Slow to mature after marriage

"Mu, Si, Wan." Bo Yan enunciated each word slowly and deliberately, his eyes practically spitting fire.

Mu Siwan blinked blankly. "What's wrong?"

"You're such a idiot." Bo Yan gritted his teeth, staring at her expressionlessly. "You're like a wooden fish in a temple—no matter how you strike it, it won't make a sound. You're like a stone in winter, you can't warm it even if you hold it in your arms. You are—"

He couldn't continue. If he did, he would sound like a complaining old man.

Bo Yan took a deep breath, swallowed it back, picked up the broken Lego piece, and held it in his hand.

Mu Siwan looked at him and finally realized that the man in front of her was angry again. If it were before, she wouldn't have cared about the reason for his anger. In her opinion, this inexplicable emotion was unreasonable.

But now, Mu Siwan believes she has an obligation to know why her husband is angry—in order to maintain a stable and long-lasting marital relationship.

Mu Siwan put down her half-finished painting and asked hesitantly, "Bo Yan, are you angry again?"

"Is it not obvious?" he asked weakly, his lips pressed together.

Why?

Bo Yan looked at her eager expression and exhaled. Somehow, the fire went out by more than half.

Okay, at least I'm not completely indifferent to his feelings.

The man bent down and picked up the broken Lego pieces one by one, rebuilding them. Mu Siwan sat beside him, watching his fingers move, the parts clicking and snapping together.

She waited for a while, but didn't get an answer, so she asked again and again.

"Bo Yan, why are you angry?"

Bo Yan looked up at her, his tone softening.

"Then tell me first, if you're not going to spend Thursday alone with me, what are you planning to do?"

"Go to work, get off work, sleep. Just like any other day."

Bo Yan frowned. "So—you don't celebrate your birthday?"

"I don't have a birthday."

"What do you mean 'not'?" The man asked, taken aback, his voice softening. "Doesn't the birthday on your ID card count?"

"That's not my birthday." A hint of confusion flashed across Mu Siwan's eyes. "That's Meng Wan's birthday. I don't remember my birthday."

Bo Yan paused, looking up at her.

Mu Siwan lowered her head, her fingers resting on her knees, her fingertips slightly curled, looking rather uncomfortable.

Bo Yan nodded, his tone indifferent: "Okay, I understand."

The man remained silent, continuing to assemble the building blocks. The parts clicked and clattered. Mu Siwan, confirming that he was no longer angry, lowered her eyes and continued drawing.

The living room fell silent again, with only the sounds of parts meshing and the soft scratching of a pen tip across paper.

When she finished the last stroke and looked up, she realized that Bo Yan had stopped drawing sometime earlier and was propping himself up on his arm, watching her intently. The pile of broken Lego pieces had been reassembled, standing crookedly on the carpet, forming a small dog shaped like a bone. It had a round head, short legs, and a wagging tail, looking rather goofy.

Mu Siwan stared at the bone puppy for a few seconds, then hesitated slightly, "...Is it a gift for me?"

"Of course." Bo Yan reached out and pressed the spring on the puppy's head. The puppy started moving, shaking its head and wagging its tail, clumsy yet earnest, like a child who had just learned to walk.

Mu Siwan stared at it for a while, then reached out and stroked the puppy's head, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, I like it very much."

-

Late at night, Bo Yan leaned over her, their fingers intertwined, palms pressed together. He lowered his eyes, and soft, lingering kisses fell upon her, from her brow to the tip of her nose, from the corners of her lips to her chin, like feathers brushing against her skin, one after another, unhurried.

Mu Siwan's fingertips curled slightly as she gripped his hand tightly. She opened her eyes and met the man's gaze. His eyes were cool and soft in the darkness, devoid of any lust, only silently pecking at her, as if to soothe her, as if to pity her.

For some reason, Mu Siwan suddenly felt like crying.

The urge to cry is a very unfamiliar emotion.

Mu Siwan hadn't cried in a long time. Even when she was twenty and Mu Cheng wanted to marry her off to a man she didn't like at all, she didn't feel like crying.

She was just numb.

They were numb, and didn't even have the desire to resist.

Mu Siwan thought she wouldn't cry anymore. But now, looking into Bo Yan's eyes, as he kissed her so gently and restrainedly, she suddenly felt like crying.

Mu Siwan bit her lip, looked away, and buried herself in the pillow. "Are we still going to do it? Bo Yan."

Bo Yan continued kissing her neck, his voice low and soft, "...What?"

"If you're not going to do it, I'm going to sleep."

Bo Yan noticed that something was wrong with her and stopped what he was doing: "...I won't do it."

He pulled her out of the pillow, lowered his head and kissed her forehead. "I'll only kiss you."

He was stunned when he unexpectedly met the woman's watery eyes. There were no tears in them, but they were moist, like the surface of a lake after a rain. She bit her lip and whispered, "Then I'm going to sleep."

The man slowly raised his hand, placing his palm over her eyes. Her eyelashes trembled slightly, brushing against his palm, tickling her. He lowered his eyes, his voice very soft.

"Okay, goodnight, Mu Siwan."

-

The next morning, Mu Siwan took the bone puppy to the identification center.

Her desk was always spotless. There were no picture frames, no plants, nothing superfluous except sticky notes. The white desktop was bare, just like her—she didn't display any emotions.

There's something new on the table today.

The goofy-looking Lego dog stood beside the computer screen, its round head, short legs, and tail held high. Sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a thin layer of light upon it.

This morning, I conducted a follow-up examination on a highly decomposed corpse.

Mu Siwan took off her protective suit, returned to her office, and sat down to write the autopsy report. The computer screen was filled with dense text, which she typed line by line, her fingertips never stopping on the keyboard.

An hour later, my eyes started to feel dry and sore.

She closed her eyes, leaned her neck back against the chair, and unconsciously ran her fingers across the table.

I ran into that little dog.

She opened her eyes and looked down at it. The sunlight fell directly on the puppy's head, making the white building blocks shine. Its mouth was upturned; the person who assembled it had deliberately chosen a curved piece for the mouth.

Mu Siwan stared at that curve for two seconds.

He reached out and wound it up.

Click, click. The puppy started walking, its head bobbing up and down, its tail wagging, clumsy yet earnest. It reached the edge of the table, bumped into her mug, and stopped.

Mu Siwan stared at the puppy, and a slight smile slowly curved her lips.