Loofah Shrimp Bowl

Xia Jiao wasn’t an idiot at all.

She was quite clever.

Clever Xia Jiao took the initiative to help with the post-dinner cleanup. When Wen Chongyue went to take a shower, she wore her pajamas and pushed open the glass door of the bathroom. She threw the pajamas outside, stood on tiptoe, and kissed the stunned Wen Chongyue under the shower water.

Xia Jiao could only accept the things she could see—things that could genuinely benefit her, like a job in front of her, a delicious snack, or a friend she could chat with and have fun with.

And, of course, love that she could touch.

Xia Jiao was afraid she might misinterpret things.

So she could only confirm the affection that was visible and tangible.

Xia Jiao had thought about the cause of her “ostrich mentality” for a long time. Eventually, she realized it probably came from a lack of self-confidence, loneliness, and failed crushes during her youth.

Perhaps calling it a “crush” wasn’t entirely accurate, since there was no real closeness or effort involved. It was more like a vague admiration from her younger years.

Looking back on her youth always felt regretful, and Xia Jiao didn’t want to recall the details too much, but she had indeed faced some ridicule and subtle harm because of it.

Adolescents do not know their limits, they blindly follow the crowd.

The harm didn’t necessarily come from physical violence, but maybe from a loud mocking laugh or subtle exclusion.

…

In the blink of an eye, it was time to deliver the flowers.

Gao Chan had asked Xia Jiao to go with her. She still didn’t dare face the picky and strict Mrs. Tang—Yu Qingzhen really couldn’t come anymore, since she and Mrs. Tang had some subtle awkwardness.

Yu Qingzhen didn’t care about that. She was now fully immersed in her relationship with her boyfriend and greeted everyone with a smile.

Gao Chan quietly mentioned that Yu Qingzhen’s boyfriend was quite impressive—handsome and wealthy. Women often get overwhelmed with dopamine at the start of a relationship, and now she didn’t care as much about work.

Xia Jiao listened with one ear and out the other. She just checked the type and quantity of flowers she was delivering to Mrs. Tang’s house tomorrowand just sighed, “How lucky.”

Being with the person you like was truly a blessing.

Gao Chan wholeheartedly agreed.

A few days ago at dinner, Wen Chongyue told Xia Jiao that he had transferred Song Xiao to another department. Xia Jiao only responded with an “oh” and happily shared some fun stories she had encountered recently.

Like the old man who came every day to buy flowers for his wife, the little student who asked if buying roses would cheer up his classmate, or how the fruit shop owner gave her extra oranges today…

In some ways, Xia Jiao’s “insensitiveness” helped her notice the interesting little things in life.

For example, she didn’t care much about Song Xiao’s matters. It was normal for someone to be admired, Xia Jiao thought. She didn’t need to purposely make Wen Chongyue unhappy or bring him trouble over something like this.

Regrettably, Wen Chongyue did not share the same perspective.

Xia Jiao, not being a psychology expert, didn’t delve too deeply into this matter. Instead, she pulled herself together and focused on her duties at the flower shop the following day.

Mrs. Tang’s house was located in a serene residential area. When Xia Jiao and Gao Chan arrived, Mrs. Tang was still resting, and it was Mr. Tang who greeted them.

As soon as Xia Jiao entered the house, she felt a strange sense of time and space distortion.

The interior had a vintage design that clashed with the modern environment outside. The curtains, tablecloths, and tea tray mats were crocheted in shades of off-white, almost beige. There was even an old “Czech-style liquor cabinet” made from elm wood.

For a moment, it felt like stepping back into the 1980s.

This peculiar feeling left Xia Jiao stunned at the doorway for a few seconds before she finally stepped inside. Mr. Tang politely served tea, using small porcelain cups that also carried a nostalgic charm.

Gao Chan was younger and didn’t have the strong adaptability of Xia Jiao, so she was a little timid. It was still early, the sun wasn’t shining, and the curtains were drawn everywhere. The dim lighting gave the house an eerie atmosphere at first glance.

Hugging a large bouquet of pristine white lilies, Gao Chan hesitated at the entrance. The floral theme for the day was white, symbolizing purity and the wish for lasting harmony in marriage. Yet, in this room, the elegant lilies seemed to carry an unusual undertone.

Noticing her hesitation, Mr. Tang removed his glasses and offered a brief explanation. “Mrs. Tang has Alzheimer’s disease. Her memories are fragmented, so everything here has been arranged to match the scenes she remembers.”

“Oh,” Gao Chan murmured.

After bringing the flowers inside, Mr. Tang invited them to sit for tea. However, Xia Jiao shook her head and gestured to the time. “We’d like to arrange the flowers for Mrs. Tang as soon as possible.”

The flower shop’s custom floral arrangement service was costly. After a quick discussion with Gao Chan about the layout, they got to work. Following the planned design, they began placing the fresh white lilies, jasmine, forget-me-nots, white roses, and green spray roses around the room. Most of the plants featured white and green tones, blending into the unique environment.

On a table, Xia Jiao noticed an old black-and-white wedding photo. It depicted a young woman riding a horse, with a man holding the reins.

