Cheng Ying had never known that a marriage certificate could grant Chi Wu such immense courage. A barrier that remained unbroken even after their engagement was suddenly no longer an issue because of a piece of paper.

Cheng Ying truly hadn't realized how much this document meant to Chi Wu; he had said it was for bolstering his nerve, which had made her inwardly laugh until she ached. She had initially thought that given his advanced age, she shouldn't add anything more to the meticulous record book.

Yet, she couldn't resist adding a few more strokes to Chi Wu’s entry the day after their wedding. Cheng Ying casually noted that Chi Wu’s stamina was excellent and his physique quite strong.

Looking at those two phrases, Cheng Ying snapped back to reality, her face flushing crimson. Even though she had aggressively scribbled over the words, the faint outlines of the characters were still visible.

Cheng Ying felt an urge to tear the page out, but she couldn't bring herself to destroy it. She rationalized that no one else would ever see this book, and as long as she kept it safe, that was enough.

So, she simply closed the notebook without doing anything further. On their wedding morning, Chi Wu had cleaned up every last fallen petal in the house so thoroughly that Cheng Ying could not find a single trace.

If not for the lingering floral scent in the room, Cheng Ying might have wondered if the previous day had been a dream. A sudden thought pierced Cheng Ying’s mind: Did Chi Wu perhaps have some prior knowledge about her?

Later, Cheng Ying searched the house again and found no sign of petals, which made her suspicion more concrete. However, she felt no anxiety about it.

She reasoned that it might be better if Chi Wu knew; bearing the weight of a secret alone was, frankly, unbearable. Cheng Ying was inherently cautious and timid; though she had managed to sell tiger skins for money when she was barely a teenager, that had been out of sheer necessity for survival.

Now, at this stage of her life, she was unwilling to take any risks whatsoever. Cheng Ying surmised that perhaps it was because she was getting older; people always said the young should be bold while the old should be steady—and adhering to a prudent path had always been Cheng Ying's philosophy.

The "Space," for Cheng Ying, remained an entity whose origins she couldn't fathom. She didn't know what this phenomenon would evolve into, nor whether the convenience it afforded her might one day demand repayment.

Consequently, now that her life was comfortable, she preferred not to rely too heavily on the Space, feeling a measure of apprehension toward it. Cheng Ying longed for Chi Wu to face the Space with her, to share the courage it required.

Regrettably, Chi Wu said nothing and asked nothing. Cheng Ying couldn't articulate how she felt; to actively bring it up herself felt unnecessary.

She decided to wait, since the Space, after all, served almost no practical purpose in their household. Children, on the other hand, were things Cheng Ying adored beyond measure—though this applied exclusively to her own offspring.

Pregnancy had been initiated with the intent of showing the elderly matriarch a great-grandchild, but when the babies were finally born, Cheng Ying’s initial goal was completely overshadowed by emotion. Disregarding the matriarch’s expectations, she held the two jade-like, delicate infants and felt, quite simply, that her life was now perfect.

In fact, the moment she saw the children, she hadn't thought of anyone else. Cheng Ying hadn't realized she could love a single person this much.

Wait, two people, considering they were twins. Her heart softened as she gazed at the children.

When Chi Wu walked in, Cheng Ying felt a surge of emotion so strong she almost wept—this was home, the home of the four of them. Forgive a woman whose mental age was nearing fifty for the overwhelming excitement of finally possessing her own flesh and blood after never having had any.

Cheng Ying realized that the feeling of motherhood, and the accompanying intensity of that initial moment, were transient, limited. She was not inherently a gentle mother.

Once the troublesome pair learned to walk and talk, Cheng Ying’s era of maternal gentleness was over. All that talk of excitement, perfection, and cuteness was a facade.

Watching the two mischievous children every day often filled her with an urge to explode. The phrases she uttered most frequently were, "I must have owed you in a past life," and, "What bad karma brought you two to torment me?" Truly, children were the ultimate test of patience.

Initially, Cheng Ying suspected Chi Wu was inadequate as a father, perhaps unable to grasp the feeling of paternity. She constantly questioned the depth of Chi Wu’s love for the children.

Now, it was Chi Wu who droned on daily, nagging her: "Can't you have a little patience with them? You are scolding them constantly; they must feel it too.

Look at how others' children behave." Chi Wu’s litany of complaints was endless. Cheng Ying often felt the impulse to hand the two children over to him for two months, but every time the moment came to dump them on him, she couldn't bear to do it.

And so, this volatile mother continued, conflicted, raising the children, worn down daily until she had no temper left. Cheng Ying often said that if she ever achieved great success, she would have to sincerely thank her two children, because the patience she possessed was diligently honed by them.

When the elderly matriarch began to decline into senility, it took Cheng Ying a considerable period to adjust. In that house, counting the matriarch as the 'oldest child,' they could practically run a kindergarten.

Cheng Ying’s temper also softened. At that time, Chi Wu was always defending the children: "How can you be like this?

You should at least be fair to Grandmother and the children alike; this is unacceptable." Cheng Ying would invariably give Chi Wu a frosty look: "No one’s heart is perfectly centered. I studied medicine; I understand this better than you." Chi Wu became even more attentive to the two children.

He felt that compared to being with the matriarch, his own children were suffering, as if they were stepchildren. Seeing the dynamics at home, Cheng Ying could only shake her head and sigh, grasping a profound realization: being a good father requires no specific age bracket.

