To Get Married - Chapter 53

Chapter 53

Manzhu was caught between laughter and tears. She gently caught Yudong’s thin wrist, reining in those wandering little hands.

She looked into Yudong’s slightly bewildered eyes for a moment before smiling. “It’s right here. It’s just that when the weather is cold, the movement is a bit quieter.”

“Is that how it is…?” Yudong was dazed. This was a complete blind spot in her knowledge.

On second thought, it made sense. Snakes hibernate, so it was only natural for their biology to differ from humans in that regard.

Yudong nodded sheepishly and withdrew her hand, picking up her chopsticks to focus on her dumplings. Thinking back to her failed attempt at testing the waters, she felt incredibly awkward. The more she thought about it, the more her face heated up until even her ears were burning.

She peeked at Manzhu, who had simply sat back on the sofa, eating dumplings and watching TV. Her expression was normal, her face slightly flushed—though that was likely just the reflection of the glowing red heater next to the sofa.

Yudong wasn’t quite full after her first portion, so she opened the extra box, scooped half into her bowl, and kept eating with her head down. Once she was finished, she didn’t know how to break the silence. She licked her dry lips and rubbed her hands together unconsciously.

Seeing this, Manzhu asked, “Are your hands cold?”

Yudong shook her head, then nodded. While she was rubbing them out of awkwardness, her hands actually were quite chilly.

Manzhu beckoned her over.

Yudong pursed her lips and walked to the sofa, sitting obediently beside her. She let Manzhu take her hands and gently massage them. Normally, Manzhu’s hands were ice-cold, but right now they radiated a faint spiritual glow, feeling as warm as the little heater nearby.

Manzhu’s fingers were long and slender. She rubbed Yudong’s palms, the backs of her hands, and each cold finger until the warmth returned. She held Yudong’s hands between her own for a moment and smiled. “Not cold anymore?”

“Not anymore,” Yudong said, leaning her head against Manzhu’s shoulder. Her lips curved up; her heart was a mix of shyness and joy.

Manzhu gazed down at the girl on her shoulder, finding the stirrings in her own heart increasingly difficult to suppress. She was beginning to realize that her feelings for Yudong had changed in a way that was hard to put into words. She wasn’t sure when it started, but actions that used to be routine—leaning on each other, hugging, interlacing fingers—now sent ripples through her normally calm soul.

She had a suspicion about why, but she didn’t know how to confirm it. What does it actually feel like to like someone? Is it really as Yudong said—that your heart loses control because of another person?

If so… did she really fall for the child she raised herself?

After Zhang Ziyun left, Manzhu had asked Mu Chenshan and Yan Zhaomu if they knew what happened between the two girls.

At the time, Mu Chenshan and Zhaomu exchanged a look. “I’m not entirely sure,” Chenshan had said, “but if Zhaomu’s guess is right, that Zhang Ziyun girl liked your Little Yudong. She confessed and got rejected.”

Zhaomu nodded. “They’re avoiding… each other… keeping…”

“Keeping their distance,” Chenshan finished for him.

Manzhu was puzzled. “You can’t be friends after a rejection? I felt like Yudong really missed her.”

“It’s awkward!” Chenshan explained. “If someone you consider a sister or a bro suddenly confesses and says they want to be with you, but you don’t feel that way, how would you feel?”

“I’d refuse. It wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Then think about it from the other side. You really like someone, you confess, and they say it’s impossible. Wouldn’t you feel embarrassed?”

Manzhu frowned. “But Zhaomu has rejected you many times, and I’ve never seen you embarrassed.”

Mu Chenshan felt like he had swallowed a bone. His expression twitched for a few seconds before he took a deep breath. “That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I have thick skin and no shame, okay?” Chenshan snapped, slamming his fist on the table to conclude the topic. “Anyway, most people feel awkward after a rejection. Those who can stay friends are a rare minority. Even if they do, the relationship changes… because the emotional investment is unequal. It creates pressure on both sides.”

While Manzhu didn’t fully understand the “why,” she understood one thing: unequal feelings could lead to a broken relationship. Because of this, she hid her feelings behind a mask of ignorance.

Perhaps it was better if Yudong always saw her as a sister. That way, she could stay by her side like family—holding her hand or hugging her. Maybe only through this relationship could Yudong keep relying on her.