The woman was clearly a younger Mrs. Tang, while the man’s face was unfamiliar.

“Mrs. Tang is my adoptive mother,” Mr. Tang said. “Mr. Zheng, my adoptive father, was her husband.”

Surprised, Gao Chan turned to Xia Jiao, their eyes meeting in quiet astonishment.

“I hadn’t planned to mention this,” Mr. Tang hesitated before continuing. “But… when Mrs. Tang wakes up later, you might need to play along. The truth is, Mr. Zheng, her husband, has passed away.”

This revelation didn’t shock Xia Jiao. Avoiding the old photo, she gently placed the white lilies around it. She then noticed tiny words written in pen in the lower right corner of the frame.

“To my beloved wife, Wanshu. Taken on July 20, 1979.”

There was another line below it.

“Mrs. Tang’s memory is stuck in the time when Mr. Zheng passed away,” Mr. Tang explained. “It coincided with their wedding anniversary.”

He paused before adding, “July 28th, the fifth day of the seventh lunar month, is both Mrs. Tang’s birthday and the day Mr. Zheng died.”

That date.

Xia Jiao stared at the date on the photo for a moment before turning to Mr. Tang.

“Is it Tangshan?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Tang replied. “Mr. Zheng passed away in that earthquake.”

Hearing this, Gao Chan trembled, her hand shaking as she worked. A white rose fell to the ground, its petals scattering slightly upon hitting the vintage tile floor.

The soft fragrance of roses lingered.

In the bedroom, the elderly Mrs. Tang stirred awake, her white hair framing her pale face.

Tang Wanshu had been dreaming—a long, terrifying nightmare. She had dreamt of the roof collapsing, the ground shaking, and bricks and debris raining down on her.

Startled, she awoke in tears.

Once the darling of her family, Tang Wanshu had lived a charmed life. Her capable parents had ensured she never experienced hardship. She excelled in school, graduated, and was directly assigned an office job as an accountant. Her abacus skills were unmatched, and her calculations were always precise.

If she had ever faced any grievance, it was marrying the tall, reserved man from her workplace.

All her complaints stemmed from him.

He was awkward and emotionally distant, never saying “I love you” or indulging in sweet words. He rarely initiated conversations, let alone accompanied her to outdoor film screenings. It often seemed like he didn’t care for her at all.

In their three years of marriage, Tang Wanshu had cried countless times out of frustration and had even stormed back to her parents’ house multiple times. He never tried to stop her. Instead, he would wait for her to stay the night before silently cycling over to bring her home.

Every time, she swore she wouldn’t return, but the moment she saw him, she would happily pack her things and hop on his bike.

He was hopeless at comforting people, a stiff and clueless man, with his only semblance of romance being the flowers he brought her on their anniversary.

But this same “block of wood” was the one who, in the chaos of that fateful night, as debris rained down, instinctively shielded her with his body and held her tightly.

She could swear he hadn’t hugged her this tightly even on their wedding night.

Her nightmare was filled with the trembling earth, collapsing buildings, and suffocating dust and rubble.

Tang Wanshu sobbed uncontrollably, clutching at her memories as she murmured his name repeatedly. “Zheng Yunqing, is our house falling apart?”

Zheng Yunqing said, “It’s fine, the house collapsed, but someone tall is holding it up.”

Tang Wanshu said, “Are you mocking me for being short?”

“I’m not,” Zheng Yunqing replied, pausing for a moment. Then he added, “It’s just your temper. You need to change it or you’ll regret it later.”

Tang Wanshu was so shaken by the sudden tremor that she almost burst into tears. She sobbed, “I’m about to die from fear, and you’re still lecturing me. You just don’t like me.”

She thought she heard Zheng Yunqing sigh, but she wasn’t sure.

He didn’t say whether he liked her or not. He just lowered his head and gently brushed his lips against Tang Wanshu’s face. It was all covered in dirt. Tang Wanshu, who cared about her appearance, didn’t let him kiss her, so he kissed air instead.

Tang Wanshu soon realized that it was an earthquake. The rain started again, and she felt cold and scared. The mud and water kept flowing down, and occasional tremors shook the ground. But it was alright. Zheng Yunqing kept talking to her, assuring her that someone would come to help, that they needed to trust the government. He told her not to sleep because if she did, she might be stuck in an embarrassing position when someone found them.

Tang Wanshu, who loved beauty, managed to stay awake. She never knew her husband could talk so much. They had chatted more today than in the past week. She was worried that he might run out of things to say for the rest of their lives. She stayed alert, even though she was exhausted, determined to keep talking to Zheng Yunqing. But his voice grew quieter.

“It’s fine,” Zheng Yunqing said. “Someone tall has been holding up the house for a while. It’s a bit tiring.”

Tang Wanshu asked, “Do you want to relax for a bit? I’ll hug you.”

Actually, Tang Wanshu couldn’t hug him. Her hands were stuck and couldn’t move.

It was so cold, but Zheng Yunqing was warm.

She felt that she could endure being trapped in the mud and rubble.

