Chapter 43: Don’t Speak—I’m Thinking

Cheng Simin nearly choked on her food. They were adults now—so what if they’d kissed? Was this really something they couldn’t get past? Frustrated, she pushed the wine glass to the center of the table in refusal. “I’m not drinking! You can drink it yourself if you want.”

“Fine, I’ll drink it. Do you know how to drive a manual car? If not, we’ll just find a designated driver later.”

Before Shi Ying’s hand even reached the glass, Cheng Simin snatched it away. Clicking her tongue, she brought the small cup of wine to her lips and took a sip before setting it down again.

“Forget it, I’ll drink it. We ordered so much food that we won’t finish it all anyway, and now you’re talking about hiring a designated driver? Are you trying to spend money recklessly? Didn’t you just say your family went bankrupt? Shi Ying, you really need to stop being so extravagant and start saving. Do you think it’s easy living without money?”

“A single coin can stump even the strongest hero.”

“In truth, I can’t blame your mom either. What parent doesn’t hope for their child to succeed and thrive? Loving your child means giving them the best—friends, partners, everything must be scrutinized….”

Her voice trailed off as she thought of herself, feeling a wave of nostalgia. With great passion, she lowered her gaze and poured the remaining wine from the small cup down her throat.

Shi Ying ate slowly and deliberately, rolling up his sleeves before refilling her cup. “In your eyes, everyone turns into a saint. What makes parents better than their children?”

It wasn’t as though they’d lived decades longer or gained wisdom with age. Some people only grew older without gaining any insight, remaining childish under their adult exteriors. His life experiences were unique—how could anyone else know what was best for him?

“Who decides who is good or suitable? Shouldn’t it be up to me?”

When Shi Ying mentioned “good,” his gaze burned with intensity, his piercing eyes practically spotlighting Cheng Simin’s face. But this supposedly suitable person simply continued eating, disdainfully smirking, “You humanities students are always digging logical traps. Even without tongues, you’d still win arguments. I can’t outtalk you, but I can eat, alright?”

The proprietress’s promotional spiel wasn’t false advertising—the osmanthus wine tasted wonderful. It was smooth and easy to drink, with a slight burn in the throat accompanied by a warm sweetness. Its aftertaste lingered warmly in the stomach.

On this early autumn evening, paired with the side dishes, it was particularly satisfying.

After Shi Ying refilled her glass several times, Cheng Simin’s interest in alcohol was fully piqued.

Two small cups of wine later, her appetite surged, and she ordered a plate of old vinegar peanuts. When the new dish arrived, she chewed on a peanut, shook the wine bottle, and found it completely empty. Unsatisfied, she promptly ordered another bottle.

The little drunkard across the table sipped leisurely, her gaze gradually becoming unfocused. One restless leg propped itself on the bench’s crossbar as she ate heartily and drank deeply, embodying the spirit of the Liangshan heroes.

Her uninhibited eating and drinking were endearingly innocent. She struggled comically to pick up a peanut with her chopsticks, prompting Shi Ying to hand her a spoon so she could scoop them directly. He carefully weighed his words before finally speaking.

Yet, what came out was entirely unoriginal—it mirrored the exact questions his grandmother had asked him earlier.

“Cheng Simin, are you planning to leave again after moving back this time? What are your plans for the future?”

Leaving wasn’t an option because money was tight, and having no plan was also due to financial constraints.

Cheng Simin thought for a moment, set her wine glass down, and answered honestly, “My plan is to have no plan. That’s a plan too.”

“Don’t be flippant—I’m asking seriously.”

“I’m answering seriously too. What kind of plan do you need for retirement? Isn’t it just about surviving day by day until death?”

Every day at the community fitness area, groups of elderly men and women gathered, playing cards, chatting, knitting sweaters—one meal a day, sitting from morning till night. Everyone looked carefree, embodying the “relaxed lifestyle” sold online. That’s how Cheng Simin wanted to live.

Who said one must work? Her breasts certainly wouldn’t agree.

As Cheng Simin continued devouring the feast, Shi Ying sat across from her, his expression serious and persistent.

“Alright, early retirement isn’t impossible, but when will you start making up for the medical insurance you’ve missed? What about social security? Are you contributing as a self-employed individual?”

Hearing about social insurance made Cheng Simin’s head spin. She finished her second bottle of wine, feeling slightly dizzy, and quickly drank two cups of eight-treasure tea.

