Chapter 71: Honeymoon (1)
The first wedding didn’t have a honeymoon, so ZhÅu Shíyì made up for it at the second one.
Before the honeymoon trip, the two of them first returned to Boston.
The moment she boarded the plane, her feelings were complicated.
All the love and resentment from the past lingered in that city.
ZhÅng Yì had intended to catch up on sleep during the flight, but as soon as she closed her eyes and thought about arriving at another home by morning, she couldn’t fall asleep.
She turned her head slightly and, by the emergency cabin lighting, made out ZhÅu ShÃyì’s silhouette.
His breathing was even; he had fallen asleep.
Every detail of the Windmill Village wedding had been finalized by him, after several days without proper rest.
ZhÅng Yì lay down on the bed beside him, curling up close.
ZhÅu Shíyì raised his hand, found her, and pulled her into his embrace.
“Can’t sleep?” came his slightly hoarse voice from above.
ZhÅng Yì asked, “Did I wake you up?”
“I wasn’t sleeping deeply anyway.” Though tired, he could still clearly hear the roar of the engines.
ZhÅng Yì: “I’ll get you noise-cancelling headphones.”
“No need.” ZhÅu Shíyì wasn’t used to wearing them. He held her tighter. “It’s fine, I’ll catch up on sleep when we get home.” He never expected to really fall asleep on the plane—just resting was enough.
ZhÅng Yì pulled back her blanket and shared it with him.
As usual, she slipped her legs between his, and his strong legs locked around hers.
“Going to the island for a few days?”
ZhÅu Shíyì rested his chin against her forehead. “At least five or six days. Are you in a hurry to go back to the country?”
ZhÅng Yì said nothing, torn between wanting a honeymoon and not wanting to let go of the project.
ZhÅu Shíyì said, “Níng QuÄ and Yán Tínglín are there. What are you worried about?”
ZhÅng Yì joked to herself, “Worried that if I take a day off, the Earth will stop spinning.”
ZhÅu Shíyì suddenly remembered to ask, “When did you start liking me?”
He had asked this before, and ZhÅng Yì had a vague memory.
But how she had answered back then? She couldn’t recall at all.
She tried hard to remember.
Still no result.
“That’s a secret. I can’t tell you.”
ZhÅu Shíyì opened his eyes to look at her. “You thought about it for a long time and still couldn’t remember, right?”
ZhÅng Yì tried to hold back a laugh but couldn’t help chuckling in his arms.
ZhÅu Shíyì kissed her forehead. Her memory was sharp only when it came to work; if asked about what she said in a project meeting a year ago, she could roughly repeat it.
But recalling life’s details was difficult.
It wasn’t that she was careless; those details just weren’t filtered into her brain.
He used to think she wasn’t attentive to him, but now looking back, it was because all her attention had been consumed by the project—no extra energy left for him.
This past year, living with her day and night, he had witnessed her state during busy projects. To ensure progress, she worked overtime day and night.
So many times when she was neglectful—like forgetting his birthday last year, or spending New Year’s Eve overnight in the server room, only calling him late to say he could eat whatever—he completely understood and never felt disappointed.
If those things had happened before they broke up, it would have intensified the conflicts.
He understood she was busy but couldn’t help feeling she wasn’t attentive to him.
His logic then was: He was busy too, but never forgot anything about her.
No matter how busy, on her birthday, he would be there.
What he didn’t realize was his busy work was strategic and non-continuous—one crisis resolved, then a break.
But her busy work was technical and continuous, demanding high focus for the entire project cycle.
As long as the project hadn’t been approved, she couldn’t relax.
It was like before, when he couldn’t understand how Yán Tínglín, after being rejected by ZhÅng Yì, later seemed to forget about it.
If it weren’t for seeing ZhÅng Yì again at a school reunion, maybe Yán Tínglín wouldn’t have remembered her at all.
Now it seemed not that Yán Tínglín was emotionally dull, but obsessed with chips, when busy, everything else disappeared from his mind.
***
After a project ended, he wouldn’t recall who had rejected him months ago.
That was why Yán Tínglín could work with ZhÅng Yì without awkwardness.
ZhÅng Yì and Tang Nuoyun also got along well, often forgetting each other’s real identities.
