Zong Yi's "taking initiative" in forms of address and her increasingly rich "vocabulary" clearly delighted Yan Hanxie and completely ignited that competitive streak deep within her (or rather, that endless playful interaction between lovers).
Zong Yi wanted to play? Fine—Yan Hanxie would accompany her to the end, and play it even more "creatively."
Thus, beyond Zong Yi's "Hanxie," "Sister Han," "Jie," and "older sister," Yan Hanxie's own "arsenal" began to expand explosively.
She was no longer satisfied with "wife" and "wifey"—those already intimate enough options—and began setting her sights on more… concrete, more clingy, and more possessive forms of address.
The first to be frequently used was "Zong Zong."
At first, it appeared in relaxed and pleasant moments. For example, when Zong Yi once tried making a newly learned dessert. Though its appearance was average, the taste was decent.
She nervously brought it to Yan Hanxie, who was reading. Yan Hanxie set down her book, took a bite from her hand, savored it carefully, then looked up, a smile spreading in her eyes, and naturally commented:
"Mm, our Zong Zong is really amazing."
The words "Zong Zong" rolled off her tongue, carrying the lingering taste of dessert and undisguised affection, the ending tone slightly rising, like a small hook scratching lightly at Zong Yi's heart.
Zong Yi's face instantly turned red, and she nearly dropped the small fork in her hand.
This form of address… was way too… too clingy, wasn't it?
Like calling a child!
"W-who are you calling Zong Zong!" she retorted, embarrassed and annoyed, trying to take the plate back.
But Yan Hanxie reached out and pressed down on her wrist, taking another bite of the dessert from her hand before leisurely saying, "You. My Zong Zong."
Her tone was matter-of-fact, but the gentleness in her eyes was almost drowning.
Zong Yi surrendered, her face red as she let her finish the dessert. The embarrassment brought by the nickname strangely mixed with a swelling sweetness in her heart.
After "Zong Zong" came "Yi Yi."
This nickname was softer, more clingy than "Zong Zong," and usually appeared in more private, more tender atmospheres.
Perhaps late at night, when everything was quiet, the two of them lying together, Yan Hanxie's arm resting around Zong Yi's waist, her fingers unconsciously brushing over the fabric of her sleepwear.
In that half-asleep, half-awake state, she would lean close to the back of Zong Yi's neck, her lips barely brushing the skin there, and in a husky voice laced with drowsiness and desire, she would murmur softly:
"Yi Yi… my Yi Yi…"
Warm breath and that clingy form of address slipped into her ear together, making Zong Yi's whole body tingle. Her drowsiness vanished in an instant, leaving her stiff in Yan Hanxie's embrace, her heart pounding like a drum—yet she found herself… craving this intimacy that nearly melted her completely.
Or, during intimate moments, when emotions ran deep, Yan Hanxie would kiss her while calling "Yi Yi" again and again in her ear, her voice broken and burning, carrying undeniable possession and utmost tenderness.
At such times, Zong Yi would always be completely defenseless, clinging tightly to her, rising and falling in the waves she gave her, allowing each "Yi Yi" to be branded deep into her soul.
If "Zong Zong" and "Yi Yi" were Yan Hanxie's "standard weapons" to express affection and intimacy, then "little sister" felt more like a kind of "sweet complaint" and "helpless indulgence."
It usually appeared when Zong Yi, due to work or other matters, unconsciously showed a bit of temper, a bit of stubbornness, or did something that Yan Hanxie found cute and amusing—yet had no choice but to indulge.
For example, Zong Yi had a slight difficulty with making choices. Occasionally, when picking clothes or deciding what to eat for dinner, she would fall into long indecision.
Yan Hanxie would wait patiently for a while. Seeing her still hesitating between two shirts of the same color but slightly different styles, she would walk over, wrap her arms around her from behind, rest her chin on her shoulder, look at her in the mirror, and sigh helplessly yet indulgently:
"My little sister, if you keep choosing, it'll be dark soon. Buy them all, alright?"
The words "little sister" carried layers of meaning when spoken by her—full of helplessness, yet unmistakably indulgent, with a lavish undertone of "whatever you want, I'll give you."
Zong Yi's ears would heat up at being called that, and her indecision would instantly vanish, replaced only by shy sweetness at being so cherished and indulged.
She would usually glare at Yan Hanxie in the mirror with mock annoyance, then casually point at one: "Then this one."
Another example—sometimes when a project didn't go smoothly, or she encountered a difficult opponent, Zong Yi would return home in low spirits, curled up in a corner of the sofa, silent and unhappy.
