Chapter 85

It was still before the New Year, a weekend shortly after returning from Sri Lanka, in the afternoon, when Xiang Feiran was encountered by a PhD student from the neighboring lab in a jewelry brand store.

The PhD student, whose wedding was approaching, was there with his fiancée to choose wedding rings. Seeing Xiang Feiran, he greeted him with enthusiasm and surprise: “Professor Xiang?”

Xiang Feiran was being escorted out of the VIP room by a jewelry consultant, who was gently advising him: “If you’re still unsure, you can also subtly ask your girlfriend for her preferences. Since it’s a ring you’ll wear for a lifetime, it should be the one you like the most.”

The PhD student momentarily left his fiancée and asked with significant interest: “Are you going to propose to your girlfriend?”

Xiang Feiran, who rarely fell into such traps, meaning he wasn’t the type to answer personal questions, surprisingly nodded and responded fully: “Not ready yet.”

The consultant clasped her hands in front of her: “Mr. Zhu and Mr. Xiang know each other?”

The PhD student’s surname was Zhu. He was well-off and a registered VIP of the brand; several salespeople in the store knew him.

“Yes, of course, I’m like a mentor to him!”

The consultant joked: “Mr. Xiang has been looking here for three hours. Mr. Zhu, you are the most familiar with our brand, so please give Mr. Xiang more advice on our products.”

After a few pleasantries, Xiang Feiran left the store. The PhD student asked, “Which rings did you look at? Let me see his taste.”

The consultant retrieved a catalog from the VIP room, flipping through: “This one, this one, this one…” flipping through the catalog from beginning to end, “and this one.”

She teased: “Mr. Xiang has good taste. At first, he wanted to choose a proposal diamond ring. I recommended our best-selling model, but he said his fiancée doesn’t like transparent diamonds.”

The PhD student was taken aback, thinking to himself: So Professor Xiang is quite wealthy? Usually, he seems low-key, living modestly in the botanical garden, driving a car worth six or seven hundred thousand. But he’s looking at rings worth over a million? Is it true what’s said about his background? Isn’t it said he has a poor relationship with his father?

His fiancée was inexplicably upset and nudged him: “Why is it that his boyfriend is both a PI and wealthy and handsome?”

No one can stand such comparisons, especially with a two-year delay in graduation. The PhD student’s pride was hurt, and he snapped: “What’s wrong with me looking safe? Can you sleep at night with your boyfriend being Professor Xiang? Aren’t you checking on him every day?”

Regardless, thanks to Xiang Feiran, he originally intended to buy a ring worth several hundred thousand today and had to buy a watch to please his fiancée.

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Looking at diamond rings became Xiang Feiran’s regular pastime on weekends during that period. Sometimes, on weekday nights, when he was stuck on a problem, he would drive over. Strangely enough, as he looked at the rings, some difficult issues in his research would suddenly become clear.

During those times spent looking at rings, he felt such joy, immersed in a deep sense of peaceful happiness, believing that life was untroubled, the future was promising, and everything could be brightened up.

Although Shang Mingbao never mentioned it, Xiang Feiran knew her favorite was pink diamonds. From before the New Year until the beginning of spring, he had checked out all the worthy brands on the market and auction houses, and finally selected three options.

The problem was on his own end—he could barely afford them.

In the villa that Xiang Lianqiao had given him, he sat for a long time.

The garden, which had been overgrown with weeds, gradually took on a vibrant shape after he planted some flowers. He came once a week to water, fertilize, and trim, sitting in the garden smoking a cigarette.

Amidst the swirling smoke, Xiang Feiran envisioned the future flower garden of the villa, his mind echoing with the words of Xiang Weishan and Wu Baiyan from the past—

“She suffers because she loves you.”

“You were never good enough. Do you really think that with your less than a million annual salary and a few million in ‘talent introduction fees,’ you can make her live happily?”

“You’re great, standing on the peak of Mount Everest, but unfortunately, you’re in love with the moon.”

Marriage isn’t a joke; it can’t be sustained just by love. When he was still a staunch opponent of marriage, he could ignore the economic gap between them, adhering to the simple principle of spending whatever he had on her.