They were all the same kind of person.
He and MÇn Tíng were a similar kind—always busy, truly busy.
So busy that meetings came one after another, flying worldwide, social engagements scheduled weeks ahead.
Yet even in those gaps, they would think about what their other half was doing and why they hadn’t messaged.
ZhÅng Yì tilted her head to ask him, “How did I answer you before?”
ZhÅu Shíyì: “You said it was earlier than I thought.”
These days, without having to go to the lab, ZhÅng Yì remembered this time.
She kissed his chin, the slight stubble prickling.
“You pricked me.”
“Don’t kiss me at midnight next time.”
Stubble grown all day would definitely be a bit sharp.
ZhÅu Shíyì kissed her pricked lips. “I’ll kiss you first thing tomorrow morning.”
ZhÅng Yì kissed his smooth Adam’s apple. That spot was always silky.
She explained, “I didn’t mean to forget how I answered you before.”
“I know.” ZhÅu Shíyì felt his throat heat up from her kiss.
After a moment, he continued, “I used to think you only liked me a little because I never fully stood in your shoes. After the separation and working together, I finally truly understand you.”
ZhÅng Yì said, “But you often got jealous, asked if I loved you, why I didn’t message you—it meant I still wasn’t doing well enough.”
“You don’t have to care about that. That’s just my idle jealousy.”
ZhÅng Yì thought for a moment and hugged him. “From now on, I’ll put my phone with you, and you can reply yourself.”
ZhÅu Shíyì laughed in exasperation.
After the joke, ZhÅng Yì’s tone turned serious. “I originally planned to do the real car test on your birthday, as a surprise for your thirtieth.”
Unfortunately, there were data problems that needed adjustments.
That night, not only her, but most of the chip team stayed up all night.
When busy in the lab, there was no sense of time; she thought she’d only worked two or three hours, but when she looked again, it was 1:20 a.m.
His birthday had already passed.
Although they’d eaten longevity noodles together in the morning, she had promised to celebrate properly that night.
But the data issue ruined all plans.
Hearing this, ZhÅu Shíyì was slightly surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“No need to bother you with extra worries.”
If she told him the model had issues, he’d have to worry about her mood and feel extra pressure.
If this had happened before they broke up, she wouldn’t have explained, as it might sound like boasting.
Now she realized some things said plainly can avoid unnecessary misunderstandings.
ZhÅng Yì kissed his neck again. “You’ll always be twenty-nine in my heart.”
“Just because I never had my thirtieth birthday celebration?”
“Mm.”
“In a few months, I’ll be thirty-one.”
ZhÅng Yì smiled, “Anyway, whatever I say goes.”
“Just pretend you think I’m young. Unlike my dad, he hates when people mention his age.”
“Dad’s almost sixty, right?”
“Yeah. Try not to say that in front of him.”
ZhÅng Yì laughed helplessly.
Returning to the main topic, she said about his birthday: “This year, I’ll celebrate properly with you.”
ZhÅu Shíyì: “If you forget because you’re busy, it’s fine. If you forget, I’ll find you to celebrate.”
“Thanks.”
But she wouldn’t forget.
ZhÅng Yì continued kissing his Adam’s apple.
ZhÅu Shíyì moved back slightly, forbidding her to kiss any more.
There was no preparation on the plane; she could only bear it for now.
She didn’t bring up children; he didn’t think about it yet, not wanting to disrupt her plans.
ZhÅng Yì could feel the intense heat.
To stop him from suffering, she withdrew from his arms and lay back on her pillow.
She needed to think carefully about having children.
ZhÅu Shíyì pulled the blanket snugly over her. “Still a while before landing. Get some sleep.”
ZhÅng Yì’s thoughts about children made her eyelids grow heavy.
When she woke, there were only forty minutes left before landing in Boston.
ZhÅng Yì freshened up simply and drank a glass of juice.
She hadn’t checked her phone all night and had several unread messages.
Her grandfather tagged her in the family group chat: 【When will the project end? We’ve had two weddings, and MÇn TÃng’s two kids are already crawling, but the project still isn’t finished. You haven’t come home for dinner in half a year.】
ZhÅng Yì replied: 【Grandpa, ZhÅu Shíyì and I are on our honeymoon. We’ll come visit you and Grandma once we’re back.】
As for when the project would end, even she couldn’t say for sure.
