Chapter 11.3 - 酸枣仁 Sour Jujube Seed
Unexpectedly, Yan Heng tugged her closer, and she fell into his embrace. The familiar scent of him, mixed with the temptation of tobacco, made her suddenly feel like her empty hands had nowhere to go.
She was too tired, too drained of both strength and courage to return the hug.
His chin rested on her forehead, and she could feel the faint stubble. His breath was warm against her skin, and his arms were wrapped tightly around her, as though she would vanish in the next second.
It felt like he was protecting a rare treasure.
He finally spoke, breaking the silence. “I saw that you looked unwell this morning, and I was worried. I tried calling, but your phone was off, so I waited outside your house for over two hours. I waited for the lights to turn on. Are you okay now?”
His words were full of concern and affection. Shen Xifan didn’t know how to respond. She remained silent, wondering if she should be happy and smile because he seemed to care, or if she should cry because of his concern. But something deep inside her felt frozen, and no smile came.
It was as if “numbness” was the best word to describe how she felt.
Suddenly, Yan Heng’s phone rang. Shen Xifan pulled away from his embrace, not daring to look at him, and crouched down to pick up the scattered materials. She heard him answer, “Okay, I got it. I’ll head over now. The U.S. side? No problem!”
After hanging up, he gave her an apologetic smile and bent down to help her collect the papers. “Sorry, Xiao Fan, I was too impulsive. I’m glad you’re okay.”
As he handed her the last piece of paper, he sighed. “I have to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
She lowered her eyes. “Thank you. Goodnight.”
Without looking back, she went upstairs, unlocked the door, and closed it behind her. She poured herself a cup of tea, only to notice that Yan Heng was still standing by his BMW, staring at her house for quite a while before finally getting in and driving away.
Her heart was a tangled mess.
She tried to calm her restless mind and prepared to go through the materials. She had only read two pages when she remembered that her phone was dead. She grabbed her bag to find her phone, opened it, and froze.
Inside the bag, there was a bottle of medicine, lying neatly. Attached to it was a note with handwriting she knew all too well: “You’ve finished a month’s worth of medicine. I don’t know if you’re still having trouble sleeping. If you still have mild symptoms, you don’t need to take Chinese medicine. This bottle of sour jujube powder can help. It calms the mind, soothes the stomach, and balances the liver. It nourishes the lungs, warms the middle, relieves dampness, and has many other benefits. The best part is it’s not bitter, just mix it with water to take. But you have to keep taking it, don’t quit halfway.”
Shen Xifan carefully opened the bottle. The reddish-brown powder was finely ground, so delicate it seemed like a gentle breath could make it float. It was clearly prepared with great care.
She took a spoon and poured a bit of the sour jujube powder into it, added some water, and gently drank it. It was both sweet and sour.
Maybe this was the taste of love—sour, yet sweet.
She remembered reading a novel once, though she couldn’t recall it clearly. The words were blurry, but she remembered this part:
“The sour taste is like vinegar. Girls who get jealous are endearing, a little silly, but charming in their pettiness. Chinese girls, when they’re jealous, are more reserved but also wise. The sweet taste is like a boy buying a pomegranate for his girlfriend. They sit on a bench in the garden, eating it together. The pomegranate’s translucent pink color, like the red beans of the southern country, symbolizes longing. He takes one seed, she takes one, talking and eating, spending an entire afternoon together.”
She had once told Yan Heng, “I hope my love will be like that—supporting each other, treating each other with respect, and living a simple life. I’ll find him in the passage of time, rely on him, and give my life to him. I’ll be his wife, the mother of his children, cooking, doing laundry, sewing on a button that fell off. Then, we’ll grow old together. One day, he’ll leave me, or I’ll leave him, going to another world to continue our fate. And when that happens, we’ll still say the simplest words to each other, ‘I’m willing.’”
But who that person was, she didn’t know.
When all her defenses crumbled and loneliness rushed in, she couldn’t hold herself together anymore. Gripping the bottle of medicine, tears poured down her face like rain.
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