Chapter 7: A Fierce Battle

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“What I’m about to tell you is quite strange. One day when I went out, I encountered a man wearing a cloak...” The car radio in Si Mingming’s vehicle played a rather obscure channel, where a caller was recounting a bizarre story. At that moment, Su Jingqiu no longer felt the heat and promptly switched off the radio.

He regretted getting drunk the night before; otherwise, he could have driven his own car today and avoided riding in this vehicle that felt more like an elderly mobility scooter. The air inside was stifling. Si Mingming, focused on driving, was polite—whenever someone tried to cut in, she would stop and wave them ahead graciously.

In such sweltering weather, driving so slowly and letting others cut in every time she waved, Su Jingqiu felt an urge to give her a good beating.

Looking at Si Mingming was like looking at a girl from school he inexplicably disliked, someone he wanted to keep at a distance yet couldn’t help but harbor resentment toward, even wanting to spit on her in defiance. That was exactly how he felt. In a foul mood, he acted out an internal drama on the congested ring road—within it, Zheng Liang lamented about a miserable marriage, and at the right moment, he flashed his marriage certificate, retorting: “Where were you all this time? Too late now!”

Finally, they arrived at their destination. Su Jingqiu followed quietly behind Si Mingming as they entered. He had imagined the home of someone earning over two million annually and considered an industry elite, but to his surprise, it was smaller than half the size of his own home—a place he shared as a restaurant owner on the brink of closure and a nightclub proprietor.

The decoration was mostly gray and white, which, if described kindly, might be called a rustic wabi-sabi style. Su Jingqiu would bluntly call it a minimalist, cold aesthetic. Standing at the doorway, watching Si Mingming bend down to find slippers for him, a sudden worry arose: he feared she might forcefully pin him down on the white sofa in her home and impose something intimate on him.

Indeed, despite her quiet demeanor, Su Jingqiu could feel her strength.

Before he could finish the thought, slippers were tossed at his feet, and Si Mingming’s voice reached his ears: “Husband, come in.”

A sudden mischievous streak overtook Si Mingming, known only to herself—how much she had to suppress the nausea swirling in her stomach to utter the word “husband.” But seeing Su Jingqiu’s eyes widen and his incredulous expression, she couldn’t help but chuckle.

To Su Jingqiu that day, her laughter was clearly a cold, mocking sneer. He was a formidable man, yet under the weight of that single “husband,” his mind went blank. Only after sitting on the sofa did he regain composure and say to Si Mingming, “You got into character quickly.”

“Quickly?” Si Mingming’s face remained expressionless, but inside she was laughing heartily. She turned to the fridge to fetch some ice, the open door hiding her body as her shoulders trembled slightly.

Her subordinates and colleagues, who usually called her “Zero Degree,” would never know that behind the closed office door, she often chuckled at silly emails. Serious as she was, she still found small pleasures in secret.

Her husband, Mr. Su Jingqiu, who looked pitiable—usually ruthless in his own restaurant, using charm to get his way—now sat awkwardly on her small sofa at home, even his tattooed arm seeming to lose its vibrancy. Pouring cola into a glass, bubbles danced cheerfully, and a few ice cubes dropped in, completing a cold welcome drink.

Wrapping the glass with a napkin, she placed it on the wooden coffee table in front of Su Jingqiu, then sat down about a sofa cushion’s width away, extending her hand in a polite gesture: “Please, enjoy.”

Though thirsty and hot, Su Jingqiu did not touch the glass. He was somewhat fastidious, but his fastidiousness was abstract—it only flared up around strangers. When dealing with someone unfamiliar, he avoided sharing or crossing the use of certain items. Strangely, he never felt this way about Zheng Liang.

Si Mingming, accustomed to interacting with people, noticed this subtle barrier but said nothing. She picked up the glass and took a sip of the cola. It had been a while since she drank something so cold, and it refreshed her. She then stood and fetched an unopened bottle of mineral water from the fridge, offering it to Su Jingqiu.

He took it, thanked her quietly, and the conversation ceased.

Si Mingming did not push for words; she herself was taciturn and found this strange silence quite fitting. Comfortable, she leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes to rest.

In this quiet, sultry room, occasional sounds—the breeze fluttering the curtains, the hum of the refrigerator, children playing downstairs—formed the soundtrack of their new life. No matter how they tried to convince themselves, once the red stamp was affixed, their lives were irrevocably changed.

Si Mingming was not afraid of Su Jingqiu at all. Her tattooed husband appeared formidable, but she truly feared no one. In this quiet moment, she actually fell asleep—and had a dream.

She dreamed of the day after returning from the county seat of Changping, where the three of them were standing in the corridor as punishment. Someone walked through the long hallway bathed in sunlight, stopped before her, and said: “Serves you right, Si Mingming.”

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At that time, Si Mingming was only in her teens. She didn’t understand why she was often hated by the opposite sex. Naturally, she fiercely resisted, resulting in mutual dislike.

The boy told her she deserved it, then handed her a bottle of water before running off.

The dream was strange; she had long left those teenage years behind and rarely thought about them, yet at that moment, it felt so vivid—even the warmth of the sunlight in the corridor was scorching.

