Yang Zhi had known youth, and she’d nursed the dreams of a teenage girl. Back then, when Cheng Ying’s father was still with Yang Zhi, they had been happy, but most of her focus then had been simply on securing enough to eat.

When Yang Zhi married Chi Yong, it was mostly for the sake of having a stable life, for the sake of the children. That intense passion depicted in television dramas and books struck Yang Zhi as illusory; day-to-day living wasn't like that.

Could affection substitute for grain? Could feeling act as table salt?

Sometimes, watching television, Yang Zhi would remark to Chi Yong, “This show is so false; living like that, they’ll starve waiting for it.” After watching a few dramas with Yang Zhi, Chi Yong began to understand: his wife held little regard for such heightened emotion. So, Chi Yong’s small worries began to stir.

He wondered where, in Yang Zhi’s estimation, the two of them stood. Chi Yong knew Yang Zhi was a good woman; if not for pressure from the elders, she might have stayed single, raising their daughter on her own for a lifetime.

He felt a bit sentimental thinking this way, yet for a man with a restless mind, such thoughts took root, demanding exploration given any opportunity. Consequently, Chi Yong stopped reciting those sappy lines to his wife; clearly, she didn't approve.

If Yang Zhi had known what Chi Yong was thinking, she would have surely told him she loved hearing those lines—it was just that real life wasn't so dramatic. She had added two people to her life across the years, and she had managed; things hadn't been nearly as tumultuous as portrayed.

This was the mindset of someone focused on steady living, entirely different from Chi Yong’s unpredictable fits of fancy. Yang Zhi assumed she would never comprehend what was acted out on screen, nor understand why people insisted on creating such drama.

Yet, when Yang Zhi reached her forties, she was surprised to experience the feeling of being in love all over again. Though it involved some upheaval, Yang Zhi felt it was genuinely worth the trouble.

She couldn’t fathom what had possessed Chi Yong—after the old woman passed, Chi Yong’s spirit seemed unsettled. She couldn't fathom what he was thinking, only that he had managed to worry himself into sickness.

Yang Zhi found no way to soothe him. She took him to Western doctors, then Chinese medicine practitioners; all said Chi Yong was suffering from depression.

But in Yang Zhi’s eyes, there were no domestic troubles significant enough to cause Chi Yong such deep concern. Yang Zhi asked Chi Yong if something at work was bothering him.

Chi Yong’s relationships with colleagues were good, and Chi Yong himself was steadily promoted; there was nothing that should have caused him distress. When Yang Zhi walked down the street, people would inevitably say, “Ah, Yang Zhi, you are truly the envy of others!

Your children are so accomplished, and your Old Chi has been promoted again, hasn’t he?” So, Yang Zhi truly didn’t know where to begin. Seeing Chi Yong in that state made Yang Zhi’s heart ache; she didn't know how to comfort him.

She wanted to encourage him to talk about whatever was troubling him, but with a few sentences, Chi Yong would deftly steer the conversation away. This was a matter of intellect; Yang Zhi couldn’t outmaneuver this educated man.

Unless Chi Yong chose to speak, no one else could uncover what was on his mind. Especially given how wildly erratic Chi Yong had become this time.

Watching Chi Yong waste away day by day, Yang Zhi even found herself sighing less often. When Chi Wu came to visit Chi Yong, Yang Zhi noticed Chi Yong seemed much brighter.

Yang Zhi’s relationship with Chi Wu had improved significantly since their children married, but Yang Zhi sensed that Chi Wu still didn't feel as close to her, his mother-in-law, as he did to Yingzi’s grandmother. There seemed to be something missing between them—a permanent, subtle distance, as if something was always lacking.

Because of this, Yang Zhi and Chi Wu didn't converse much. However, Yang Zhi had asked Chi Wu if Chi Yong had any concerns he was reluctant to share.

Although Chi Wu said nothing concrete, Yang Zhi still felt something was amiss. When Chi Yong took sick leave, Yang Zhi made a point of inviting Chi Wu, Yingzi, and the children over frequently, all in the hope of cheering Chi Yong up, of stopping him from brooding.

When Chi Ye came home on break, Chi Yong looked much better seeing his son, even spending half a day closeted in the study tinkering with him. When Chi Ye emerged, he looked as haggard as Chi Yong.

He said to Yang Zhi, “Mom, Dad has completely overturned years of his own philosophy. Mom, what’s wrong with Dad?

Are we having some kind of internal strife? Why is my sister not like Dad?” Yang Zhi patted her son twice on the back without saying anything, but a worry took root in her heart: between her daughter and Chi Yong, she felt she owed more to Yingzi.

And now, this matter with Chi Yong seemed connected to their daughter. Yang Zhi didn't know what conflict existed between them, nor what she could do to mediate.

For a long time, Yang Zhi simply cared for Chi Yong attentively, trying gently to offer counsel, and no longer brought up the subject of what was bothering Chi Yong. Chi Yong felt even more frustrated dealing with his wife.

He had let slip a hint to Chi Ye about a minor clash with Cheng Ying, and now his wife completely avoided the topic—she was clearly siding with their daughter. Chi Yong felt that half a lifetime of pouring out his heart meant nothing to his wife; this realization was harder to accept than the thought of her not being by his side after death.

