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On the 16th day of the sixth lunar month, just as the waxberries were ripening, a friend sent over a box of Dongkui waxberries from Xianju. The waxberries from Xianju were both beautiful in color and delicious in taste, with a perfect balance of sweet and sour. Unable to resist, I ate six of them in one go, and my teeth were left tingling from the acidity. “They’re tasty,” I said to Lin Zhiyi, “but a bit too sour.”
“Come here,” he said, heading towards the bedroom.
“Are you going to sign the documents for our trip abroad?” I asked, following him.
“No, it’s for the Nordic tour,” he replied. But as soon as we entered the bedroom, he closed the door behind us, leaned an elbow against it, and playfully trapped me against the wall. Caught off guard, I blushed. “You’re not signing any papers; this is more like collecting a ‘toll’.”
“It is signing,” he whispered into my ear, “and while I’m at it, I’ll give you a bit of sweetness to counteract the sourness of those berries.”
In that moment, I remembered Shakespeare’s words: “A kiss is the seal of love.” Suddenly, the sourness in my mouth seemed to fade, replaced by a lingering sweetness.
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If left to my own devices, I could easily become a chronic “night owl,” delaying sleep indefinitely. Fortunately, I have a dedicated “sleep coach” in my life — Lin Zhiyi. One night, close to eleven o’clock, I was still chatting on WeChat with my college bestie, Yu Qiao.
Lin Zhiyi repeatedly reminded me, “It’s time to wash up and sleep,” but I paid no heed. Eventually, he gave up, went to wash up himself, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over him. “You only have fifteen minutes left to cuddle your husband,” he teased.
I continued chatting.
“Ten minutes left,” he announced, holding up an imaginary countdown clock.
Still engrossed in conversation, I ignored him.
“Do you want to cuddle your husband or a pig? Make a choice!” he joked, pulling out his trump card.
“Husband!” I replied without hesitation. I quickly said goodbye to Yu Qiao and switched my phone to airplane mode. I didn’t want to end up hugging a deeply sleeping pig — I wanted to be embraced by a fully awake Lin Zhiyi as I drifted off.
Aside from work and spending time with Xinbao, reading is our favorite pastime. But books alone aren’t enough for us; we also make use of fragmented moments to listen to audiobooks. One morning, Lin Zhiyi was eating breakfast while listening to content from the “Fan Deng Reading” app. After finishing my morning routine, I sat beside him to eat and listen together.
Unexpectedly, he picked up his phone and turned off the app.
“Why’d you turn it off? He was doing a great job narrating!” I asked.
“I had a sudden realization,” he replied.
“You gained enlightenment from listening to him?”
“No, I realized something on my own. I think it’s more important to listen to you talk during breakfast. Audiobooks can wait, but every word you say when you’re next to me is more important than anything else.”
As I sipped my millet porridge, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d just chewed on a piece of candy — unexpectedly sweet.
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One day at work, I accidentally sliced my finger on some manuscript paper. A colleague advised, “Don’t let it touch water for the next couple of days, and it’ll heal quickly.” When I got home, I saw that my mother-in-law had just boiled some saltwater peanuts and placed them on the coffee table. Unable to resist, I started snacking on them.
After peeling a few peanuts, I felt a sting in the cut on my finger. Remembering my colleague’s advice, I told Lin Zhiyi, “I cut my finger on some manuscript paper earlier, and they said I shouldn’t let it touch water.”
“Your wound has already been soaked in water and salt. No wonder it hurts! Here, let me peel the peanuts for you,” he said, feeding me one after another. I couldn’t help but secretly rejoice — yet another perk of being “injured”!
“I need to wash my hair today too. What should I do?” I asked.
“I’ll wash it for you,” he replied without hesitation. His words seemed to have a magical effect; suddenly, my wound didn’t hurt anymore. It almost felt like my finger was smiling.
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One evening, as I walked into the bedroom, Lin Zhiyi was already leaning against the headboard, reading a book while waiting for me. The autumn air in Beijing was exceptionally dry, so I picked up a tube of lip balm from the bedside table, applied it, and then asked him, “Do you want to put some on too?”
“Not really,” he said. “Why not? Just kiss me, and the balm on your lips will transfer to mine.”
“...”
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Perhaps because I’ve lived in the city for too long, I find myself yearning for a pastoral, reclusive lifestyle. Even in my idle moments, I’ve wondered: if one day I no longer wish to struggle in the urban jungle, where would I retreat to spend my twilight years?
I once said to Lin Zhiyi, “Tao Yuanming had his Southern Mountain, Thoreau had Walden Pond, Sanmao had her Sahara, Li Juan had Altay, and Jiang Xun had Chishang. They all had their spiritual sanctuaries. Where is mine?”
He pointed to himself and said, “Right here.”
I laughed. Of course!
After all my searching, I realized that what I was looking for had been right beside me all along.
In truth, wherever the heart finds peace is a sanctuary. As the saying goes, “Where the heart finds rest is home.” Small hermits retreat to the wilderness, while great hermits remain amidst the bustling city. No matter how noisy the city gets or how complicated human relationships become, at least when I’m nestled against him, immersed in a good book, or writing down my innermost thoughts, I feel at ease and content.
I once asked Lin Zhiyi, “We’ve both left our hometowns to pursue our dreams in Beijing. How do you keep your heart at peace?”
“If only the host can intoxicate the guest,” he quoted Li Bai, “then who cares whether this place is home or away?”
“Don’t just recite ancient poetry. Use your own words.”
“I’ve already fallen drunk in your tender embrace. Why would I care whether this is home or a foreign land?”
Alright, I’ll take that cheesy line.
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I’m a firm believer in the saying, “Live and learn,” and I’ve truly experienced the benefits of lifelong learning for personal growth.
Recently, I finished listening to Yu Qiuyu’s Introduction to Chinese Culture course on “Ximalaya,” and it left a deep impression on me. I couldn’t help but share my thoughts with Lin Zhiyi: “Do you know where a person’s sense of security comes from? From learning!”
“Exactly!” he nodded. I thought he agreed with me, but then he added, “The Nineteen Years of Love course is about to begin. Big Lemon, come study with me.”
“...”
Teacher Da Lin’s daily love lessons seem endless. It seems he’s committed to “loving until old age.”
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