Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Jiang Zhao stood on the balcony for a full half-hour. By the time he returned to the living room, trailing a chill from the night air, his expression was grim.

He stared at his phone screen for two final seconds before tossing it irritably onto the sofa.

Stretching his long legs, he walked to the refrigerator and took out a bag of frozen celery dumplings-ones I had made last time but hadn’t finished.

With a blank expression, he defrosted the dumplings and boiled them. He then sat at the dining table, head lowered, eating them one by one with focused intensity.

The gray-white steam rose past his brow, making him look even colder and more distant.

Watching him quietly eat the dumplings, a thought suddenly popped into my head.

Jiang Zhao probably cared about me, at least a little.

I felt a surge of surprise, followed by a sudden realization.

Strictly speaking, today wasn’t actually Jiang Zhao’s birthday.

His real birthday was a week ago.

But five years ago on that day, Jiang Zhao’s grandmother passed away and Chen You left him. After that, Jiang Zhao didn’t want to celebrate his birthday anymore.

I was the one who suggested moving his birthday celebration to a week later. I was also the one who, despite his lukewarm attitude, always enthusiastically insisted on organizing a celebration for him.

I’m an orphan. When I was in the orphanage, my birthday was the happiest time of the year for me.

I just wanted him to be a little happier, too.

The first time I celebrated his birthday, I spent months secretly learning a game he liked. I planned to pull an all-nighter to help him clear it, but I ended up falling asleep on his lap by two in the morning.

When I opened my eyes, Jiang Zhao was looking down at me with his arms crossed. His cold features softened slightly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he teased, “An all-nighter?”

The second time, I prepared a huge feast and cut several of my fingers in the process. In the end, only the longevity noodles and the celery dumplings were edible.

Jiang Zhao ate everything anyway. Usually a man of few words, he actually complimented the dumplings several times.

I’ve always been one to take an inch and run a mile, so I puffed out my chest proudly.

“You have a weak heart, and eating celery filling can help lower your blood pressure and heart rate. That’s why I worked so hard on learning how to make them-from the shape to the flavor.”

Jiang Zhao looked at me for a long time back then. “Su An, why are you so good to me?”

I laughed. “Because I like you! I really, really like you.”

Before I could continue my confession, Jiang Zhao cupped my jaw, leaned down, and kissed me.

Jiang Zhao was always used to hiding his emotions, but that was the first time I felt such an outward, burning passion from him.

Then, we ended up in bed.

We were both green that night, awkwardly exploring each other.

But later, it was as if he became an expert overnight. He gripped my waist, his dark, deep pupils reflecting my tear-stained face.

He was silent yet fierce, continuing well into the early hours of the morning.

Persistence proved useful. By the third and fourth time I celebrated his birthday, Jiang Zhao had come to accept it as a given.

It seems that these five years of devoted companionship and living together did leave a small mark on his heart after all.