Chapter 11: Loving Each Other Is More Natural Than Death

"Get out!"

Gu Pingsheng heard Wen Zhixia's voice and stood up from his chair. Before heading upstairs, he lowered his voice and spoke to Li Yueting.

Li Yueting watched him stride upstairs. At the top of the stairs, he embraced Wen Zhixia, bent down, and swept her into his arms. “Why are you running around barefoot again? You’re not strong, don’t you know you need to take care of yourself?”

These words ought to have been a scolding, but from his lips, they overflowed with tenderness.

Wen Zhixia rested her head gently on his shoulder. “When did you get back?”

“An hour ago,” he replied.

“I made lots of dishes you like,” she said, her voice a little downcast. “They must be cold by now.”

He carried her to the bed, knelt on one knee, and slipped her feet into her slippers. “I ate already. Everything tasted wonderful.”

Wen Zhixia lifted her lips in a half-smile, feigning annoyance. “But they’re all cold now.”

He straightened, tilted her chin up, and traced his large hand to the nape of her neck, planting a deep kiss there. His deft tongue outlined the shape of her lips. “Then why don’t you…warm them up for me?”

In bed, he was always a little rough, a little unrestrained. When passion took him, it sometimes hurt her.

She felt some discomfort, but when she saw him sweating, his eyes filled only with her, calling her name, she let him have his way.

Wen Zhixia’s mentor, Professor Wang, who had strongly recommended her for a guaranteed spot at Qingbei, once had a long talk with her when she gave up that opportunity to join Gu Pingsheng in his venture.

He had said, “Zhixia, you’re a fine child—intelligent, patient. I never worry that you’ll fail at anything you do. But with that wild boy Gu Pingsheng… you’re far too indulgent. Someday, you’re bound to suffer for it.”

What did Wen Zhixia say back then?

It was something like, “Professor, if even Gu Pingsheng could abandon Wen Zhixia, then in all likelihood, I’d never meet another person I could truly love.”

When we are young, we always believe that love is as natural as breathing.

Afterwards, Wen Zhixia drifted into sleep, tired and spent.

Gu Pingsheng gently traced her face with his fingertips, lifted the blanket, and went to the bathroom.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the leaves outside, casting mottled shadows over the bed.

Wen Zhixia opened her eyes slowly. Gu Pingsheng was no longer at her side.

Downstairs, she heard the clang and clatter from the kitchen. As she approached, she saw him—apron tied around his waist, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms—preparing breakfast.

“Go wash up, it’ll be ready soon.”

It was as if he had eyes in the back of his head—he turned just as she reached the kitchen door and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

At the table, Gu Pingsheng took out a gift and fastened it around her neck. “I came home too late last night, so I’m giving this to you now. Happy third anniversary, my Xiaxia.”

Wen Zhixia never lacked for expensive gifts, nor did she crave them, but anything from him made her happy. “I’ve prepared something for you too…”

“A watch,” Gu Pingsheng said, producing it from behind his back and slipping it on. It was a discreet, custom-made piece; not only costly, but its order had to be placed months in advance.

Wen Zhixia had contacted the manufacturer half a year earlier, overseeing everything from design to production and finally air-freighting it in—a process that took six months.

“It suits you,” she said, though she couldn’t help a faint note of regret. “When you have some time, let’s go and take a set of wedding photos, just the two of us.”

“Alright,” he agreed. Then, picking up his vibrating phone, he saw it was Zhao Fuhe calling.

He stood up, poured himself a glass of water, and answered.

“Senior, you said you’d take me to the banquet today. I’m all ready—when will you come pick me up?” Zhao Fuhe’s gentle voice came over the line.

Gu Pingsheng glanced at the watch on his wrist. “In an hour.”

Wen Zhixia turned, watching him from a distance as he spoke on the phone, her expression pausing for a moment.

He kept the call brief, saying little before rejoining her at the table to finish breakfast.

She spoke: “…Today is Professor Wang’s birthday. I was thinking…”

“I’ll have someone deliver the gift,” he interrupted. “I have a meeting today. If you’d like to go, I’ll arrange for the driver to take you.”

Before she could even finish, he had already given his answer—never once offering to accompany her himself.

“Can’t you come with me?” she asked.