Sweetie, don't look at him, kiss me.

On the flight back from Paris, Lin Qingmian slept by the window the whole way.

When they landed, Ji Linzhou woke her up. She opened her eyes and saw the familiar outline of the terminal building outside the window. She was in a daze for a few seconds before sitting up straight.

Bai Cheng was waiting for them at the exit. When he took their suitcases, he casually mentioned that Old Madam Ji had already moved out of the old house, and her family's properties were being liquidated and separated, which was happening faster than expected.

Ji Linzhou responded without asking any further questions.

Lin Qingmian returned home, took a shower, and changed her clothes. When she came out, she saw Ji Linzhou sitting on the living room sofa looking at his phone, the light from the screen reflecting on his face.

She walked over and sat down next to him, picked up the brown paper document bag on the coffee table, unsealed it, and took out the contents to look through it.

The IOUs that the Lin family made her sign, the contract pages with Madam Ji's forged signature, and a record of the Lin family's transfer of debts.

She carefully folded the papers one by one, put them back, re-tied the seal, and placed them in the center of the coffee table.

"When are you planning to confront them?" Ji Linzhou put down his phone and looked at her.

"Tomorrow," she said, "I'll have them come over. They should pay back what they owe, apologize where necessary, and get divorced where appropriate."

He looked at her but didn't ask her who she was planning to divorce.

The next afternoon, Lin Jianzhong, Zhang Yuzhu and Lin Qingqing arrived at Shenlan Apartment together.

Lin Qingmian sat on the sofa and pushed the file bag over onto the coffee table.

She watched the three of them sitting opposite her. Zhang Yuzhu kept her head down and avoided looking into her eyes. Lin Jianzhong's fingers, which were holding the file bag, trembled slightly. Only Lin Qingqing raised her head, her gaze lingering on her face, with a smile that was hard to describe as either nervous or stubborn.

"Everything is inside," Lin Qingmian said. "Every single thing you've done is clearly written down. You can deny it, and I can take legal action. If you want to admit it, then sit down and talk."

Zhang Yuzhu spoke first, her voice much lower than usual: "Mianmian, what conditions do you want?"

"Divorce." Lin Qingmian looked at Lin Jianzhong. "Your marriage with my mother was based on mutual interests from the very beginning. Even if you go to that mistress now, she won't really stay with you. You might as well get a divorce yourself, divide the assets as you see fit, and don't drag it out."

Lin Jianzhong's lips moved twice, as if he wanted to refute, but the file bag in his hand was too heavy, so he didn't speak.

Lin Qingmian then looked at Lin Qingqing: "You can get married and live your life. But from today onwards, you can no longer take my things, use my name, or take advantage of my connections. I remember what you said to me on your wedding day, and I hope you remember it too."

Lin Qingqing lowered her head and did not answer, but the fingers on her knees slowly curled up and then relaxed.

Finally, she looked at Zhang Yuzhu and said, "You gave birth to me and raised me, so I won't cut ties with you forever. But if you try anything with me again, I'll settle accounts with you for everything that happened before."

Zhang Yuzhu kept her head down and didn't speak. After a long time, she finally nodded.

When the three of them left, Lin Jianzhong walked in front, his steps were rather fast, as if he were fleeing something.

Zhang Yuzhu followed behind him, and when she reached the door, she glanced back at Lin Qingmian, her lips moved, but in the end she said nothing.

Lin Qingqing walked last, paused before closing the door, stood with her back to the living room for two or three seconds, then closed the door and left.

After the door closed, Lin Qingmian sat on the sofa for a while. Ji Linzhou came out of the study and poured her a glass of water, placing it in front of her. She picked up the glass and took a sip; the water was just the right temperature.

"There's one more thing," he said. "Su Tingwan."

She looked up at him.

"Her agency terminated her contract. Her secret of buying out suppliers in Paris was leaked to the media, and coupled with her previous failed attempts to hype up her relationship, the brands were unwilling to work with her anymore." He paused for a moment, "She should be back in China by now."

Lin Qingmian put down her cup: "When she was causing me trouble, did she ever think I would use Xiu as an excuse?"

"She probably thinks you won't fight back."

"She's mistaken."

That night, she leaned against the headboard and scrolled through her phone. She saw that Fang Shiyang had posted backstage photos of Paris Fashion Week on her WeChat Moments. One of the photos was a silhouette of her standing on the side of the booth, with the lights outlining her silhouette as a long, thin shadow.

Someone commented below the photo asking who the designer was, and Fang Shiyang replied with a moon emoji.

As she scrolled down, she saw Ji Xingye's post, a nine-grid photo collage of wedding pictures.

He stood in the middle, wearing a dark gray suit, next to Lin Qingqing, who was wearing a white wedding dress. The caption was just a period, so clean it seemed to say nothing, yet it said everything.

After reading it, she gave it a thumbs up and then put her phone on the bedside table.

When Ji Linzhou came out of the bathroom, he saw that she was already lying down, so he turned off the light and lay down next to her.

The mattress dipped slightly as he turned to his side, his arm draped over her waist, his palm resting on her lower abdomen. He didn't speak, and neither did she.

After a long while, she finally spoke: "Ji Linzhou."

"Um."

"You asked me before if I would still need this marriage if the contract was settled," she said. "I didn't answer you then."

His breath fell on the back of her neck, warm and steady.

She felt his arm around her waist tighten slightly.

"I can answer you now," she said. "I can."

