I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 33

Sunday, 10:00 AM, IKEA Entrance.

An Chuxin stood before the floor guide at the entrance, pushing a yellow shopping cart. Her expression was so serious it seemed as if she were reviewing a teaching syllabus; she had already been studying it for three and a half minutes.

“Professor An,” Cheng Sutong said indistinctly, biting into a one-yuan ice cream cone she had just bought. “We came to buy a bookshelf, not to solve a spatial geometry problem.”

“Route planning is very important.” Without looking up, An Chuxin pointed a finger at the map. “From the entrance to the home furnishings area, the shortest path requires passing through textiles, lighting, and the children’s section. Those are all high-temptation distractions. We need to,” she paused to calculate.

“We need to get lost.” Cheng Sutong laughed, pulling her away from the guide map. The cream from the ice cream cone nearly brushed against An Chuxin’s sleeve. “The fun of browsing IKEA lies in getting lost. That’s common sense.”

An Chuxin pushed up her glasses, wanting to argue further, but Cheng Sutong had already pushed the cart into the crowd.

10:20 AM, Textiles Area

As it turned out, Cheng Sutong was right, or perhaps An Chuxin was, because they were truly lost.

“We’ve passed that blue armchair three times now.” An Chuxin stopped at a crossroad, her brow furrowed slightly. “The design of this area is suspicious of having an induced circular logic.”

Cheng Sutong was currently burying her face in a pile of cashmere throw pillows. “This one is so soft. Professor An, smell it. It smells like it has been dried in the sun.”

“That is the scent of an aromatherapy spray,” An Chuxin pointed out rationally, checking the tag. “‘Nordic Spring.’ The main ingredients are,” she began.

Before she could finish, a pillow was stuffed into her arms. It was cream-white, with a tiny reindeer pattern embroidered in the corner.

“Let us buy two. One for the sofa, and one for that hard wooden chair in your study. You sit so bolt-upright every time you write; it makes my back ache just watching you.”

An Chuxin placed the pillow gently into the cart. “Fine. But we agreed we are only buying this because it is on the way.”

10:45 AM, Lighting Area

The state of being lost continued to escalate. They were now in an ocean of lamps: pendant lights like hanging jellyfish, table lamps like glowing mushrooms, and strings of small bulbs flowing overhead like a star chain.

Cheng Sutong stopped in front of a floor lamp. The lampshade had the texture of handmade paper, emitting a warm yellow glow, and the stand was made of curved walnut wood.

“This one,” she said with certainty.

“We do not need,” An Chuxin began, but as she looked at the price tag, her voice trailed off.

“We do need it.” Cheng Sutong pressed the switch. The moment the light came on, the entire corner turned gentle. She pulled An Chuxin down onto a display sofa nearby. The sofa was very soft; as the two sank into it, their shoulders naturally pressed together.

“The desk lamp you use when reading is too cold,” Cheng Sutong said softly. “Medical journals say that long-term stimulation from cool white light affects melatonin secretion. This one has three brightness levels.” She continued her sales pitch, a hint of laughter in her voice. “The dimmest setting can serve as a nightlight. If you have class early again, at least you will not have to grope around in the dark to get a glass of water.”

An Chuxin finally smiled. She reached out to adjust the brightness, watching the light and shadow flicker in her palm.

“We will buy it. But it counts toward my bookshelf budget.”

11:30 AM, The Incident in the Children’s Area

Cheng Sutong froze as if struck by something, her eyes fixed on the top of a shelf. Perched there was a life-sized blue shark plushie. Its plastic eyes were vacant, and its mouth was open to reveal a row of silly, white fuzzy teeth.

“It,” Cheng Sutong took a deep breath. “It looks so sad.”

An Chuxin followed her gaze. “That is a shark. A top marine predator. Biologically, they do not possess the facial muscles to express sadness.”

“But it is just so sad.” Cheng Sutong was already standing on her tiptoes to reach it. “Look, the corners of its mouth turn downward. Its eyes are round but hollow. It needs a home.”

“Cheng Sutong.” An Chuxin held her hand back. “We had an agreement. First: go straight for the goal. Second,” she tried to remind her.