During his six years in the U.S., his total income was actually quite substantial, but he saved not a penny. This was because he had minimal material desires and didn’t need to budget for future living expenses; after the breakup, he lived a carefree life, free to live or die as he pleased.

However, once the thought of marriage entered his mind, Xiang Feiran had to consider more.

It was one thing that Shang Mingbao had a trust fund, and another that they would do a very clear prenuptial property division. It was a different matter entirely that he wanted to provide as much as possible.

That afternoon, as he sat in the garden approaching sunset, Xiang Feiran felt that he hadn’t yet pushed himself to the limit.

His contacts with the United Nations began when he was in the U.S. The cooperation in Wisconsin had left a deep impression, and when a consultant expert was needed in China, Xiang Feiran was the first person they thought of.

The compensation for this work wasn’t particularly generous, but it brought prestige. The PR from the watch brand contacted him because of his connection with the UN.

As Switzerland’s oldest luxury watch brand, they drew much inspiration from nature, creating a series of classic works from flowers, animals, and the ocean. Their environmental protection public welfare programs had been ongoing for thirty years. Xiang Feiran would be their spokesperson for the new five-year plan, which required him to participate in a series of promotional activities, including filming advertising documentaries, lectures, exhibitions, and gala dinners.

He knew well that these PR activities were just part of building the brand culture. The Earth, vegetation, biodiversity, and he were merely embellishments on a wreath. Everything ultimately focused on a series of gala dinners where they elegantly and politely discussed the beauty of the Earth, swiped a card for ten million, and took home a limited-edition watch.

The PR from Switzerland said after signing the contract: “Our vision is very high, always choosing young scientists globally. We had been observing you in the U.S., and although we had contacted other scientists, …”

But, while personal image was their last reference criterion, when a significant advantage appeared, it became the decisive factor.

“To be honest, I came here prepared to be rejected, ready for a tug-of-war, and to persuade you,” the PR smiled, “I didn’t expect you to accept. Cheers, I’ve done a good job.”

His department was baffled by his numerous commercial activities at first, and there were concerns. However, since his team still considered him diligent and committed, these minor criticisms gradually disappeared.

It was evident that Xiang Feiran was leaving the lab later and later, and his dormitory lights were often on until after 2 a.m.

Several familiar associate researchers and doctoral advisors half-jokingly said, “Working so hard, are you trying to become an academician at a young age?”

They all advised him not to be too harsh on himself.

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Before leaving, Xiang Weishan left behind a card—a full-access card for “Weishan Life,” which could enter all departments and labs—an honor even Zheng Ao hadn’t enjoyed.

The next day was Xiang Feiran’s birthday.

After accompanying Wendy and a Hollywood star for dinner at Victoria Harbour, Shang Mingbao hurriedly took a helicopter to Ning City.

By the time she arrived at the botanical garden, it was already 8 p.m. She had been overwhelmed with establishing her brand this spring and hadn’t been able to pay attention to this day. She had set a calendar reminder in advance, so she hadn’t had time to prepare a gift or surprise.

As the helicopter flew over the cityscape filled with lights, Shang Mingbao put down her phone, which was buzzing with a series of kiss emojis from Wendy. In the noise of the rotor blades, she clearly heard her own thoughts—

It was as if she could imagine a life without Xiang Feiran.

The moment of fear was so intense and painful, not because she would lose Xiang Feiran, but because her mind could so naturally and calmly entertain this thought.

The last cold air of late spring suddenly hit, and the dormitory building below was not as lively as before. Shang Mingbao went upstairs, and after rummaging through her bag, realized she had forgotten her key, so she had to knock on the door.

Xiang Feiran came to open the door, and they embraced in the foyer.

She was quite cold, which made the embrace imbued with the chill of the air.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Xiang Feiran comforted her, “It’s not late.”

Shang Mingbao held his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him lightly on the lips, confessing honestly, “I forgot to prepare a gift…”

Xiang Feiran smiled and shook his head with a hint of resignation, “It doesn’t matter.”

She noticed a slight smell of alcohol on his breath and asked, “Have you been drinking?”

“A little. Writing papers made me a bit sleepy.”

Few Ph.D. students don’t drink; there’s always a bottle of half-finished whiskey beside the computer because working late into the night with data is so boring that drinking becomes a form of self-entertainment.

