Chen Jia woke up especially early today, her legs feeling particularly sore and achy. She glanced at Xu An’an, who was still asleep beside her, and remembered how last night he had pressed her relentlessly on the bed, demanding whether she would marry him or not. Her body went limp, but her mind remained unusually clear, and she gritted her teeth, refusing to give in. Xu An’an, sweating profusely, persisted like a falconer taming a bird, pushing until Chen Jia finally burst into tears. Afterwards, once she regained some strength, she scratched several bloody marks across his back in retaliation.
Xu An’an was still fast asleep on the bed. With his eyes closed, his eyelashes were incredibly thick and long. Without the beast-like gaze he had fixed on Chen Jia yesterday, he looked like a beautiful angel.
The more Chen Jia looked at him, the angrier she became. She struggled into her clothes, then shoved his shoulder hard.
The push woke him with a start. Xu An’an blinked groggily, startled. “Hm?”
“Nothing. I was just asking what you want for breakfast. I’m going out to buy some.” Chen Jia felt a twinge of guilt for a second.
“Oh, okay. Anything’s fine. I’ll sleep a bit more.”
Xu An’an closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. He really must not have been getting enough rest lately, given how tired he was. And yet he’d had so much energy last night, pulling Chen Jia in for another round and keeping her from sleeping.
When she walked into the living room, Chen Jia noticed that Chen Yue was already up, reading a book.
Curious, Chen Jia walked over. “What are you doing? So diligent. Don’t you have no homework?”
“I’m starting middle school after the break. There are so many subjects, I want to read ahead.”
Seeing her sister working so hard, Chen Jia didn’t disturb her further. She asked whose textbook it was, and Chen Yue said it was borrowed from Auntie Wang downstairs. Chen Jia felt a pang of emotion—Chen Yue wasn’t exactly outgoing, yet she’d taken the initiative to borrow books from others. Indeed, didn’t children of poor families grow up faster?
On a whim, she washed three eggs and steamed them, thinking to give her sister some extra nutrition, then went downstairs to buy Chen Yue’s favorite breakfast.
Xu An’an didn’t sleep much longer before getting up to brush his teeth and wash his face. He sat in the living room but felt he might be disturbing Chen Yue’s studying, so he went to the kitchen to call his father.
After a brief exchange, Xu An’an got straight to the point. “Dad, I want to marry Chen Jia.”
“Are you joking? You’ve only been dating for such a short time!” Father Xu clearly disapproved. “Did she pressure you into marriage?”
“No, it’s my own decision to get married.” Xu An’an said firmly. “We’ve been together for over a year now. Marriage was bound to happen sooner or later—I’m just moving it up. Do you think your son is the type to abandon someone after leading them on?”
Although the Xu family was wealthy, neither Xu An’an’s grandparents nor his parents had ever been involved in any scandals in all their years. Father Xu sighed. “When I married your mother, she was a poor girl too. But she had a resilience and sharpness that ordinary people lack. Our family business will eventually be left to you. Does Chen Jia have the ability to share that responsibility with you? There are so many people working in our company—are you confident you won’t let them lose their jobs?”
“If I had to evaluate someone’s ability before marrying them, why wouldn’t I just marry my assistant?” Xu An’an said. “Do not do to others what you would not have done to yourself. Did you marry Mom because you were impressed by her abilities?”
“Of course not. I fell for your mother as a person, I just can’t out-argue you.” Father Xu glanced around guiltily, noticing no one was approaching. “If you really want to get married, no one can stop you. But I hope you two don’t end up as bitter spouses. Once you’re married, move out right away—don’t linger at home.”
“So you’ll handle telling Mom? I called her phone, but no one picked up.”
“Your mom’s probably still sleeping, ahem. I’ll let her know.”
Only then did Xu An’an hang up, satisfied. Chen Jia had just returned, setting breakfast on the table and gesturing for him to come eat. As they ate, she said, “I ran into Auntie Wang on my way back with breakfast. She asked me right away if we’d had a fight, since you were standing outside the door being punished yesterday.”
Xu An’an kept his head lowered, eyes downcast, elegantly nibbling on a steamed bun. “Auntie Wang goes downstairs for her walks every morning and evening. Give it a day and she’ll stop bringing up what embarrassed you. There’s plenty of neighborhood gossip to keep her busy.”
