When a person becomes resolute, they naturally exude firmness. Dealing with him couldn’t rely on constant dominance. Even though Xie Yan could handle strong-willed behavior, Lu Yang chose to communicate in a way Xie Yan preferred: honest, straightforward, and unembellished.
“I’m just worried that if you suddenly learn this, you’ll be anxious about me and unwilling to go to the capital for your exams,” Lu Yang said.
Xie Yan asked, “Then why did you allow me to bring the physicians to check your pulse?”
Lu Yang wasn’t trying to hide anything. “You’ve seen how big my belly is. While we can keep it discreet here in the prefectural city, what if you were on the road to the capital and saw someone else expecting twins? You’d think of me and be distracted. Even if that didn’t happen, if you returned to find I’d had two children, you’d feel immense regret and self-reproach. I want to delay telling you until you must leave for the exams. Once you’re on the road, there’s no turning back.”
After massaging one of his legs, Xie Yan switched to the other, saying, “You underestimate me.”
Lu Yang waited quietly for him to continue. After finishing, Xie Yan finally sat close and spoke.
“I’ll certainly worry about you, but I’m not a physician—I won’t deliver the children. My greatest contribution isn’t just sitting at home idly. From the start of your pregnancy, I’ve been calculating the days, counting forward each one, and I’ll return in time. About the exams, we’ve discussed it: three years mean a lot to us. I won’t let you endure ten months of pregnancy and then wait another three years for a small measure of protection. I won’t risk letting you face the world alone.”
“You’ve always said we both have careers to pursue. I’ll take care of mine, and you mustn’t overexert yourself. If you need help, don’t hesitate to ask. When you’re well, I’m well.”
He had changed considerably, especially around the year’s end—every day brought subtle differences.
Lu Yang knew why. Xie Yan was intelligent; when he explained something, he connected it with historical anecdotes and examples he’d read before. Previously, Lu Yang had taught Xie Yan, and he grasped things immediately. Now, under a more experienced teacher, lessons from memory had transformed into practical experience.
Xie Yan also discussed chess with him. Even though he was only accompanying his master and learning little, early experiences left the deepest impressions.
On their path forward, even without actively seeking trouble or offending anyone, unexpected obstacles arose—sometimes natural disasters, sometimes collateral misfortune. The more determined to achieve something, the more unforeseen incidents occurred.
He knew his goal and would take the exams, unconcerned by “accidents” along the way.
Yet after speaking, his expression remained tense, brows furrowed.
Lu Yang squeezed his hand. “What are you thinking?”
Xie Yan shook his head, reluctant to voice his ominous thoughts.
“I rarely face dilemmas. My path is narrow—twisted, but without branches. Now, I see a fork.”
Rationally, he knew he should take the exams. Emotionally, he feared losing Lu Yang.
From this day, from the moment he made a decision, Lu Yang would no longer see him as a child.
A person’s maturity was judged by whether they acted impulsively according to whim or could endure responsibility. As an “umbrella” shielding from the storm, one must first face the rain.
After this conversation, Xie Yan busied himself for several days, arranging everything for Lu Yang’s delivery and care. He ran errands and made inquiries, ensuring all possible connections were set. Learning Lu Yang was expecting twins had added urgency, so he scheduled in advance for attendants to stay at home and help care for him.
The Lantern Festival in the prefectural city was bustling, and the streets were being decorated. Every time he went out, he noticed small changes, quickly sketching them to show Lu Yang. Rough lines, haphazardly colored, but resembling the scenes.
On the festival day, they made glutinous rice dumplings together.
Xie Yan obeyed Lu Yang’s instructions at every step, rolling some large dumplings and leaving smaller ones for single bites.
Lu Yang shared a few nickname ideas for the children, asking Xie Yan which he preferred: “Little Meat Bun, Little Sweet Bun, Rice Cake, Lantern, Little Full, Big Fortune.”
Xie Yan liked buns—they began their life together making meat buns and continued with sweet, happy days.
Rice cakes and lanterns were common names; children would respond to them easily.
He chose not to use Little Full or Big Fortune, seeing Lu Yang hesitate—they were just nicknames.
Lu Yang asked if he had thought of formal names. “Little Wheat and Strong” were grand, but he couldn’t find suitable ones.
Xie Yan had simple ideas.
“Use single-character names. Heng, meaning perseverance; Qing, meaning clear sky. ‘Heng’ reminds the child to have endurance and not give up lightly. I’ve also chosen a courtesy name: Bian Zhi, from ‘Be well-versed, inquire carefully, think prudently, discern clearly, and practice earnestly.’ It teaches the child to recognize direction and persevere, not stubbornly insist on a single path. Qing is subtler—representing vitality, ambition, or great aspirations. The courtesy name is Xing Zhi, to encourage practice, not just scholarly knowledge.”
Usually, courtesy names were given later, after observing the child’s personality, complementing the formal name and reflecting family hopes.
Xie Yan skipped that—he clearly defined expectations, matching them to the formal names without delay.
Lu Yang repeated the two names several times and agreed.
“They sound good, with beautiful meanings. My champion son is talented in naming—unlike me, thinking only of eating.”
Xie Yan then prepared the dumplings for him.
Lu Yang wanted small dumplings. “Large ones were hard to finish; I’d leave filling behind. Cook me a bowl of small ones, leaving one large for later. I’ll eat the small ones first, then bite into the large to reveal the filling.”
Xie Yan made sesame-peanut, red bean, and pork-filled dumplings.
Lu Yang preferred sweet, so Xie Yan gave him a bowl of mixed sweet fillings first. Once finished, he served the large dumpling.
After preparing the festival food, Xie Yan went out, bringing dumplings to neighbors. Each household had some; he added one bowl for himself to try two dumplings, joining in the festivities.
Whenever asked when he’d take the exams, Xie Yan always said the day after tomorrow.
Though the festival was lively, the alleys didn’t allow lantern displays. He wanted to hang some lanterns for Lu Yang to enjoy, but Lu Yang persuaded him otherwise.
“I grew up in the county; I’m used to the lantern festival. Stop fussing—spend time with me instead.”
Xie Yan complied, no longer busy, calling his mother. The three of them sat together, brewing tea, snacking, and enjoying the day like New Year’s Eve: chatting, laughing, and passing the time.
They had also received the business’s dividends, giving Lu Yang a sizable sum. He gave his mother twenty taels and kept some for personal spending, free to buy whatever he wished.
