Mornin light filtered through the curtains of Grandpa Li's house, painting everything in soft gold. Nana woke slowly, awareness coming in gentle waves—the warmth of the bed, the quiet of the village morning, and beside her, still sleeping peacefully, her husband.
She turned carefully, not wanting to wake him, and just looked.
When did he become so beautiful? she thought, though the answer was obvious: he'd always been beautiful. She'd just been too afraid to look properly back then. Too busy glancing down, too shy to meet his gaze, too convinced someone like him could never be meant for someone like her.
But now she could look her fill. Could trace the line of his jaw with her eyes, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, the peaceful expression he only wore in sleep when all his walls were down. His lips were slightly parted, breathing deep and even, completely at peace.
She wanted to touch his face, to trace those features with her fingers. But he looked so peaceful, so rare for someone who carried as much stress as he did. She couldn't bear to wake him.
Instead, she shifted closer—just enough to press a soft, quick kiss to his lips.
Then she carefully slipped out of bed, grabbed comfortable clothes, and padded to the kitchen to start breakfast.
Today was going to be their adventure day. The traditional market, exploring the village, showing Zayne all her favorite places.
She had so many plans, so many things she wanted to share with him.
She was humming while cooking—fried rice with shrimp, rolled omelette, the kind of simple comfort food she'd grown up with—when arms wrapped around her from behind.
"Good morning," Zayne's voice was still rough with sleep, breath warm against her neck.
And he was shirtless.
Nana's face immediately flamed red, hotter than the stove she was cooking on. His bare chest pressed against her back, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of her neck, his hands resting casually on her waist—
"I—you—shirt—" she stammered, completely losing the ability to form sentences.
Zayne chuckled, low and amused, clearly aware of exactly what he was doing to her. "You left bed," he murmured against her neck. "Woke up alone. Came looking for you."
"You could have—you should—shirt first—"
"Why?" Another soft laugh. "We're married. I'm allowed to walk around shirtless in my own house."
"I'm trying to cook—"
"I'll let you cook." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then released her, heading toward the bathroom. "But after breakfast, you're explaining this bargaining queen reputation the aunties mentioned."
After he left, Nana pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, trying to cool down and regain focus. Get it together, she told herself. You're married. This is normal. You can't malfunction every time he—
But apparently, she absolutely could malfunction. And would. Frequently.
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The traditional market was everything Zayne had never experienced.
He'd been to markets before—clean, organized, modern spaces with labeled aisles and fixed prices. This was... not that.
This was chaos incarnate. Vendors shouting about their wares, customers bargaining loudly, the smell of fresh produce and cooking food and humanity all mixed together. Colors everywhere—bright fruits, vibrant fabrics, fresh flowers. Sound overwhelming—conversations, laughter, the clatter of cooking, someone singing, a radio playing.
It was alive in a way the sterile city markets never were.
"Come on!" Nana grabbed his hand, eyes bright with excitement, pulling him into the maze of stalls.
Zayne let himself be dragged, fascinated by this side of her.
Here, she wasn't the shy art student or the responsible older sister. She was completely in her element, greeting vendors by name, knowing exactly where to find the best produce, sampling snacks with zero hesitation.
"Try this!" She held up some kind of fried thing.
"What is it?"
"Don't ask, just try!"
He did. It was delicious—crispy, savory, perfect. "What was that?"
"Secret village recipe. If I tell you, I'd have to kill you." She grinned and pulled him to the next stall. "And this! Try this!"
People did double-takes when they saw them—Nana, familiar and beloved, with this tall, formal-looking man who was clearly from the city. His clothes were too nice, too polished, completely out of place among the market chaos.
"Nana? Is this your husband?" one elderly vendor asked, eyes wide.
"Yes! This is Zayne!"
"The doctor? The famous one?"
"That's him!"
"Aiya! So handsome! Like a prince lost in our humble market!"
Zayne tried not to be self-conscious about the stares, the whispers, the way people kept sneaking photos. He was used to attention at medical conferences, but this was different—more personal, more curious, less professional.
Then they reached the produce section, and Nana transformed.
"How much for these tomatoes?" she asked the vendor.
"Fifteen yuan per half kilo."
"Fifteen? That's too much! I'll give you ten."
Zayne's eyes widened. Was she—was she bargaining?
"Ten? Impossible! These are premium tomatoes! Fourteen."
"Eleven. And I'll take the slightly bruised ones too—they're still good for cooking."
"Twelve, and I'll throw in some herbs."
"Deal!" Nana beamed, triumphant.
Zayne watched in fascination as she repeated this process at every stall—bargaining with charm and skill, getting discounts, building relationships, somehow making the vendors laugh while negotiating prices down.
"You're really good at this," he murmured.
"I had to be." She examined some vegetables critically. "When you're feeding five siblings on almost no money, you learn to bargain. These aunties and uncles have known me since I was small. They remember when I used to come here with nothing and try to make every yuan stretch." She smiled. "Now they're proud I'm doing well. They give me discounts not because I'm cheap, but because they're happy for me."
Zayne's chest tightened. This was her community—people who'd watched her struggle, who'd helped quietly when they could, who genuinely cared about her success.
"Can I try?" he asked impulsively.
"Bargaining?" Nana looked delighted. "Really?"
"Why not? Teach me."
