Chapter 38:

Ji Xingyao saw that Mu Jinpei was holding a book and took it from his hand. “What’s this?”

Mu Jinpei led her into the car. “A novel.”

Ji Xingyao looked at him like he was some kind of alien, eyes filled with disbelief.

Mu Jinpei turned to the side. “What kind of look is that?”

“You read novels?”

“It’s one I read as a kid. I lost it and just bought another copy.” Mu Jinpei could only lie. As they reached the car, he opened the door and said, “Get in, you can read it later.” Then he added, “You wouldn’t understand it anyway.”

Ji Xingyao paused by the car door. “Who says I wouldn’t understand it?”

She started mock-reading with exaggerated drama:
“Mu Jinpei, the man who once thought he was untouchable, loved Ji Xingyao more than life itself. He loved her so much it tore him apart, so much he lost his mind, lost himself, and if he didn’t see Ji Xingyao for a single day, his eyes would well up with tears.”

Mu Jinpei: “…” He couldn’t help but laugh.

The momentary smile on his face was caught by Ji Xingyao. She was momentarily stunned by how handsome and manly he looked when he smiled—so charming.

But the smile was fleeting, so brief it vanished before she could even savor it.

Mu Jinpei tilted his chin slightly. “Get in the car.”

Ji Xingyao leaned into his arms, flipped open the first page of the novel, and tilted her head to kiss his jaw.

Mu Jinpei looked down, not quite understanding what she was doing. “Hmm?”

Ji Xingyao was rarely this curious about anything. The more she didn’t understand it, the more she wanted to figure it out. What could this novel possibly contain that had stayed with Mu Jinpei all these years—so much that he bought another copy?

Maybe if she understood it, she could take one more step into his lonely world.

“What kind of novel is it?” she asked.

Mu Jinpei took the book from her and tossed it aside. “It’s a novel with some psychological trauma in it. Best not to read it.”

The moment she heard it had caused him psychological trauma, Ji Xingyao stared at him for a while, then suddenly sat up straight. “You’re afraid of helicopters—is it because of this novel?”

Mu Jinpei was slightly startled and didn’t respond.

That hesitation confirmed her guess. Now that she had found the root of his fear, it would be easier to address.

Mu Jinpei was surprised she had made the connection with just one sentence and asked her to explain.

Ji Xingyao held his hand and analyzed her reasoning:
“Even Grandpa and Grandma Mu didn’t know you were afraid of helicopters. That means you didn’t go through some traumatic experience involving helicopters when you were young. Which leaves only one possibility: you saw or heard something traumatic about helicopters that left a shadow in your mind. You’re not afraid of flying—you’re afraid the same thing will happen to you.”

Mu Jinpei said vaguely, “Something like that.” Then tried to change the topic. “What do you want to do this afternoon?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Ji Xingyao said but didn’t press him further. Instead, she hugged him tightly—very tightly.
The more he didn’t want to talk about it, the deeper that wound likely was.

“Thank you. I’m fine,” Mu Jinpei said, feeling the warmth and comfort in her embrace. “Wherever you want to go, I’ll come with you.”

Other than painting and him, Ji Xingyao wasn’t interested in much else. She told the driver to take them to the studio.

On the way, she kept holding onto Mu Jinpei tightly.

Every time they went to the studio, Mu Jinpei would rearrange the antique shelf for her, and today was no different. A new layout always inspired her in different ways.

Ji Xingyao opened the window. The afternoon sunlight was warm. She lay on the rocking chair by the window, flipping through an artbook, with Mu Jinpei’s freshly brewed coffee beside her—utterly relaxed.

The little succulents and potted plants behind the chair, under Mu Jinpei’s careful care over the past few months, had all sprouted tender green shoots, full of life.

Ji Xingyao had even named them—Mu Jinpei No.1, Mu Jinpei No.2—all the way up to No.35.

She turned the pages of her book gently while Mu Jinpei continued working on something intently by himself.

They each did their own thing, sometimes going half an hour without a single word exchanged.

After finishing one artbook, Ji Xingyao looked over at Mu Jinpei. He was bent over her worktable, focused on something. Scissors and scraps of colorful paper were beside him.

