Late at night, He Su Ye received a call from the university’s Red Cross chapter.
Lately, he’d noticed himself making frequent mistakes in tasks involving ropes or cords. For instance, moving a power cable would topple a pen holder, or he’d trip over a cord and knock over his desk. After some reflection, he concluded it was a flaw in his logical thinking—his mind was chaotic, and he struggled to foresee the consequences of his actions. It was a learned disadvantage, he thought.
And it was all because of that offer letter, which had left him restless and distracted.
The phone call, however, briefly calmed his turbulent thoughts. The university’s Red Cross was organizing its annual medical outreach to a remote mountainous area. He had been to this place two years ago and knew it well.
Back then, he’d spent time in a small village surrounded by terraced fields and rice paddies. Every household raised chickens and ducks, and pigs caked in mud roamed freely. Each day, he fetched water, built fires, treated villagers, and taught basic health practices. Most people there were impoverished, unable to afford expensive medicine or hospital stays. The village’s only “doctor” was an untrained practitioner who didn’t even sterilize needles for vaccinations.
Yet, the air was fresh and clean. Despite the harsh living conditions, he loved hearing the children call him “big brother” as they clustered around, asking him math questions. Villagers would thank him with fresh vegetables, and the elderly would invite him to sip homemade rice wine in the evenings.
For a fleeting moment, he had considered spending the rest of his life in that small mountain village.
When he returned, however, he was scolded mercilessly by both his advisor and his boss. His roommates dragged him to the women’s dorm to weigh him, revealing that he’d lost 10 pounds. His ankle was still bandaged from a minor injury sustained in the unstable, landslide-prone terrain.
Over time, the memories of that place faded. Perhaps it wasn’t because he was too busy, but because she was no longer important to him. Along with her went all the pain, and the memories became trivial.
It wasn’t that he was cold-hearted—it was simply that she wasn’t worth his self-sacrifice. He had moved on, leaving it all behind.
In the rice cooker, chicken soup simmered with astragalus root and yam.
Astragalus root was known for replenishing energy, boosting the immune system, and reducing swelling. Yam nourished the lungs, spleen, and kidneys, supporting overall health.
Rumor had it that bridesmaids worked harder than the bride on the wedding day—running around, managing everything, often too busy to eat. Although Shen Xi Fan had confidently assured him she had plenty of experience, he couldn’t help worrying.
In addition to preparing extra meals for her and Qiu Tian, he thought he might need to include bandages as well. According to Su Shan, one of Shen Xi Fan’s pairs of heels had straps that could easily chafe her feet after a long day.
He sighed in frustration. This wedding was a lot of trouble—it was a good thing he wasn’t the one getting married.
Wait. Marriage? Himself? To whom?
A sudden image flashed through his mind, and his breath caught. He quickly opened the rice cooker, only to accidentally burn his hand. But the rich aroma of the chicken soup wafted out, making him laugh despite himself.
He found himself eagerly anticipating how she would look in her bridesmaid dress.
Inwardly, he groaned.
Qiu Tian, I regret it now. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let you win those last three knots. At least I could’ve beaten you by three.
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