“His name is Bruce.” Cheng Sutong picked up the shark, leaning its fuzzy blue head against An Chuxin’s shoulder. “The shark in the movie Finding Nemo is named Bruce. He says, ‘Fish are friends, not food.’ It has an environmental message.”

“We do not have space for it at home.”

“It can go on the sofa as a cushion.”

“It will shed fur.”

“I will brush its fur regularly.”

“The cat plushie you bought last time is currently gathering dust on top of the wardrobe.”

“But Bruce is different.” Cheng Sutong hugged the shark tighter, her voice muffled by the fluff. “He is like you.”

An Chuxin was silent.

“When you are angry, the corners of your mouth tuck down just like this. You look especially stern, but actually,” Cheng Sutong lifted her face with a sly smile. “Actually, inside you are worrying about this and that. Besides, blue is your color. You have an old sweater in exactly this shade of blue.”

An Chuxin remained silent for a full ten seconds. The lamp, the pillows, the two mysteriously appeared mugs in the cart, and now this shark; all of them were silently accusing her that her so-called “route planning” had completely gone bankrupt.

She reached out and gently brushed away a bit of fluff stuck to the tip of Cheng Sutong’s nose.

“We can only buy one,” she compromised, attempting to maintain a final line of defense. “And you are responsible for taking care of it.”

“Deal!” Cheng Sutong stuffed the shark into the cart. The shark was so large that half its body hung out, its plastic eyes facing An Chuxin as if it were grinning.

An Chuxin pushed the overloaded cart, suddenly thinking that perhaps getting lost was not so bad; at least this path led to Cheng Sutong’s shining eyes.

12:00 PM, The Showroom

They finally neared their destination, but as if possessed, they wandered into a model room.

It was a living room labeled “SUNNAN.” The sign read: Scandinavian style, suitable for young couples. It featured a cream-colored sofa, a natural wood bookshelf, a woven rug, and minimalist line art on the walls. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window was a virtual garden, actually just another display wall, but the lighting was so clever it felt as though real sunlight were pouring in.

Cheng Sutong immediately flopped onto the two-seater sofa, burying her face in a cushion. “This! This is even softer than the one we just saw!”

An Chuxin sat down on the other side. The sofa was indeed very soft; her entire body sank into it. Her long-tensed back muscles let out a silent sigh of relief. She suddenly remembered that the springs in the cushions of their stiff sofa at home were getting a bit loose.

“Professor An.” Cheng Sutong rolled over to lie on her back, looking at her. “If, and I mean if, we move into a bigger place in the future, can we decorate it like this?”

An Chuxin surveyed the surroundings. The bookshelf design was very reasonable, with both open sections and cabinets with doors; they were perfect for books and sundries. The coffee table was at a good height for working. The floor lamp was very similar to the one in their cart, standing in the corner and bathing the area in gentle light.

“Your books go here.” Cheng Sutong pointed to the left bookshelf. “Medical journals, educational theory, and those science fiction novels you buy secretly.”

An Chuxin gave a light cough. “I do not buy them secretly.”

“The hardcover edition of The Three-Body Problem, hidden inside the dust jacket of Principles of Pedagogy.” Cheng Sutong winked. “I found it when I was helping you organize the shelves last time.”

An Chuxin’s ears turned slightly red.

“My art books and paints go over here,” Cheng Sutong continued planning. “The balcony has to face south for the ivy and the tomatoes. The kitchen can be small, but it needs a big window so you can see the sun when you are making breakfast.”

She spoke so naturally. As An Chuxin listened, her finger unconsciously traced circles on the sofa’s armrest; it was a small habit she had when she was thinking.

“Cheng Sutong,” she suddenly spoke.

“Yes?”

“The phrase you just used was ‘our future.'” An Chuxin turned her face. “Is this a five-year plan, or a ten-year plan?”

Cheng Sutong froze. She had not expected An Chuxin to ask so directly. She opened her mouth, her ears slowly turning red.

“That depends on whether Professor An approves the plan,” she whispered, hugging the shark plushie as if trying to hide inside it.

An Chuxin was silent for a while. She took off her glasses and slowly wiped the lenses with the hem of her shirt; this was another habit when she was nervous.

