Time flowed like a sun-warmed stream, quietly passing through the villa's windows, soaking their days into something ever more gentle and fitting.
The plain band on Zong Yi's ring finger, the prayer beads and plain band on Yan Hanxie's wrist, became the most ordinary yet most special marks on each of them, silently telling of belonging.
At some point, Yan Hanxie's way of addressing Zong Yi began to change subtly.
At first, it was still "Zong Yi," full name included, carrying a trace of businesslike formality, as well as the careful cherishing of a newly confirmed relationship.
Later, in certain private, relaxed moments—like sleepy morning embraces, or late nights in the study when handing over a cup of warm milk—she would naturally drop the surname and simply call her "Yi."
The single syllable, spoken in her low voice, carried a lazy intimacy, like a feather brushing against the heart, making Zong Yi's ears warm and her heart stir with a secret sweetness.
And later still, that intimacy gradually deepened and evolved.
Perhaps in the kitchen, when Zong Yi was focused on chopping vegetables, Yan Hanxie would come up behind her, rest her chin on her shoulder, watch her movements, and suddenly say out of nowhere, "Wife, I want fish for dinner."
The knife in Zong Yi's hand almost cut her finger. She froze completely, her face instantly flushing red, even her neck tinged pink.
She turned her head abruptly, staring at Yan Hanxie with wide eyes. But Yan Hanxie looked completely innocent, even carrying a hint of natural confidence, as if that "wife" was perfectly justified and had been said countless times before.
"You… what are you calling me!" Zong Yi was both embarrassed and annoyed, her voice even changing pitch.
Yan Hanxie merely raised an eyebrow, took the knife from her hand, and continued chopping with noticeably improved skill, her tone still calm: "Isn't that right? You're already wearing the ring."
Said lightly, yet leaving Zong Yi speechless. She could only turn away with a flushed face, pretending to stay busy, her heartbeat racing as if it might burst from her chest.
That single "wife" was like a stone thrown into a calm lake, the ripples lingering for a long time.
For the entire evening, Zong Yi was somewhat absent-minded. She didn't dare meet Yan Hanxie's eyes while eating, stared at herself in the mirror while washing up, her fingers unconsciously rubbing the plain band on her ring finger. That trace of embarrassment in her heart, at some point, had quietly mixed with an indescribable sweetness—and a deeper, more hidden sense of belonging and possession.
Once there was a first time, there was a second, a third.
Yan Hanxie seemed to quite enjoy seeing Zong Yi's flustered reaction to that form of address.
She didn't use it often, but always dropped it at the most unexpected moments, with perfect precision.
Sometimes when Zong Yi worked late into the night and climbed into bed half-asleep, she would be pulled into an embrace, a soft murmur in her ear: "Wife, why so late?"
Sometimes while watching a movie together, at a warm scene, Yan Hanxie would turn her head, place a light kiss on her cheek, and laugh softly: "Wife, we'll be like this in the future too."
Sometimes even when Zong Yi was on a work call, Yan Hanxie would pass by the study, lean against the doorframe, wait for her to hang up, and then casually ask: "Wife, what do you want for breakfast tomorrow? I'll have Aunt Zhou prepare it."
Every time, it caught Zong Yi off guard, her cheeks heating up, yet after the initial embarrassment, a fine, dense fluttering she couldn't resist would spread through her heart.
She tried to protest, tried to "correct" it, but every time she met Yan Hanxie's eyes—eyes filled with amusement and an unquestionable depth of affection—every word got stuck in her throat.
Zong Yi froze for a moment.
Resistance was ineffective, so she began to learn to "adapt."
From the initial blushing, racing heart, and stumbling over her words, to later being able to force herself to stay calm, glare at her, or give a vague "mm" as a response.
Only the reddened tips of her ears and her flickering gaze always easily betrayed the unrest in her heart.
Yan Hanxie took in all her reactions, enjoying it endlessly.
This seemed to have become a tacit little game between them, an intimate code only they understood, sweetly seasoning their days.
Gradually, Zong Yi realized that she had actually begun to… enjoy it?
She enjoyed the feeling that surged up in her heart when she was called in such an intimate way—a mix of shyness, sweetness, and a sense of complete acceptance and belonging.
