Chapter 3

“Of course not.”

“Will you still come home really late?”

“Sometimes.” I didn't lie to him. “But we can make a plan. You could come to the shop after school, or Dad could take you out for dinner. Once I'm finished, the first thing I'll do is come and find you.”

He thought for a long time, then nodded.

“Then I shouldn't pretend to be asleep and make you worry either.”

He almost made me laugh, though my heart ached. He was so little, and already learning to negotiate with adults.

Beside us, He Yuheng said, “I'll try not to arrange evening business engagements this month. You can also make me a list of things the shop needs help with.”

I refused at once.

“You don't have to push all your work aside.”

“I'm not.” His voice was calm. “We're a family. Things at home were never meant to be one person's responsibility.”

Afterward, he actually made a family calendar and put it on the refrigerator.

My events, Xiaoman's lessons, and his business trips were all marked in different colors. After dinner each evening, Xiaoman awarded stickers. Anyone who came home on time received a star.

At first, Mr. He rarely earned one.

Once, a meeting ran late. He rushed home to find Xiaoman waiting with a gold star.

“You only missed it by a little today,” the boy informed him gravely.

He Yuheng removed his coat and played along.

“How can I make up for it?”

“Watch one cartoon episode with Mom and me.”

“All right.”

One episode became three.

By the end, Xiaoman had fallen asleep against his chest, and I had drifted off at the other end of the sofa.

When I woke, the television had long been off. He Yuheng held Xiaoman with one arm and was drawing the blanket over my shoulder with the other.

I said nothing. I only shifted a little closer.

14

In June, the shop received an invitation to provide flowers for Cheng Group's hotel anniversary celebration.

My father's new secretary sent the email. It was polite, and the proposed fee was generous.

But as soon as I agreed to a meeting, someone from Cheng Group's marketing department called. They wanted flowers at cost, plus a clause requiring us to give priority to suppliers designated by Cheng Group.

“Then find someone else,” I said.

Clearly not expecting a refusal, the caller's tone hardened.

“Miss Cheng, Chairman Cheng is giving you an opportunity. Don't be ungrateful.”

“This is business, not charity.”

I put the phone on speaker and kept trimming stems. My shears snapped through a dead leaf.

“You want my designs and reputation without paying a fair price. In that case, there's no reason to work together.”

After I hung up, Xiaolin, the studio intern, stared at me.

“Wu, that's Cheng Group.”

“They have to honor contracts too. Being a small shop doesn't mean anyone can push us around.”

Within two days, insinuating posts appeared online, accusing Mist & Blooms of relying on the He family for orders and charging outrageous prices.

Xiaolin was furious and wanted to argue online. I asked her first to organize our orders from the past two years, customer feedback, and pricing standards.

He Yuheng saw the messages and asked if I wanted his legal department to handle it.

“Not yet. Anyone saying I rely on connections must be afraid to see me rely on my work.”

I didn't post a tale of woe. I selected projects we had permission to share and compiled full case studies: the budget, the flowers used, how we adjusted the colors to the venue's lighting, and why clients had booked us again.

At the end, I added: “Fellow professionals are welcome to compare quotations. Clients are welcome to inspect our actual work.”

Many regular customers volunteered their support.

Even Xiaoman's kindergarten teacher posted his birthday photographs, saying she had never seen a child smile so freely among flowers.

Public opinion soon turned.

My father called. For the first time, he didn't issue an order.

“Must you set yourself against your family?”

I stood in the new shop's back courtyard, changing the water for the roses.

“Dad, I'm not fighting you. I've simply decided I won't keep living the life you chose for me. You don't have to understand. But please stop deciding for me.”

There was a long silence. Then he hung up heavily.

I wasn't sad. Many relationships couldn't be repaired with one argument. Nor would giving more ground necessarily make them gentler.

At least this time, I had said everything I wanted to say.

That afternoon, He Yuheng came to collect me.

He didn't ask about the call. He only took a cup of hot soy milk and a box of freshly roasted chestnuts from the back seat.

“Xiaoman says you've been busy and will probably forget dinner.”

I accepted them with a smile.

“So you're joining forces to keep an eye on me now?”

“Yes.” He fastened my seat belt. “It's proving very effective.”

At home, Xiaoman came running with a new drawing.

In it, I stood before a tall flower stand, an enormous crown above my head.

“This is the Queen of the Flower Shop,” he said. “No one's allowed to bully her.”

I put it on the refrigerator, neatly covering the star I hadn't earned the previous week.

15

A month before his fifth birthday, Xiaoman suddenly said he wanted to meet his biological father.

He spoke calmly while building Lego after dinner.

The block in He Yuheng's hand stopped in midair. For a moment, I didn't know how to answer.

Xiaoman looked down and turned a blue block in his fingers.

“It's not that I don't want you. I just want to know what he looks like.”

He Yuheng put down his block. After a long silence, he said, “I can ask someone to look for him. But you need to know that he hasn't contacted you all these years.”

“Why?”

It was too difficult a question.

Adults had countless words for avoidance, cowardice, and irresponsibility. We couldn't lay those words on the shoulders of a five-year-old.

I took Xiaoman's hand.

“Some grown-ups aren't ready to be parents, and they make wrong choices. That's his responsibility. It isn't your fault.”

He nodded. He didn't cry. He was simply especially quiet at bedtime.

Two weeks later, He Yuheng found the man.

He had remarried elsewhere and started a new life. On learning about Xiaoman, he agreed only to send money through a lawyer, with a brief letter saying that he was “not suited to meeting in person.”

