her emotions, she finally spoke, “You go wash up first. I’ll make the bed.”
Zhou Zhuo seemed to have heard something utterly ridiculous. A faint smile lifted the corners of his lips, but his eyes held no warmth as he looked at her, coolly reminding her, “Wen Mingyao, don’t forget what I told you today.”
With that, he carried a set of bedding and pillows out of the bedroom, tossing out only one sentence: “You sleep in the bedroom. I’ll sleep in the study.”
Wen Mingyao stared blankly as he walked into the study without a backward glance, no longer able to suppress the ache in her eyes.
Two clear tears traced the gentle curves of her face, slowly falling.
Yes, everyone knew that when Zhou Zhuo married her, he had been utterly unwilling, filled with resistance.
Deep down, Wen Mingyao understood perfectly well that no matter how busy Zhou Zhuo was, it was impossible for him to have no time to return home for two whole years.
Ultimately, he had been avoiding her, and now he had outright decided to sleep separately.
Wen Mingyao stood there for a long time, until the sound of rushing water reached her ears, barely managing to suppress her swirling thoughts.
She raised her hand, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips.
Wen Mingyao sniffled. Since she was here, she might as well think about how to make the best of this year.
Under the dim yellow light, she glanced around, and upon closer inspection, she couldn’t help but feel a bit surprised.
The apartment Zhou Zhuo had applied for was about sixty square meters, with three rooms and a living room.
One was the bedroom, one was the study, and one he had converted into a simple shower room.
Though the space wasn’t large, it didn’t feel cramped either.
Zhou Zhuo was a tidy person; every corner of the room was clean and orderly.
In the living room, besides the dining table and chairs, there were two small sofas. On the coffee table between them lay a newspaper, seemingly placed there casually by Zhou Zhuo. Beside it sat an ashtray containing some ash and two or three cigarette butts.
Everywhere bore traces of his life.
Seeing all this, Wen Mingyao couldn’t help but think: It seems Zhou Zhuo has been living here for quite some time.
When she boarded the train to join him as a military spouse, she had been filled with anxiety, fearing there would be no place to stay in this military district.
Now it seemed that perhaps from the day they returned after their marriage, Zhou Zhuo had already started applying for housing…
Her arrival had disrupted Zhou Zhuo’s originally quiet life.
A bitter smile touched her lips as she turned and looked out the window.
The small yard appeared bare, with nothing in it.
Wen Mingyao’s gaze lingered on the yard, thinking it would be nice to plant some cabbage, potatoes, eggplants, pumpkins, and the like on one side, and add some flowers and plants on the other.
After a long while, she slowly withdrew her gaze, a faint, unconscious smile spreading in her eyes.
Her entire demeanor grew even gentler.
Wen Mingyao stood quietly in place, not even noticing when Zhou Zhuo emerged from the shower.
It wasn’t until a soft click sounded in her ears that she snapped back to reality.
Seeing him enter the study, Wen Mingyao quickly freshened up herself. Even after slipping under the covers and reaching out to turn off the bedside lamp, she still felt an unreal sensation.
After all, she had spent a full day and night on the train. Before long, drowsiness washed over her like a tide, and her eyelids grew heavy.
Zhou Zhuo had changed into dark teal pajamas, the cold severity in his eyes softening, replaced by a touch of gentleness.
Lying on the single bed, he tossed and turned, thinking of the phone call from his mother yesterday, which seemed to add to his restlessness.
She had said, “A-Zhuo, it’s been two years since you last came home. Your grandfather watches others strolling around with their great-grandchildren every day. Though he doesn’t say anything, he’s envious deep down.”
“While you and Yaoyao are still young, try to have a child in the next couple of years. I’m still in good health these days and can help take care of the baby for a few years.”
He had instinctively refused.
But his mother added, “A-Zhuo, I asked your aunt. She said if you keep delaying like this, by the time Yaoyao is in her thirties in a few years, she’ll be considered an older mother.”
Before he could say anything, she told him his father had already put Wen Mingyao on the train and insisted he take time off to pick her up.
Today, when he asked, Wen Mingyao’s answers were flawless.
She seemed genuinely sincere about wanting to build a life with him.
But he knew all too well that Wen Mingyao was never as docile as she appeared on the surface—and she was always acting.
In fact, she could be called a master of performance.
Even he could never tell which of her words were true and which were false.
Thinking of this, and of the “culprit” behind it all, Zhou Zhuo smiled self-mockingly, feeling an intense ache in his heart.
After so long, she must be asleep by now…
But why should the “culprit” sleep peacefully while he suffered like this…
Zhou Zhuo gritted his teeth, glaring resentfully in the direction of the door.
Then, he rolled out of bed, moving with extreme lightness, and pushed the door open gently into the bedroom.
The curtains hung quietly, a faint sliver of moonlight slipping through the gap and casting a soft glow on Wen Mingyao’s delicate face.
Zhou Zhuo had excellent eyesight. Step by step, he approached the bed, leaned down slowly, and fixed his gaze precisely on Wen Mingyao’s smooth forehead.
The next moment, his fingertip lightly touched the space between her brows, tracing along her brow bone, inch by inch, over her eyes and eyebrows—each movement gentle, almost tender.
Soon, his finger slid down the bridge of Wen Mingyao’s straight nose, pausing briefly at her lips. A faint, mocking smile touched the corner of his mouth before he lowered his voice to a near-whisper by her ear:
“Wen Mingyao, you’re as heartless as ever!”
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Wen Mingyao’s eyelashes tremble slightly, and the mocking smile on his lips froze abruptly.
Zhou Zhuo’s breath hitched. His fingertip hovered in mid-air, not daring to move an inch.
His gaze fixed intently on Wen Mingyao, his Adam’s apple bobbing repeatedly, yet he dared not make a sound.
A moment of silence passed.
Seeing Wen Mingyao still with her eyes closed, breathing steadily, Zhou Zhuo’s gaze grew heavy yet burning with intensity.
He lowered his head, his thin lips lightly brushing against the shell of her ear. His fingertip gently brushed aside the stray hairs at her temple as he murmured in a low, husky voice:
“If you could always be this well-behaved, how wonderful!”
Warm breath brushed against Wen Mingyao’s ear, tender and lingering…