Jiang Zhonglin set down the half-rinsed rice and turned to look at Yu Yao. “It’s true,” he said, “I’m very happy.”

Yu Yao asked, “Then why can’t I see it?”

Understanding her meaning, Jiang Zhonglin responded with a hint of helplessness, “Perhaps it’s because I’m an old man now. As people get older, they become more composed and steady than when they were younger.”

Determined to understand the old man in front of her, Yu Yao stood in the doorway and, with a somewhat confrontational tone, asked, “Do you still like me?”

Jiang Zhonglin, who was a very reserved person, found it difficult to express emotions, likely due to his upbringing and environment. He remembered how, before their marriage, when they went out on dates, Yu Yao once jokingly asked if he liked her. Despite his eyes and actions constantly following her, betraying his feelings, he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Yu Yao had asked him in the morning, and he didn’t answer. He was restless all day, and only in the evening, as they were parting, did he suddenly confess his feelings, leaving her bewildered. It wasn’t until she got home and reflected that she realized he was answering the question from hours earlier, being as shy as a sensitive mimosa.

As a young man, he was so reserved, and as an old man, he was even more so. Facing Yu Yao’s pressing question, Jiang Zhonglin struggled to respond, standing at the sink for a long time without speaking.

Yu Yao stepped closer. “Didn’t you wait for me for so many years? Now that I’m back, don’t you have anything you want to say to me?”

He hadn’t really waited intentionally; he simply couldn’t forget her, and when he finally came to his senses, he found that so many years had passed.

Jiang Zhonglin looked down at his own hands, the skin now loose, and kept these thoughts to himself.

Seeing him remain silent, Yu Yao’s frustration flared up. She stepped forward and grabbed his hand. Startled, Jiang Zhonglin instinctively pulled his hand back. Yu Yao shouted, “What are you doing? Can’t even my own husband touch me?!”

For a moment, Jiang Zhonglin thought that if he were ten years younger, Yu Yao might have kicked him instead of speaking calmly. This thought made him smile for some reason.

“Go ahead,” he said, offering his hand back with a calm expression. “I’m not as handsome as I used to be, my skin is all wrinkled.”

Yu Yao took his hand and then reached out to touch his face. Jiang Zhonglin, not used to this kind of contact, instinctively turned his head away.

Yu Yao’s irritation flared up again. “Why are you avoiding me?”

Jiang Zhonglin slowly turned his head back. He looked at his wife, unchanged after forty years, feeling a cool touch on his face. For a moment, he was dazed.

He remembered a scene from their early marriage. They used to alternate cooking duties, with whoever had time doing it. Both of them could cook reasonably well, but when they both had free time, Jiang Zhonglin usually cooked while Yu Yao played games in the living room. He didn’t like onions, but Yu Yao loved them. The first time he bought onions and tried to cut them, he didn’t know the powerful effect they could have. The fumes made him cry, and with his glasses fogged up, he couldn’t wipe his eyes properly, almost dropping his glasses.