Shocking! A three-year-old brings his aloof mother to their door.

He Wanqing's face flushed red.

She quickly retorted, her voice both urgent and embarrassed, rising several octaves: "No, that's not true!"

Mo Ye looked down at the back of her head, and the corners of his mouth curved into a wider smile.

He said it casually, but he actually guessed right.

He turned off the hairdryer, placed it on the table, bent down, wrapped his arms around her shoulders from behind, pressed his face against her cheek, and spoke softly, with a hint of heartache:

"Why are you unhappy? Talk to your husband."

He Wanqing lowered her head, twisting the hem of her nightgown with her fingers. After a long silence, she finally spoke in a muffled voice, barely audible, "Are you tired of me?"

Mo Ye was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing.

Hearing his laughter, He Wanqing became annoyed. She raised her head and glared at him fiercely, her eyes both fierce and alluring, like a cat with its fur standing on end. Her voice trailed off with a hint of embarrassment and anger: "What are you laughing at!"

Mo Ye reached out and pinched her little face, his fingertips gently squeezing her soft cheeks. His voice carried a hint of helpless laughter and overflowing affection.

"What nonsense are you thinking? I'm going to sleep with you for the rest of my life, how could I possibly get tired of you?"

He Wanqing's lips curled up slightly, but she quickly suppressed it, her face hardening, her voice muffled, carrying a hint of stubborn resentment:

"Then why don't you shower with me?"

Mo Ye picked up the hairdryer, turned it back on, and the hot air blew. His fingers ran through her hair, and his voice came down from above her head, filled with honesty: "I'm afraid I won't be able to resist."

He Wanqing lowered her head, buried her face in her arms, and said in a soft, muffled voice, mostly drowned out by the sound of the hairdryer: "Who told you to put up with it?"

Mo Ye didn't hear him clearly. He turned off the hairdryer, tilted his head to look at her, and asked with a puzzled expression, "Wanqing, what did you just say?"

He Wanqing quickly waved her hand, speaking rapidly and urgently, as if trying to cover something up: "No, no, you misheard."

Mo Ye glanced at her suspiciously, but didn't ask any further questions. He turned the hairdryer back on and continued to dry her hair.

My hair was blow-dried, and it was loose and soft, draped over my shoulders with a light shampoo scent.

He Wanqing combed her hair with her fingers and tucked it behind her ear.

Mo Ye put the hair dryer away, turned around, and suggested, "Let's go see a movie."

He Wanqing looked at him questioningly: "We've already taken a shower, why are we watching a movie?"

Mo Ye smiled, walked into the living room, and pointed to the large TV mounted on the wall: "Let's watch it on TV in the living room."

He Wanqing nodded, having no objection.

Mo Ye took out some nuts from the drawer under the coffee table—walnuts, almonds, and macadamia nuts—filled a small dish, and placed it on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

The living room lights were off, leaving only the light from the television screen, which flickered and illuminated the two people's faces.

The film is an old movie, with a soothing pace and clean soundtrack, like a slowly flowing river.

Mo Ye leaned back on the sofa, He Wanqing leaned on his shoulder, his arm was around her waist, and her fingers were on the back of his hand.

On TV, the male and female protagonists meet on a rainy street. Neither of them speaks; they just stand there, looking at each other.

He Wanqing reached into the dish, picked up a macadamia nut, put it in her mouth, and chewed it slowly.

Mo Ye also picked one and held it to her lips.

She opened her mouth to catch it, her soft lips touching his fingertips, warm and gentle.

Halfway through the movie, He Wanqing shook her head: "I'm not eating anymore."

Mo Ye nodded, gathered the remaining nuts in the dish, put them back in the drawer, and then washed his hands.

When I came back, He Wanqing was leaning against the sofa, her eyes still fixed on the screen, but her gaze was already a little unfocused, as if she was about to fall asleep.

Mo Ye sat down, picked her up, and let her sit on his lap.

He Wanqing leaned into his arms, her back pressed against his chest, his body heat warming her through the thin fabric.

Mo Ye's hand rested on her thigh, barely moving, just resting there gently.

After a while, his fingers began to slowly and tentatively draw circles on her thigh.

He Wanqing's nightgown was very short, barely covering the middle of her thighs. His fingertips traced across her bare skin, and he could clearly feel the soft, elastic flesh, like fine silk wrapped around warm cotton.

The movie ended, and the end credits slowly scrolled across the screen.

Mo Ye looked down at the person in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her eyelashes drooping gently. He couldn't tell if she was asleep or resting.

He said softly, "Let's go to sleep."

He Wanqing opened her eyes, her eyes bright and filled with an undisguised anticipation: "Okay."

Mo Ye put her down from his lap and led her into the bedroom.

He lay down on the bed and pulled the blanket over both of them.

He Wanqing snuggled into his arms like a kitten that had found its nest, her face pressed against his chest and her hands on his waist.

Mo Ye wrapped his arm around her back and patted her gently, his voice sleepy as he said, "Goodnight."

The darkness remained silent for a long time.

He Wanqing opened her eyes and stared at the direction of his chest, even though she couldn't see anything.

She felt his breathing become long and even, and his body completely relax.

She bit her lip and whispered, "Mo Ye, are you asleep?"

Mo Ye was still half asleep, his voice muffled and hoarse from being woken up: "What's wrong?"

He Wanqing's voice was muffled, tinged with resentment: "Are you asleep?"

Mo Ye was filled with questions.

Was he sleeping in a barely perceptible way?

He lowered his head and kissed her, his voice tinged with sleepiness: "What's wrong? Can't you sleep?"

He Wanqing was silent for a moment, then spoke, her voice not loud, but each word clearly enunciated: "Are you even a man?"

Mo Ye's sleepiness was instantly shattered by those words.

He paused for a moment, his mind racing, realizing it wasn't her period yet.

He shifted, pulling her closer to him: "Don't you know perfectly well whether I'm a man or not?"

He Wanqing snorted twice, her voice carrying a hint of "you already know the answer" dissatisfaction: "Then why don't you guarantee your wife three meals a day or two?"

Mo Ye's brain almost exploded.

What do you mean by three meals a day, two days a week?

Isn't this a grammatical error?

How could such words come out of He Wanqing's mouth?

He thought for a moment: "Don't we always eat three meals a day? And occasionally have a late-night snack."

He Wanqing's voice sounded even more aggrieved, like a kitten that hadn't eaten for three days, soft and sweet: "But there are only three meals today..."