Under The Sunset, She Kissed Me. - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

I’ve been working hard and saving money with one goal in mind: when Miss Y asks me if I can stop working so hard, I can slam my bank card down in front of her and霸氣 (bossily) say, “I’ll support you for the rest of your life!” Of course, that’s just a fantasy. Miss Y is a very ambitious woman; no one can stand in the way of her drive to climb the ladder. Love shouldn’t be a hurdle for her; it should be a boost.

Miss Y and I both work long hours in front of computers. After a while, we both developed tendonitis and lumbar disc herniation. At our worst, we’d go through a whole box of medicated patches in three days. Later, Miss Y was in so much pain that she had to take a week off. That week, she worked lying on the bed while I worked in the study—oh, we are just two slaves toiling for money!

When a relationship loses its “freshness,” it’s easy to argue or talk about breaking up. We’ve been there. Our way of resolving it is to dress up beautifully, pick a holiday, choose a nice restaurant, buy a bouquet of fresh flowers, and have a lovely meal. Then, we head home early to watch a newly released movie. When the lights go out at night, Miss Y wears a vintage red V-neck tight-fitting dress; her necklace falls perfectly into the neckline, Dior perfume lingers in her hair, and her new bracelets jingle on her wrists. Such a fragrant, sensual night—I wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even for a god’s life.

I’m the dominant one in the relationship—unfortunately, so is Miss Y. But Miss Y is gorgeous, so what can I do? If she wants to take the lead, I’ll let her; if she wants to lay flat, I’ll spoil her.

Miss Y’s nails grow very fast, and she’s a habitual nail-biter. So, every night before bed, I check the length of her nails. If they’ve grown, I’ll consciously take the nail clippers to trim them for her. Sometimes, even if she gets a manicure, Miss Y can’t help but gnaw on them. Maybe she’s a hyena reincarnated. I’ve bought her plenty of dried meat to snack on to break the habit, but it’s still useless. My blood pressure skyrockets every time I see her biting her nails until they bleed. Because of this, I’ve developed the habit of checking her nails every night. She doesn’t bite them when they are short, but the moment they grow even a tiny bit, she loses control. Now, I’ve trained myself to know exactly how long they are just by looking. Sigh, no one ever told me that being with Miss Y would force me to develop all sorts of strange skills.

My cooking skills have significantly improved since being with Miss Y. Many dishes I didn’t know how to stir-fry before, I can now whip up with ease. I’ve even learned to make pastries. I’ve transformed into a chef; whenever Miss Y shares a food video with me, I study it. Miss Y and I have successfully gained 17 pounds together—all proof of our happiness!

Many stores that sell couple’s pajamas aren’t quite right for us, so Miss Y will just buy two sets from a store. To tell them apart, she’ll buy them in different colors. Every time before buying, she’ll ask which one I like. If I’m indecisive, she’ll just buy both so I can swap between them. Honestly, without Miss Y, no one would spoil me like this. My mother never asked for my opinion when buying clothes; she made me wear whatever she bought, regardless of whether I liked it or not. That’s why my fashion sense was so terrible for the longest time. It wasn’t until I met Miss Y that I realized I could choose what I like—and even if I can’t choose between two options, I can just buy them both. How could I not love Miss Y?

Miss Y likes fruits like blueberries, strawberries, and green grapes—little, bite-sized things. I prefer watermelons, dragon fruits, and honey peaches—fruits that are huge so I can hold them and gnaw on them. Even though our tastes differ, our dislikes are identical: neither of us likes pears, not even pear-flavored drinks. Once, a friend came over and gifted us a box of pears, a specialty from his hometown. Miss Y and I stared at the box, deadlocked. Throwing them away would waste our friend’s kindness, but we didn’t want to eat them. We thought about it for a whole night and decided to mail them to our family members. We used a fast courier; they arrived in one day. Three were bruised, but the rest were great, and our relatives ate them happily, praising how sweet the pears were. A successful solution to our “pear problem”—no waste, no hurt feelings. A day to applaud our wit and intelligence!

Recently, Miss Y has been working a ton of overtime, which forced a person who never gets acne to break out in pimples one after another. She’s so angry she wants to take the company down with her. I coaxed her by saying that when she finishes this busy spell, I’ll take her out for delicious food. Miss Y said when she’s on leave, she’s going to sleep for three days and three nights, wake up, and eat a luxury family bucket of fried chicken to make up for everything she’s lost recently.

Lately, Miss Y has been obsessed with roasted honey sweet potatoes, but she always complains that the ones we buy outside aren’t sweet enough. So, I bought some online, planning to roast them myself at home. Miss Y praised me, saying they were way sweeter than the ones outside. The truth is, I sprinkle a little white sugar on them every time I roast them, which is why they taste much sweeter. Miss Y still thinks it’s just because I’m great at picking sweet potatoes. Ah, the innocence of Miss Y!

