The air grew still.
The winter had stripped the maple trees bare, leaving only dense branches that rustled softly in the wind.
Jing Mian sat there, his heart fluttering nervously as he waited for his husband’s response.
At the same time, he could hear his own heartbeat growing louder.
The man’s lips parted slightly, and Jing Mian’s breath hitched.
“Alright.”
He heard Mr. Ren’s voice.
Then, silence enveloped them, as if the world had fallen utterly still.
Jing Mian: “……?”
Huh?
Husband… agreed.
So, just like that, it was settled?
Such a significant decision, from Jing Mian’s proposal to the mutual agreement between the two of them, had taken no more than five seconds.
In fact, when he heard his husband’s immediate and unwavering affirmation, Jing Mian was still a little caught off guard.
His eyelid twitched, and his nerves gradually eased.
Of course. The decisive and rational Mr. Ren remained as resolute as ever in this matter. The discussion about whether to raise a child had been smooth and effortless, without the slightest hesitation.
But perhaps Jing Mian had been too nervous.
For a moment, it almost felt a little too simple, even perfunctory.
Not exactly disappointing, but not as solemn as he had imagined. It was as casual as deciding what to have for dinner, natural yet spoken so lightly.
Still, a smile crept into Jing Mian’s eyes.
“Congratulations.”
His breath misted in the cold air as he murmured, “Husband is going to be a dad.”
Ren Xingwan froze for a moment.
Jing Mian had never been this close to his husband before, close enough to observe even the subtlest shifts in the man’s expression.
Mr. Ren was truly beautiful.
Perhaps the brother he remembered from his childhood had always been breathtakingly lovely, but now, with the passage of time, his husband’s features seemed painted with an indelible depth, his brows and eyes dark like ink, yet his irises remained light.
His nose was tall and straight, his lips pale. Whether bathed in the mingling hues of twilight or in the quiet stillness of night, his profile was always striking—both profound and gentle.
For a moment, Jing Mian felt as though his brother had returned.
“We’re going to have a baby.”
Mr. Ren spoke slowly, “That’s something worth celebrating.”
“Mm…?”
Jing Mian blinked, then nodded. “Right.”
Then, he suddenly felt a hand wrap around his waist.
The next second, his husband’s grip tightened.
Jing Mian’s feet left the ground as a rush of weightlessness overtook him. Strong arms lifted him effortlessly, holding him securely.
Jing Mian: “!!”
Mr. Ren had picked him up.
It was an embrace that carried the chill of winter, yet the warmth of their mingled breath lingered between them, soft and comforting.
So Jing Mian didn’t feel cold at all.
Held in Mr. Ren’s arms, he was spun in two full circles.
Jing Mian’s gaze faltered.
Then, his heart began to race.
In Jing Mian’s understanding, this was Mr. Ren’s way of celebrating—just as he had suggested.
…
Though the method was straightforward and simple,
it successfully filled him with joy.
Cradled in those arms, he felt as though he were being held in the palm of his husband’s hand.
The earlier sense of anticlimax was now completely replaced by overwhelming happiness.
Mr. Ren asked, “Nervous?”
Jing Mian pressed his lips together, then nodded. “A little.”
His husband studied him. “Because you were nervous to tell me? Or because of the baby?”
Jing Mian answered honestly, “Both.”
But after some thought, he realized that while his husband’s nervousness was temporary, the anxiety over their impending baby would likely persist for ten more months. So he cautiously replied, “But raising a baby still makes me a bit more nervous.”
Mr. Ren smiled faintly. “Of course you’d be nervous.”
His voice softened as he whispered tenderly, “You’re still a baby yourself.”
Jing Mian’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly.
…His heart felt like it might explode.
Mr. Ren’s voice was deep when he spoke, not particularly emotional, usually cool and taciturn, rarely smiling.
Who would have thought such a husband hid fireworks in his heart?
So now, even his earlobes tingled with warmth.
Jing Mian asked, “What about you, Husband? Are you nervous?”
Ren Xingwan murmured, “Hmm?”
Mimicking his husband’s questioning tone, Jing Mian countered, “Would you be nervous because of my words, or because of our baby?”
Mr. Ren fell silent for a few seconds.
As if studying him, or perhaps recalling the question.
Then, the man spoke.
“Anything concerning you,”
Mr. Ren paused briefly before continuing slowly and quietly, “makes me a little nervous.”
…
Jing Mian froze.
Several seconds passed without a response. Surprise overwhelmed reason and thought, leaving his mind blank and unresponsive.
