Chapter Thirteen: Etched Into Each Other’s Hearts
He Zheyu heard Mo Qinghan’s stomach grumbling and his smile deepened; he kissed her forehead lightly and said, “I’ll have someone bring clothes over in a bit.” Then he got out of bed.
Mo Qinghan watched He Zheyu’s tall, imposing figure and stared blankly, unsure what she was thinking.
After He Zheyu had dressed himself neatly, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find a nearly thirty-year-old foreign woman, lightly made up—not beautiful, but pleasant to look at. She held clothes in her arms, left her wooden clogs outside, and stepped inside in socks, standing to one side with a smile as she spoke in accented Mandarin, “Sir, my name is Yazi. I’m here to assist your wife in dressing in kimono.”
He Zheyu took the clothes and motioned for her to wait, then entered the bedroom with the garments, walked to the bedside and said, “Last time I saw you in a white Hanfu, you looked gorgeous. You didn’t bring any clothes to change into, so I had the staff buy you a white floral kimono to fit your figure. I think you’ll look beautiful in it.” With that, he handed her the clothes.
Mo Qinghan covered herself with the blanket, took the clothes, and said, “Wait for me outside.”
He Zheyu grinned mischievously, “Isn’t it a bit late to be shy now? I’ve seen every inch of your skin.”
Mo Qinghan’s face flushed crimson and she huffed, “If you keep teasing me, I’ll really get angry!”
Seeing she was serious, He Zheyu chuckled, “Alright, I won’t tease you anymore. Put on your undergarments first, someone will help you dress after. I’ll wait outside.”
Mo Qinghan replied, “Okay.”
Just after she put on her underwear, she saw a faint crimson stain on the bedsheet from the corner of her eye. Her face buried in the blanket for a long while before she emerged, her cheeks rosy with a sweet smile.
Just then, Yazi entered and happened to see it; Mo Qinghan felt embarrassed and said, “Sorry to trouble you.”
Yazi simply smiled and said nothing.
Soon, with Yazi’s help, Mo Qinghan was dressed. Yazi pinned her hair up with a wooden hairpin as before, trimmed a bit of fringe above her forehead. Her fair skin and the new outfit highlighted a girlish innocence. Yazi asked if she was satisfied with her reflection in the mirror. Mo Qinghan saw herself and was quite pleased, smiling as she said, “Thank you,” and trotted off to find He Zheyu in the living room. Yazi followed closely behind, leaving the bedroom together.
He Zheyu wasn’t in the living room, but on a small balcony to the side. He said to Mo Qinghan, “Eat something first, I’ll take you out for a walk later,” and gestured to Yazi behind her that she could leave.
Yazi understood and closed the door gently as she left.
Mo Qinghan still wasn’t used to taking small steps in the kimono, so she hurried a bit. Seeing this, He Zheyu said, “Slow down, be careful not to fall.”
Mo Qinghan straightened her clothes, imitated He Zheyu’s sitting posture, and sat down. Faced with a table full of delicacies, she couldn’t care about her image anymore—she was too hungry and started eating.
While Mo Qinghan focused on eating, He Zheyu served her, picking dishes and peeling shrimp for her.
After a feast, the meal ended with Mo Qinghan letting out a satisfied burp.
She patted her full stomach, a little embarrassed, and said, “I think I need Yazi to loosen my clothes inside, I ate so much it’s tight.”
Her words amused He Zheyu.
Noticing her own embarrassment, Mo Qinghan cleared her throat and said, “I was tired and hungry, eating more isn’t too much, right?”
He Zheyu deliberately repeated her words, “Tired and hungry! I can understand the hunger, but I don’t see how you’d be tired. Seems like I’m the one who exerted myself.”
His remark left Mo Qinghan at a loss for words; she quickly changed the subject, “Why did you pick me up yesterday, not Han Mo?”
“Han Mo had something urgent to handle.”
Mo Qinghan saw a hint of coldness flash across He Zheyu’s face and didn’t ask further.
Han Mo couldn’t bear Zhao Yiya’s insults, ignored her, and found a taxi. He told the driver in local language, “When the lady in the black fur leaves, you leave too.”
The driver nodded.
Though Han Mo disliked Zhao Yiya’s tone, he couldn’t leave her alone. If anything happened to Zhao Yiya, the Zhao family would find trouble for He Zheyu, making it even harder for him to break free from Old Master He.
Zhao Yiya still didn’t understand where she went wrong. In truth, He Zheyu never wore an overcoat inside; it had always been in Han Mo’s hands. Some careless attendant hung up the wrong coat, leading to the current outcome.