“So you know you embarrassed me? Why didn’t you come inside yesterday? How infuriating.” Chen Jia said loudly. “Those old ladies really do love to gossip. I didn’t even mention how they play cards all day long—morning, afternoon, and night. How do they still have time to talk about other people’s business? When I first moved here and went downstairs to play with my little sister, she said I was glued to my phone. They really do live their lives in other people’s mouths.”
Chen Yue walked over, shrugged, and looked helpless. “Auntie Wang just likes to chat. Listening to her is actually pretty entertaining.”
“So do you want to move?” Xu An’an asked considerately. “I don’t see much of a common area downstairs, and there’s only one security booth.” He’d never lived in such a run-down neighborhood—the gate didn’t even have facial recognition, and the security booth was basically for show. At least it was a law-abiding society now, not as chaotic as before.
Chen Jia quickly waved her hand. “No need. Why move over something like this? If I moved for every little thing, I guess I’d have to live alone on a mountain somewhere.”
“That’s not impossible either. My family has a villa up in the mountains, with neighbors far away. You could play the piano at midnight and no one would hear.”
Chen Jia pretended not to hear, focusing on her soy milk in silence.
Once Chen Jia went into the bedroom to play games, Xu An’an washed the dishes and went downstairs to buy groceries for lunch.
By evening, when the weather had cooled down, Xu An’an pulled Chen Jia out of bed to change clothes and took her on the bus to the seaside.
Along the way, Chen Jia kept pointing things out—this area had fewer people and was good for playing, while that beach got crowded every evening because of the surrounding neighborhoods. But here there were hardly any tourists. Anzhou had nothing much to see besides the sea, and the water was a normal murky yellow.
Xu An’an took her hand as they got off the bus, and the two stepped onto the soft sand. The sea breeze was especially strong, blowing Chen Jia’s hairstyle apart, strands of hair flying in the wind. She had to face the wind directly to feel comfortable.
After walking a while, Chen Jia had a sudden whim and asked Xu An’an to build her a sandcastle. He said he didn’t have any tools on hand and would build her one next time. Chen Jia wasn’t upset—she crouched down and started writing in the sand herself. First she wrote “Chen Jia,” then “Xu An’an,” and drew a heart around them. It was terribly cheesy, but they were both happy.
Chen Jia spent a long time picking up small seashells in fairly pretty colors, writing the three characters “Wang Xiaobao” on the sand, then sticking the shells on top of the letters. She took a photo and sent it to Wang Xiaobao.
Wang Xiaobao didn’t reply, so Chen Jia stopped looking at her phone. She checked the time—it was already 6:59 in the evening—and asked Xu An’an if she wanted to head over for dinner.
Xu An’an glanced at her watch and said to wait a little longer. The two of them stood there for a few seconds.
Suddenly, a huge firework exploded in the sky. The orange-yellow fireworks looked like a meteor shower, streaking down from the sky in streams of light.
Chen Jia looked up curiously. Red, yellow, green, blue—fireworks of every color crisscrossed in the air, scattering down toward the sea in threads and specks of light. The crowd watching the fireworks grew larger and larger. When a firework suddenly burst open in the sky, raining down the words “Marry Me, Chen Jia,” she finally realized this firework show had been planned all along.
She looked at Xu An’an. Somehow, a bouquet of roses had appeared in his hand. He dropped to one knee and said, “Chen Jia, the internet brought us together. We confirmed our relationship before we even video-called, without knowing what the other looked like. Even then, I had already fallen for you. The first time we video-called, I remember you kept smiling shyly. From that very first glance, I knew you were the only wife I’d ever want. We’ve been together for a year and two months, and there are even longer days ahead of us. Will you walk forward hand in hand with me?”
As Xu An’an’s words came to an end, the people around them erupted in cheers and teasing, with some pulling out their phones to take photos with the flash on.
Looking at Xu An’an kneeling before her—his handsome face, his bright eyes, the way his gaze was filled entirely with the image of her covering her face in flustered disbelief—his expression was serious, carrying a hint of pleading, without his usual cheerful smile. He looked incredibly nervous. Chen Jia knew that she might never meet another person like Xu An’an in her lifetime. It was hard to say whether Xu An’an would change in the future, but right now, she believed he was sincere with her.
