Zhou Zhe blinked, shaking his head, and the two walked away arm in arm, in the opposite direction.

Qiao Li returned to the checkout line, which was still long. Feng Yi craned his neck, scanning the crowd. He visibly relaxed when he saw her. "Where were you? I was getting worried. I tried calling, but you didn't answer."

Qiao Li tossed a package of chicken into the cart. "Got into a bit of an argument on the way back. Held me up."

Feng Yi's brow furrowed. "An argument? Are you okay?"

Seeing his concern, Qiao Li gave a weary smile. "I'm fine."

"You never know. You're a woman, you're always at a disadvantage. What if you'd run into some creep?" He'd read too many news stories.

She smiled, not wanting to mention Zhou Zhe. "Look at this line."

Feng Yi bent his head to speak to her. "Are you tired?"

In this position, Qiao Li didn't have to look up. "No."

"Lean on me." He straightened up, putting his arm around her. Qiao Li, in her flat shoes, felt a little absurd. "I'm really not tired," she said, but she didn't pull away.

By the time they finally finished checking out, it was dark outside. New Year's Day, even more so than the Spring Festival, was a young person's holiday, and the streets were bustling.

Feng Yi carried the two heavy bags, walking easily beside Qiao Li as they headed home.

As soon as they arrived, he started rushing between the kitchen and the living room, eager to get everything set up before the New Year's Eve gala started.

Qiao Li laughed. "Do you always get this excited about holidays?"

He winked, teasing her. "Who doesn't like holidays?"

After filling the coffee table with food, he brought over two mugs of hot milk. Finally, everything was ready.

Feng Yi turned up the television, filling the room with festive sounds. The TV hadn't been used in a while, and the picture took a moment to become clear. The light from the screen washed over them, bringing a sense of warmth.

Curled up on the sofa, Qiao Li experienced the true meaning of a holiday for the first time. New Year's Eve had always been just another lonely night for her, marked only by the clock ticking past midnight and the perfunctory exchange of "Happy New Year" with Zhou Zhe.

It turned out that all it took was a television, a blanket, and someone to lean on, and the endless work, the anxiety, the emptiness of her apartment, the confusion of life, simply faded away.

The comedy sketches on the gala were dull, and Qiao Li couldn't even appreciate the dazzling song and dance performances, but she'd never watched a television program so intently.

She snuggled against Feng Yi, listening as he reminisced. "Every year, my family would celebrate New Year's together. When I was little, I'd sit between my parents, wrapped in a blanket, eating snacks, crumbs getting everywhere. My dad would eventually pick me up and shake me like a rug. When I got older, I had to sit on the small sofa by myself, all alone in my little blanket, watching my parents cuddle together." He feigned a mournful tone. 

"I used to think, one day I'll cuddle on the sofa with my wife and watch TV. Our child will sit between us, and I'll be able to put my arm around both of them. When the child gets older, if it's a boy, he'll have to go to the other sofa. If it's a girl, I might let her stay in the middle."

"They can eat chips, but they have to clean up any crumbs that fall on the floor, just like I had to.

"My mom never let me eat jelly. She said the juice would drip on the blanket and make a sticky mess. But we had a washing machine! And I never dripped any, anyway. So, I'm definitely going to buy my kids a whole box of jelly and let them eat their fill. Even if my wife tries to stop me."

***

Qiao Li's upbringing had never allowed her to fantasize about married life. The fairy tales she'd read as a girl ended with "and they lived happily ever after," with no further details. Some said that was because married life was mundane and boring, filled with the everyday realities of cooking and cleaning, a far cry from a fairy tale.

But nestled beside Feng Yi, listening to him talk about the future, envisioning a life of simple pleasures and routines, she felt like she was finally reading the unwritten chapters of those fairy tales–the occasional arguments, the burnt dinners, the predictable future.

She looked up at Feng Yi. The changing images on the television cast flickering light and shadow across his face, his features sometimes clear, sometimes obscured by darkness. Only his warm, dark eyes remained constant.

It was unsettling. In that moment, she felt an unexpected longing for those ordinary, messy days.