Here is the translation of the chapter into English:
Chapter 10
We went out for an evening stroll and bought an ice cream. We didn’t check the price list first—it was 25 yuan a scoop. We looked at each other, and both of us saw the same two words in the other’s eyes: “So expensive.
But since it was so pricey, we obviously had to buy two to try! We got one vanilla and one lemon. Miss Y took them from the clerk, scooped up a bit of vanilla, and fed it to me, asking how it tasted. I said it was excellent. Miss Y tried it too and agreed it was amazing.
So, we ended up buying four more scoops: chocolate, green grape, strawberry, and blueberry. By the time we finished, our teeth felt like they were freezing, but we were both marveling at how delicious it was. Indeed, there’s a reason for a high price. We’ll definitely buy more next time we pass by.
Miss Y doesn’t like to drink water. I’ve changed her water bottles and even made her “little sweet waters” (flavored drinks), but she still doesn’t want it.
Sometimes when I see her lips chapped to the point of bleeding, I get more worked up than she does. Later, I started sending her messages and calling her to remind her to drink water, which finally helped.
But her lips were still bleeding, so I bought her many different flavored lip balms. She didn’t like any of them, claiming they felt too greasy and uncomfortable. There was no other way; I had to wait until she fell asleep at night to secretly apply it for her, and then again when she woke up early.
After keeping this up for a while, Miss Y looked in the mirror and said, “Hey, my lips haven’t been bleeding lately.” I thought to myself, Well, of course, otherwise all my efforts over the past few days would have been for nothing.
Miss Y recently became obsessed with mint-scented products. The snacks, aromatherapy, body wash, shampoo, laundry detergent, and body lotion at home were all switched to mint. Being at home started to feel consistently cold.
At night, I hugged Miss Y and tried to negotiate if we could change them back, saying it was a bit strange that everything smelled like mint. Miss Y just said, “We’ll change them once we finish using these.” I couldn’t stand the smell of mint, so I had to resort to “strong-arm” tactics.
“Are you busy with work tomorrow?” “It’s alright, why?” “No reason.”
I knew Miss Y wouldn’t agree, so I decided to let her experience the “mint sensation.” I fished out the thing I bought earlier today from the nightstand…
Lights out—
The next day, Miss Y bought new household supplies and switched to other scents.
After she started working, Miss Y rarely dyed her hair. Even if she did, it was only brown or other very light colors; she wouldn’t do the eye-catching colors she had in college anymore. When I asked her why, she always said calmly, “It’s work now; dyeing it flashy colors always attracts too much attention.”
Miss Y has a pair of very intricate, heavy earrings shaped like fuchsia flowers. Every time she wears them, her ears turn red from the weight. I asked her why she kept wearing them if they hurt. Miss Y said, “Because I like them.”
Later, I had a custom pair made in the same style but lighter in weight. When Miss Y received them, she was pleasantly surprised and asked why I suddenly had them made. I said, “I can’t bear to see you in pain.” Hearing this, Miss Y just looked at me and smiled—a faint smile, but the love for me welled up in her eyes, forming an ocean of its own.
In the evening, someone came to the neighborhood selling roasted sweet potatoes for six yuan each. I originally planned to share one with Miss Y, but when I got home and broke it open, it was charred inside. I was annoyed and went to find the vendor, but since it was a mobile stall, they were already gone by the time I got back.
I was feeling a bit grumpy. When Miss Y came home from work and saw me sitting in the chair sulking, she came over, cupped my face, and asked what was wrong. I told her I bought a sweet potato, but the vendor gave me a burnt one, costing me six yuan, and I didn’t get to eat anything.
“Oh my, that vendor is so unreasonable! Where did you buy it? I’ll go find him tomorrow.” “Just at the entrance downstairs, but he’s gone now. I don’t know if he’ll be back tomorrow.” “It’s fine, I don’t really like roasted sweet potatoes anyway.”
“But I want to eat one.” “Then I’ll buy you two tomorrow, okay?” “No.” “How about I take you out to eat tomorrow?” “Hmm…” “How about mushroom hotpot?” “Okay.” “Oh, my baby is so easy to coax! Then I’ll take you for mushroom hotpot tomorrow. I’ll come home early, and I’ll take you to the new place that just opened.” “Okay.”
Since meeting Miss Y, the tears I shed are only those of happiness. Studies going smoothly, career success, a beautiful relationship—how lucky I am. I only pray for peace and safety for my lover; I don’t ask for a long life, I only ask that we share the same couch in life and the same grave in death.
I bought a hat shaped like cat ears. When we went out, I looked at our shadow on the ground, held Miss Y’s hand, and asked if the shadow looked like a little cat. Miss Y thought about it seriously and said, “No.” “I think it looks a lot like one!” “The hat doesn’t look like a cat; you look more like a little cat.” “Aww~” I felt unexpectedly shy. Miss Y really knows how to say sweet things.