She didn’t disturb him and quietly got up barefoot to pick another artbook.

Time passed, and the sun gradually moved westward, the warm glow starting to fade.

Ji Xingyao closed the window. Mu Jinpei had already finished what he was doing and was now sitting on the sofa looking at his phone. The gentle light shone on his profile, casting a warm glow.

“What were you working on earlier?” Ji Xingyao walked over and wrapped her arms around his neck from behind the sofa.

Mu Jinpei replied, “Go see for yourself.”

“Tch, keeping secrets from me now?” Ji Xingyao kissed his cheek. “If I find it, you owe me a reward.” Then she went back to her workspace to look for what had changed.

All the still-life displays had been rearranged. Most of the antiques on the shelves were in new positions. When she saw the vase Mu Jinpei had painted before, she froze.

The vase used to be empty. Now it had a rose in it—a soft matte rose-colored paper flower that matched the vase’s tone perfectly.

So that’s what he had been working on—folding a rose.

“You can fold roses by hand?” she asked in disbelief.

Mu Jinpei replied, “There are tutorials online. It’s not hard.” He set his phone aside. “Come here, I need to ask you something.”

Ji Xingyao walked backward so she could keep admiring the rose.

She walked slowly, only speeding up once she had fully taken in the beauty of it. In the end, she flopped directly into Mu Jinpei’s lap.

“What do you want to ask? About painting?”

“No.” Mu Jinpei turned her around to face him. “My dad’s arriving in Beijing tomorrow morning.”

Ji Xingyao offered, “Then I’ll go with you to the airport.”

Mu Jinpei declined, “No need. I’ll go alone. Once they reconcile, we’ll go have dinner together.”

“Uncle Mu and Professor Pei had a fight?”

Mu Jinpei nodded. “My dad’s coming to try and patch things up with my mom. They’re having a bit of a disagreement right now.” He didn’t go into detail, and Ji Xingyao, understanding as always, didn’t press. She gestured for him to continue.

Mu Jinpei asked, “How can I get them to talk more?”

Ji Xingyao blinked. “If they can open their hearts to each other, that’s enough. Why even talk?”

Mu Jinpei was speechless. If they could open their hearts to each other, things wouldn’t have been stuck in place for so many years—maybe they wouldn’t have drifted further apart.

Ji Xingyao offered a suggestion. “It’s spring now, lots of places to go. Let Uncle Mu take Professor Pei on a spring outing. There’s no problem that holding hands can’t solve. Trust me.”

Mu Jinpei decided to try her suggestion. Maybe it would work—after all, his mother and Ji Xingyao were very similar. Their thoughts often aligned in surprising ways.

Mu Wenhuai’s flight arrived in Beijing just after 4 a.m. the next day. It was still dark when Mu Jinpei arrived at the airport, over half an hour early.

But baggage delays took some time—over an hour later, Mu Wenhuai finally emerged.

Mu Jinpei walked up to greet him. “Dad.” He gave his father a hug, just like when he was a child. Every time his father picked him up or dropped him off, they’d hug—whether arriving or saying goodbye.

Back when he was small, his father would crouch down to hug him. As he grew taller, his father would bend over. And when he finally grew taller than his dad, his father started giving him firm pats on the shoulder instead.

Mu Wenhuai: “You’ve probably been waiting a while, haven’t you?”

“It’s nothing.” Mu Jinpei took his father’s suitcase, and they walked side by side, chatting.

People passing by couldn’t help but look at them, surprised at their tall statures and similar features, and curious about how their relationship seemed so close and natural.

“Beijing has changed so much, I can barely recognize it anymore,” Mu Wenhuai said as he looked out the window, full of emotion.

Mu Jinpei asked, “How many years has it been since you were last here?”

Mu Wenhuai’s last visit was the year Mu Jinpei’s great-grandmother passed away. He and Pei Yu had brought her back so she could rest in her homeland.

Thinking back, it had already been eighteen years.

He didn’t mention those sad memories to Mu Jinpei and casually gave a vague answer, “Over ten years. I don’t remember exactly which year I came back, but a lot has changed.”

