Red Date Paste Sesame Cake, Black Rice

Wen Chongyue wasn’t sure if his heart issue was hereditary.

However, among the Wen family, only Wen Qiming had experienced some minor heart problems. Neither his aunt, Yu Tan, nor his grandmother, Yu Zhen, had any issues in this regard. Wen Chongyue scheduled another check-up, and the results came back fine—he was healthy with no special concerns.

But this strange heartbeat still occasionally occurred, perhaps when Xia Jiao suddenly hugged him from behind, or on a clear afternoon when he saw Xia Jiao napping on the couch with two cats. It could also happen when they snuggled up together to watch the same movie.

It would suddenly jump out, making his heart race like spring water.

Xia Jiao was completely unaware of these changes.

She didn’t pay much attention to Wen Chongyue’s heart rate issues. Moreover, she had become accustomed to his heartbeat quickening whenever she touched him.

In September, the temple fair at Tiger Hill had started, along with many big and small “food festivals.” Xia Jiao couldn’t say much about the current food festival, but she felt that the street food from small shops in alleys was better than what was offered during the festivals. Father Wen’s recovery was going well, but he still needed a caregiver to help with cooking. His right hand was still in a cast and couldn’t be moved freely. He had a good attitude and reassured Wen Chongyue that he didn’t need to come as often and should spend more time with Xia Jiao, living his own life.

Finally, Wen Chongyue took Xia Jiao to Mudu to try the famous red date paste sesame cake.

Suzhou is known for its sweet treats and rich fillings. The red date paste sesame cakes in Mudu are made with black date paste, mixed with pine nuts, sunflower seeds, sesame, and sugar. The dough is also sprinkled with sesame seeds, crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, with a rich aroma. The best ones are the large cakes, as they have more filling and a better texture. However, Xia Jiao’s stomach was limited, and after eating less than two-thirds, she was full. She held the remaining piece and didn’t know what to do with it. Wen Chongyue naturally took it from her and ate it without hesitation.

He rarely wasted food, but he would always finish the food Xia Jiao left behind.

Xia Jiao suspected that his stomach was like a shredder—no matter how many dishes they ordered, he would always finish whatever was left behind.

As expected, northern men had big appetites.

They also bought some boxed cakes to send back to their parents and friends. Like most ancient towns, Mudu was perfect for a slow, leisurely walk. However, unlike other towns in Suzhou, its iconic feature wasn’t the small bridges and flowing water. Wen Chongyue held a box full of red date paste sesame cakes in one hand and held Xia Jiao’s hand in the other. His backpack contained her sunscreen spray, water, tissues, and a thick jacket just in case.

Although Mudu was famous, it wasn’t as “ancient” as the other towns in Suzhou. The most notable sites were Yan Family Garden, Hongyin Mountain House, and Lingyan Mountain, where King Fuchai of Wu had built the Guanwazhuang for his beloved Xishi, later burned by King Goujian of Yue. There was a small platform at the top of the mountain with a great view of Suzhou, as well as Tianping Mountain. However, the maple leaves hadn’t turned red yet, and they would have to wait until mid to late October to see the “red maple leaves covering the entire mountain.”

Of course, by then, tourists would crowd the area, so it was better to enjoy the current peace and quiet.

Before winter arrived, although many restaurants were advertising their lamb and mutton dishes, Wen Chongyue still chose to take Xia Jiao to try the fish lung soup. The name of the dish sounded strange, but it was actually a fish soup made with the liver, skin, and meat of the Chinese black bass. The fish was tender in autumn, and the fish liver was the fattest and most delicious, creating the freshest and richest soup of the year.

Xia Jiao held the bowl carefully, sipping the soup with focus, following Wen Chongyue’s advice—start with the soup, as it’s the essence of the dish. After that, eat the fish liver. The fish liver is delicate and soft, so it’s best not to bite or chew it. Instead, gently press it with your lips, savoring it bit by bit, letting the flavor linger.

It was during the meal that Wen Chongyue brought up Wen Qiming’s heart condition.

Wen Qiming had always been in very good health. As far as Wen Chongyue can remember, Wen Qiming only fell ill once when he first moved, and it was a mild low-grade fever.

The doctor advised that Wen Qiming should avoid too many external stimuli, as sudden emotional shifts are particularly harmful to people with heart conditions. Wen Chongyue and his father had a harmonious relationship, and they rarely argued about anything, except for matters involving Bai Ruolang.

Both father and son were calm and reserved by nature.

Wen Qiming was someone who valued old friendships.

Even though it had been years since he last had any contact with Bai Ruolang, he would never harm his ex-wife. He was grateful to her for nearly losing her life when giving birth to Wen Chongyue, and for choosing to suffer silently and follow him when she was young, even though she later regretted and left him. Wen Qiming had once told Wen Chongyue that he was thankful for her bringing him into the world.

“I can’t judge whether what my father did was right or wrong,” Wen Chongyue said, lowering his gaze. “He promised me he wouldn’t let something like that happen again.”

Xia Jiao was eating the black rice. This kind of rice is made by mixing the juice of black tree leaves into the cooking process. It’s soft, sticky, and has a unique fragrance, making it tasty but not sticky to the teeth.