The air in the house was heavy. Especially since he couldn't rely on his son, or even his younger son, Chi Yong was utterly tormented.

His colleagues knew Chi Yong was troubled and restless, so they invited him out for a walk. It happened to be the Qingming Festival.

Chi Yong visited the graves of his elder brother and sister-in-law. At the cemetery, Chi Yong saw young people bringing elderly relatives to visit graves.

Somehow, this sparked an idea. His mood lifted considerably.

If he didn't clarify this matter while he was still alive, Chi Yong wouldn't be able to live with peace of mind. So, Chi Yong recovered, claiming he was going out to relax, but Chi Yong visited many places connected to this "relaxation"—all cemeteries.

It was genuinely depressing for an outsider to see. But Chi Yong didn't care; he was happy.

While others mourned tearfully at cemeteries, Chi Yong was cheerfully inspecting plots, carefully selecting spots in earnest, matching the preferences of both him and his wife. He was more meticulous about this than when they were picking their housing unit—which had been assigned by the work unit, leaving them no choice of terrain, only perhaps a slight preference for the floor level.

The time Chi Yong spent spending money without restraint in his life was likely this period. When he saw the section overlooking the sea, Chi Yong paid for and finalized two excellent plots.

To be honest, the only reason he hadn't secured the headstones and urns along with the land was that he was completely cleaned out; otherwise, Chi Yong was not someone prone to superstition. Having bought the plots, Chi Yong felt relieved.

Chi Yong stopped wandering outside. He needed to hurry home and secure his wife.

Chi Yong didn't believe that Yang Zhi, so adept at managing life’s necessities, would be willing to let such an expensive purchase go unused. The knot in Chi Yong’s chest that had tightened for half a year—he didn’t want to hold it in for another minute.

So, Chi Yong burst the issue out as soon as he got home, an act that could be deemed irresponsible. When Yang Zhi saw the documents, she said nothing; she was too composed, which made Chi Yong exceptionally uneasy.

Chi Yong didn't dare pressure Yang Zhi further. But that evening, Chi Yong couldn't resist telling Yang Zhi the price of those two pieces of paper, just to earn some weight in her heart.

Looking at Chi Yong’s cautious demeanor, Yang Zhi felt genuinely touched. She was like a young girl swept away by passion, casting aside even the subsequent complications those two papers might bring, all to settle Chi Yong’s mind.

To stop Chi Yong from being listless as he had been recently. Yang Zhi realized, only now, that she too could embrace upheaval for someone special.

Perhaps what was shown on television wasn’t entirely false; perhaps some things, known to cause turmoil, were still worth tossing oneself into. This was feeling; this was her bond with Chi Yong.

Yang Zhi couldn't believe that only when her son was a teenager did she discover her feelings could be this intense, this unrestrained—so much so that she could cast aside her daughter and son, let alone the old customs of Ligeng Village. Although the old fire flared late, when it did, it was not only tantalizing but soul-consuming.

It threatened to melt everyone nearby. Yang Zhi embraced Chi Yong with all the passion of her lifetime.

Chi Yong had no idea what his wife meant; she needed to give him a straight answer! This indecision—what was the point?

Chi Yong was agonizing. Yang Zhi left for her daughter’s house early the next morning.

She had never felt so decisive, without a hint of doubt or hesitation. Yang Zhi knew she was inadequate as a mother, and even more so as Cheng Ying’s mother.

But this was the only indulgence of her life, the only time she truly made her own decision. Of course, this decision was quite grand—it involved not just the rest of her life, but what came after death as well.

Cheng Ying was stunned; she never knew her mother could be so foolish, so naive, wanting to stir things up with Chi Yong. They weren't thirteen or fourteen years old, capable of eloping.

Didn't they understand how agonizing this was? Cheng Ying labeled her mother’s and stepfather’s actions as planning to elope after death.

She truly had never been so vexed. But this was Yang Zhi’s only moment of independent command in her life, and she had spoken with such determination.

Cheng Ying had a terrible headache. Yang Zhi felt deep guilt, yet she passed this burden onto her daughter while feeling that very guilt.

Yang Zhi felt she only owed this to her daughter; she might never repay it in this lifetime. After dumping her headache onto her daughter, Yang Zhi returned home and had a candid conversation with Chi Yong.

The effect was immediate: Chi Yong’s back stopped hurting, his leg cramps vanished, and he could manage five flights of stairs again. When Chi Yong went to work, people remarked, asking if his youngest son had put him up to something, given how widely he was grinning.

Chi Yong would chuckle to himself and greet colleagues, “Don't worry, I certainly won't forget about you all when the time comes.” Seeing Chi Yong like that, Yang Zhi felt it was worth it—the guilt toward her daughter was worth the price. Of course, she couldn't just remain consumed by that guilt.

The person she wronged most was Yingzi’s father. This was a breach of faith; even without a formal agreement, for people raised in the village, sharing a communal sleeping mat in life and a shared grave in death was custom.

Yang Zhi didn’t know how she could face Yingzi’s father, perhaps only by apologizing to him after she died. Ultimately, she owed him an unspoken apology.

She owed Yingzi’s father an apology.