Extra #13: Nian Tao

Shang Zhitao’s branch company was located in the same industrial park where Lin Chun’er worked.

The park offered government subsidies and housed many incubators, making the rent relatively affordable. Shang Zhitao leased a three-story office space, which consumed most of her savings for both rent and renovations. Some people suggested she apply for a business loan, but after much deliberation, she decided against it.

The renovation process had started long before, but since Shang Zhitao was in Bingcheng and couldn’t oversee everything personally, Sun Yu, Lumi, and Lin Chun’er took turns supervising. When Luan Nian returned to Beijing, he also stopped by to check on things. Feeling guilty about troubling her friends, Shang Zhitao expressed her unease, but Lumi laughed at her: “What are friends for if not to trouble them? Otherwise, why bother hanging out when times are good but back off when things get tough? That’s just not being human.”

The rent alone drained most of her funds, and Shang Zhitao realized how quickly money could disappear. With little left, she opted for a simple design. As Lin Chun’er put it, this was “minimalist industrial style.” However, she spared no expense on office equipment. Labor costs in Beijing were high, and she also needed to pay a business deposit—her money simply wasn’t enough.

That evening, before starting the recruitment process, Luan Nian was teaching Little Nian Tao to recognize colors when Shang Zhitao passed by several times.

She hesitated, clearly troubled, but couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Shang Zhitao had never borrowed money from Luan Nian, even after they were married. She always felt that his money was his own.

After Little Nian Tao fell asleep and the two of them lay in bed, Luan Nian asked her how things were progressing. She explained everything in detail.

“Do you have something to say to me?” He had noticed her pacing back and forth multiple times.

Shang Zhitao didn’t know how to broach the subject. Her fingers traced circles on his chest as she struggled to find the words. After a long pause, she finally asked, “Can you lend me some money?”

“How much?”

“Around 1.2 million yuan.” Sunny had helped her calculate the expenses. She planned to hire 25 employees initially, and one million yuan would cover their salaries for three months. Beyond that, her success would depend on her opportunities and fate.

“No.” Luan Nian disliked the word “borrow,” feeling it created unnecessary distance between them. He had never intended to keep track of finances with Shang Zhitao. After all these years of give-and-take, there was no way to untangle their shared lives. Since it couldn’t be sorted out, blending their finances forever seemed perfectly fine to him.

“Oh. Then I’ll think of something else.”

“What do you plan to do?” Luan Nian asked.

“I’ll ask Sun Yu? Or Lumi? Or Chun’er? I have so many wealthy friends…”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Luan Nian sat up, glaring at her. In the dim glow of the nightlight, they stared each other down. After a moment, he picked up his phone and sent her a file.

“What is this?” Shang Zhitao asked before opening it.

“A will.”

“? Are you insane?” Shang Zhitao hated such jokes. The word “will” felt ominous to her, and she glared at Luan Nian, fuming and breathing heavily.

Luan Nian took her phone, opened the file, and held it up to her. It was indeed a will. He scrolled through the document, showing her a detailed inventory of his current assets and allocation instructions. Turning to her, he said, “It’s been notarized. When the time comes, contact Song Qiuhán or Lin Chun’er—we share the same lawyer.”

Tears streamed down Shang Zhitao’s face. “What are you doing? Why are you writing a will? Why are you doing this?”

“I can’t help but mock you, Ms. Shang Zhitao.” Luan Nian gripped her chin. “Why are you crying? I’m not dead! This is just a modern lifestyle choice—it’s quite common now. I saw Song Qiuhán working on his recently and decided to follow suit. Chen Kuannian has one too, and so does Tan Mian.”

Wiping her tears, Shang Zhitao couldn’t resist teasing, “Tan Mian has no family. Who’s he leaving all his money to?”

“To designated institutions.” Luan Nian roughly wiped her tears. “Are you done crying? If you are, listen to me.”

Cradling Shang Zhitao’s face in his hands, Luan Nian said, “I want to grow old with you, but life is unpredictable. It’s always better to plan ahead—you agree with that, right? What I also want to say is that I don’t like keeping everything so separate after marriage. Maybe that’s how you think—clear boundaries make it easier to walk away—but I don’t see it that way. I want us to have the traditional family structure. Everything I own goes to you. That’s your and Nian Tao’s safety net. Do you understand?”

“I don’t want it. I can earn my own money.” Shang Zhitao disliked this somber approach. After giving birth to Nian Tao, she became especially afraid of falling ill. Once reckless with her health, she now avoided staying up late and treaded more cautiously.

She had grown afraid of loss—and terrified of losing anything precious.

Luan Nian gazed at her for a long while, then pulled her back down to lie beside him and turned off the light.

In the darkness, both of them lay awake with their eyes open.

“I’m not lending you a million yuan. You already have the right to manage all my money. If you’re uncomfortable with that, consider it our joint living fund. Once your cash flow improves, you can deposit it back.”

“Alright.”

Shang Zhitao held Luan Nian tightly.

This night had shaken her deeply. She knew Luan Nian loved her and adored Nian Tao, but what was the true essence of marriage? Some said marriage was like a company jointly operated by two people—only with the right direction, feasible strategies, and division of labor could it last. Shang Zhitao had once agreed with this perspective, but now she felt that her marriage with Luan Nian wasn’t like running a business. It was more like planting a seed underground. Both of them diligently watered, fertilized, and weeded it, waiting for the seed to grow. Unlike running a business, which required lofty ambitions, this was simply about nurturing a seed.

