Chapter 26
Paris
It had been snowing heavily for three days, and Jiang Wanju hadn’t taken a single step outside Chen Zhuren’s house.
“Are you a squirrel?” she exclaimed in amazement at the vast amount of food and supplies stored in his kitchen. “Are you planning to hole up at home until summer?”
Chen Zhuren leaned against a cabinet, lowering his head as he poured wine. This was the most popular drink in Paris—sometimes even cheaper than bottled water.
But the wine in Chen Zhuren’s hand was not one of the cheap ones. The grapes used to make it were grown in the Loire Valley under strict standards. The harvesting, fermenting, and bottling all had nearly rigorous requirements.
“Want a glass?” He handed her one. “Apéro.” (Aperitif)
Jiang Wanju glanced at the clock on the wall—five o’clock.
“Merci,” she said, accepting the glass. She took a sip and tilted her head slightly. “So, Mr. Bear who’s stored up food for the whole winter, what are we eating today?”
Chen Zhuren lowered his head and brushed her forehead with lips that carried the faint scent of wine. “I’d say… sardines in a can, smoked salmon, wild mushroom and chestnut soup, free-range chicken stuffed with dried fruit, coconut rice… and a beautiful little rabbit.”
Jiang Wanju lifted her face, rising slightly on her toes. Her lips brushed his chin, carrying the faint scent of aftershave. She asked, “Excuse me, Mr. Bear, is there no vegetable dish today?”
“You know I’m a carnivore,” said Chen Zhuren.
As he spoke, his hand slipped down to her waist, giving it a squeeze with a suggestive smile. “Strenuous physical activity requires extra protein.”
Jiang Wanju let out a soft grunt. His lips came down again, tracing from her mouth to her chin, then slowly downward, leaving kisses along her neck.
He liked kissing as though he were biting into prey, his teeth leaving marks on her neck. With her face tilted upward, Jiang Wanju vaguely saw the glittering chandelier hanging upside-down from the ceiling. This was Chen Zhuren’s domain, where he possessed the right to control everything. Yet at this moment, toward this little rabbit who’d come knocking on his door, he showed great patience and tenderness.
Yes—patience and tenderness.
Even living with one’s parents could lead to conflict, let alone two people suddenly stuck together by a snowstorm.
Though she couldn’t leave the house, Jiang Wanju still took phone calls. She wasn’t satisfied with her current position, and she planned to return home in the summer. Jiang Wanju didn’t care for anything here, but she needed a perfect résumé and connections to help her rise quickly once she returned.
Her purpose here was training, growth, promotion, a raise—not falling in love with a man.
Chen Zhuren was different. He was born with everything. Even if he respected her work and praised her efforts, he would never truly understand why Jiang Wanju worked so desperately. Chen Zhuren knew how to teach her to enjoy life, but Jiang Wanju could not make him understand that some people had no choice but to work hard.
“We’re not the same,” Jiang Wanju told him at the dinner table for the first time. “For example—your place in Shanghai? That house wouldn’t sell for less than sixty million. Do you get that? A home like that—if my family hadn’t had it when I was born, then I might never own something like it in my whole life.”
Chen Zhuren was indifferent. “If I have it, you have it.”
Jiang Wanju lowered her head to eat. The food was delicious. He had finally cooked a vegetarian dish: fruit salad, corn, mint, fresh cherry tomatoes, mushrooms roasted in the oven, dill… he mixed them all together himself. Surprisingly, it tasted pretty good.
Chen Zhuren laughed and said people in his family had a talent for cooking—him, for example, and his cousin.
Jiang Wanju didn’t continue the topic. Her instincts told her this was dangerous. Their backgrounds and upbringing were too different—there was no way to align completely at the level of the soul.
So she chose, for now, to avoid it.
That night they watched French movies: Amélie, Fanfan, Léon: The Professional…
Movie after movie played. No one disturbed them. In the snowy night, the storm kept all conflict and worry outside. Here, there were only two people in love—ordinary man Chen Zhuren and ordinary woman Jiang Wanju.
Outside, the snow piled thick, reflecting the bright moonlight. The fire in the fireplace burned applewood, giving off a faint fragrance. Sitting on his lap, Jiang Wanju cupped his face and kissed him. She was still wearing the pajamas he bought her—identical to the ones he gave her on their first date in Hong Kong. As if everything that happened in between had not happened. As if they simply needed each other.
When a certain spot was struck too hard, Jiang Wanju almost fell. Luckily, Chen Zhuren caught her, steadying her by her waist.
They never said things like “I’ll love you forever.” They simply traced and memorized every inch of each other. Other than eating and resting, they made love repeatedly. Occasionally Jiang Wanju answered calls to let her parents and friends back home know she was safe.
Each time that happened, Chen Zhuren lowered his head and massaged her legs. His technique wasn’t good—in most cases, he could only gently rub the bruises on her knees.
Jiang Wanju had asked only once why he chose to undergo that surgery.
“Are you childfree?” she guessed. “Do you not like kids?”
Chen Zhuren had been massaging her legs, and when he heard her, he chuckled.
“Yes,” he said. “If I can’t give a child absolute freedom, it’s better not to have one.”
Jiang Wanju only half-understood. Chen Zhuren leaned in to kiss her cheek.
“And,” he said, “pregnancy damages the body. I can’t bear that for you.”
Jiang Wanju replied, “Who said I’d give you one?”
She said it lightly, though her cheeks quietly turned red. Chen Zhuren chuckled. Annoyed, she pounced on him and punched him once. They laughed, rolled together, and fooled around again.
Later, Jiang Wanju begged for mercy, saying she truly had nothing left in her. Chen Zhuren grabbed the bottle beside them, took a drink, and passed the water to her mouth-to-mouth. They finished the whole glass like that. Then he held her tightly in his arms.
She was tired—drained again and again. Her mind turned blank, like the snow outside: pure, empty, reflecting only the clean, sweeping moonlight.
Jiang Wanju reached out to touch his chest. On the two-seater sofa, Chen Zhuren lay on his side, holding her close.
He let her touch him, listening as she softly called his name.
“Chen Zhuren.”
“Mhm.”
“Funny,” Jiang Wanju said quietly. “I’m childfree too. I don’t like kids.”
Chen Zhuren laughed lightly. He lowered his head and rubbed her hair with his chin. His stubble had grown back—he had shaved that morning, but already it was “spring wind brings life again.”
Before he could speak, Jiang Wanju continued.
“But… if I weren’t childfree, or if you weren’t,” she said softly, “maybe… I’d be willing to raise a child with you.”