After finishing her work, Yan Hanxie would walk over, squat in front of her, take her hand, gently knead her fingertips, look into her eyes, and ask softly:
"What's wrong, my little sister? Who upset you?"
That "little sister" carried soothing power and complete protectiveness, as if saying: tell me, I'll handle it for you.
If the sky falls, I'm here.
Seeing the concern and undisguised protectiveness in her eyes, the gloom in Zong Yi's heart would always dissipate.
She would shake her head, lean into Yan Hanxie's arms, and softly talk about her troubles.
Yan Hanxie would quietly listen, occasionally offering calm and precise advice, or simply providing a warm embrace to let her know she wasn't alone.
As for "little Yi Yi" and "little Yi," they were more like variations of "Yi Yi," carrying stronger teasing and playful meanings.
"Little Yi Yi" usually appeared when Zong Yi made small, harmless mistakes.
For instance, when she forgot her phone in the car, or forgot to turn on the cooker while making porridge.
Yan Hanxie wouldn't point it out directly. Instead, she would say in a tone of sudden realization, with a smile:
"Oh—did our little Yi Yi forget something again?"
Or, "Looks like today's little Yi Yi had her mind completely off the kitchen?"
Her tone would rise teasingly, but her eyes were gentle enough to melt.
Zong Yi, embarrassed and annoyed, would pounce forward to cover her mouth, only to be easily subdued and pulled into her arms, laughing as she begged for mercy—often ending with a sweet kiss.
"Little Yi," on the other hand, was simpler, carrying a slightly "old-fashioned" tone of care (despite only being two years older).
Sometimes, after Zong Yi stayed up late working, dark circles visible under her eyes, Yan Hanxie would bring her a cup of warm milk, place it beside her, gently brush her fingers under her eyes, frown, and say:
"Little Yi, it's time to rest."
Her tone allowed no argument, carrying concern and a hint of authority.
Zong Yi would usually obediently listen, drink the milk, and be led off to rest.
From "Zong Zong" and "Yi Yi," to "little sister," "little Yi Yi," and "little Yi," Yan Hanxie used these varied, deeply affectionate forms of address to weave a dense, gentle net, enclosing Zong Yi within it.
Each term was like a response and upgrade to Zong Yi's "Hanxie," "Sister Han," "Jie," and "older sister." When Zong Yi called her "older sister," it was dependence—so she responded with indulgence like "little sister." When Zong Yi called her "Hanxie," it was intimacy—so she replied with the clinginess of "Yi Yi." When Zong Yi called her "madam" with teasing intent, she answered with the affection of "Zong Zong" and the playful teasing of "little Yi Yi."
This "contest" over forms of address had long moved beyond simple competitiveness or refusal to yield—it had become a tacit, joyful, and sweet game of intimacy.
They delighted in creating and using unique names meant only for each other. Each carried specific emotions, contexts, and an unspoken mutual understanding.
Sometimes, they didn't even need words—just a glance or a smile, and the other would understand, responding with the most fitting term.
For example, at a banquet, when Zong Yi was pestered a bit too much by an oblivious admirer, Yan Hanxie walked over with a glass of wine, naturally wrapped an arm around Zong Yi's waist, smiled faintly at the person, and said in a distant yet polite tone:
"Sorry, my madam and I have something to attend to."
That single "madam" both declared possession and served as a tacit response and upgrade to Zong Yi's earlier "madam" counterattack.
Leaning in Yan Hanxie's arms, watching the person leave awkwardly, Zong Yi felt her slight irritation vanish, replaced with complete reassurance and a hint of pride.
See? Her "madam" was just that reliable… and perfectly in sync.
And once they returned to their own private space, Yan Hanxie might pinch her chin, peck her lips lightly, raise a brow, and smile:
"My little sister, still as charming as ever, hm?"
Zong Yi, blushing, would refuse to be outdone and retort:
"How could I compare to you, Sister Han? One look from you scares people away."
They would look at each other and smile, the air filled with sweetness and intimacy.
From the initial "President Yan" and "Director Zong," to the current variety of rich, exclusive forms of address, what they had walked through was not just a journey of deepening affection, but a process of understanding, adjustment, and ultimately, a meeting of souls.
In this "competition" and "exchange" over names, there was no winner or loser—only deepening love and an ever-thickening sweetness that could not be dissolved.
In the future, perhaps even more strange and adorable forms of address would be born between them.
But no matter how they changed, what they carried would always be a unique love and cherishment meant only for each other.
Like those simple rings engraved with their birthdays, and that string of prayer beads once lost and found again—they had long become part of their lives, witnessing and blessing their long, enduring future.
—
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