“I’m actually glad Nian Tao’s temperament isn’t like mine,” Luan Nian suddenly remarked. He knew he had always been difficult to get along with—his personality full of stubbornness and rigidity. He was what others called “finicky.” During Shang Zhitao’s pregnancy, he had thought that if Nian Tao’s temperament were like his, it wouldn’t be so bad—she’d grow up to be a “tough cookie.” But then he worried that she might struggle to make friends or feel lonely. Being like Shang Zhitao would be ideal—quietly striving without contention, free from jealousy or complaints, resilient and naturally able to attract sincere friendships.

“I’m also glad she’s not like you,” Shang Zhitao chuckled softly in the darkness. If she had his temper, she’d have to deal with two difficult personalities—that would be too much for her. Sometimes, watching Luan Nian care for Nian Tao, she felt that the greatest challenge he faced in life might be how to avoid being assimilated by their daughter.

He probably didn’t even realize how unbearably gentle he became around Nian Tao.

Luan Nian slipped his hand under her pajamas and pinched her waist. “Say that again?”

“I won’t.” Shang Zhitao felt a slight sting and stopped talking. Sensing his movements, she noticed his palm slowly gliding up her skin, the thin calluses brushing against her, creating a faint itch.

The night was truly mesmerizing.

Both of them stayed silent under the covers, their heads and faces drenched in sweat. Shang Zhitao tried to pull the blanket off, but Luan Nian quickly covered her again. As he indulged himself, he whispered, “Don’t wake my daughter.”

“She wouldn’t wake up even if thunder struck.”

“Still, no.”

Luan Nian sealed her lips, making her feel as if she were suffocating. The heat and pleasure alternately tormented her, leaving her slightly irritable. Finally, she bit down on his shoulder: “I don’t want the blanket.”

“Fine.”

Luan Nian got out of bed, picked her up, and carried her to the bathroom. Closing the door behind them, he said, “You can make noise now.”

Shang Zhitao thought Luan Nian was overly biased: “You only love Nian Tao.”

“Is that so?” Luan Nian laughed. “Nonsense.”

After some playful antics and a quick shower, they returned to bed, their eyes heavy with sleep, and drifted off into a deep slumber.

===

Shang Zhitao’s branch company finally launched.

On the day of its official opening, Sun Yu organized a small ribbon-cutting ceremony, saying it was for good luck.

Shang Zhitao felt awkward about such a public display, but she couldn’t resist her friends’ insistence, so the ceremony went ahead.

That day, she applied light makeup and dressed beautifully. There weren’t many attendees—aside from the dozen or so newly hired employees, the rest were friends. Feeling the lineup was too sparse, she invited her friends to join her in cutting the ribbon.

“That won’t do,” Lin Chun’er declined. “This is your big moment. We’re just spectators and minor shareholders. But I suggest you invite your company’s hidden major shareholder to join you.” She was referring to Luan Nian, whose funds Shang Zhitao had used.

Luan Nian stood there, pretending to be aloof, though he secretly wanted to join. He waited for Shang Zhitao to invite him. Seeing his haughty yet endearing demeanor, Shang Zhitao couldn’t help but laugh. She asked, “Would Mr. Luan grace us with his presence?”

“Reluctantly.”

Luan Nian smiled and stood beside her.

Shang Zhitao pulled Lin Chun’er and Sun Yu to stand on either side—they had also invested a little.

After nearly nine months, Shang Zhitao was finally close to her pre-pregnancy state. Lin Chun’er exuded warmth, Sun Yu appeared sharp and efficient, and Luan Nian carried himself with his usual poise. Standing together, they made a picture far surpassing countless others.

As the scissors were raised, the photographer said, “On the count of three, everyone cut.” Then he checked the auspicious time on his wristwatch.

Suddenly, Luan Nian turned to Shang Zhitao and said, “Shang Zhitao, welcome back to Beijing.”

Shang Zhitao’s heart stirred deeply. This single sentence encapsulated over a decade of her life—from the rainy day she dragged her luggage out of Beijing Station, to her departure, and now her return.

It felt as though her prime years had passed, yet she was still in her prime.

She was overwhelmed with emotion.

That evening, during the grand dinner, Sun Yu and Zhang Lei drank heavily. At one point, they led Shang Zhitao aside. Zhang Lei raised his glass to the sky: “To our brotherhood.”

“To youth,” Sun Yu murmured, her eyes slightly red.

“To time,” Shang Zhitao added.

Time was both tangible and intangible.

Its tangibility was etched in the fine lines at the corners of your eyes, in the gray strands at your temples. Its intangibility resided in your heart—the people you met, the events you experienced, the memories that could be recalled but never touched.

Shang Zhitao’s journey had never been smooth sailing—one hurdle after another, rarely going as planned—but she was content.

Contentment was her enduring mindset. And it was precisely this contentment that allowed her to savor every tiny, seemingly insignificant sweetness life offered.

That night, Little Nian Tao went to bed early. Shang Zhitao sat cross-legged on the bed, with Luan Nian sitting opposite her. She said to him, “I want to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“About my past decade.”

Shang Zhitao wanted to start from the very first year. She felt a bit embarrassed because she knew she would ramble on and turn into a chatterbox.

“Will you think I’m too verbose? Will you find it annoying? Or are you tired now? If you’re tired, you can sleep first, and we’ll talk later.”

“Shang Zhitao,” Luan Nian called her name, “I can stay up and talk with you until dawn.”

Until the next dawn, and the one after that.

It didn’t matter.

As long as we still have things to say.