It was 10:00 PM and we hadn’t slept yet. My stomach was full, the bedding was warm and freshly changed, carrying a faint floral scent. Beside me was my fragrant wife who had just showered. I laughed out loud to the sky—what a wonderful night life! I turned to hug my wife’s waist; her little belly felt soft. I held her tight and took a deep breath of her hair’s scent. Hehe~ Looking straight ahead, I saw my wife’s beauty; looking down, I saw the “fringe benefits” she gave me. I buried my head in her neck and called her name; she responded gently, her hands patting my back. Like this, we slowly drifted off to sleep.
When I post my novels online, some people scold me, saying they aren’t good or lack depth. But when I show them to Miss Y, she only praises me—calling me a great literary giant, a master writer, saying I am the best in the world, peerless and unique.
Now, the first thing I do when I write isn’t to send it to my editor, but to let Miss Y see it first. After reading, she praises my prose as brilliant, making me feel like I’m floating. It seems that in Miss Y’s eyes, I am the most perfect person.
I wanted to play with fireworks and mentioned it to Miss Y. The next day after work, she brought home a box of sparklers and took me to the lakeside in the suburbs to light them. Fireworks are fleeting, but our love is immortal.
Miss Y bought a box of strawberries. When she got home, I was in the middle of a burst of inspiration, writing, so I told her to eat first. After I finished writing, I opened the door and found her watching the TV on mute. I looked at the table—the food was untouched.
I asked her why she hadn’t eaten. Miss Y said she was waiting for me. I went to wash my hands, sat down with her, and chatted about the fun things that happened today. I remembered that I had taken a picture of a bear-shaped cloud, so I went to the study to get my phone to show her.
After seeing it, she praised me for having a heart that discovers the beauty of life. I asked Miss Y how her day at the office was, and she said it was the same as usual, nothing special. After chatting about life and work, we talked about the food. Miss Y said the broccoli I stir-fried today was especially delicious. After eating, Miss Y went to the kitchen and brought out the washed fruit. I ate two or three, but inspiration struck again, so I went to the study to write, telling her to eat first.
When I came out, Miss Y was in the bathroom showering. I went to clear the table and discovered it had already been cleaned. There was one plate left—it was the strawberries Miss Y had left for me.
They were all large, plump, and red. I knew immediately: she must have eaten the ugly, small ones herself and left the best ones for me. Miss Y always treats me so well in these little daily details: she lets me walk on the inside of the sidewalk, lets me choose the best items, lets me use the expensive things first, and always feeds me the first bite of anything delicious.
I’ve realized that in love, I really haven’t done enough—not even one percent of what Miss Y does for me. Miss Y really loves me so much, and I have no way to repay her. I hope time passes slowly so I can take care of her a little more.
We scrolled past a yellow joke, and both of us burst out laughing. After laughing, we pointed at each other and said in unison: “Eww~ you pervert!”
Miss Y’s project proposal was rejected by the client twelve times; my novel was rejected by my editor ten times. At night, we cried into each other’s shoulders, singing, “Ah ah ah ah, fate! Why do you torture me so?” After singing, we continued to work on the proposal and write the novel—two poor, struggling souls.
Writing is my passion, but at first, it wasn’t my main career. I studied engineering mechanics in college, but after graduation, I could only find a job in my hometown paying 5,000 yuan a month. Later, I came to be by Miss Y’s side and found a high-paying job, but then the company ran into problems and I was laid off. I had published one novel, which was enough to live on for a bit, bringing in a little money each month. It was probably less than Miss Y’s, so she discussed it with me: why didn’t I stay home and focus on writing, while she took care of the household expenses? I had always been a homebody, so I agreed. I began to write with focus and published several more novels. Miss Y praised me, saying I have the exterior of a science student but the heart of an arts student.
I hate socializing. I prefer to stay alone and don’t like chatting with strangers. Back in high school, every time I went on a date with Miss Y, we’d run into classmates, and I wouldn’t want to greet them. But Miss Y would always greet them with a smile and ask me to do the same. I would greet them with a “stiff” face and then drag Miss Y away. Every time she was dragged away, she wouldn’t make a fuss; she’d just tease me, asking if I was still a little kid and why I hated chatting so much. I told her, “I just don’t want to talk to them. We aren’t that close. The more I talk to them, the less time you get to talk to me. Can’t we talk to them when we’re at school?” Miss Y would rub my face, helpless but doting, saying, “Alright, alright.”