When she woke up the next morning, he was still asleep, his arms still wrapped around her waist.

She glanced at him sideways; the morning light shone through the gap in the curtains and fell on his profile, casting a faint shadow on his eyelashes.

She looked at him for a few seconds, then gently lifted his hand from her waist, sat up from the bed, and walked barefoot into the kitchen.

She heard a noise coming from the bedroom while she was frying eggs. After a while, Ji Linzhou came out and leaned against the kitchen door frame, his hair still a little messy and only two buttons on his shirt fastened. He stood in the morning light and looked at her.

She looked down and turned the eggs in the pan: "They're awake."

"Hmm." He walked over from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, looking at the egg yolk solidifying in the pot. "Fully cooked."

"You said last time that eating undercooked food made you feel uncomfortable."

He stood up straight and turned to get the bowl and chopsticks.

Sunlight streamed in through the window and fell on the kitchen counter between them, casting a bright white arc along the rim of the bowl. Lin Qingmian turned off the stove, scooped the fried eggs onto a plate, and brought it to the table. He was already seated, waiting for her.

She sat down opposite him, picked up her chopsticks, took a small piece of fried egg, and put it in her mouth.

He sat opposite her, the morning light falling on his shoulders and the top of his head, casting a warm glow on an angle she had never really looked at before.

After breakfast, Lin Qingmian took the dishes into the kitchen to wash them, while Ji Linzhou stood beside her wiping the plates. There was a sink between them, and neither of them spoke, but the sound of water and the clinking of porcelain filled the quiet space.

After wiping the last plate, he hung the towel back on the rack. As he turned around, he casually twisted off a loose thread hanging from her collar, his fingertips brushing against her collarbone, quickly, as if it were just a side effect.

She took the dried cup from him and put it back in the cupboard. As she closed the cupboard door, she asked, "What do you want to eat for lunch?"

"It's your decision."

She thought for a moment, then took out two eggplants and a piece of pork belly from the refrigerator.

He leaned against the kitchen door frame, watching her back as she tied her apron. After a while, he turned and went to the living room to open the design magazine she had left on the coffee table yesterday.

The afternoon sun streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow on the floor.

Lin Qingmian was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, the knife making a steady, fine sound as it hit the cutting board.

The occasional rustling of pages turning in the living room mingled with the occasional hum of a car engine passing by outside the window, becoming the most ordinary background noise of this afternoon.

When she brought the food to the table, he had already put away the magazines and was sitting at the table waiting.

Two dishes and a soup, nothing out of the ordinary. He picked up his chopsticks, took a bite of eggplant, chewed it, and swallowed it. He didn't comment, but she noticed that when he took the second bite, he took a little more than the first.

She sat down opposite him, picked up a piece of food with her chopsticks, and ate it slowly with her head down.

Sunlight streamed through the gap between the two people on the dining table, falling on the white rim of the plates and making the tiny, still dust particles gleam softly.

She remembered the day she first stepped into the Civil Affairs Bureau a year ago. The weather was gloomy and the wind was strong. She was wearing a faded coat and standing on the steps waiting for him.

He got out of the car and walked up to her. The first thing he said was, "Come in." There were no pleasantries, no unnecessary formalities. At that moment, she thought they would never be closer than this in her life.

But now she's sitting here, eating the same food as him, under the same sunlight, with only the width of a table separating them.

"What are you thinking about?" He put down his chopsticks and looked at her.

"I was thinking about that day in front of the Civil Affairs Bureau," she said. "You were wearing a black suit jacket and a dark gray tie. I thought to myself, 'This person looks so cold.'"

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her for a few seconds before saying, "I thought she looked like she might run away at any moment."

She paused for a moment, then lowered her head and continued picking up food.

But his gaze remained fixed on her, and she sensed it. She didn't look up, but the slight smile on her lips was clearly visible in the afternoon sunlight.

He received a phone call while she was clearing away the dishes after dinner.

She heard him whisper from the balcony, "Okay, I understand. Just follow the procedures. You don't need to confirm with me again."

When I hung up the phone and walked back to the living room, she had already washed all the dishes and was standing in front of the sink wiping her hands.

He walked over and stood next to her, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair that was falling beside her face behind her ear. His fingertips slowly slid down the curve of her earlobe, pausing briefly at the edge of her chin before withdrawing.

"It's solved," he said.

She wiped the water off her hands on her apron, then took it off, folded it neatly, and placed it on the kitchen counter.

She stood at the kitchen doorway, watching him stand in the living room. The afternoon light streamed in through the French windows, casting a warm, golden glow on his silhouette.

She walked towards him, stopped in front of him, and looked up into his eyes.

"And then what?" she asked.

"We'll talk about the future later." He looked down at her. "Anyway, you can't escape now."

Sunlight streamed between the two, turning the tiny dust particles in the air into floating specks of light.

She stood there looking into his eyes for a moment, then reached out her left hand and took his. His fingers moved, then tightened their grip on hers.

The afternoon breeze outside the window blew through the curtains on the balcony, lifting the sheer curtains and then letting them fall again.

A few faint car horns came from the street below, becoming faint and distant after passing through the buildings and glass, as if another world was still turning.

In this small living room, sunlight, dust, and two clasped hands—everything seemed to stand still on this most ordinary afternoon.

Distant clouds drifted slowly past the window, briefly obscuring the sunlight before opening again. The light shifted slightly on the floor, as if something had finally settled.

(End of the article)