Si Mingming opened her eyes and reflexively glanced at the ticking clock on the wall—she had only slept for five minutes. The man beside her leaned back, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Hi,” Si Mingming said.

After a long pause, Su Jingqiu responded, “Hi.”

Si Mingming carefully drafted her words, choosing them cautiously: “Now that we’re married, maybe we should discuss some basic principles for our future life.”

“What principles?” Su Jingqiu asked.

“Like the norms of a normal married life. For example: what kind of marital order we should have, what principles and bottom lines each of us holds, what expectations we have for our marriage. We need to talk about these.”

Su Jingqiu finally moved slightly, turning his gaze from the ceiling to Si Mingming. It was the first time he looked at her seriously. She held an air of serene composure, yet somewhere in her expression was a stubborn pride. Her calm speech—or rather, her deliberate attempt at amiability—felt oppressive, as if she were issuing an order rather than negotiating.

The “dying” Su Jingqiu did not rebel; he leaned back languidly and said, “You decide.”

“You decide…?” Si Mingming countered. “Do you want me to decide your principles, bottom lines, and expectations too?”

“Yes. You decide.”

Su Jingqiu’s half-alive demeanor showed he took no interest in this marriage. Since marriage was like a tomb, and he had impulsively entered it, he didn’t care how many shovels of dirt were thrown on top. Death was inevitable anyway.

Si Mingming nodded approvingly: “Good, very good.”

“What’s good about it?” Su Jingqiu asked.

“It means no one with a muddled mind will mess things up for me in this home, so I can concentrate on steering the ship.” Si Mingming showed no pretense; she was a strong-willed woman. If Su Jingqiu had many opinions, she’d have to waste words arguing with him. His attitude was excellent—it was like buying herself a compliant doll, satisfying her purpose for marriage without causing much trouble. The only variable was that the doll might occasionally rebel and cause some chaos.

The calmer it seemed, the more turbulent it was beneath the surface. Si Mingming understood this well.

“Drive wherever you want,” Su Jingqiu said listlessly, displeased by Si Mingming’s home. Being so tall, he nearly hit the ceiling when standing. After a morning of fussing, he was hungry. “Do you eat every day?” he asked.

“?”

“Aren’t you into health? Don’t health enthusiasts always say that what you eat in your lifetime is limited, and once you’ve eaten it all, that’s it,” Su Jingqiu said.

“?”

“Or do you practice skipping meals after noon?” He glanced at the time. “If you do, you’d better hurry—your esophagus will close in forty minutes.”

The half-dead man’s rude remarks were like a resurrection. Si Mingming thought: his mood swings come fast.

“What do you want to eat?” she asked.

“What do we have at home?” Su Jingqiu emphasized “we,” irritated by the heat, hinting at something in every word.

“Nothing,” Si Mingming replied.

“Then what’s the point of sitting here? Let’s go,” Su Jingqiu stood and strode out; he wanted to escape the airless place. Nobody in their right mind could stay in such an environment without going bad.

Seeing the large beads of sweat on his forehead, Si Mingming realized she hadn’t turned on the air conditioning and, too lazy to explain, followed him outside. Unsure of what to eat, the restaurants near her neighborhood looked as if they were about to close down—quiet even on weekdays, and nothing seemed appetizing.

Finally, Si Mingming suggested instant noodles, and Su Jingqiu surprisingly didn’t object. They bought two cups of instant noodles, ham, and pickled mustard greens and headed back. Carrying the plastic bag, Su Jingqiu said, “Since we’re married, let’s eat together. You’re in a good mood; I can’t be too negative.”

“After finishing this bowl of noodle soup, we’ll officially be husband and wife.” Seeing Si Mingming silent, he added this line.

Neither showed much ceremony; their first meal as newlyweds was instant noodles, cooked by Su Jingqiu. Si Mingming hadn’t eaten this in a long time; the aroma alone made her crave it. Standing by the kitchen door, she asked, “When will it be ready?”

“Five minutes.”

“Instant noodles take that long?”

“If you don’t like it, go cook it yourself.”

Inside the kitchen, Su Jingqiu made a clatter that piqued Si Mingming’s curiosity. She disliked cooking smells and didn’t want to enter, but wondered why making instant noodles caused such a ruckus. Sunlight cast a handsome silhouette of him in the kitchen; such good looks were rare.

When the “good-looking guy” brought out two bowls of “flamboyant yet substantial” noodles, Si Mingming devoured them without even complimenting Su Jingqiu’s plating. This was far tastier than the healthy meals from her restaurant.

After eating, Si Mingming finally remembered to invite Su Jingqiu to tour her modest home. She acted magnanimous and said, “In a way, this is your home too. Feel free to look around and make yourself comfortable.”

Su Jingqiu thought this rundown place was hardly his home but didn’t stop himself from glancing here and there, occasionally reaching out to touch things to show affection. When they reached the cramped, minimalist bedroom, a playful idea struck him. Standing at the head of the bed, he bent down and opened a drawer.

Si Mingming suddenly remembered the small toys inside and wanted to stop him, but it was too late. Su Jingqiu glanced inside carelessly and closed the drawer. His outward expression remained calm, but internally alarm bells rang loudly:

This woman! She really is that kind of person!

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