Jiang Lao Yeye: 【That’s good. I thought you’d come rushing back to work after the wedding.】
Jiang Lao Yeye: 【Take a few more days off. Don’t just think about the project.】
The old man was worried about Third Uncle’s wedding, tagging his granddaughter again: 【Remember to come eat after your trip.】
Third Uncle suddenly told him a few days ago he was holding a wedding with ZhÅng Zhuóhuá, including a segment where their parents would come onstage.
After hearing this, the old man was silent for a long time.
He was almost ninety years old and would have to give a speech onstage as the groom’s family elder.
Jiang Yan Feng and MÇn Tíng weren’t reliable, but they said not to worry about him standing; they would support him onstage.
His grandson and grandson-in-law couldn’t be counted on, so after thinking it through, he decided to discuss with his granddaughter what to be mindful of in his speech.
At his age, young people wouldn’t care what he said anyway.
ZhÅng Yì replied: 【Okay, I’ll come by as soon as I get off the plane. It’s hot lately—please take care of yourself and Grandma.】
After ending the chat, the plane landed.
ZhÅng Yì looked out the window. It was rare today; Boston was under a clear blue sky.
The day they broke up had been pouring rain.
The day she moved back to her own place was rainy as well.
The day she returned to the country, it was still drizzling.
After passing customs, ZhÅng Yì pointed to a sign: “Remember this place?”
ZhÅu Shíyì could never forget. It was where they had been together for four years, the only time he’d picked her up from the airport.
In those four years, she only went home once.
Back then, Níng QuÄ said her family’s situation wasn’t good and she was reluctant to buy a plane ticket.
After they got together, he had often suggested she come back with him, landing in Shanghai, which wasn’t far from her home.
But she always refused.
At the time, he didn’t know her father came to see her in less than a month, her mother was always on set, and when she went home, no one was there.
She spoke Jiangcheng dialect with Yu LÇoshÄ« on the phone, graduated from Jiangcheng High School, and he never suspected she wasn’t from Jiangcheng.
He never expected she could still remember where he waited for her at the airport.
He tilted his head. “You even brought me a big bag of Jiangcheng specialties, remember?”
ZhÅng Yì held his hand. “Of course I remember. I picked out every specialty one by one. You don’t like sweet things, so I tried to buy ones that weren’t sweet.”
ZhÅu Shíyì still remembered her pushing the suitcase out, running toward him.
She threw herself into his arms and said she brought him good food—he couldn’t dislike it.
It was especially for him; how could he?
Looking back, the performance was quite heavy.
If her family had truly been ordinary, she wouldn’t have kept mentioning it or told him not to dislike what she bought.
She was insecure, afraid he’d suspect, so she always emphasized that what she bought was cheap, after all, she was reluctant even to buy the economy ticket home.
ZhÅng Yì met his gaze, seeing him smile quietly. “What are you laughing at?”
ZhÅu Shíyì: “Laughing at my own lovesick brain.”
And becoming “lovesick,”
Níng QuÄ and Yán Tínglín shared half the credit.
They often said ZhÅng Yì’s conditions weren’t good—she’d carried a ten-dollar canvas bag for years.
On the way from the airport to the city, ZhÅng Yì looked out at the increasingly familiar streets, her heart uncontrollably pounding “thump—thump—.”
It was just like that morning of the wedding, the same wild heartbeat.
It was just like when she first visited his place in love, her heart fluttering.
The car turned into a familiar neighborhood; the pounding heart suddenly felt strangely weak.
When she left, she never dared to imagine one day she’d return here, and still with ZhÅu Shíyì.
The car stopped. ZhÅng Yì sighed quietly and got out.
Everything was the same as when she left—the lawn neat and tidy, the colorful hydrangeas by the door swaying in the wind.
Even the interior furnishings hadn’t changed.
The things she packed and took away had returned as well.
On the fridge door were some new magnets and a note underneath.
【Baby, happy wedding. I don’t know how long this life will last, but I hope it’s longer, to make up for the three years we were apart.
No matter when, no matter what kind of you, I love you.—ZhÅu ShÃyì】