Chapter 75: Superficial

Lu Caiqing agreed without a second thought, nodding immediately. “Yes!” Lu Yan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he added, “Superficial.” Then, without another word, he turned and entered his room.

Lu Caiqing stared after him, utterly perplexed. She hadn’t said anything wrong—why call her superficial? Isn’t a person’s first impression always about appearance?

At dinner, the whole family gathered around the table. Lu Yan ate in silence, pausing now and then as if he wanted to speak but held back. In truth, there was nothing he needed to ask—his wife had explained her relationship with that young man very clearly. Yet, the look in the young man’s eyes as he watched his wife sing at the banquet kept gnawing at him, leaving him increasingly uneasy.

He couldn’t say why it bothered him. Rationally, he had no reason to be upset about any of it. His wife worked hard to earn money; how could he let his own petty feelings make things difficult for her? But these irrational emotions ran wild, refusing to be tamed.

Shen Qingyi noticed how he kept his head down, eating and drinking soup in silence, and asked, “Does the soup taste good?”

Lu Caiqing found the question odd. “It’s meat soup—how could it not taste good?”

Lu Yan nodded. “Yes, it’s very good.”

Shen Qingyi smiled. “I’ll buy more tomorrow, if there’s still time. Will you be leaving in the morning or the afternoon? Need me to prepare anything else for you?”

“I’ll leave after lunch—the institute arranged a car, so there’s nothing else you need to get ready.” He felt much better at her concern.

“Once this month ends, autumn will soon be here. If you run short of warm clothing after you arrive, call me or write a letter,” Shen Qingyi said softly, knowing how exhausting research work could be.

“All right.” After replying, he couldn’t help himself. “Did Xia Xiyue come by today?”

Shen Qingyi glanced at Lu Caiqing, who guiltily lowered her head. “I just mentioned him in passing.”

An’an quickly piped up, “Yes, he came by and brought me lots of English picture books, toys, and cookies.”

Seeing his son’s delighted expression, Lu Yan didn’t even need to ask—his son clearly liked Xia Xiyue. After all, he himself had taught An’an English. The first time he read an English picture book to the boy, An’an had understood every word. That kind of vocabulary took a long time to build.

Given An’an’s capacity to learn and his stage of language development, two to three hours a week for at least one or two years would be necessary.

After dinner, Lu Yan bathed An’an. Upon returning, he heard singing from his wife’s room. Later, once An’an had fallen asleep, Lu Yan lay in bed but couldn’t drift off. Only when the house was silent and he checked the clock—one in the morning—did he get up, slip on his slippers, and go to Shen Qingyi’s door. He knocked softly. After a long moment, the door opened. Shen Qingyi, bleary-eyed, thought it was An’an.

“Qingyi?”

Hearing his voice, Shen Qingyi woke instantly. “Lu Yan, why aren’t you asleep? Don’t you have a long journey tomorrow?”

Lu Yan pointed to the scar under his jaw. “It’s hurting a bit all of a sudden.”

Shen Qingyi tensed, pulling him inside with concern. “Let me take a look.”

Once he was settled, Shen Qingyi switched on the desk lamp. The sudden brightness made Lu Yan shut his eyes. Shen Qingyi needed a moment for her vision to adjust, too. The red scar, a finger’s length, was less angry than yesterday but still painfully obvious.

“I’ll put some more ointment on it,” she said gently. “When An’an scraped himself, a couple applications would scab it right over.”

Lu Yan’s lashes lowered. “Okay,” he murmured, feeling a sting of guilt for disturbing her at this hour, yet unable to suppress the chaotic emotions inside him.

Shen Qingyi opened a drawer and took out a small white porcelain bottle. She twisted it open, dipped her long finger in, and delicately applied the ointment to his scar. Her touch was cool and soft, gliding back and forth over his skin. Lu Yan felt his ears begin to burn and quickly said, “That’s enough.”

She withdrew her hand, screwed the lid back on, and handed him the bottle. “Take this with you.”

He refused. “No need. Leave it for An’an.”

“I’ll buy more! It would be a shame if that left a scar,” Shen Qingyi said with a smile.

“Is it that important to look good?” Lu Yan recalled Lu Caiqing praising Xia Xiyue.

Shen Qingyi paused, uncertain how to answer. “Not that important, but isn’t it better if there isn’t one?”

Lu Yan breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Thankfully, his wife wasn’t so shallow. People do crave perfection, after all.

He accepted the porcelain bottle and hesitated. “About Xia Xiyue…”

He didn’t know how to continue, given how clearly his wife had already explained things.

Shen Qingyi understood. “A few days ago, he gave me a handbag. But he’s a businessman and wouldn’t do something without a purpose. I’d heard from Sister Xiyun that she wanted to develop a line of handbags, so I designed a few styles for him.

He came by today to tell me the samples are being made and asked if I could design a few more.”

Given the rumors about her and Xia Xiyue, Lu Yan’s concern was understandable. She was his wife, after all, and honesty was necessary.

Lu Yan nodded. “From now on, I’ll send you my monthly salary.”

He wanted her to worry less about money.

“Three hundred and fifty is enough!” she replied, thinking him too frugal—if she spent carelessly with that much, she’d feel guilty.

Lu Yan said nothing. If she didn’t want it all, he’d simply save the rest.

Shen Qingyi couldn’t help but yawn. Lu Yan quickly stood up. “I’ll go to sleep, then.”

Her reassurance settled his heart at last. Back in his room, he fell asleep as soon as he lay down.

The next morning, Lu Yan didn’t go to work. He stayed home to pack: just a backpack, a bag, and half a box of books and manuscripts.

Shen Qingyi had gone out, leaving An’an at home since someone was there to watch him.

Lu Caiqing had taken the day off from the market and was cooking.

“An’an, do you know where your mother went?” Lu Yan asked his son.

An’an, swinging his legs as he flipped through an English picture book, replied in his clear, childish voice, “You’ll see soon enough.”

Was his son hinting at another surprise?

Lu Yan’s lips curved. His wife was truly good to him.

That morning, Shen Qingyi had remembered that Lu Yan would have to travel for eight or nine hours by car and needed food for the road. She hurried to the department store and bought two cans of orange preserves, a bag of peach crisps, ten baguettes, two pounds of apples, and two pounds of bananas.

Thinking of how much Lu Yan ate, she added two more boxes of cookies.

After paying, she checked the time—ten thirty—and hurried home. Not far from the store, she spotted a familiar figure, thinking at first it was her imagination. A few steps closer, she heard the voice: “Boss, can you make it a little cheaper?”

“Lu Yan, have you eaten yet? If you have, hurry up—the car’s already here, waiting at the institute!” Su Yang, carrying a large bag and dragging a suitcase, called for Lu Yan at his house.

Lu Yan checked his watch. It was eleven o’clock, and his wife still hadn’t come home.