He did, and it was hilarious. Zayne, who could negotiate million-yuan medical equipment purchases, was completely outmatched by a fruit vendor over the price of apples. He tried to use logic and data. The vendor used charm and stubbornness. Nana laughed so hard she had to sit down.
"You're terrible at this," she gasped between giggles.
"I'm a surgeon, not a merchant," he said with dignity, even as he paid full price for the apples.
"My poor husband. So brilliant in the operating room. So helpless in the market." She patted his arm consolingly, eyes dancing with mirth.
They shopped until their arms were full—more than they could possibly eat, but Nana insisted they'd share with her family and the neighborhood aunties.
"This is how the village works," she explained. "Everyone shares. Everyone takes care of each other."
Back at Nana's childhood home, her mother took half their groceries gratefully. The aunties descended to "check the quality" and ended up with various items too. Lili appeared instantly, launching herself at Zayne.
"Did you bring me anything?" she asked hopefully.
"Lili! That's rude!" Nana scolded.
"Actually—" Zayne reached into his bag and pulled out a small sketchbook and colored pencils he'd bought at the market. "I thought you might like these."
Lili's shriek of joy was probably heard three houses away.
"Can you draw with me? Please? Please please please?"
"Lili, he's tired—"
"I'd love to," Zayne said, letting the little girl drag him to her room.
Dinner at Nana's house was chaotic and perfect. Everyone helping cook, talking over each other, the twins teasing Zayne about his terrible bargaining skills, Meimei asking about his medical research, Xiaohua showing him her latest artwork.
At one point, Lili insisted Zayne draw something in her book. His attempt at a cat looked more like a potato with ears.
"Is that... a cat?" one twin asked, trying not to laugh.
"It's clearly a cat," Zayne said defensively.
"It's a potato with legs," the other twin corrected.
"It's art," Zayne insisted. "Abstract expressionism."
Everyone dissolved into laughter, and he took the teasing with good humor, secretly grateful to be included in this warm, chaotic family dynamic.
They back to Grandpa Li's house later, hand in hand, Nana was chattering about tomorrow's plans when—
Hisssss
They both froze.
There, blocking their path with malevolent intent, was the swan. THE swan. The one from their first visit. Apparently, it remembered them.
And it was pissed.
"Not again," Zayne said.
"RUN!" Nana shrieked.
They ran, and this time Nana climbed the tree first—scrambling up like a squirrel while Zayne struggled behind her, his formal shoes not meant for tree-climbing.
"Come on!" she called from a safe branch, already laughing at his predicament.
"I'm trying!" He grabbed another branch, pulled himself up awkwardly. "This is—this is undignified—"
"THE SWAN GOT THEM AGAIN!"
Several aunties had appeared, cameras out, recording the whole thing with delighted cackles.
"We're saving this for their children!" Auntie Chen announced.
"THE FAMOUS DOCTOR, DEFEATED BY A SWAN!" another shrieked with joy.
Zayne finally made it to Nana's branch, breathing hard, covered in leaves, completely disheveled. Nana was laughing so hard she had tears streaming down her face.
"It's not funny," he said, but he was smiling.
"It's hilarious!" She tried to catch her breath. "The brilliant cardiac surgeon—defeated by poultry—AGAIN—"
"In my defense, that is an abnormally aggressive swan."
"It's a SWAN! Not a bear!"
They clung to the tree, laughing helplessly, while the swan patrolled below and the aunties continued recording, already discussing how to edit this video.
Eventually, the swan lost interest and waddled away, probably satisfied with its dominance over the humans.
"Can we go now?" Zayne asked.
"Scared it'll come back?"
"Terrified."
They climbed down carefully, and Nana wobbled a bit when she reached the ground—tired from the long day, from the market, from the laughing.
"Come here," Zayne said, crouching down. "Piggyback."
"I can walk—"
"I know you can. But you're tired. And I'm offering. Come on."
Nana climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and he carried her easily, walking through the quiet village streets while she rested her head against his.
"Look," she pointed up. "Stars."
"I see them."
"Count them with me?"
"There are billions—"
"Just the visible ones. Come on. Humor your wife."
So they counted stars—getting up to thirty-seven before she started making up constellations.
"That one looks like Lili's potato-chicken."
"That's the Big Dipper."
"Are you sure? I'm pretty sure it's a potato-chicken."
"I'm certain."
"You're no fun."
"I carried you home after you got us attacked by a swan. I'm plenty fun."
She laughed, squeezing him tighter. "Today was perfect. The market, the bargaining, your terrible drawing, the swan, all of it. Thank you. For being part of my world. For not making fun of how different it is from yours."
"Your world is better than mine," Zayne said simply. "Louder, messier, more chaotic. But warmer. More real. More—more alive. I love it. I love being part of it."
"Even when it includes aggressive swans?"
"Even then."
They reached Grandpa's house, and Zayne carried her all the way inside, setting her down gently in their room.
"My hero," she teased. "Saving me from walking."
"Always." He kissed her forehead. "Now get ready for bed. We have more adventures tomorrow."
She yawned, already half-asleep on her feet. "Love you."
"Love you too."
They fell asleep tangled together, both smiling, both grateful for this simple, perfect day. For the village that raised her, for the community that welcomed him, for the life they were building together—one market trip, one swan attack, one star-counting session at a time.
And somewhere, Grandpa Li was definitely laughing at the swan video.
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To be continued __