She enjoyed the undisguised possessiveness and gentleness in Yan Hanxie's eyes when she said those two words.
She enjoyed the ever-deepening, increasingly inseparable bond that this form of address represented between them.
So, when Yan Hanxie once again wrapped her arms around Zong Yi from behind on a lazy weekend afternoon, while Zong Yi was watering plants on the balcony, buried her face in the crook of her neck, and vaguely called her "wife," Zong Yi did not stiffen or protest as she used to.
She only paused for a moment, continued what she was doing, and evenly sprinkled the clear water over the lush green leaves.
Then, very softly, almost inaudibly, she responded:
"…Mm."
Her voice was very light, carrying a barely noticeable tremble, yet it clearly fell into Yan Hanxie's ears.
The arms around her waist tightened instantly.
Yan Hanxie lifted her head, turned Zong Yi's body so she faced her.
Sunlight filtered through the glass canopy, dancing in her eyes with a bright and burning excitement.
"Say it again?" she lowered her head, her forehead pressing against Zong Yi's, her voice low and coaxing.
Zong Yi's face flushed even more, her eyelashes trembling slightly as she averted her gaze, unwilling to look at her.
But Yan Hanxie refused to give up, her thumb gently rubbing the plain ring on Zong Yi's ring finger over and over again, with endless patience and expectation.
In the end, Zong Yi gave in.
She raised her eyes, meeting Yan Hanxie's unfathomably deep gaze that reflected only her, gathered her courage, and in a breathy voice that only the two of them could hear, called out again:
"…wife."
This time, it was no longer a response, but an initiative.
The moment the words fell, she saw Yan Hanxie's pupils suddenly contract, surging with astonishing brightness and uncontrollable ecstasy.
The next second, a burning kiss fell.
No longer a fleeting touch, no longer a shallow taste, but filled with long-suppressed desire and the exhilaration of being answered—intense and lingering, conquering and unstoppable.
The watering can in Zong Yi's hand fell onto the soft carpet at some point, making a dull sound.
Held tightly in Yan Hanxie's arms, she endured the kiss that nearly seemed to swallow her whole. Her mind went blank, and she could only follow passively, sinking into it.
The sunlight was warm, the greenery lush.
The balcony became a private space belonging only to the two of them, filled with sweetness.
After a long time, Yan Hanxie finally pulled back slightly, her breathing a bit unsteady, her forehead still resting against Zong Yi's, her gaze burning as she looked at her flushed cheeks and slightly swollen lips from lack of air and shyness.
"Say it again," she said hoarsely, her voice carrying a commanding gentleness.
Zong Yi panted softly, her eyes moist as she looked at her. After a long moment, she softly called again:
"Wife."
This time, her voice was clearer, carrying a trace of bashfulness, but also deeper dependence and affirmation.
Yan Hanxie smiled, that smile dazzlingly bright, filled with unprecedented satisfaction and happiness.
She lowered her head again, kissed the corner of Zong Yi's lips, then pulled her deeply into her arms, as if holding the most precious treasure in the world.
"Mine," she declared in a breath against her ear, with unquestionable possessiveness and overflowing tenderness. "Wife."
Zong Yi leaned in her arms, listening to her strong and steady heartbeat, breathing in her reassuring scent, feeling the presence of the plain ring on her ring finger. The last trace of shyness brought by the term of address melted away, leaving only an overwhelming sweetness.
She reached out, hugged Yan Hanxie back, buried her face in her chest, and softly responded:
"…Mm, yours."
From "Zong Yi," to "Yi," to "wife."
The evolution of that form of address traced a clear path, recording every step of their journey—from distance to intimacy, from testing to certainty, from standing side by side to holding each other.
And in the future, there would be a longer, farther road, for them to walk hand in hand as "wife" and "wife."
Perhaps there would be other, even more embarrassing pet names?
Thinking of this, Zong Yi's cheeks heated up again, yet in Yan Hanxie's warm embrace, she secretly, sweetly smiled.
Forget it, she would just let her be.
After all, she seemed… not to dislike it.
She might even enjoy it a little.
—
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