When I’m not writing, I’m in the kitchen honing my culinary skills. Miss Y and I both love to eat, so it satisfies both my skills and our appetites. Every time I see Miss Y polish off a meal I cooked, I feel a sense of pride that is hard to put into words. Perhaps when you have a partner of your own and cook them a meal, you’ll understand.

Sometimes at night, Miss Y and I move our chairs to the balcony to chat while looking at the moon. Miss Y asked me, “If you weren’t a writer and didn’t have to worry about the paycheck, what would you want to do?” I want to open my own restaurant—open whenever I feel like it, and every dish is made with ingredients picked fresh that day. You’d be at the front desk handling the accounts and service, and I’d be in the kitchen cooking. If someone tries to cause trouble or harass you, I’ll throw a giant wok at them so they can see the true strength of a kitchen chef’s wrist.

I’ve been overusing my eyes, and things look a bit blurry. Miss Y is taking me to get glasses after she gets off work this afternoon. It’s an excuse for me to not write, really. I spent the whole afternoon without touching any electronics, brewed three cups of strong tea (all different flavors), rummaged for snacks, and spent the afternoon eating crunchy biscuits and reading an old novel while waiting for Miss Y to come home.

During work hours, if Miss Y’s director isn’t at the office, she loves to slack off. Every time she sends me long messages or videos, I know the director isn’t there. One second we’re chatting about what to eat for dinner, and the next, she vanishes. After a while, she logs back on and tells me her phone fell into the water. The sound coming out of it now sounds like the phone has a cold—all muffled. I told her to give the phone some cold medicine before it decides to shut down and go to sleep. She sent me a meme of a rabbit rolling out of the house and vanished again. My blind guess? The director is back.

Nighttime is intimate time for young lovers. No matter how busy or exhausted the day was, getting a fragrant, soft kiss from the wife makes everything else melt away. It’s so good!!! And the wife initiated three kisses tonight~ (ˉ▽ˉ~)

Life should be calm, and in that calm life, you realize the calm truths of living.

Recently, Miss Y has been loving television dramas—specifically, those melodramatic family ethics shows. Every time there’s a big plot twist, she angrily grabs a pillow and punches it to vent her frustration. She often feels the heroine is too wronged for the sake of others. While watching, she’ll shed tears and say, “This is too terrible, I’m never watching this again!” And then, when the next episode updates the next day, she’s right back in front of the TV, dragging me to watch with her. I tell her, “My editor is rushing me to submit my draft,” and she asks, “If you stay in the study, are you even going to write?” I think about it—probably not—so I honestly sit down and watch the melodrama with her. To be fair, it’s not bad once you get into it.

Talking to my editor, she asked if I had any new inspiration for a new book. I told her no, I just wanted to finish my current one and take a vacation. The editor asked, “You’re young! Why are you thinking about vacations all day instead of building your career?” I said, “My wife is going on vacation soon, too. I want to accompany my wife.” Editor: “Even if you’re ‘lovestruck,’ you still need a career, okay? Otherwise, your wife won’t like you.” Me: “It’s fine, my wife is ‘lovestruck’ too. I don’t mind her, and she won’t mind me.” Editor: “Eww, stop feeding me dog food [PDA]. If you don’t, I won’t approve your vacation. See what you do then.” Me: “It’s fine. By then, my wife will be sitting by my side watching me write, while you, dear editor, will be all alone in your rented apartment reviewing my novel. Ah, that’s just life.” Editor: “Get lost.”

Miss Y recently bought a lot of flower teas—rose, jasmine, etc. The scent makes the whole house smell fragrant. When she asked if I’d sprayed perfume, I told her it was because I smelled so good she wanted to kiss me. I told her if she was seduced by my good looks, she shouldn’t look for other excuses. Miss Y said, “Being seduced by you is child’s play; who could not fall for you? My Ru Ru baby, can I kiss you?” Me: “Permission granted.”

I have a bad habit: I never post my novels in the order I write them. Sometimes I flip to a chapter and don’t know if I’ve posted it already. I spend half an hour looking for records while the editor keeps rushing me. I have no choice but to throw the manuscript at the editor and let her figure it out. Doing this too often will get you yelled at, unless you’re best friends with your editor—in which case, she’ll yell at you even harder. Other than that, no big issues.

I want to hold my wife and go to bed early every night, but we always end up staying up late. My wife can stay up even later than me, so it usually ends up with the wife holding me to sleep. Does anyone have a solution for this?

I start by writing the novel seriously, insert a bit of my love story with Miss Y, and finish by bragging about our relationship. Then, I botch the ending, start a new one—that’s how I’ve been writing since before I was published. Because of this, every time I write a novel, Miss Y checks it first. If she finds any bad remarks about her, she hits me with a round of “loving physical touch” offline, helping me understand the truth, kindness, and beauty of the human world. Love is so magical—it makes you sink into it, unable to pull yourself out.