She ate slowly, watching Wen Chongyue momentarily lost in thought.

Now, Wen Chongyue appeared much warmer than before, no longer the distant, polite figure. At least now, it was clear to see his emotions, unlike the calm stillness he had before.

This was much better.

Xia Jiao finished a small bowl of black rice and called out, “Teacher Wen.”

Wen Chongyue responded, “What is it?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Xia Jiao said. “Don’t worry.”

As she spoke, Xia Jiao gently placed her hand on Wen Chongyue’s, her finger lightly pressing against the blood vessels on his wrist. She made a sincere promise, “As long as you don’t make any mistakes, I won’t ask for a divorce.”

Wen Chongyue smiled, “It’s my honor.”

Xia Jiao meant every word.

She could understand Bai Ruolang’s decision. Marriage and choosing a partner are deeply personal matters. Perhaps because of her previous job, where she had seen and heard so much, Xia Jiao’s view of marriage was calm and even a little pessimistic.

People have different standards when choosing a partner—some prioritize height, others prefer good looks, wealth, power, personality, or emotions. There is no right or wrong. Not everyone needs to marry for true love.

Every day, countless people get married, but only a few truly fall in love.

But what Xia Jiao couldn’t understand was why Bai Ruolang, after leaving, now wanted to interfere in Wen Chongyue’s life.

Once a choice is made, the consequences must be borne.

It’s selfish to want more after making a decision.

A few days before her birthday, Xia Jiao continued to work diligently. For some reason, Yu Qingzhen had been taking more leave than usual. When she came to the store, she seemed distracted, frequently making phone calls.

It wasn’t unusual for people to slack off at work, after all, it’s normal for employees to have moments of zoning out. Even Xia Jiao occasionally lost focus.

Yu Qingzhen had also been carrying a designer bag that looked a little off. Xia Jiao thought there was something wrong with it but figured it might just be a quality control issue. In recent years, luxury goods prices had been rising, and the quality control wasn’t as good as it used to be. For example, some brands had received complaints about bags smelling bad or having melted edges. Xia Jiao didn’t pay much attention to it.

The wind chime hanging on the door rang sweetly, and Xia Jiao looked up instinctively.

Mrs. Tang, with her haughty demeanor, was examining the store. Mr. Tang was accompanying her. She wore her hair neatly combed, streaked with silver, and asked in a somewhat affectionate voice, “Qingqing, are these flowers for our anniversary? Are they going to cost a lot?”

“No,” Mr. Tang said patiently, “As long as you like them.”

Standing in front of them, Xia Jiao caught Mr. Tang’s gaze. Their eyes met, and he smiled before speaking calmly, “Hello. In a while, it will be Mrs. Tang’s birthday. Could you recommend some flowers for us?”

The white lilies and roses swayed gently under the sunlight, their glass vases catching and refracting the light, casting a translucent glow. The light gradually tilted and shifted until it faded with the evening.

Xia Mi jumped off the table beside the vase of roses, landing right on Wen Quan, who was asleep on the floor. Wen Quan was so startled that it nearly lost its cat-like composure, especially when he realized that Xia Mi smelled like the trash bin. The fastidious cat made frantic mewing sounds and backed away, refusing to lick Xia Mi’s fur.

A noble cat would never rummage through the trash!

In the kitchen, Xia Jiao propped up the trash can and washed her hands carefully before asking Wen Chongyue, “Do you know about Alzheimer’s disease?”

Wen Chongyue replied, “Not much.”

Xia Jiao said, “My grandfather had it before he passed away. He had been a very dignified person, but after he got sick, he started stealing things, picking up trash, and arguing with people. At first, we didn’t know and thought he had just become bad-tempered… later, we realized it was because of the disease.”

Her once dignified grandfather would insist on wearing socks while reading, suddenly start cursing, or throw away food that had been prepared. It was like he had turned into a child who wouldn’t tolerate even the slightest bit of discomfort. No one knew what was going on in his mind.

He was just sick.

Xia Jiao’s grandmother and father had been exhausted from taking care of him. When they caught him hiding buns and food in his blanket again, her grandmother had tears in her eyes, saying she couldn’t deal with it anymore. But the next moment, she was changing the dirty bedding.

At that moment, Xia Jiao was also present. Even though Grandpa had been scolded by Grandma for a long time, he still remembered her. He looked like a child who had done something wrong, sitting at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. But when he saw Xia Jiao, he immediately smiled and waved at her, affectionately handing over the things he had hidden away.

“Jiao Jiao, eat this,” Grandpa said. “It’s delicious. I secretly saved it for you. Take your time and eat it, just don’t let anyone find out…”

They had forgotten everything else. The illness had stripped them of their dignity, composure, and thought processes.

The only things that couldn’t be erased were their instincts and love.

The faucet was running, and Xia Jiao turned it off, taking a deep breath.

“This disease is really terrible,” Xia Jiao said. “It makes people lose their reasoning.”

She only felt sadness when she saw it.

Wen Chongyue leaned over and fed a cherry into Xia Jiao’s mouth.

“At least they are happy,” he said.