Then came the heat rushing up his neck, burning through restraint.
Jing Mian pressed his lips together, his throat dry:
“Husband, let’s go back.”
Ren Xingwan: “Should I put you down?”
Normally at times like this, Jing Mian would reflexively answer, “Okay.”
But today, for some reason, the words stuck in his throat. Swallowing, he murmured, “…No need.”
Mr. Ren showed no reaction to his reply, speaking as calmly as ever: “Then I’ll carry you back.”
Jing Mian nodded slightly.
After returning home, Jing Mian found the app.
The interface was detailed, he and Mr. Ren needed to bring their marriage certificate and IDs to the same-sex marriage bureau, which was quite far from home. They also had to fill out numerous application forms.
The small desk lamp illuminated the corner of the room, stretching shadows endlessly.
Jing Mian sat at his husband’s desk in the study, carefully filling out the forms with Mr. Ren’s pen, stroke by stroke.
Ren Xingwan watched beside him, signing each page as it was completed.
Once done, Mr. Ren placed the documents along with their IDs and marriage certificate into a folder.
The first step was the application. The second involved physical exams and sample collection, with results in about three days. If all went smoothly, they might be just two weeks away from seeing their baby in the incubation chamber for the first time.
Just like their marriage, they told no one.
Instead, they made this decision quietly, privately.
A new little life was about to enter their story.
That night.
For the first time, Jing Mian was too nervous to sleep.
But when Mr. Ren suggested that if he couldn’t sleep, they could “fulfill their obligations,” Jing Mian immediately claimed drowsiness.
Faint light from the floor-to-ceiling window outlined the soft folds of the bedding, blending with the dim night.
Eventually, Jing Mian truly grew sleepy.
Perhaps exhaustion and heightened tension had overwhelmed his nerves, once relaxed, his head sank into the pillow, and he slept deeply.
Touch and vision were dark and heavy, but gradually, light seeped in.
Then his entire field of view was enveloped by a bright street.
Jing Mian opened his eyes.
Soon, his vision was enveloped by the unfamiliar surroundings. He slowly opened his eyes wide, pupils constricting.
A cramped stairwell, yellowed walls, water stains pooling beneath the eaves, tangled clusters of electric poles, and manhole covers darkened by filthy runoff.
As he walked along the uneven brick-paved ground, Jing Mian lifted his head, catching the greasy aroma of stir-fried dishes. He also saw clothes drying on the windowsills of every household. A little closer, and a drop landed on his shoulder.
Plop.
Jing Mian immediately swiped it away with his small hand, feeling the dampness on his palm before silently wiping it on his pants.
“…”
Discomfort peaked at that moment.
He looked up and asked with difficulty, “Mom, are we going to live here from now on?”
Song Zhinian lowered her head and replied softly, “Yes.”
She pointed ahead, “See that little advertisement covered in flyers?”
Jing Mian: “…?”
“Two buildings behind that is our new home.”
When Jing Mian looked over, he saw the place his mother mentioned, almost indistinguishable among the dilapidated buildings, blending into the decay.
Jing Mian froze, throat bobbing.
With a bitter sniffle, he quietly responded, “Mm.”
Holding his mother’s hand, he entered the damp, chilly building entrance. There was no passcode here, nor did the outer door require a key, it seemed anyone could walk right in.
Only after stepping inside did Jing Mian realize there was no elevator.
By the second floor, he noticed the grimy, checkered window panes. Not only was there no elevator, but even the stair railings were peeling, mottled with age.
Shock flickered in Jing Mian’s eyes.
Soon, he hesitated and stopped in his tracks.
Pressing his trembling lips together, he whispered, “Mom, why doesn’t anyone clean this place?”
“The outside door doesn’t even have a lock. Bad people could come in.”
The more he spoke, the more tears welled up in his eyes. He asked, “Where’s Dad?”
Song Zhinian crouched down, brushing her thumb over Jing Mian’s eyes as she said gently, “Dad went to be a hero.”
Jing Mian: “A hero?”
“Yes, our family’s finances hit a little snag.” Instead of spinning a fairy tale, Song Zhinian told him the plain truth: “So now, Dad has to go out and earn money so that Mom and MianMian can have a better life soon.”
Jing Mian was taken aback.
“So… we can’t live in our old home anymore?”
Song Zhinian: “Right.”
Song Zhinian: “Dad went bankrupt. We can’t stay in the old house now.”
Jing Mian didn’t fully grasp what “bankrupt” meant, but if it meant they couldn’t live in their old home, it must be something very bad.