Entering the living room, she saw the cake still in its box, and ice packs that had partially melted were nearby. Shang Mingbao untied the ribbon and discovered a card inside, signed by the four members of his research team.

“From Lin Xi and the others?” Shang Mingbao set the card aside and began placing the candles.

“Yeah.”

“They didn’t invite you to dinner?”

“They did, but I was busy.”

Shang Mingbao looked up, “Who was busy?”

“Everyone.”

She laughed, flicked the lighter, and said, “Feiran, come and make a wish.”

Xiang Feiran turned off the lights, sat down next to her on the sofa, and waited for her to light the number candles. After she finished, he closed his eyes, clasped his hands, and with a decisive “snap” of his fingers, opened his eyes and blew out the candles—

In a single breath, the flames were extinguished.

The series of actions happened in the blink of an eye. Shang Mingbao was stunned, “Is that it? You made your wish just like that?”

Xiang Feiran said nonchalantly, “Yes, it’s done.”

“In just one second?”

“Too verbose, and the gods won’t bother listening.”

“…”

You think gods are like you.

Xiang Feiran unwrapped the paper bag, took out the cake knife, and cut into the square, jasmine-scented cream cake. The group had deliberated for a long time about sending him a birthday cake, fearing he might refuse.

Shang Mingbao took a bite of the cake and asked, “What did you wish for?”

“Can’t say.”

“Why?”

“What if it doesn’t come true?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “Oh… even scientists have superstitions.”

Xiang Feiran glanced at her and smeared a bit of cream on her nose, “It’s not the first time.”

For things beyond his control, only the gods have a say. Why ask the gods for anything? Marx might work too.

“And what else?”

“A little girl is about to have surgery, so I went to the mountains to do an early morning prayer and asked for a talisman,” he said casually.

Shang Mingbao didn’t think of herself at all. She just enjoyed the cream on her cake fork and asked, “Which little girl?”

Xiang Feiran smiled, his eyes gentle under the wall lamp, but didn’t answer.

After finishing the cake, Shang Mingbao remembered he hadn’t eaten dinner. “Shall I go out with you for a bite?”

Xiang Feiran pulled her into his embrace. “No need, I’ve eaten at the cafeteria.”

After learning that she would only be able to come after finishing with her client, he had dinner at the cafeteria as usual.

This was his thirtieth birthday.

He didn’t care much about age and birthdays because the happy memories of this day were too distant and the unhappy ones were too numerous, so he didn’t celebrate much. The happiest birthday he ever had was in New York. Shang Mingbao truly loved the helicopter night tour over Manhattan project and took him to the helicopter with his eyes covered.

That night, the wind was strong, and looking down from the door of the cabin, Manhattan’s sea of lights looked like Van Gogh’s whirlpool. Back at the apartment, Simon probably said “what” a dozen times, confirmed 180 times that he had taken a helicopter, and finally, with jealousy, said, “Bro, I bet you’ll be talking about this when you’re eighty.”

Xiang Feiran thought Simon’s words were good. To be able to talk about this birthday when he was eighty, he decided to make an effort to live to eighty.

Embracing Shang Mingbao, who was sitting on his lap, burying his face in her neck, Xiang Feiran closed his eyes amidst her scent and asked, “After we’re married, where do you want to live?”

The body in his arms went still.

Shang Mingbao wasn’t sure if she heard him correctly or if it was just a figment of her imagination after longing for so long.

A bubble surfaced from the mire of her soul, causing her to shiver.

She hesitated for a long time, incredulously asking, “Feiran?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you drunk?”

Xiang Feiran chuckled softly, “No, of course not.”

“Then…”

“Hong Kong or Ning City?” Xiang Feiran asked again.

Shang Mingbao’s body trembled in her bones, but she answered him naturally, “Ning City.”

“Shall we go look at houses tomorrow?”

Shang Mingbao turned her face, her eyes moist, “Do you know you shouldn’t joke about this?”

Xiang Feiran’s palm was against her cheek. “I know—this isn’t a proposal.”

“Then what is it?”

“When you’re clear about it, I’ll tell you.”

Shang Mingbao raised her hand to cover her lips, tears streaming down her face, seeping through her fingers. “Why?” She was so incredulous, thinking she might never get this answer in her lifetime.