Zheng Yunqing said, “I’m tired. I’ll sleep for a while. You listen out for me. If someone comes, call me, okay?”

Tang Wanshu answered, “Okay.”

Zheng Yunqing added, “Don’t be so stubborn in the future. You’ll suffer for it. Don’t argue with the workers so much. Everyone is struggling… And don’t go to the Zheng family for dumplings anymore. Their fillings aren’t good.”

Tang Wanshu hated hearing him lecture her, “Alright, alright, I got it. Go to sleep now.”

Zheng Yunqing said, “Tang Wanshu, I was really happy when I married you.”

Tang Wanshu, feeling awkward, replied, “Who cares.”

She felt like she was going crazy. Even though she was soaking in the dirty water and rubble, she strangely felt a little happy.

How strange.

Zheng Yunqing said, “I’m going to sleep now.”

“Sleep, sleep,” Tang Wanshu urged him. “I’ll call you when someone comes.”

…

Old and gray-haired, Tang Wanshu woke up from a dream.

A sudden light appeared, and the nightmare faded away.

She was lying in her own bed, with familiar floral sheets and beige crochet curtains. But there was no one she knew beside her.

Tang Wanshu got out of bed. She couldn’t see her wrinkled hands, but she pushed the door open based on memory and called, “Qingqing?”

Zheng Yunqing was not there. Tang Wanshu saw a room full of flowers and three strangers.

A tall, thin man and two young girls.

Tang Wanshu was a bit panicked. She clutched the doorframe, “Who are you?”

She looked around warily, calling out loudly, “Qingqing! Zheng Yunqing!”

But there was no answer.

Zheng Yunqing remained trapped in the earthquake nightmare, his bones crushed by the rocks, his organs bleeding internally, slowly dying.

Xia Jiao stood up.

She said, “Mrs. Tang, we’re here to deliver flowers.”

“Deliver flowers? What flowers?” Mrs. Tang asked, confused. “Who let you in?”

Mr. Tang took out an old identification card, a letter. He said, “I’m a co-worker of Zheng Yunqing. He worked overtime at the factory today and asked me to come back and let you know—these flowers are from him. He wanted to make you happy…”

Mrs. Tang looked down at the letter, carefully tracing the familiar handwriting.

She had been looking at the letter for so long that the paper had already yellowed, and some parts were barely readable.

She raised her head, feeling a bit awkward, and asked, “Oh, please sit down. I’ll pour you some tea…”

Xia Jiao and Gao Chan politely declined. They had already delivered the flowers. Mr. Tang had signed the confirmation slip and paid, so they were about to leave.

Their task was complete.

Mrs. Tang really liked the flowers. She rarely thanked people, but this time she said, “Thank you,” and glanced around before asking, “Where’s Yunqing?”

Xia Jiao smiled and said, “He’ll be back soon.”

Mrs. Tang nodded absent-mindedly. Mr. Tang softly urged her to sit on the couch. Xia Jiao and Gao Chan quietly left. As they closed the door, they still heard Mrs. Tang asking, “When will Yunqing come back?”

Mr. Tang said, “He’ll be back after you have breakfast.”

Mrs. Tang, like a child, asked again, “He’ll come back after I eat breakfast?”

Xia Jiao closed the door.

She remembered the small text she had seen in the photo earlier.

“Beloved wife Wanshu.”

“Through life and death.”

The late August sun was scorching, even at the end of the workday, still glaring in people’s eyes.

On her way home, Wen Chongyue casually bought a bowl of sweet porridge—Xia Jiao loved sweets, but it wasn’t a bad habit for a girl to like them.

The vendor was an elderly couple. The old lady was teaching a child to sing an old Suzhou nursery rhyme: “Doo doo doo, selling sweet porridge, three pounds of walnuts, four pounds of shells…”

Wen Chongyue smiled as he handed a piece of chocolate to the child. The child, shy and timid, hesitated until the old lady agreed. Then the child took the chocolate.

Wen Chongyue smiled and asked, “How old are you?”

The child peeled back the chocolate wrapper and said, “I’m eight!”

Wen Chongyue didn’t dislike children. In fact, he quite liked them.

But he wasn’t sure if he could become a good father.

The wrongdoings he had committed kept reminding him that he wasn’t yet a good role model.

 In August, loofahs are at their freshest. However, Xia Jiao wasn’t particularly fond of this vegetable. Picky eating wasn’t ideal, so Wen Chongyue gave it some thought and bought some fresh shrimp to prepare loofah stuffed with shrimp for her. He also decided to get winter melon for a soup and, upon spotting an elderly vendor selling fresh pumpkin flowers, bought some as well.

Finally, he arrived home.

As Wen Chongyue opened the door, the aroma of food and fresh fruit filled the air.

He paused in surprise. From the kitchen, Xia Jiao, dressed in pajamas and slippers, ran over and hugged him, resting her face against his chest and rubbing gently.

Caught off guard by the embrace, Wen Chongyue stood frozen for a moment before calling her name, “Jiao Jiao? What’s wrong?”

After a long pause, he heard her muffled voice, “Nothing.”

A couple of seconds later, she added, “It feels so good to hold you like this.”