So he said, “I want to go with Dad.”
Song Zhinian shook her head. “You can’t.”
“You’re too little.” She smiled. “But during this time, no one’s left behind. Dad’s handling things outside, and we’ll take care of things here.”
“Mom will cook delicious meals for you and Dad. And you, as our little man, will protect our new home, make sure no bad guys sneak in. Let’s give Dad a nice surprise when he comes back, okay?”
Jing Mian nodded. “Okay.”
The easily comforted little boy stood to the side, waiting for his mother to unlock the door.
The new home was tiny. Song Zhinian set down their luggage and pulled open the curtains. Rolling up her sleeves, she began tidying the dusty, dim room, making the bed, moving things, wringing out a rag to mop the floor. Jing Mian sat nearby, a small popsicle pressed into his hand.
After tidying up most of the place,
the sun had already set behind the western hills.
Jing Mian’s stomach growled loudly.
Song Zhinian took off her gloves, washed her hands, and with a smile, pinched Jing Mian’s cheeks.
“Hungry? Mom will take you out to eat.”
Jing Mian nodded, letting her pinch his cheeks until his words became muffled.
Though this place was old and shabby, it was brimming with life. Not only was there a morning market, but even as dusk fell, countless small eateries and street vendors filled the surroundings with their calls. By the time people got off work, the market was bustling with activity.
Jing Mian followed closely behind Song Zhinian as they found a noodle shop. It was Jing Mian’s first time sitting on a plastic stool, clumsily handling disposable chopsticks as he took small, careful bites of his noodles.
After dinner, Song Zhinian took Jing Mian to the market to buy groceries, then stopped by a neighboring store for some daily necessities.
Jing Mian was only four years old, and as he grew tired from walking, his steps began to slow.
Especially on the way back, when his mom ran into the neighborhood administrator, an elderly woman, and stopped to chat.
This building had no property management. At the end of the street was a community office that only stepped in occasionally for issues like water outages, power cuts, or clogged toilets.
Jing Mian sat on his newly bought little stool, holding a fish in his hand.
The fish was dead and had a fishy smell, so Jing Mian quickly lost interest.
While Song Zhinian was talking, Jing Mian slowly stood up, drawn to an old man pushing a cart not far away—he could smell the sweet aroma of roasted sweet potatoes.
So, hugging the fish, Jing Mian trotted after him.
As he followed, he suddenly heard the sound of shattering glass, mixed with a woman’s angry shouts, and instinctively stopped in his tracks.
Peering in the direction of the noise, Jing Mian couldn’t see anything, the sound seemed to come from deep within a winding alley.
Strangely, the noise was loud enough to make people nearby pause, but only for a few seconds.
Soon, everyone resumed their usual activities as if nothing had happened.
Jing Mian was still dazed when he heard the owner of a nearby wonton stall sigh and mutter, “Tsk, tsk, that family again.”
“That woman’s gone mad again.”
“Yeah.”
“Poor kid, only ten years old.”
“Don’t get involved, or she might turn on you.”
…
Jing Mian blinked.
A child’s attention is easily captured by new things, especially when they hear but don’t see the source.
Clutching the fish, Jing Mian walked toward the alley. Driven purely by curiosity, and a little fear, he only reached the corner long after the noise had died down.
Once his view was unobstructed, Jing Mian saw the scene before him.
His gaze froze.
The alley led to a rundown building not far from his own home. The woman seemed to have already left, but shards of glass remained, mixed with damp dirt, creating a mess.
Leaning against the wall, Jing Mian spotted an unfamiliar boy.
Much taller than him, what stood out most was how the teenager was lowering his head, wiping blood from his nose. Upon closer inspection, bruises also marked the corners of his eyes and lips.
Hearing Jing Mian’s footsteps stop, the boy looked up.
“…”
Their eyes met.
Jing Mian’s throat moved slightly, this was the first time in his short life that he had a concept of “beauty.”
Gentle and refined, with lips red as cherries and teeth white as jade, the boy was stunningly beautiful.
Someone like him appearing in a place like this felt utterly out of place.
But at the same time, Jing Mian sensed the coldness in his gaze.
It was impolite to stare at strangers for too long, Jing Mian remembered his mother saying.
In situations like this, there were two options.
Either greet them first, or respectfully walk away without disturbing them.
For some reason, Jing Mian didn’t want to choose the latter.
So he hesitated, clutching the fish tighter as he took half a step back.
“Hello.”
Jing Mian swallowed hard, his small hands nervously gripping the fish’s head as he whispered:
“…Brother.”