“Why should I pay those if I’m not working? Haven’t you seen the news? Local finances are strained; the money young people contribute now goes straight to the elderly. By the time I qualify for a pension, I’d need to live to eighty just to break even—it’s a waste of money.”

“Stop twisting logic. Precisely because you don’t intend to work anymore should you calculate these things carefully. How much do you have? How long will it last? Factor in all risks—besides using social security as forced savings, locking in basic future income, you also need an emergency fund.”

“What if something unexpected happens?”

“What if you live past eighty? Women outlive men significantly.”

“And what about your dog? Dogs age and require expenses too—you owe it to him to see him through.”

“The wealthy have better investment returns and may not care about such small amounts, but for ordinary people, this is social welfare. Retirement with a pension versus without is entirely different.”

“I’m not scaring you, but without a pension, you won’t even have the right to watch others dance in the square. They receive income daily while you’ll be scrimping to split a bun into three meals.”

“At least pay for urban medical insurance and social security—hundreds of yuan per year isn’t a loss. It’s a guaranteed return.”

Seeing Cheng Simin suddenly shift her gaze and put down her chopsticks, Shi Ying frowned. He tapped his fingers on the table, raising his voice like a teacher scolding a struggling student. “Cheng Simin, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about any of this before planning retirement.”

“You don’t actually have zero savings, do you? Are you giving up on life at such a young age? Planning to die as soon as your money runs out?”

“I’ve thought about it!” Cheng Simin hiccupped against the cool breeze, frowning and pouting unhappily. She fiddled with her fingers and told Shi Ying, “You’re too loud. Quiet down—I’m thinking.”

With her legs crossed, Cheng Simin repeatedly pinched gestures on her knee like a Taoist priest while mimicking placing a hairpin behind her ear.

After resting for half a year, life had been comfortable, and she’d modestly arranged a small nest for herself, spending a total of twenty thousand yuan on basic necessities. She currently had thirteen thousand left, which would sustain her most basic survival needs for 215 months—or seventeen years.

But if she paid back her medical and social insurance contributions regularly, the money wouldn’t last five years without eating or drinking.

However, she’d only be forty-three in seventeen years—thirty-one in four.

Never had Cheng Simin resented her youth as much as now. Living too long felt like a sin.

After ten minutes of contemplation at the dinner table, her thoughts became increasingly muddled, her calculations unclear, and her anxiety rising. Yet, after much deliberation, she realized she didn’t need to report her life situation to Shi Ying. Who was he to meddle?

What was his status? Why should he care whether she lived to eighty to collect her pension? How annoying.

Thus, the result of Shi Ying’s patient waiting was Cheng Simin finally raising her head to declare earnestly:

“I’ve decided. I’m done eating. I’m going to settle the bill and use the restroom. Take the dog and wait in the car.”

Seeing Shi Ying open his mouth to interrogate further, she stood up and dismissively turned back. “Don’t follow me—I’m going to the ladies’ room. And stop looking down on me. Retirement aside, I can afford to treat you to dinner.”

“If I say I’ll treat, I’ll treat! Stop nagging. Warn you—I’ll lose my temper!”

Ten minutes later, Cheng Simin staggered toward the red Xiali sedan.

Shi Ying glanced at the rearview mirror, silently noting that someone with a light tolerance couldn’t handle more than half a catty of alcohol. The osmanthus wine was only around ten percent alcohol content, yet after two small bottles, she was already acting rowdy.

Run well—if she tripped and knocked out her front teeth, she could prematurely enter the ranks of the elderly dentally.

Crossing the oily drainage ditch on the street, Cheng Simin panted as she pulled open the passenger door.

Before Shi Ying could ask, she giggled drunkenly. “This wine seems to be hitting me. When I lifted the curtain to leave the shop, I thought I saw your car moving. I thought you weren’t going to wait for me—I panicked and ran.”

Now that she was being difficult, why worry? What had she been doing earlier?

Shi Ying, magnanimous, took a deep breath and prepared to continue the earlier conversation. However, Cheng Simin quickly added, “Taking a taxi back to Huanghe Garden wouldn’t be worth it—it’d cost another fifteen yuan. Shi Ying, thank goodness for you.”

So, she viewed him as a free chauffeur, showing no reflection on their previous discussion.

