Chapter 4

Chapter 4

When Liang Qiezhao pushed the door open and entered, I was crouching on the floor, sealing the last cardboard box.

His gaze swept across the sparse, clean living room before finally settling on the stray strands of hair falling over my forehead.

“You’ve packed up quite thoroughly.”

I brushed the dust off my hands and stood up, heading straight for the wardrobe where only a few coats remained.

“Yeah, it’s pretty much done.”

“You don’t plan on coming back?” he asked suddenly, leaning against the doorframe.

“I haven’t decided yet.” I tried to keep my tone light. “I’m going to work hard and try to stay there.”

Liang Qiezhao’s body stiffened for a moment.

He lowered his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing with difficulty. His voice was low and muffled. “It’s not that bad. Shanghai is actually quite close to Beijing.”

This kind of self-deceiving consolation really didn’t sound like something that would come out of his mouth.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else I can help with?” he asked again, as if refusing to give up.

“Nothing.”

Our conversation sank back into a quagmire of silence.

“You definitely haven’t had time to find an apartment in Shanghai yet.” When he spoke again, his tone was almost stubborn. “I just found a building for you over there.”

“A building?” I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at him.

Avoiding my searching gaze, he said nonchalantly, “Oh, don’t worry, it’s in the city center. The commute is very convenient.”

I curled my lips, half-joking and half-mocking myself. “If I’d known, I would have applied for a transfer to Hong Kong.”

He froze, his eyes turning dark and unfathomable. “Do you like the apartments there?”

“They’re worth more money.”

After saying that, I gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Liang Qiezhao just watched me laugh in silence.

His face held an emotion I had never seen before.

He looked at me for a long time.

So long that the curve of my lips was about to falter, he glanced at his watch and abruptly changed the subject. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”

“I had a late lunch, I’m not hungry yet.”

“I’ll make you some dumplings,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “What filling do you want?”

“Don’t go to the trouble.”

“Fine, pork and fennel then,” he said.

Without waiting for me to refuse again, he walked straight to the kitchen.

The fridge had long been emptied by me; the ingredients were delivered half an hour later.

He rolled up his shirt sleeves, revealing long, powerful forearms, and began to knead the dough and mix the filling at the counter with methodical precision.

In all his life, Liang Qiezhao had only ever learned how to make two things.

One was dumplings, and the other was noodles.

Both were for me.

During the winter break of our first year of dating, I didn’t go to find him first after getting off the bus. Instead, I ducked into a hole-in-the-wall eatery by the roadside and had a bowl of noodles.

When he called, my face was flushed red from the steam of the noodle soup.

He was utterly confused on the other end of the line.

He hadn’t expected that after being with him for so long, I would still choose to settle my dinner in a place like that.

I pursed my lips, making an excuse for my craving. “Yu Lili told me that in her hometown, there’s a tradition for this. It’s called ‘dumplings for the departure, noodles for the arrival.'”

He sounded as if he’d suddenly realized something. “I’ve heard of ‘dumplings for the send-off, noodles for the welcome.’ So that’s why on the day you went home for the holidays, she insisted I take you out for dumplings.”

I gave a vague “mm-hmm” in response.

From then on, he remembered this illogical sense of ritual.

He even started learning from his family’s housekeeper how to roll out springy, smooth noodles and how to pinch together perfectly sealed dumpling pleats, all for my sake.

Of all the dumplings he made, my favorite was the pork and fennel filling.

However, after graduation, I was busy with work, and the time I spent back in my hometown for Lunar New Year was never long.

I usually returned to Beijing around the seventh day of the first lunar month, and the entire Spring Festival was exactly when Liang Qiezhao was most tied down by obligations.

From the first to the fifteenth day, he almost always had to stay by his parents’ side, meeting one elder after another-distant or close, distinguished or humble.

Thinking back, it had been a long time since I’d eaten dumplings he made by hand.

So long that I had almost forgotten.

But clearly, he still remembered.

The misty steam spread through the kitchen, blurring his broad, upright back.

It actually made this well-understood parting feel like a false, tender illusion.

We ate that meal of dumplings extremely slowly.

After dinner, an old movie played on the television. Light and shadow flickered across our faces as we sat side by side, just like any other ordinary Saturday.

It wasn’t until the end credits slowly rolled up that I softly broke the silence.

“It’s getting late.”

The man’s back tensed for a second.

A moment later, he gave a low “mm,” stood up, and instructed, “Then you should get some rest early.”

I stood up as well to see him to the entryway.

He put on his coat and changed into his shoes, but his hand stayed on the doorknob without moving.

He just stood there, his broad back turned toward me, the air stagnating for several seconds.

Suddenly, without any warning, he turned around and strode back to stand in front of me.

A shadow loomed over me as he reached out his long arms, pulling me tightly into his embrace.

He rested his chin on the top of my head and took a very low, soft breath.

I lifted the arm that was being pressed against his watch, but he grabbed my hand instead.

“Liang Qiezhao…” my voice was muffled.

He lowered his face, burying it in the crook of my shoulder, and said softly as if coaxing me:

“Xiao Zhi… let me hold you for a bit longer.”

“Just for a moment.”