Chapter 66: Agreement Countdown (Part I)

The afternoon sunlight cut diagonally through the massive floor-to-ceiling window, casting a warm patch of light onto the mirror-like, dark walnut desk.

At the edge of this luminous patch sat a minimalist leather desk calendar. The calendar was thick, yet now only a sparse, thin stack of pages remained, hanging desolately from the metal rings, silently herarding an impending approach.

Yuling’s gaze was drawn like iron filings to a magnet, landing uncontrollably upon the digits.

Day 31.

The vibrant red ink, like a droplet of lifeblood from her heart, stung her eyes sharply.

Only thirty-one days remained until the expiration of that stark, black-and-white flash-marriage agreement bearing both of their signatures, which stipulated “non-interference, with a duration of one year.”

Yet Yuling felt a suffocating tightness in her chest, as if her heart had been invisibly gripped by an unseen hand. An emotion blending confusion, unease, and a lingering reluctance she dared not examine too closely took root like vines, wrapping around her breath.

This sensation had begun to faintly emerge the moment the calendar was torn down to “Day 60.” The closer it crept to the finish line, the more distinct it became.

She began unconsciously evading any topic related to “time” or “the future.” When Zhaochen occasionally and seemingly off-handedly brought up “next month” or “next year,” she would instantly steer the conversation away, using work, dinner, a newly released movie... using anything trivial to plug the hole that might slide her toward the abyss.

She was terrified. Terrified that once the fragile sheet of ice named “agreement” shattered, what lay beneath would be either a bottomless, freezing abyss or a warm spring she dared not hope for.

Her fingertips brushed the cold metal ring of the calendar unconsciously, and Yuling yanked her hand back as if scalded. She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, attempting to suppress the turmoil in her heart. Yet her gaze drifted uncontrollably toward the study door once again.

What was Zhaochen doing? Had he, too, seen these thinning pages? Did he care?

The moment this thought surfaced, Yuling forcefully beat it back down. She offered herself a self-mocking, internal smile.

Zhaochen? The man wearing the guise of an “ordinary employee” while secretly being a multi-millionaire who sliced pork belly with a royal antique knife? In his eyes, that agreement was probably, from the very beginning, nothing more than a piece of scrap paper to be altered at will or even ignored entirely? He was merely playing the role of a devoted husband, relishing it, enjoying this game of “ordinary” play-acting. The rules of the game? He was the one who made them.

Yuling took a deep breath and drained the lukewarm coffee in her cup in a single gulp. The bitter liquid slid down her throat, bringing a brief flash of sobriety.

She stood up and walked to the massive floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the mid-mountain scenery was verdant, and the distant silhouette of the city hovered indistinctly in the mist. She needed some fresh air, a temporary escape from this space shrouded by the shadow of the countdown.

By evening, the lingering glow of the setting sun dyed the sky a magnificent orange-red. Yuling walked aimlessly along the residential greenway for a long time until her legs ached slightly, before slowly turning back.

Pushing open the heavy solid wood entrance door, an irresistibly alluring aroma—a blend of charred roasted meat, the spicy warmth of black pepper, and the rich mellowness of fine red wine—washed over her like a tyrant! It instantly dispelled the gloom in Yuling’s heart, provoking a tiny protest from her completely empty stomach.

She changed her shoes in a daze and followed the scent toward the dining room.

The sight before her left her instantly frozen in place.

That massive Italian black-gold stone dining table in the dining room, capable of seating ten, occupied only a tiny corner at its center. Expensive Baccarat crystal candleholders were lit, three slender white candles dancing with warm flames. Exquisite bone china plates cast a soft luster under the candlelight.

And right in the center of the plate rested a steak that could only be described as a work of art.

Dripping with exquisite precision over the steak was a thick sauce brewed from top-tier red wine and black truffles, emitting an intoxicatingly rich aroma.

