"Hmph, so now you remember me!"
The warmth from Meng Shang's palm on Jiang Ruoqi's hand was fleeting. She stopped in her tracks, a little dissatisfied.
Meng Shang felt her stop and quickly turned back. He saw Jiang Ruoqi pursing her lips, standing still. The hair on her forehead cast shadows under the streetlight, covering most of her eyes. He couldn't read her expression clearly, but her feelings were unmistakable.
He walked slowly to her side, lowering his head to meet her eyes. "What have I done to upset you now, President Jiang?"
"You haven't upset me. It's just that some people can act as if nothing's wrong, living apart from their wife for a whole week without a single word of concern. I'm feeling quite disheartened!"
Jiang Ruoqi turned her head away to avoid his gaze, her hair falling. Her voice was muffled, laced with grievance. "At least you remembered to check the window downstairs. Otherwise, you wouldn't even know if I'd run away from home for ten days."
"I'm being wronged here. I've handed over all the door code and keys, but President Jiang has never graced me with her presence."
Jiang Ruoqi came every day, and every day there were changes in the house—Meng Shang knew this. For example, there were cans and cat treats from the little rascal in the trash. When he was dead tired and washed up for bed, the rascal would be standing at the door with a new toy he'd found somewhere. The shoe cabinet had new, fluffy cotton slippers—dark gray autumn-winter style, one pair for men, one for women. A Nordic-style key tray had appeared in the entryway—clearly Jiang Ruoqi's style and a good match with his home's decor.
Meng Shang noticed something different every day. Even without meeting, Jiang Ruoqi seemed to be slowly infiltrating his life through small items. But she never indicated she wanted to stay over, so naturally, he didn't bring it up first. Even though they were married, and the marriage certificate was now framed and placed on his bookshelf.
"I'm a girl, okay? I can't be the one to invite myself to move in!"
It wasn't the real reason, but Jiang Ruoqi used it as an excuse now.
Meng Shang understood and quickly apologized. "My fault, my fault. I was negligent. So, starting today, would you like to move in with me?"
Jiang Ruoqi hummed twice, still refusing to look at him. "So dry. Not very appealing."
To be honest, Meng Shang didn't know what appeal his busy profession could have in a domestic setting. And the order of their marriage and cohabitation was somewhat off by modern relationship standards. They were like two strangers holding tickets but not knowing where to board. Well, maybe a little—a lot—better than strangers.
So Meng Shang steeled himself and listed what advantages he might have: "I usually work late shifts and get home late. I also have a habit of exercising early in the morning, but I can try not to disturb your rest. I don't have many friends, don't smoke, and rarely drink. When I'm off, I either exercise or catch up on sleep, or read papers and study surgical plans."
Jiang Ruoqi's temples throbbed. She wondered if Meng Shang was inviting her or trying to scare her off. Realizing his pitch was lacking, he paused, thought, then added: "I'll handle cooking and housework. If I can't keep up, we'll hire a housekeeper. As for other habits... we can adjust."
Jiang Ruoqi just looked at him without saying a word.
Meng Shang felt guilty. "Plus, it's a two-for-one deal. When I'm not home, Yuanbao can keep you company."
His cat son's full name was Yuanbao. Jiang Ruoqi realized she had been calling him Kiwi, Fatty, and such without ever asking his real name. Meng Yuanbao—sounded prosperous. But when you said his full name, it didn't sound as nice as Kiwi.
"I've only heard of couples using their kids to make up after a fight. But Dr. Meng, barely married, is already using his cat son to invite cohabitation?"
Jiang Ruoqi pouted, quickly signaling Meng Shang to stop before she changed her mind. Her helpless expression was almost overflowing. In this cold winter, she was tempted to take her hands out of her warm pockets and point accusingly at him through the cold air.
Meng Shang was silent, seemingly at a loss. "It seems... I have nothing appealing."