Xiang Feiran chuckled, wiping away the tears on her cheek, “So surprised?”

Shang Mingbao shook her head, “No… you…”

She paused, asking cautiously, “Do you want to think about it some more?”

Xiang Feiran was momentarily stunned. Although he still smiled, his brow slightly furrowed, “Think some more?”

Shang Mingbao stammered, “I mean, think about it carefully… don’t be impulsive, don’t, don’t force yourself.”

Xiang Feiran pressed his lips together, his mouth corners lifted slightly, quietly watching her in the dim light. “Babe, why do you look so scared?”

Shang Mingbao was stunned and instinctively replied, “I’m not scared.”

Xiang Feiran held her hands, his gaze deep and close.

“You…”

He didn’t continue.

You look very resistant.

He didn’t continue, afraid of making things clear, afraid her remaining love for him might be scattered by this gust of wind, revealing the few barren remnants underneath.

Xiang Feiran stopped talking and focused solely on kissing her.

He was somewhat impatient today. His actions gradually became rough and urgent. In the silence, his breath was filled with an inexpressible despair, as if he were futilely struggling in a dark tunnel.

When he asked if she could take off the condom and leave it inside, Shang Mingbao’s sweating body froze. She didn’t refuse, unsure if she agreed or was just stunned. But Xiang Feiran touched her face and smiled silently, “Shang Mingbao, you’re free.”

As usual, he took extreme measures to prevent unintended pregnancy, only releasing outside her body even with the condom on.

Shang Mingbao felt a sudden urge to cry. Kneeling and clinging to him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and called out to him with a choked voice, “Feiran.”

She could only call his name, filled with sobs and a desperate unwillingness to look back.

A chasm had already been planted between them, and she was too afraid to look into it.

Xiang Feiran patted her back, his arm resting on her shoulder blade, “Go wash up.”

“I haven’t decided…” Shang Mingbao burst into tears, unable to distinguish between fear, panic, surprise, anxiety, disbelief, or grievance. She cried like a child, sobbing, “I haven’t decided…”

Xiang Feiran grew quiet, pulling her close with both arms, tightening his hold on her back.

Although he already had the answer in his heart, the moment he had to voice it, his tone and breath were still trembling.

“Have I thought it through too late?” he closed his eyes at her head.

After Wu Boyan informed him of the deadline, the sword hanging over his head seemed to drop little by little every day. He seized every moment, waking and dreaming of life with her after marriage.

Thinking about it, he realized he was repeating what they had done before—the seasons, the meals, going outdoors, working together at the desk, holding her and listening to her flirt, hearing her make up flawed excuses after making mistakes, then kissing her to stop her from feeling guilty or being talkative.

At first, he thought it was nothing special.

Later, he realized it was just like that.

These moments he treasured in his memory—watching the Perseids meteor shower on the highway, the firs and mist on the mountains, listening to vinyl records in the apartment, her messing with the drums in the rehearsal room, organizing specimens with her in the specimen room, identifying the 3,873 flowers for her jewelry design, the magnificent gentian variant recording their names as a species name, the streets they walked, the snow they brushed off each other’s shoulders, the plays they waited for, the burnt steaks, the smoke detectors they tried to sabotage, the Christmas trees they fixed, the fireworks they watched, the years they crossed—

Months.

Weeks.

Days.

The clocks, minute hands, and seconds they crossed.

Carving the past, heralding the future.

How could it be boring, how could it be tiresome, how could it not be love? The past five years still felt insufficient. Each trip was like a sweet indulgence. What he was immersed in, what he was reluctant to part with, was he really going to push it away with his own hands? To push it away and thus cherish it more, regret it more, and suffer more?

Xiang Feiran, get your head straight!

He suddenly realized, enlightened, with a sense of clarity and understanding, every insight and epiphany in the world was like the glowing, fiery spark of self-awareness striking his own endless night of self-entanglement since he was sixteen.

It illuminated him.

Could anyone know his fortune?

Such a wonderful life, he not only lived it for five years but would continue to have it for a lifetime?

He couldn’t believe it, even wanting to grab someone on the street to ask if this was real.

He originally planned to tell her today, very seriously, and thought it would be a surprise. He just didn’t expect that he had thought it through too late.

He had thought it through too late.