Beside the steak were garnishes of perfectly roasted, vibrant green asparagus and golden-brown, fragrant mini potatoes pan-fried in butter. Most striking of all, the steak itself had been meticulously cut and plated into a full, near-perfect heart shape!

The flickering candlelight cast a romantic and cozy golden rim over this “work of art.” The entire dining room was permeated with an atmosphere entirely distinct from daily domestic life, bordering on the ceremonial.

Yuling’s gaze shifted from the steak to the opposite side of the table.

Zhaochen was standing there. He wasn’t wearing a suit; instead, he wore a soft smoke-gray cashmere sweater with the sleeves casually rolled up to his elbows, revealing his sturdy forearms.

The warm yellow candlelight softened his overly deep and chiseled facial features, and his amber eyes, reflecting the firelight, flowed with a tenderness more intoxicating than honey. A look of almost shy anticipation rested on his face, like a big boy waiting for a teacher to grade his homework.

“Right on time,” he said in a low voice, carrying a trace of unperceived tension, as he gestured toward the dining table. “Wash your hands, let’s eat.” His tone was his usual gentleness, yet carried a bit more solemn weight than usual.

Yuling was somewhat dazed, instinctively checking the calendar on her phone. It wasn’t her birthday, nor was it their wedding anniversary (a hastily registered day they both tacitly avoided mentioning), nor was it any statutory holiday.

“This...” She pointed to the heart-shaped steak, then looked at the rare blend of anticipation and shyness on Zhaochen’s face, asking blankly, “Is today a special day?” Could it be the 30-day agreement countdown anniversary? The moment this thought arose, she immediately snuffed it out herself; it was too absurd.

Zhaochen was slightly taken aback by her question, and immediately after, Yuling clearly saw his fair earlobes rapidly dye themselves a light shade of red at a visible speed!

He gave a slightly awkward, light cough, his gaze drifting away for a second, unable to meet Yuling’s probing look. He picked up the decanter and poured a deep ruby-red liquid into two crystal wine glasses beside him with slightly stiff movements, attempting to use the action to mask that fleeting moment of embarrassment.

“...Not a big day.” His voice dropped lower, carrying a hint of vagueness, yet every word was exceptionally clear in the quiet dining room. “It’s just... the hundredth day since I first made you a bento box.”

The final few words were spoken fast and light, as if exhausting all his courage, and the blush on his earlobes rapidly spread down to his neck.

Yuling was completely stunned.

The first time... making a bento? The 100th day?

The floodgates of memory burst open. It had been shortly after moving into this “rented” apartment; she had been frantic and exhausted over a new project, often making do with convenience store rice balls for lunch.

One afternoon, Zhaochen had suddenly appeared outside her company building carrying a modest, Japanese-style two-tier lacquered wooden lunchbox. Inside the box were extravagantly arranged Japanese fried chicken nuggets, tamagoyaki, broccoli, and rice, accompanied by a hand-drawn, crookedly smiling sticky note: [You can do it, Lingling! Eat well!]

At the time, she had simply taken it as a whim of his, warmed by the thoughtfulness without pondering it deeply. Who would keep count of how many days had passed since such a trivial matter?

One hundred days? He had actually kept count without missing a single day?

An indescribable surge of warmth, mixed with a poignant throb, rushed straight to Yuling’s chest! Like a honey-coated lemon bomb, it silently detonated within her cavity!

The sweet juice intertwined with slightly sour bubbles, instantly drowning all her senses! She looked at Zhaochen’s slightly flushed profile under the candlelight, at his lips pressed tightly together from tension, and at his clumsy attempts to mask that sincere, boyish shyness by pouring wine...

The cold digits of the agreement countdown, the probing gaze of the wealthy neighbor, the absurdity of the astronomical antique kitchen knife, and the property manager’s earth-shattering words, “Chairman Zhao”... All those heavy doubts and anxieties that weighed upon her heart and made it hard to breathe were, at this moment, wondrously and gently shattered by this meticulously prepared heart-shaped steak and this “insignificant” 100-day anniversary.