Frustrated and cold, Shi Ying drove out of the village in silence. Meanwhile, Cheng Simin, satisfied with food and drink, happily turned on the radio with his permission.

The female announcer narrated sentimental scripts reminiscing about youth, followed by old-school love songs. Cheng Simin listened quietly, glancing down and spotting a cigarette wedged beside the gearshift.

With a flick of her thumb, she deftly positioned the cigarette between her ring and middle fingers, stroking the “Zhonghua” logo on the filter. Turning to Shi Ying with a grin, she teased, “You dropped a cigarette.”

Shi Ying glanced at her hand. It was from when he met Sun Qiyang—the companion had given it to him, and he’d casually tossed it aside, unaware it remained in the car.

“It was handed to me during business; I don’t smoke.”

“Throw it away—the tobacco’s dried out.”

Shi Ying hurried to assert himself as a morally upright youth with no bad habits, but Cheng Simin looked disappointed upon hearing this. She spun the cigarette between her fingers like a pen, contemplating for the length of a song before turning to ask, “If you don’t smoke, can I?”

“It’s Zhonghua—it’d be a shame to throw away.”

Driving into Huanghe Garden, it hadn’t rained today, but to save steps for the intoxicated, Shi Ying parked directly in the underground lot.

“Smoking harms health,” Shi Ying remarked, but after parking, he still retrieved the lighter from beneath the dashboard.

“I don’t have a strong craving. Besides, I’ve had some wine.” In her second year of work, the ever-rule-abiding Cheng Simin learned to smoke. Each late-night overtime session, when anxious and stressed, she’d light up—a puff of nicotine temporarily easing her tension.

She smoked because of work, and naturally quit after resigning.

But like someone who often drank coffee might miss its bitterness, especially after drinking, diminished self-control made resisting the urge to smoke again challenging.

Out of the corner of her eye, Beibei curled up in the backseat, half his face buried in his tail, looking exhausted and asleep.

The glowing coil approached Cheng Simin’s face. She placed the filter between her lips, aligning the tip with the red glow and gently inhaled.

A soft hiss lit the tobacco, and the tiny sparks illuminated their pupils. Cheng Simin shrank slightly under Shi Ying’s intense gaze.

Shi Ying lazily watched as she reinserted the lighter, then leaned back in his seat, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Dried tobacco is harsh, Cheng Simin. Don’t force it.”

“What’s there to force? You wouldn’t understand—dry tobacco has a stronger kick.”

Cheng Simin deliberately took a deep drag, immediately choking as her alcohol-soaked nerves nearly fried to a crisp.

Her lashes glistened as she coughed twice toward the window, hiding her embarrassment while blowing the secondhand smoke outside.

Dry cigarettes were indeed hard to smoke. Dizzy, Cheng Simin wanted to extinguish it and take the dog upstairs to rest. But with Shi Ying present, she had to save face, grimacing as she took two more drags. Suddenly, his voice came from behind.

“Does it taste good?”

“It tastes fine,” Cheng Simin replied, quickly adjusting her expression, lifting her chin, wrinkling her nose, her mischievous eyes clear and bright.

He teased her, and she responded with a look of disdain—a habit from their childhood playtime.

“Oh,” Shi Ying observed her damp lashes, flushed corners of her eyes, slightly pouted lips, and the hint of tongue peeking from beneath her teeth. The more he looked, the thirstier he felt.

Out of gentlemanly conduct, he could step out of the cramped space, allowing the tipsy Cheng Simin to exit first and press the elevator button.

But instead, he didn’t avert his gaze, slowly blinking, letting the tingling sensation sweep from his fingertips to his heart, flooding his mind with impulses.

“What does smoking feel like? Doesn’t it taste bitter?”

“It’s alright. Why don’t you try it?”

“Alright.”

Cheng Simin raised her wrist, offering the still-burning cigarette, secretly grinning, expecting to see Shi Ying cough and choke like she did. After all, he didn’t smoke—this cigarette was nuclear-level.

Shi Ying leaned forward from his seat, moving closer to her direction. The dim underground parking lot combined with Cheng Simin’s blurred vision made her aim falter. Instead of reaching his lips, the cigarette grazed his jawline, her arm brushing his shoulder.

For a long moment, it felt like a slow-motion scene in a movie.

When clarity emerged from chaos, she saw Shi Ying’s lips, meant to touch the cigarette, pressed against hers.