She took the roses and nodded. Xu An’an stood up, pulled a ring from his pants pocket, and slipped it onto her ring finger, then held her tightly.
Amid the cheers of the people around them, Xu An’an whispered against Chen Jia’s ear, “I actually bought this ring the day you came to see me and went back. When are you going to buy me one to wear too?”
She nodded vigorously in his arms, tears welling up in her eyes for the first time from being moved.
After dinner, Chen Jia was still excited, her lips curved up high. She held her hand up to the car’s interior light, admiring it—the blue diamond was round and exquisite, sparkling under the light.
Xu An’an was driving, occasionally glancing at Chen Jia in the passenger seat. He was overjoyed too—Chen Jia finally belonged to him!
Xu An’an remembered the photos the event planner had sent over, tossed his phone to Chen Jia, and said, “They took a lot of great photos. Pick one—I want to post it on my Moments.”
Chen Jia scrolled through the photos, both excited and a little embarrassed. She looked like she’d been photoshopped in every single one. What kind of team was this? They’d finished the retouching in such a short time—way too professional.
After browsing for a while, Chen Jia finally chose a wide shot where her face wasn’t very clear, saying, “Let’s go with this one. It has a nice artistic vibe—more aesthetic.”
Chen Jia asked curiously, “Why are you still thinking about proposing?”
“Because my parents have already agreed. So all those worries you had don’t exist.”
“Huh? Your parents agreed?” Chen Jia couldn’t believe it. How could marriage be decided as easily as buying something? And the Xu family was so wealthy—they hadn’t even met her and they’d already agreed?
“I told you, my parents don’t really interfere with my affairs. As long as I don’t break the law, they support me.”
“I’m so envious that your family has that kind of atmosphere.” Since she’d already accepted Xu An’an’s proposal, Chen Jia didn’t hold back and spoke from the heart. “My parents were extremely strict with me when I was little. They wouldn’t even let me go out to play on weekends, which meant I never had any friends growing up…”
Thinking about how the person sitting beside her was now the one she’d decided to marry, Chen Jia continued, “Later, they died in a car accident when I was in high school. So I didn’t even finish high school. The court ruled that the other party had to pay thirty thousand in compensation, but my uncle said the other party kept dragging their feet and refused to pay. I never saw that money either. I relied on community assistance the whole time. When I turned eighteen, my uncle wanted his son to move into our house, saying it was close to his son’s school and convenient for commuting. After he moved in, he said he and my aunt would move in too, to take care of his son. The whole family moved in—the house only had three rooms, so they took one, their son took another, and my sister and I slept in a small room without air conditioning.”
This was the first time Xu An’an had heard Chen Jia mention her parents and relatives. He’d always thought she only had a younger sister—he never imagined there were other blood relatives. Now that Chen Jia was opening up, he silently reached out, took her left hand with the ring on it, and gently rubbed it.
“I felt like they were stepping on my bottom line step by step. I went to my grandfather and asked him to speak up for me, to tell them to go rent a place, or at least pay me some token rent. My grandfather said I didn’t respect my elders at all and told me to listen to my uncle and aunt. Not long after, my aunt called me and scolded me for being a petty, calculating person. In the end, I sold the house at a low price myself, and took my sister away in the middle of the night. We rented several places, but every time, the landlord would raise the rent not long after we moved in—they could tell I was young and easy to push around. And honestly, I didn’t have much ability, so I could only move from one place to another.”
“During Chinese New Year last year, my grandfather sent me a WeChat message, telling me to bring my sister home for the holiday. But I didn’t dare go back. We’d already burned that bridge. I felt like going back would only bring trouble.”
Xu An’an thought Chen Jia had handled things quite well. “Your decision was right. If you’d stayed long-term, your uncle’s family would definitely have taken over your house. By pulling the rug out from under them and selling the house outright, they can only regret not kicking you out sooner.”
“Yeah.” Chen Jia smiled. “It’s nothing, really. My sister and I are safe and sound now—that’s what matters most.”
These were actually Chen Jia’s scars. She didn’t want to play the victim. Life was unpredictable—the person sitting beside her today, sympathizing with her suffering, might one day use these scars as a weapon against her. But as long as she didn’t let it hurt her, she would remain unbreakable.