Slow to mature after marriage

Amidst the buzzing sound, Mu Siwan's voice drifted over.

"When did I become allergic to roses?"

"Just now."

"……oh."

The next day, Mu Siwan was discharged from the hospital.

After Bo Yan finished the formalities and returned, he walked to the bedside, leaned over, supported her back with one hand, and put the other hand under her knees. She instinctively grabbed his shoulder, and he gently lifted her up.

The man carried her out, his steps steady and unhurried. She leaned against his chest, able to smell the faint scent of mint on him.

The parking lot wasn't far, just a few steps away. He put her in the passenger seat, fastened her seatbelt, closed the door, and went around to the driver's seat himself.

The car drove out of the hospital and headed towards Muyan Garden.

The sunlight was bright, streaming in through the car window and bathing her in its warmth. Mu Siwan leaned back in her seat, watching the street scene flash by outside, a rare moment of relaxation on her face.

As we passed a flower shop, the car suddenly stopped.

"Wait a mininute."

The man unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door.

When she returned, she was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

Before she could react, the flowers had already been stuffed into her arms.

Mu Siwan looked down.

It is a bunch of vibrant red roses.

The color, variety, and even the quantity are exactly the same as the bunch of curly hair from yesterday.

The difference is that this bouquet of roses was given to him.

She looked up at him.

"This is?"

Bo Yan fastened his seatbelt, looked straight ahead, and spoke in a calm tone.

"A discharge gift, Mrs. Bo."

-

The car was parked at the entrance of Muyan Garden.

Bo Yan carried her out of the car and all the way to the sofa. Mu Siwan leaned against him, her gaze sweeping over the entrance hall, the corridor, and the living room—she hadn't been back for a week, and everything was still the same.

A word she had never heard before suddenly flashed through her mind.

nostalgia.

A very unfamiliar vocabulary.

But she did miss the days she lived in Muyan Garden.

Grace suddenly appeared from somewhere, quickly circling her ankle twice and rubbing its head against her calf. She squatted down and reached out to stroke its head. It flicked its tongue and tried to burrow into her palm, its long-lost excitement impossible to hide.

She gave a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, and her expression softened.

"Missing me?"

Grace rubbed against it even more enthusiastically.

Mu Siwan looked down at the bouquet of roses in her arms, then at the pink bone vase on the coffee table. She bent down, pulled out the dried reeds from the vase, and placed the roses in it one by one.

The vibrant red color contrasts beautifully with the bone-white porcelain.

It's both bizarre and harmonious.

When Bo Yan returned after putting his things away, he stood in the center of the living room, his gaze sweeping over the bone vase with roses in it, over the glass jar on the bookshelf, and then over Grace lying on the side of the coffee table.

These strange things used to just seem like an eyesore.

Having spent two weeks in London, and now back home, I'm surprised to find that—

kind.

He felt a sense of familiarity looking at the pile of bones.

Bo Yan himself found it absurd and just stood there laughing.

Aunt Chen peeked out from the kitchen and her eyes lit up when she saw Mu Siwan.

"Madam is back! I've made fish maw and chicken soup, and also some red bean paste. Please have some to warm yourself up."

Mu Siwan nodded.

"Thank you, Aunt Chen."

Aunt Chen glanced at Bo Yan again, then smiled and retreated back into the kitchen.

The aroma of chicken soup wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the sweetness of red bean paste, filling the entire living room.

Grace sat cross-legged at Mu Siwan's feet, her head resting on Mu Siwan's slippers. The bouquet of roses bloomed quietly in the bone vase.

Aunt Chen brought the food to the table and called out to them.

"Madam, sir, dinner is ready."

Bo Yan walked over and bent down to hug her.

Mu Siwan shrank back and reached for the cane beside her.

"I'll do it myself."

Bo Yan paused, looking up at her.

She had already stood up, leaning on her crutches, despite her disability.

"Thank you for your help these past few days. I can manage on my own."

Bo Yan stared at her.

Then he gave a cold laugh.

Using something and then throwing it away is a basic skill for some people.

He reached out and, without saying a word, snatched the cane from her hand.

Throw it further away.

"Eh—"

Mu Siwan looked blankly at the cane that had been thrown into the corner.

Bo Yan bent down, supporting her back with one hand and reaching under her knees with the other, pulling her into his arms.

"By the time you hobble to the dining table like a snail on your cane," he said casually as he carried her toward the dining room, "Aunt Chen will probably be coming in to collect the dishes by then."

Mu Siwan thought he was exaggerating.

"Actually... I'm not that slow."

"Hmm," Bo Yan replied dismissively, "It is faster than a snail."

Mu Siwan: "..."

-

After lunch, Mu Siwan was carried to the study by Bo Yan.

She suggested leaving on her own, but before she could finish her protest, someone stopped her with a look.

In the study, the French windows were slightly ajar, and the spring breeze occasionally blew in, carrying the scent of newly sprouted plants from the courtyard.

Mu Siwan sat on the soft couch by the window, a drawing board resting on her lap, a pen in hand, gazing intently at the few lines on the paper. Sunlight fell on her profile, turning her eyelashes a pale gold.

Bo Yan sat behind the desk opposite him, handling official business on the computer.

The study was so quiet that the only sounds were the scratching of the pen on the paper and the occasional soft rustling of him turning the pages of a document.

My phone vibrated.

Mu Siwan glanced down at the screen.

Xu Ruolin.

She pressed the answer button.

"Siwan," the voice on the other end was gentle, yet tinged with urgency, "Mom heard you broke your leg? How did you get it? Is it serious?"

Mu Siwan frowned, looking somewhat puzzled.

She didn't tell Fan Qiqi or Liu Jiliang about her injury, for fear of worrying them, and no one knew where she got the news.

"Nothing serious."

"You silly child, you didn't even tell the family about something this serious," Xu Ruolin sighed. "Mom is heartbroken, I'll come see you this afternoon. How can you manage alone in the hospital without anyone taking care of you?"

"He has already been discharged from the hospital."

"You've been discharged?" There was a pause on the other end. "That's even better. Mom will go straight to Muyan Garden to see you. Wait for me, Mom is leaving now, bringing your favorite crab porridge."

"Need not--"

"It's settled then, let's wait for Mom to come."

The phone hangs up.

Mu Siwan stared at her phone screen and fell silent.

Bo Yan looked up at her.

"Who?"

"My mom said she's coming to see me this afternoon." Mu Siwan paused, then asked him, "When are you going back to England?"

"What do you mean?" The man frowned, clearly annoyed. "Are you kicking me out?"

"No," Mu Siwan explained, "My mother... probably found out somewhere that you were back in China, which is why she suddenly came to see me."

Bo Yan leaned back in his chair, watching her.

"What's wrong? Afraid I'll get scammed?"

Mu Siwan lowered her eyes.

"You've already given the Mu family a lot."

The contract resulting from that marriage was worth 600 million.

At that time, she felt that she had already repaid the debt of gratitude she owed for being raised.

Just for Xu Ruolin—

She has always been, at least on the surface, a very good mother.

As a child, she was locked in the attic, and sometimes a bowl of warm porridge would be brought in from the darkness. After being beaten by Mu Cheng, she would apply medicine to her wounds, and her red eyes under the sunlight gave young Mu Siwan her first vague understanding of the word "love".

Those images have remained to this day.

She knew she shouldn't be greedy.

But I still crave that little bit—

Even if it's mixed with impurities, it's still maternal love.