The entire agricultural machinery station knew Fang Yi was looking for a remedy. A coworker came over and said, “I found someone for you. An old traditional Chinese medicine doctor, very skilled. He can treat many ailments, and his specialty is plasters. Just apply a few, and your wife’s morning sickness will improve quickly.”
Fang Yi’s eyes lit up. This was exactly the reliable doctor he had been looking for. He quickly asked for more details. “How old is this doctor? Is he at a hospital or a clinic? Can he really treat morning sickness?”
The coworker praised the doctor extravagantly. “My aunt’s mother-in-law’s nephew’s partner’s classmate recommended him. Her mother’s rheumatism was cured with his plasters. Morning sickness is nothing, it will be treated quickly.”
The chain of connections was long and convoluted, showing how much effort his coworker had put in. Fang Yi thanked him and, as soon as work ended, rode straight to the doctor’s clinic.
Turning seven corners in the alley, Fang Yi thought that good medicine doesn’t fear hidden alleys, but he worried the doctor might leave early. After much effort, he finally found the clinic.
The small clinic was in a dark alley with no sunlight, surrounded by low, modest houses with a simple, aged atmosphere. Fang Yi propped his bicycle and studied the clinic carefully before walking inside.
The air carried an indescribable strange smell.
The “old doctor,” wearing a white coat and with thinning hair, was consulting a patient who clearly came for his reputation. The patient looked at the doctor with awe and admiration.
But Fang Yi’s heart sank when he saw the exaggerated and glaring advertisements plastered on the wall.
The clinic claims to cure all kinds of diseases, including psoriasis, corns, infertility, gonorrhea, syphilis, and genital warts.
Fang Yi felt completely discouraged.
These claims were also common on small advertisements posted on utility poles.
Medicine from such a place could never be used on Ji You.
He wondered what kind of black clinic Ji You had visited.
She went there herself, and he, as her husband, had not accompanied her. He felt inadequate.
As the “old doctor” glanced at him, Fang Yi strode out, got on his bicycle, and pedaled away.
He still worried Ji You might attempt an abortion. Returning home slightly later than usual, he finally relaxed seeing Ji You moving about downstairs.
She was walking around, and at a glance, she noticed his messy thick black hair and smelled the machine oil on him.
This man was always like this, rough and careless about his appearance.
She preferred clean, tidy men, fair-skinned and cultured, with neatly combed hair.
She had no intention of adapting; she wanted to reform Fang Yi according to her preferences.
“You smell of machine oil, and your nails have grease,” Ji You said.
Fang Yi held the bike handle with one hand, hiding the other behind him. “I spent the whole day fixing machines.”
He stood still, unwilling to move forward, but Ji You approached, frowning slightly. “You also smoked.”
Fang Yi knew she disliked the smell of smoke and hurriedly explained. “I smoked outside. Absolutely not inside the house.”
Ji You frowned. After Fang Yi locked the bike and they went upstairs, she said, “Get the nail clippers.”
Ji You’s words were like an imperial edict for Fang Yi. He quickly retrieved the nail clippers from a drawer.
Ji You took them, lifted his hand, held his fingers with her left hand, and trimmed his nails with the right, removing all the grease.
Fang Yi extended his hand quietly, surprised. He never expected Ji You to cut his nails. He found it intimate and warm, something only possible in a good marriage, something he never dared hope for even in dreams.
He sensed some change in Ji You but could not determine its origin. Perhaps she was affected by visiting the black clinic.
Fang Yi’s hands were long, with defined joints and clear veins. Ji You trimmed his nails neatly, speaking firmly, “No grease under your nails. Change your clothes often. I don’t want to smell machine oil or smoke.”
He immediately reassured her again, “I won’t smoke indoors.”
Ji You tilted her head. “I mean no smoking at all. Cigarettes are harmful to your health. If you die early, what will I do as a widow?”
Fang Yi froze.
Did she mean she wanted a good life together, to grow old with him? That she wouldn’t terminate the pregnancy? Then he need not worry.
He didn’t dare confirm with her, afraid of denial, and quickly promised, “I will quit smoking.”
“From now on, not a single one.”
“Okay, no more smoking.”
“You agreed too quickly. That’s perfunctory.”
“I’m not perfunctory. I’ll do whatever you say.”
Ji You was reasonably satisfied with his attitude.
Zhang Guilan, cooking in the hallway, listened in on the couple and thought: most men don’t smoke, but they can’t manage their wives. This wife manages him strictly, yet can he ignore her?
Ji You carefully filed away the nail burrs, returned the clippers, and said, “Alright, go take a shower. From now on, your body should only smell of soap.”
Fang Yi knew this would be challenging. Constantly working with machinery made it impossible to avoid the smell of grease. But since his wife requested it, he would try his best.
Her setting rules was better than him becoming indifferent toward the marriage.
He grabbed soap, a towel, and other supplies and headed to the bathhouse, scrubbing the grease from under his nails and skin thoroughly.
A basin of warm water poured over him as he inspected his strong, well-built body. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long straight legs, and well-proportioned muscles made him exude masculinity.
He imagined wrapping the stubborn Ji You with his legs, pressing against her, feeling her fair skin tremble, and hearing her soft pleas.
Pleas meant nothing; he would continue to hug her with his grease-scented arms, pressing tightly, preventing her from moving, teasing her until she cried.
Yet when he returned home, Ji You only turned toward him, and he immediately returned to his obedient, well-behaved self.
He stepped forward, letting Ji You inspect his nails, bringing his face closer so she could smell him. “Smell. Now only soap, right?”
Ji You sat in the chair, trapped under his presence, feeling his warm skin.
He was so close that she felt this normally honest, dull man was teasing her.
On the fourth day of rest, a colleague from the radio station came to visit.
Ji You’s professional skills were impeccable. Though her airtime was short and she wasn’t the main anchor, she was outstanding. Proud and sharp, she tolerated no incompetence, and her workplace relationships were mediocre.
The colleague came for work, but of course, some were curious whether she had terminated the pregnancy.