It would be even better, Manzhu thought, if Yudong never fell for anyone else. Just like she said when she was little—to stay by my side forever, call me ‘Sister,’ and be with me day and night.

On Sunday afternoon, as soon as Yudong returned to the dorm, she saw Ye Liujing twisting around on her bed, letting out occasional “hehehe” giggles like a total creep. Chen Yang wasn’t in, and Tang Qian’s bed curtains were closed, though a soft, rapid typing sound came from within.

“Qianqian? Qianqian?” Yudong called out. No response. Tang Qian had her headphones on again.

She walked over to Liujing’s bed and slapped the railing. “Little Leaf!”

Liujing flipped over and leaned over the rail, grinning at Yudong. “Darling, you’re back?”

“Ugh…” Yudong winced at the “darling.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I saw Little Mystery again today! In the piano building!” Liujing squealed. “I knew I’d run into him if I went every day!”

Yudong checked her phone and saw that Liujing had indeed been screaming in the group chat. She put it down and looked up. “And then?”

“I know his name and his class!” Liujing’s voice got more excited. “Guess how I found out?”

“You walked up and asked?”

“No way, that would look intentional. He probably gets hit on all the time; I don’t want to make a bad first impression.”

“Then how?”

“Luck! The room next to his was empty, so I went in. A while later, someone came to get him for lunch. He walked past my door and I think he even looked at me… hehe…” Liujing bit her lip, looking like a smitten schoolgirl. “His name is Jiang Fang. Isn’t that a nice name?”

Yudong was speechless. Is that a nice name? Seriously?

“I checked the sign-in sheet in the lobby. He’s in our year, Piano Department…” Liujing continued her fan-girling. “So impressive. The Piano Department only took twenty-four students this year. He’s so talented…”

Yudong felt like Liujing was “broken.” She turned to the water dispenser, filled a cup with hot water, and leaned against the bed rail, sipping slowly.

“Yudong, why that face?” Liujing pouted, seeing her friend’s indifference.

Yudong couldn’t help but laugh at her puppy-dog eyes. “What’s so funny?” Liujing sat up, crossing her arms. “You don’t have anyone you like, so you don’t understand! When you like someone, you think everything about them is perfect.”

“Mhm, mhm,” Yudong nodded. She stopped laughing, but her eyes were still dancing with amusement.

Liujing’s last sentence was right. When you like someone, everything about them is good. Even the “not-so-good” parts are good.

“So you’re really going to pursue him?” Yudong asked. “You haven’t even spoken to him. You don’t know his personality or his hobbies.”

“I can learn those slowly. If it works, great; if not, whatever. I won’t make myself miserable over it.” Liujing sat cross-legged, rocking back and forth like a tumbler toy. “He feels… introverted, gentle, clean, and… and…” She struggled for more adjectives before shaking her head. “Anyway, he’s totally my type!”

Yudong blinked. “What if you pursue him and find out he doesn’t like you?”

“As long as he’s single, there’s a chance,” Liujing mused. “You can’t let the fear of rejection stop you from speaking your heart, right?”

Tang Qian suddenly took off her headphones and chimed in from behind her curtain: “If you like someone in college, go for it. You have nothing to lose. You won’t have this kind of ‘capital’ later in life.”

“What ‘capital’ do students have?” Yudong asked curiously.

“Youth and the lack of worries—that’s the biggest capital,” Tang Qian’s voice drifted out, sounding like a wise old soul. “This is probably the time when the gap between two people is the smallest. Everyone is a student; you can just chase whoever you want. Once you graduate and enter society, the gap between people gets wider, and the distance grows. When you have to deal with real-world obstacles, romance isn’t as pure as it is in school.”

“Real-world obstacles?” Yudong asked blankly.

“You know—cars, houses, salary, career prospects, and the drama between both sets of parents. It’s all a bunch of ethical soap operas.”

“Qianqian, you’re so deep,” Liujing said.

“I try, I try,” Tang Qian replied.

Yudong fell into deep thought. If those were the obstacles for others, what about her and Manzhu?

Cars, houses, income? Manzhu didn’t seem to care about those. Parents? They didn’t have any to worry about.

Does that mean, Yudong wondered, that there actually aren’t any obstacles between me and Manzhu?