He turned to his son and asked, “Your mom doesn’t know I’m coming, does she?”

Mu Jinpei replied, “I didn’t tell her. There wouldn’t be any surprise if I did.”

Mu Wenhuai felt uneasy, worried that Pei Yu would be disgusted just by seeing him.

Noticing his father’s nerves, Mu Jinpei tried to reassure him, “Dad, don’t be nervous. No matter how bad it goes, it won’t be worse than thirty years ago.”

He then passed on Ji Xingyao’s suggestion, “Take mom out for walks over the next few days. There’s nothing a little hand-holding can’t fix. Xingyao loves it when I hold her hand.”

Mu Wenhuai rubbed his brow, half laughing and half helpless. He never imagined the day would come when his own son would be teaching him how to patch up a relationship.

As nerves lingered, the car slowly pulled into the villa’s driveway.

After getting out, Mu Jinpei helped straighten his father’s coat and called his mother. “Mom, are you up?”

“I’ve been up for a while,” Pei Yu replied. Then, after a brief pause: “I was just putting on makeup. I heard the sound of your car. Here to ask for advice again this early?”

“Bringing you a surprise, Mom. Hurry up.” Mu Jinpei hung up the phone and gave his father another light hug. From childhood, he’d seen his father as a powerful and decisive man at the negotiating table—but when it came to his mother, he was always nervous and cautious.

Mu Jinpei had the butler bring in the luggage and then left by car.

Mu Wenhuai wasn’t unfamiliar with the villa. It had a similar interior design to their home in New York—same furniture, same layout. To calm his nerves, he started watering the plants in the living room.

Footsteps sounded from the stairs, and a voice came before the person did.
“Are you going to register your marriage with Xingyao today?”

Mu Wenhuai looked up and saw Pei Yu standing frozen on the staircase landing. After a long pause, she asked, “Why didn’t you say anything about coming? Are you here on a business trip?” She began to descend the stairs.

Mu Wenhuai set down the spray bottle. “I came to see you.”

He walked over and gave her a hug.

From the floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side of the living room, the first rays of morning sunlight spilled in.

Meanwhile, back at home, Mu Jinpei returned to find Ji Xingyao already awake, sitting against the headboard flipping through an artbook. She happened to be looking at an oil painting titled My Daughter and Me.

In the painting, the little girl looked like a cherub, sitting on her father’s shoulders.

The bedroom door opened and she turned. “You picked up Uncle Mu?”

“Yeah, dropped him off at my mom’s.” Mu Jinpei hadn’t slept much the night before—he’d gotten up around 2 a.m. He drew the blackout curtains and began undressing to catch up on some sleep.

With the curtains closed, the room went completely dark.

Ji Xingyao turned on the bedside lamp and suddenly got an idea. “I’ll read you a bedtime story to help you sleep.”

Mu Jinpei thought she was just being playful. She was holding an art magazine—hardly material for stories—so he didn’t take her seriously.

But Ji Xingyao dimmed her lamp so it barely lit the book, then cleared her throat.
“Okay, we’re starting now. Tuck yourself in.”

Then her gentle, soothing voice filled the room:

“The first time I saw Mu Jinpei was in the delivery room.
I opened my big, grape-like black eyes and looked around curiously.
This world was new to me, but it felt happy—I saw my dad, Mu Jinpei.
He was kissing my mom, who looked just like a fairy.
Mom was lying on the hospital bed, exhausted after giving birth to me.
Then Dad took me from the nurse and kissed my eyes.
It was a firm yet incredibly gentle kiss.
He kissed my chubby little cheeks, too.
His eyes were red. He must have been waiting for me for so, so long.
I wanted to tell him I loved him too.
But I couldn’t talk yet, and he couldn’t read my eyes. What to do?
So I cried and cried, trying to let him know that I’d been waiting to see him too—
For nine whole months.
I wanted to tell him, ‘Now that I’m here, you’ll never be lonely again.
Mom and I will talk to you and be by your side always.
Future Dad, please get some good rest and take care of Mom.
We’ll meet in a few years.
I love you.’”