Unable to vent her anger, Zhao Yiya kicked the car tires a few times, fixed her messy hair, got in, and drove off in the direction she’d come.
Seeing her car start, Han Mo told the driver to follow quickly.
Mo Qinghan didn’t wear the wooden clogs He Zheyu had prepared but kept her own snow boots. Seeing the mismatched outfit and the other girls in kimono all wearing clogs, Mo Qinghan mocked herself, “Do I look a bit out of place?”
“As long as you like it, there’s no need to please anyone, including me.”
On a bustling street, a crowd gathered. Mo Qinghan wouldn’t miss such excitement; she pulled He Zheyu along, squeezing into the throng.
It turned out to be their compatriots performing street music, showcasing native instruments—the guzheng.
The performer was a girl about her age, skilled and rhythmic. Such mastery must have taken years.
Mo Qinghan watched her fingers dance, unable to restrain herself. She quietly stepped forward and asked, “May I play?”
The girl, seeing a compatriot, was enthusiastic and handed Mo Qinghan her finger picks. Mo Qinghan put them on, tried a few notes, and her music stunned everyone present—even He Zheyu was surprised, for Mo Qinghan had never told him she could play guzheng, though he was from Sanye.
After playing, Mo Qinghan returned the picks to the girl, who asked, “When did you start learning? Your technique looks like at least ten years of practice!”
Mo Qinghan replied, “I don’t know, I started learning from my mother when I was very young.”
He Zheyu led Mo Qinghan, whose face was sorrowful, out of the crowd, saying, “If it’s a memory steeped in sadness, why force yourself to recall it?”
“This is the only thing my mother left in my world to prove she existed. How could I simply forget?”
“Then its purpose is to bring you happiness, not sorrow. I think your mother’s original intention in teaching you was to make you happy.”
Hearing this, Mo Qinghan felt it made sense. She realized that to grow, one must learn to let go. Her frowning brow gradually relaxed.
He Zheyu spotted a tattoo parlor nearby and, with a mischievous smile, dragged Mo Qinghan over. He practically pulled her inside. The owner, a young man in his twenties, saw He Zheyu and Mo Qinghan enter in such a manner and hesitated, then said in local language, “Are you sure you’re in the right place? This is a tattoo shop, not a hotel.”
Mo Qinghan saw him looking at them strangely, pushed He Zheyu away, stood up straight, tidied her hair and clothes, and tugged at He Zheyu’s sleeve, whispering, “What did he say?”
He Zheyu didn’t answer but pushed Mo Qinghan toward the tattooist and said in local language, “Tattoo three leaves on her chest, in three colors, representing spring, summer, and autumn, about the size of a plum blossom.”
The man nodded. Mo Qinghan glanced around at the decor and designs, guessing what He Zheyu was up to. “Are you sure you want this?”
He Zheyu nodded. Mo Qinghan told the tattooist, “Tattoo a poppy flower for him, make it vibrant.”
The man looked at Mo Qinghan in confusion, but He Zheyu understood that Mo Qinghan’s words weren’t meant for the artist, but for him—her QQ username was Poppy.
He Zheyu had once asked her why she chose that name; Mo Qinghan replied, “You’ll know someday.” He Zheyu never pressed her about it again.
After the tattoos, Mo Qinghan’s chest burned with pain like a small fire, while He Zheyu showed no reaction at all. After paying, he wrapped his arm around her as they left the shop, saying, “Let’s go back to the villa—it’s getting cold.”
Mo Qinghan really was cold, nestling into his arm, blinking her eyes in agreement.
Back at the villa, Mo Qinghan couldn’t help but ask, “Why tattoo a symbol for each other on our chests?”
He Zheyu walked over, gently placed her head against his chest, and said softly, “Because I want you to always live in my heart. Now that I’ve truly met you, I realize you’ve already been engraved in my heart. Consider this the most meaningful token of love we’ve given each other.”
Just then, an ill-timed phone call rang. He Zheyu, holding Mo Qinghan, had no intention of answering, but the phone kept ringing. Mo Qinghan nudged him, “Answer it! Maybe it’s urgent.”
He Zheyu reluctantly let go, pressed the answer button, and immediately heard Han Mo’s anxious voice: “Boss, Old Master He is in trouble and is being resuscitated. I’ve booked tickets for tonight’s return. Because Ms. Zhao is here, Ms. Mo can’t go with us; I’ve booked her ticket for tomorrow morning.”
He Zheyu replied coldly, “Alright,” and hung up.