Chapter 68 (1/2): The person I want to marry is always you

From the drone fireworks show to the proposal, Zhōng Yì had been buzzing with excitement all night. Only after returning to the hotel did she realize she had forgotten to record the proposal scene.

At this moment, she could still remember every word he said during the proposal. She doubted that ten or twenty years from now, she would be able to recall it so vividly.

The sound of running water in the bathroom hadn’t stopped yet; Zhōu Shíyì was still showering.

Zhōng Yì sat back down at the table, found some paper and a pen, and began to write down the proposal words.

Laoshi Yú had often said when she was little, “A bad memory is no match for a good pen.” Relying on her good memory, she had never really listened.

But when it came to the proposal words, she suddenly worried she might one day forget them.

The two hundred-plus words of the proposal were written out neatly, filling half a page.

Zhōu Shíyì came out of the bathroom and saw her writing quickly.

“Still not sleeping? What are you writing?”

Zhōng Yì was finishing the last line of his proposal, deliberately writing it in larger characters.

“I’m writing down the proposal words. I was so surprised at the time, I forgot to call Níng Quē downstairs to help record it.”

Zhōu Shíyì said, “No need to write it down. The drones recorded everything.”

Zhōng Yì hadn’t noticed the drones around at the time. Even if they recorded it, the audio might be problematic.

She worried, “We were far away; it’s not certain the recording caught what you said clearly.”

He said, “It did.”

If they recorded it, wouldn’t they consider the audio?

“Jì FánxÄ«ng was upstairs; she was in charge of filming.”

“She was there too?”

“Yeah.”

When he finished proposing and stood up, the upstairs windows were crowded with people, with cheers and hoots all around.

She looked up but there were too many people to recognize anyone.

She hadn’t expected Jì FánxÄ«ng to be there, which was a surprise and a joy.

Zhōu Shíyì walked to the table and picked up the proposal note she had written.

Earlier, when she wrote “Jewel Authentication Report,” there was no trace of his handwriting at all. Two months later, it was obvious that his strokes were interwoven with her flowing calligraphy.

“When did you practice?”

Zhōng Yì toyed with the pen cap. “When I was tired and resting, I’d practice a few minutes copying your handwriting.”

She looked up at him. “Didn’t I tell you? When I couldn’t message you, I was still thinking of you.”

She reached out, “Give me the paper; I haven’t finished writing yet.”

Zhōu Shíyì glanced at the last sentence. “There’s nothing more. I’ll say something else.”

“I haven’t responded to your proposal yet.”

Zhōng Yì snatched the paper back and added under the proposal words:

I do.

Even before the proposal, I was willing.

After we broke up, I told my dad I didn’t want to get married. He said that was fine, as long as I was happy. Sometimes I try to convince myself to move forward,

Maybe then I’d meet the right person.

But deep down, I know it’s hard to move on.

After we separated, you also tried to move forward but eventually canceled the engagement, staying stuck in place.

So I often think, even without Dad’s match-making, we would have met sooner or later.

Maybe in a year.

Maybe in three years.

But we would meet.

At my cousin’s wedding at the start of the year, I went but didn’t sit with family; I sat in a corner.

I couldn’t help but look around.

Not to reconcile, just to see you, since it had been so long.

But the banquet hall was crowded; I didn’t find you.

Zhōng Jiě always says I’m stubborn and keep things bottled up.

Maybe.

It’s inherited in my bones, hard to change.

These past few years, I’m not afraid of nightmares because I forget them after waking.

But I dread dreaming of you. When I do, it takes days to recover.

Whether when we were together or after we broke up, the person I want to marry has always been you.

— Zhōng Yì

September 6th, 1:36 a.m.

Zhōu Shíyì watched her finish writing every word. When she put down the pen, he leaned over and hugged her sideways.

Zhōng Yì capped her pen and pressed it onto the paper bearing the proposal and confession.

The light was out. The blue and gold pen gleamed faintly with scattered light.

Zhōng Yì couldn’t see anything clearly; the man’s burning warmth made her dizzy, as if at the edge of eternity.

Zhōu Shíyì’s palm was damp.

Zhōng Yì rested on his arm, and his kisses rained down relentlessly.