Xia Jiao tilted her head back.

She bit into the cherry, and the sour-sweet juice burst open in her mouth.

Yes.

Although they had lost most of their ability to think clearly, day after day, year after year, repeating the same familiar things, they had made up for the regrets.

Just like Mrs. Tang, in her world, there was no earthquake. It was just an ordinary day when Mr. Tang bought her the flowers she wanted, and they celebrated their birthday and wedding anniversary together.

Just like Grandpa, in his world, his wife and children were all around. He secretly hid delicious food to save for his beloved granddaughter.

They were happy.

Xia Jiao rarely recalled the scenes of her relatives growing old and passing away. Perhaps it was because introversion was naturally linked to sensitivity. During her university days, she volunteered at a nursing home, where she saw elderly people sitting in wheelchairs in the hallway, silent and stiff, their hair gray, like dried leaves hanging from a branch in autumn, waiting for the cold wind.

Such scenes were difficult for Xia Jiao to bear, let alone remember the passing of her beloved relatives.

Mrs. Tang was still immersed in her world, visiting the flower shop happily, preparing for their wedding anniversary. The quiet old man also took his elderly wife to buy roses every day. The old lady was talkative and often chatted with Xia Jiao for a long time.

Yu Qingzhen’s boyfriend, whom Xia Jiao had never met, had even treated the staff at the flower shop to coffee. Perhaps love made people feel cheerful, as Yu Qingzhen and Gao Chan were also chatting and laughing these days, no longer at odds like before.

In such a warm and pleasant atmosphere, Xia Jiao’s birthday arrived.

It was  Saturday, and she slept until ten o’clock, leisurely emerging from her blankets. Wen Chongyue had already decorated the house with flowers, some of which were gifts from Yu Tan. Aunt Yu Tan had been busy with a luxury brand’s Mid-Autumn Festival exhibition in Beijing and couldn’t attend, so she sent her gift over instead.

They didn’t invite many people. Since it was her birthday, Xia Jiao didn’t want too much noise. She invited Jiang Wanju, and Wen Chongyue only notified Chen Zhouren.

The two of them arrived almost simultaneously, and by coincidence, they brought the same brand of gifts.

Jiang Wanju brought a bottle of perfume from a certain brand for Xia Jiao, while Chen Zhouren’s gift was a silk scarf from nearly the same collection.

Xia Jiao was thrilled. “What a coincidence!”

Jiang Wanju replied, “It’s not a coincidence.”

Chen Zhouren added, “Not at all.”

They exchanged a glance, paused, then looked away. Wen Chongyue was in the kitchen, cooking, and Xia Jiao, as the hostess, happily invited them to sit down and made tea.

Jiang Wanju adored the two cats Xia Jiao raised. Though she was more of a dog person, no one could resist a kitten, and she couldn’t help but cuddle and kiss them. Chen Zhouren went to the kitchen to help Wen Chongyue, while Xia Jiao brewed the tea and sat with Jiang Wanju on the sofa, chatting, drinking tea, and watching TV.

However, Xia Jiao didn’t stay idle for long. She saw Chen Zhouren being sent out by Wen Chongyue to buy fruit, and she rushed to the kitchen. She hugged Wen Chongyue from behind, taking a deep breath.

“Teacher Wen,” she said.

Wen Chongyue replied, “Hmm?”

Xia Jiao asked, “Do you need any help?”

“Just keep your friends company,” Wen Chongyue said. “Please make sure the guests are well taken care of.”

Xia Jiao pouted. “Wanju was taken away by Chen Zhouren. Now I’m all alone in the living room and bored.”

Wen Chongyue suggested, “Why not read a book? I remember you had some kind of exam coming up.”

Xia Jiao closed her eyes. “It’s just a simple exam from our flower shop. The questions are easy.”

“Even if it’s simple, you shouldn’t take it lightly,” Wen Chongyue disagreed. “Be good. Go read now, and later we can happily cut the cake.”

Xia Jiao smiled, “I’ll read the day after tomorrow.”

Wen Chongyue looked puzzled. “Why the day after tomorrow?”

“Didn’t you ever hear that saying?” Xia Jiao teased. “Success comes from the efforts made the day after tomorrow.”

Wen Chongyue, with the Xia Jiao-themed keychain hanging on his waist, moved to the sink to wash his hands. He turned around and pinched Xia Jiao’s cheek.

He smiled, “What other sayings do you know?”

Xia Jiao refused to answer. She was in a good mood, and everything in the kitchen looked golden in her eyes. She hummed a tune softly, with no lyrics. Wen Chongyue asked, “What are you singing?”

Xia Jiao tried to remember the lyrics. “Sunshine, rainbow, little white horse… the one that goes ‘I’m the little white horse in the sunshine and rainbow.’”

“Little white horse?” Wen Chongyue pondered. “I do recall another saying: A horse will not grow fat without grazing at night.”

Xia Jiao paused.

She cautiously used her right index finger to poke Wen Chongyue’s waist through his shirt. It was her favorite spot in the evening, her little happy place.

“Excuse me,” Xia Jiao asked carefully. “Was the fourth word you said a noun?”