In the winter, I love eating papadakan (a type of tangerine). They are super expensive at the supermarket, so I’m always reluctant to buy them. After Miss Y found out I loved them, she would buy me tons every winter. Later, I ended up getting mouth ulcers from eating so many, but I still wanted more. Once Miss Y found out, she started controlling how many I could eat. Each time, I had to beg her for a long time before she’d let me have one. When I tell others about this, they say I’m henpecked. I tell them they don’t understand the joy of being “managed” by one’s wife. My friends say that, actually, I’m just a “repressed” woman.
In high school, I’d take Miss Y to the night market at night to be romantic. Since it was a small town, there wasn’t anything fancy to eat, so we’d always buy two sausages, three skewers of squid, and an egg puff. We’d find a spot to park the electric bike, sit on the seat, eat the snacks, and chat about the day. As we talked, if the mood was right, I’d sneak a kiss on Miss Y’s cheek. I don’t know if it was the scent of her skincare or her natural fragrance, but every time I kissed her, my mouth would smell like that too. Miss Y said it was actually the smell of the night market and told me not to kiss her right after eating greasy food, like kissing her with the taste of grilled squid. I was like, Wait? Did I suddenly evolve into a different species?
During winter break, we went on a date, and I bought her a candied strawberry skewer (tanghulu). She ate it so happily, which made me happy too. While eating, Miss Y suddenly let out an “Ah!” I was startled, thinking the tanghulu tasted bad, but it turned out she’d bitten her tongue. She stuck her tongue out to show me the blood. “Hey, don’t eat so fast next time! How about I take you for barbecue? Biting your tongue means you’re craving meat.” “Okay, okay! Let’s go to the restaurant first, then buy milk tea. I haven’t had milk tea in so long.” “Fine, let’s go.” Thinking back on those “green” years, I still feel that time was peaceful and everything was happy.
Back in high school, I often studied with Miss Y, sometimes at her house, sometimes at mine. At noon after eating, our bodies would still be warm, and we’d lie on the bed chatting about school gossip. Before we knew it, we’d both fall asleep. When I woke up earlier than her and looked at her silly, adorable sleeping face, I posted to my WeChat Moments for the first time in years. I used a line from a song: “I want to see you smile, I want to see you make trouble, I want to hold you in my arms.” To this day, that post is still pinned to the top of my profile. Every time I scroll to it, I am pulled back to the warmth and happiness of that day.
Miss Y is so, so kind. She speaks softly and gently, has no malicious thoughts, and doesn’t fight with others. Even if she gets into an argument, she can’t win, so she just goes home and cries. Since being with her, I’ve always been pampered. When we go for walks, I walk on the inside while she protects me. She always gives me the first bite of anything good, remembers the things I like, and buys me things I’m reluctant to buy for myself while she uses old things. She notices my moods the moment I’m sad or upset, gives me a warm hug to comfort me, and stands in front of me to help me block the things I want to avoid so I can have a short break. Even when I couldn’t find a job or was laid off, she supported me and took such good care of me. How could anyone not love such a wonderful Miss Y?
Miss Y went on a business trip to another city. She passed by a stall selling cotton candy and bought a panda-shaped one. After eating it, she took a photo for me and said this panda looked like me. I asked, “Where’s the panda?” She said, “I ate it.” So how would I know if it looked like me? Miss Y said, “If I say it looks like you, it looks like you.” Ah, what an overbearing, unreasonable Miss Y.
Miss Y loves noodles; I love steamed buns. When we eat together, we always have to prepare two types of staples. Over time, as we’ve been together longer, we’ve slowly moved toward each other. Gradually, I’ve started to love noodles, and Miss Y loves steamed buns. Sometimes when I see her eating the staple I used to love, we share a knowing smile. So, love is you becoming like me, and me becoming like you—two incomplete people embracing to become one whole person.
During our first date, I didn’t even dare to hold Miss Y’s hand; she was the one who took the initiative. Now, when we go out, I’m the one who proactively takes Miss Y’s hand. Interlocking fingers, our palms warm, warming my heart. It’s like a new spring, everything growing. Our love, which started as a tiny sapling drifting in the wind, has become a tall, resilient tree. Love is so wonderful and magical; meeting Miss Y is the greatest fortune of my life.
At the beginning of living together, Miss Y and I still tried to maintain an image. After living together for a long time, we realized that an “image” doesn’t mean anything—being free and at ease is the most important thing.
One night we were eating braised pork knuckle. Miss Y was holding the whole thing and gnawing on it. She looked at me with stars in her eyes and praised me, saying I must have been a very talented chef in my past life. “And this life?” “In this life, you’re a super amazing writer. You not only didn’t forget your cooking skills from your past life, but you’re also a literary giant who writes novels!” “I’m not that good.” “You are super, super good…” Miss Y said, chewing the pork knuckle, her mouth full, so her words were a bit muffled. The one who is “good” isn’t me—it’s the person you see in your eyes. Thank you for your love, Miss Y; only because of you do I become someone who shines.