This understanding brought Cheng Ying significant relief, allowing her to entrust the children to their father with confidence. The mother could finally catch a breath.

Cheng Ying spent time with the elderly matriarch, engaging in activities that most sane people would consider foolish, but Cheng Ying felt she was entering the matriarch’s world, savoring that feeling alongside her. She wasn't afraid of ridicule.

If the matriarch wanted to sit in the sun with her toenails exposed, Cheng Ying would sit with her. What was the harm?

The matriarch’s feet were somewhat deformed from being bound with cloth strips in her youth. When she was lucid, she rarely took off her socks for others to see.

But now that she was confused, she was happy to display her bare feet, constantly rambling about wanting her toes to grow longer. It seemed the matriarch held onto a deep, stubborn sentiment.

Every time Cheng Ying looked at the matriarch’s feet, her heart ached. From a purely medical standpoint, the matriarch had endured so much suffering.

No wonder the matriarch always looked at Cheng Ying's own feet with such longing, constantly telling Cheng Ying to wear proper shoes and not to cramp them. Back then, there were no such concerns; looking back, the matriarch must have been envious.

When clipping the matriarch's nails, Cheng Ying would joke, "It's like weeding; if you don't clear them away, they won't grow properly." This led the matriarch to deliberately leave her nails exposed to the sun every day. And those several vats of fish in the house were essentially the matriarch’s mandatory exercise equipment.

Even Sister Rong felt sorry for the fish, let alone the old friends who came to visit the matriarch. It wasn't just one person who commented that only Yingzi and Wuzi had the rare kindness to let the matriarch indulge in her whims with those expensive fish.

Cheng Ying disregarded any criticism or judgmental glances; as long as the matriarch was happy, she never wavered, and she and Chi Wu would cheerfully follow the matriarch’s directives and join in her activities. They were seen as frustratingly inflexible children.

Old Man Chi had once suggested to Cheng Ying and Chi Wu that they could stock the vats with a couple of large carp—let her torment those instead. Cheng Ying said nothing, but Chi Wu firmly replied, "You suggest we deceive Grandmother?

That’s impossible. Grandmother is a sharp woman; imagine how hurt she would be if she knew we were fooling her." The Old Man Chi, having been scolded by his wife for suggesting it, found himself speechless.

How sharp she was then, and yet now she was confused. But seeing his grandson’s earnestness, neither elder dared to offer a rebuttal.

The children were dutiful, after all; their elders could only feel comforted. They were growing old themselves; who knew if they, too, might one day end up as befuddled as Elder Sister Cheng?

Having such devoted children nearby was a constant source of solace. Old Man and Old Lady Chi understood this deeply and never quarreled with Elder Lady Cheng over trifles, especially regarding the great-grandchildren, where they always deferred to her wishes.

This made Cheng Ying deeply grateful. Regardless of anything else, since she married Chi Wu, and Chi Wu honored his grandmother, she felt obligated to show the same respect to Chi Wu’s family.

If the elders of the Chi family had voiced any complaints, it would have put Cheng Ying in a difficult position, since her own mother was now confused and unable to be treated with the same impartiality. Fortunately, Chi Wu never once considered the concept of "fairness." Once, when taking the children to a movie, Cheng Ying remarked that it was a pity the two elders of the Chi family hadn't come.

Chi Wu naturally responded, "How can that be the same? Isn't it easier for our little family to go out together?

Bringing Grandpa and Grandma always feels a bit constrained." After saying this, he helped the Elder Lady Cheng into the car. Perhaps Chi Wu himself didn't realize the significance, but Cheng Ying saw it clearly: in Chi Wu’s heart, he and the Elder Lady Cheng were the primary unit, likely due to the deep affection established from his childhood.

Bonds between people truly required fate. Cheng Ying understood that the affection Old Lady Chi held for Chi Wu was equally genuine, which made Cheng Ying dedicate herself even more to the Chi family.

Whenever she had time on weekends, Cheng Ying would bring the children to visit the elders, silently taking note of their living conditions. For everything she prepared for her own grandmother, she always prepared an equal portion for the Chi elders.

Over time, Cheng Ying became more indispensable to Old Man and Old Lady Chi than Yang Zhi, their own daughter-in-law. Cheng Ying would sometimes wipe her nose, echoing the same sentiment: interacting with people genuinely requires fate.

It wasn't that she was trying to undermine her own mother; it was simply that her character was too agreeable. Sometimes, seeing the matriarch treat her better than Yang Zhi, Cheng Ying felt a pang of guilt.

Her own mother was naturally someone who expressed love through actions, not words. But at the age and stage the Chi elders were in, they truly didn't need grand gestures; they just needed someone to sit and talk with them.

And wasn't that precisely Yang Zhi’s weakness? The main thing Chi Yong was dissatisfied with regarding his son and daughter-in-law was that they were better at soothing the elders than he and his wife.

Chi Yong would sometimes offer a tart comment: "When we get old, you two had better keep this up too." Old Lady Chi and the Old Man would inevitably follow up with, "You need to set an example for the children, let them learn from you!" Chi Yong would deflate instantly. Cheng Ying found Old Lady Chi rather endearing, especially her ability to deliver a killing blow—one precise shot and Chi Yong wouldn't dare speak another word.