Mín Tíng’s wedding was on January 9th earlier that year. Zhōu Shíyì had struggled with whether to be the best man.

There had been multiple group chats about the best man, but he never responded.

Because at the beginning of the year, Zhōng Zhuóhuá had liked a Weibo post about Lù Chéng preparing a concert.

In these years, aside from Lù Chéng publicly thanking Zhōng Zhuóhuá during his February 29th award speech, their two studios often promoted each other, frequently interacting.

Since Lù Chéng became a top celebrity, whenever Zhōng Zhuóhuá had a movie premiere, he would always show up to support her.

If Zhōu Shíyì acted as best man at Mín Tíng’s wedding, it would be like deliberately putting himself in front of her.

His pride at the time wouldn’t allow it.

He kissed Zhōng Yì. “I went to Mín Tíng’s wedding.”

Zhōng Yì instinctively wanted to push him away but didn’t.

Her fingertips caressed, like a clear spring soothing.

Zhōng Yì bit his lip, releasing a flurry of trembling feelings.

“You went. Did you look for me?”

Zhōu Shíyì: “At first, no.

***

Later, I couldn’t resist.

I pretended to look for Jiāng Yǎnfēng but glanced over the secondary main table.

I have to admit, even though I thought Lù Chéng mattered most to you then, sitting at the wedding made me think of you.

Looking at the stage, I thought, if we hadn’t broken up, we’d have married by now.

Maybe our child could have been a flower child at Mín Tíng’s wedding.

There was a moment at the wedding when the lights of thousands of homes shone—at that instant, I missed you the most.

You once said, every time you come home and see the lights on, you feel at peace.

I didn’t see you at the wedding, but a few days later, Zhōu Jiāyé asked me to deliver some documents to Jiāng Jìngyuān.

I didn’t refuse my cousin. I said it was on the way but actually took a detour.

It was snowing heavily in Beicheng that day, and the roads were clogged for a long time.

When I arrived at the villa, Jiāng Jìngyuān was the only one home.

Still didn’t see you.

After the wedding, I thought, even without my father-in-law’s match-making, without setting a wedding date for us, we would meet eventually.

After canceling the alliance with Zhāng Nuòxǔ, I never thought about marrying anyone else.

And since Grandpa and Dad had experienced the broken engagement, they no longer dared to arrange marriages on my behalf lightly.

Like you said, if not within a year, then in three years we would meet.

Even though after separation I changed some habits—no longer making red bean lattes, you forgot I ate oatmeal without nuts—

it didn’t stop me from keeping every photo of you, every wedding dress, even the few books you gave me, all well preserved.

Likewise, it didn’t stop you from keeping all the gifts I gave you.

The box of sixteen pills on the bedside table was originally meant to last two weeks.

Bought less than a week ago, it was almost empty tonight.

We agreed to moderate use when the project started, so you bought three-pill packs intending to use them over two weeks.

Now, not only did the small box get replaced by a bigger one, but even the large box’s quantity gradually wasn’t enough.

During the three years apart, it seemed like I wanted to make up for everything.

Zhōu Shíyì coaxed the person who deliberately tensed up so he couldn’t move, holding her earlobe in his mouth, softly calling her “baby,”

“Behave.”

Zhōng Yì’s heart fluttered chaotically before finally relaxing.

The next morning, while Zhōu Shíyì was showering, he forgot to avoid the scratch marks on his back and gasped from the pain.

There were marks on his back and abs.

His neck and collarbone were covered with love bites from her.

She’d always been like this.

Last night, they finally returned to how things were before.

The scratches on his abdomen from months ago had faded almost completely; before going to sleep, she had kissed them.

He thought she’d only kiss them once.

Never expected she sucked on them.

For about two or three seconds.

At that moment, he almost lost control.

After his shower, the person in bed was still asleep.

There was no morning meeting today. He turned off her alarm so she could sleep longer.

He’d proposed in the early hours last night, witnessed by the entire algorithm and chip teams, and only left close to midnight.

After discussing with Yán Tínglín, Níng Quē decided to delay work by two hours this morning.

The handwritten proposal words were still on the table; Zhōu Shíyì took a photo and carefully put the paper away.

Below the proposal words was her reply, even more precious than the proposal video.