Of course not. Jiang Ruoqi's gaze wandered to his hands hanging by his sides. They were truly beautiful—long, slender, with prominent veins. He held her little bag like it was a cartoon toy. And his waist was lean, his legs in suit trousers long and straight. He was just good-looking all around. And that expressionless face... tsk. She thought Meng Shang really lacked self-awareness. Clearly, from the start, what she wanted from Meng Shang wasn't what he thought.
Meng Shang saw Jiang Ruoqi spacing out. The night wind picked up, so he had to interrupt. He held out his hand to her, palm up, fingers relaxed. "Jiang Ruoqi, it's late. If you keep hesitating, it'll be morning. So, do you want to come home with me?"
Jiang Ruoqi snapped out of it at the sound of her name. Seeing Meng Shang, she gladly placed her hand in his. "Let's go. Home!"
The residential area in the dead of night was as quiet as the streets outside. No pedestrians or cars. Even the lights from the tall buildings seemed dimmed, as if veiled by the night.
Meng Shang led Jiang Ruoqi toward their building. Their dry, warm palms became slightly damp from their own worries and this intimate contact. Within minutes, Jiang Ruoqi went from holding one hand to both, from simply holding to stroking and playing with his fingers and knuckles.
Fingers linked to the heart, and Meng Shang felt his heart itch. He wanted to catch her mischievous hand and pin it down, stuffing both into his coat pocket. If she still wouldn't behave... he'd pin both hands down.
Jiang Ruoqi felt his grip tighten and looked up to see his reaction. Meng Shang still wore that proper, almost stoic expression, but his Adam's apple moved. What was he thinking? Her flagging interest was suddenly piqued.
Of course, Meng Shang had matured. He couldn't keep making the same mistakes. After being around someone for a while, you become more sensitive to changes in their gaze. Striking first had its advantages, so he spoke up: "Have you eaten?"
So much had happened that Jiang Ruoqi had to think for a moment before answering honestly: "No."
"Are you hungry?"
"A little."
"Then we're in trouble." Meng Shang thought for a moment. "I've run out of groceries. I've been working overtime and haven't had time to buy more."
She could skip it. In Hong Kong, Jiang Ruoqi usually had lunch around two. When busy, she didn't feel hungry and often skipped dinner. She hated cooking and cleaning up afterward. She'd rather stay hungry, or sleep if it got too bad. Besides, eating at this hour only brought guilt about gaining weight, not a bit of pleasure.
"But there are a few packs of instant noodles in the kitchen cabinet. Should still be good. I can make you some, with pan-fried luncheon meat and a poached egg. Want some?"
On a cold winter night, starving, a bowl of hot instant noodles would be pure bliss. But she was on a diet! This was a blatant temptation! There was a traitor in their midst!
Jiang Ruoqi's unworthy tears flowed from the corner of her mouth. "Yes!"
Ashamed at how quickly she agreed, she politely asked the "chef": "What about you? Have you eaten?"
The department had been hectic, so Meng Shang had just grabbed something: "A colleague brought me a meal. I had a couple of bites."
Knowing the "couple of bites" was approximate, Jiang Ruoqi still insisted he join her: "Then have some more with me."
"Okay."
"Or I could cook. I just hate washing dishes."
"Don't worry. I'll clean up."
Meng Shang agreed to everything readily. Having failed to provoke him, Jiang Ruoqi tried again, poking his palm with her fingertip. When he looked down in confusion, she said: "Dr. Meng, a midnight snack of instant noodles and luncheon meat? I thought doctors were all about health and wellness?"
Another stereotype. Meng Shang wondered if he should wear rimless or gold-rimmed glasses to fit Jiang Ruoqi's idea of a doctor.
"Doctors are people too. Our work is stressful. If we can't satisfy our cravings and are deprived of the few pleasures we have, we'd be even more resentful." He thought of an analogy: "It's like taking away your iced Americano and making you stay awake to work."
Jiang Ruoqi suddenly felt empathetic: "That does sound cruel."
"Besides, good lifestyle habits and a light diet are for patients. Doctors aren't patients. Maybe if a doctor gets sick, they'll follow their own advice."
That sounded... calmly insane, but coming from Meng Shang, it oddly made sense.