“Approved in principle,” she said, putting her glasses back on. “But details need to be added.”

“First, the sofa must be a stain-resistant color.” An Chuxin spoke with mock-seriousness. “After all, a certain student always drops cracker crumbs when snacking.”

“Second, the bottom two shelves of the bookcase should be left empty.”

“Why?”

“For Bruce.” An Chuxin pointed at the shark plushie. “And any other sad marine creatures that might join us.”

Cheng Sutong was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Third, besides ivy and tomatoes, we can grow some mint on the balcony. You can use it when you make lemon water.”

Cheng Sutong stopped laughing. She sat up, her knees resting on the sofa, and looked at An Chuxin earnestly.

“Are you planning a future with me?”

“Otherwise? Why do you think I was studying the load-bearing structure of the bookshelves, the filling material of the sofa, and the electricity budget for that lamp?”

She picked up the pair of mugs from the cart and handed the “Tea Collector” one to Cheng Sutong.

“I drew a chart in the study. On the left are the realistic issues: the possibility of my job transfer, your career gap, our combined savings, and health insurance continuity. On the right are non-realistic issues.”

“Like what?”

“Like how big of a window you like, what desk height I need, and if we keep plants, whether you water them or I fertilize them.” An Chuxin paused. “The right column is longer than the left one.”

“So you have already,” Cheng Sutong began.

“I started thinking about it a long time ago,” An Chuxin admitted. “From the first day you moved in after being discharged from the hospital.”

12:40 PM, At the Checkout Counter

The line to pay was very long. In the cart, Bruce the shark poked half his body out, the pillows and mugs were squeezed together, and the box for the floor lamp leaned against the side.

An Chuxin took out her phone to calculate the total. Her brow furrowed habitually again.

“We are over budget,” she stated.

“And we have not even bought the bookshelf yet,” Cheng Sutong added.

The two looked at each other. An Chuxin laughed first, and Cheng Sutong followed. Their laughter was light, mingling with the noisy chatter of the crowd.

“Next time.” An Chuxin put her phone back in her pocket. “Let us just take these home first.”

“Then what about the bookshelf?”

“The old one is still usable.” An Chuxin pushed the cart forward. “We can renovate it together. You can paint, I will measure, and we can design sections for each shelf.”

“Okay, it is a deal.”

The cashier was a young girl. Looking at the items in the cart and then at the two of them, she smiled and said, “Decorating a new home?”

An Chuxin paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. A new home.”

Cheng Sutong looked at An Chuxin and noticed the tips of her ears were red again, but the corners of her mouth were turned up.

1:00 PM, Parking Lot

On the way back, Cheng Sutong suddenly said, “Professor An.”

“Yes?”

“That sofa in the showroom actually had a flaw.”

“What flaw?”

“It was too small,” Cheng Sutong said seriously. “A two-seater is fine for two people to sit, but you cannot lie down. We should choose a three-seater. That way, if you get tired of reading, you can lie down for a bit, and I can rest my feet on it while I am drawing.”

An Chuxin watched the road ahead. “Okay, noted. Three-seater sofa, stain-resistant fabric, adjustable backrest.”

Cheng Sutong leaned against the car window, watching the street scenery flow by.

She remembered herself in a hospital bed many years ago, looking at a home decor magazine. Those cozy living rooms, bright kitchens, and balconies filled with greenery felt like images from another dimension to her. They were beautiful, but irrelevant to her life.

And now, the person beside her had just spent the morning in a labyrinthine mall seriously planning an “afterward” with her.

As the car entered a tunnel, the light dimmed. In the darkness, Cheng Sutong spoke softly.

“Professor An, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Thank you for being willing to get lost with me.”

An Chuxin’s fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. The tunnel lights flashed past one by one, casting alternating light and shadow across her face.

“Cheng Sutong, there is something I probably have not mentioned.”

“What is it?”

“Before I met you, I had never been lost.” An Chuxin looked toward the exit, where the light was gradually brightening. “My life, my career, even my daily routine; everything was as straight as if it had been measured by a ruler.”

The car exited the tunnel, and sunlight came rushing in.

“But now I think that getting lost occasionally to see scenery outside of the plan is not so bad.”

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