Chapter 2

Suhang was exactly the kind of “other people’s child” my dad worshiped-dual master’s degrees from a top university, a promising young talent, refined features, and a gaze that was always gentle and restrained behind thin lenses.

My dad and his father were old friends. He often said he had “watched Suhang grow up.”

Suhang’s father had once been a high-flying official, basking in glory. Later, during their divorce, his wife reported him for corruption, and he ended up behind bars. Overnight, Suhang went from being a star returnee from overseas to a homeless criminal’s son.

The girlfriend he’d dated for many years broke up with him. Relatives and friends all kept their distance.

My dad took him in, let him live with us, found him a job, and even created opportunities to match us together.

The first time I saw him at my house, I was at my peak weight-over 140 jin-wearing old pajamas that had gotten tight, my hair unwashed and greasy for days, my whole vibe a picture of “I’ve given up on life.” When my dad introduced me, I even deliberately scratched my armpit in front of him, making my dad so angry his face went green.

But Suhang smiled so gently, his eyes bright, immediately standing up to bend slightly at the waist, both hands extended for a polite handshake. The way he carried himself made me feel as if, in his eyes, what appeared before him was a dazzling, beautiful princess.

Under my dad’s matchmaking, we started dating and then got married. There wasn’t the slightest obstacle-it all went so smoothly it looked like love at first sight.

In private, I told him I didn’t love him, didn’t love anyone, that I was only following my parents’ arrangements.

His expression didn’t fluctuate at all. “It’s fine. I’m already fortunate just to be able to marry you. Why should I be greedy? I’ll do my best to be a good husband.”

I added, “There’s one more thing. A video of me and my ex-boyfriend in a hotel room was leaked online. Do you mind?”

He said he didn’t mind in the slightest. He even looked distressed on my behalf. “It wasn’t your fault.”

My dad told me in secret, “Suhang is no ordinary person. He’s very capable, and his character is good too. If his dad hadn’t gotten into trouble, our family wouldn’t even have had the chance to ‘pick up this bargain’!”

Clearly, in his heart, I was nowhere near good enough for Suhang.

And Suhang didn’t disappoint him. He was very competent at work. He quickly produced results, helped the company optimize its systems, and secured big orders. My dad was always sighing, “I’m old, can’t keep up with the times anymore. The future belongs to you young people!”

Everyone liked Suhang. At meals, he would take the initiative to ladle soup for my mom, remembered every elder’s preferences, and even my eccentric grandmother would say, “This child really makes one’s heart ache.”

Years of depression had made me cold and indifferent. I would occasionally explode, giving my family constant headaches. Because antidepressants make you drowsy, I became extremely sleepy. On top of that, all kinds of hormone side effects made me gain weight-going from 94 pounds to over 140. I didn’t want to work and just rotted at home.

A useless daughter like me being able to bring home such a handsome, accomplished son-in-law was considered a miraculous contribution to the family. Everyone thought my dad had struck gold.

I originally thought Suhang married me only because he was down and out and had no other options. I didn’t expect him to treat me that well.

He knew I had a nervous condition, so even at home he would walk like a cat, tiptoeing around.

He was gentle and considerate, never lost his temper, made me breakfast, went out in the middle of the night to buy me medicine, drove to the airport at dawn to pick me up, and whenever he passed a flower shop, he’d buy flowers for me…

If he came home and saw me doing housework, he would always rush over and say, “Let me, let me. Honey, go rest!”

Even my mom said she had never seen a man who doted on his wife this much.

Once, by chance, I tasted his “Feixiacui” pickles. The color was bright, the flavor tangy and sweet, crisp and refreshing. I really liked it. He told me it was just radish skin. I was amazed that the radish peels people usually throw away could taste that good.
Seeing how much I liked it, he immediately bought a whole pile of radishes and pickled them at home just for me.

He said choosing the right radish peel was very important. You had to use the most vivid purplish-red outer layer of the rouge radish, and the slices couldn’t be too thin or too thick. First, you soaked them in chilled spring water for an hour so they’d be crisp and refreshing. The most important secret was to spread a layer of perilla seeds at the bottom of the jar, then add plum wine, honey, and white vinegar to the brine… After sealing it, you had to hang the jar in a cool, shady place for three days, until the radish peels turned crystal-clear, glowing with a rouge-like hue.

He told me this was a signature side dish made by the nanny from Sichuan who had taken care of him when he was little. It really whetted the appetite. His father was cultured and felt that the name “radish peel” didn’t live up to how good it was, so he deliberately gave it a name: “Feixiacui.”

He’d gone abroad to study at a very young age and missed his nanny’s cooking terribly, so she taught him the detailed recipe for Feixiacui. He often made it himself in his student apartment, and his classmates were always sneaking bites.

As he talked, he laughed, and unlike usual, his smile was truly bright. I couldn’t help laughing along with him. Normally his smiles always carried restraint and distance; seeing him relaxed like this was rare.

He cared a lot about his image. Even at home, I had never once seen him looking sloppy or disheveled.

The funny thing was, one time he accidentally farted in front of me, and his face flushed red all the way down his neck. “Sorry…”

He actually avoided me for an entire day because of that.

He’d open his bedroom door as if he were about to come out, then hear my voice and immediately sneak back inside, like his perfect image had been permanently stained and he no longer had the face to see me.

In secret, I found him kind of cute.

Somehow he found out I’d learned piano, so he specially had someone haul the old piano out of the basement and spent two whole days fixing it up. He had the body repolished and repainted until it looked brand new.

“Wife, it’s as good as new. Want to try it?” He looked at me with anticipation.

I shook my head and walked away. That piano brought back too many things I didn’t want to remember.

The next day when I woke up, sunlight was filtering through the sheer curtains and spilling across the piano. At some point, Suhang had placed a small bunch of wildflowers there, stuck into a drinking glass, trembling softly in the breeze.

The warmth of that scene hit me. Such a small, delicate gentleness made my heart tremble.

I couldn’t help wondering: this husband I didn’t really know that well yet, this man who was always gentle and smiling with everyone-how had he swallowed the pain of his parents turning against each other, his father going to prison, his lover leaving him, all on his own? The suffering he endured was probably no less than mine, yet he chose to face it all positively. Those long nights I thought I would never survive-he had already walked through them alone, in silence. We were both people life had ground down to pieces. I was still crawling in the dust, while he had become gentle starlight.

In comparison, I really was much more fragile. I was encouraged by him. I gently pressed a key, and the long-lost vibration traveled from my fingertip to my heart. My frozen heart trembled.

My feelings toward Suhang began to change, bit by bit.

For someone who had always resisted marriage, I couldn’t find a single thing about him to dislike, and I ended up adapting to married life surprisingly quickly.

In the two years after we married, my condition improved a lot. My medication was reduced. I ate on schedule, exercised regularly, lost more than thirty jin, and even started paying attention to how I dressed. Everyone said I looked much healthier.

I no longer held hostility toward my father or hated him for violently putting a stop to my relationship back then. I even began to understand where he’d been coming from. I had to admit, his eye for people was honestly pretty good.