He Yuheng left the choice to Xiaoman.

The letter lay on the table. No one forced him to open it.

He looked at it for a long time.

“I don't want to read it.”

He pushed it aside and looked up at He Yuheng.

“Dad, can I not want him?”

He Yuheng's eyes reddened. He lifted the child onto his lap and spoke very softly.

“Yes. You don't owe anyone forgiveness. And you don't have to be sad on anyone else's behalf.”

Xiaoman buried his face in his father's shoulder. After a while, he turned toward me.

“Mom, can I give him Xiaolan?”

I paused.

“Why?”

“Xiaolan used to sleep with me. Now I have Mom and Dad.” He was very serious. “He's on his own. Maybe he needs Xiaolan too.”

My heart ached and softened. But I didn't treat that innocence as a display of maturity deserving praise.

“Xiaolan is your favorite toy. You can give him away, or you can keep him. You don't have to give up what's most important to you to make someone else better.”

Xiaoman thought about it all night.

The next morning, he put Xiaolan back beside his pillow.

“I'll keep him for now. If I really want to give him away later, I will.”

I kissed his forehead.

“All right.”

After that, He Yuheng took us to the sea.

There was no lavish itinerary. We stayed in a guesthouse with an ocean view.

The first time Xiaoman stepped onto the sand, he ran excitedly after the waves, unconcerned when his trousers became soaked.

At sunset, he built a crooked sandcastle and planted three little flags.

“This is Dad's room. This is Mom's flower shop. This is my Xiaolan room.”

Then he dug a small hollow.

“This is for friends who come later.”

I asked why he was leaving it empty.

He tilted his head.

“Because if there's room at home, you can fit more happiness inside.”

The sea breeze ruffled his hair. He Yuheng bent to brush his fringe aside while I stood nearby taking photographs.

Through the lens, one tall figure and one small figure knelt together on the sand, their shadows stretched long by the setting sun.

16

Not long after we returned, Aunt Zhou asked to leave her job.

Her daughter was pregnant and wanted her to come and help for a while.

Hearing this, Xiaoman fled to his room in distress and refused to come out.

He had experienced too many separations. The words “going away” hurt him especially.

Aunt Zhou called through the door. He wouldn't answer.

I didn't force him to be understanding immediately. I took a plate of sliced apples and sat outside.

“Xiaoman, Grandma Zhou is going to look after her daughter, just as she looked after you. It doesn't mean she doesn't want you anymore.”

A muffled voice came from inside.

“But once she goes, she won't come back.”

“She'll visit. We can visit her too.”

“What if she doesn't?”

Leaning against the door, I remembered the days he had drawn pictures of his mother coming home. My heart tightened.

“Then we'll miss her,” I said. “Missing someone isn't a bad thing. But even if Grandma Zhou doesn't live here anymore, Mom and Dad will still be here. We won't leave you at home alone.”

After a long time, the door opened a crack.

His eyes were red.

“Mom, did someone leave you before too?”

I nodded.

When my grandmother died, so many places had suddenly felt empty.

Later, though, I discovered that her words as she taught me to arrange flowers, the shop she had left me, the hand that had stroked my head when I was sad—none of it had ever truly disappeared.

I told Xiaoman about those things.

He listened intently. Finally, he ran out and hugged Aunt Zhou, sobbing as he said, “Grandma Zhou, go and take care of Auntie. I'll grow up.”

Her tears fell too. She promised a video call every week.

When the new nanny arrived, Xiaoman didn't become close to her immediately. He greeted her politely.

He Yuheng and I didn't push him.

A few days later, he discovered she didn't know how to tuck Xiaolan in. He volunteered to teach her.

“Xiaolan gets cold. You have to cover him up to here.”

Watching nearby, I suddenly realized he was no longer a child who knew only the fear of being left behind.

He would still feel sad. He would still miss people. But he was beginning to trust that love didn't vanish completely with one separation.

That evening, he placed three stars on the family calendar.

One for Aunt Zhou. One for the new nanny.

And one for himself.

17

At the end of the year, He Yuheng proposed to me.

It wasn't grand. In fact, it was rather chaotic.

Heavy snow had trapped a delivery of flowers on the road. I paced anxiously around the shop while He Yuheng drove halfway across the city to bring them himself.

By the time the client's arrangements were finished, it was almost midnight.

I sat exhausted at the worktable, glue on my hands and my hair a mess.

He Yuheng took a box from his coat pocket. He had carefully protected it the whole way, though melted snow still clung to the corners.

“I meant to find a better moment,” he said.

I looked at him. My heart began to race.

“Cheng Wu, we're already legally married.”

He paused, weighing each word.

“But I want to ask you properly once more. Will you spend all the ordinary days ahead with me?”

Inside lay a slender platinum ring. Three small characters were engraved inside: Man, Wu, Heng.

I laughed through my tears.

“You're proposing without even bringing flowers?”

Flustered, he turned to fetch the remaining blooms.

I caught him at once.

“Don't. We're in a flower shop. There are more than enough.”

Xiaoman, hiding behind the curtain, saw me nod and came running with Xiaolan. He pushed a stem of lisianthus into my hand.

Clearly, he had known about the plan for ages. His face was red with nerves.

“Mom, did you say yes?”

I crouched and hugged him and the flowers together.

“Yes.”

He Yuheng slipped the ring onto my finger.

Outside, snow covered the windowpanes. Only one warm yellow light shone in the shop.

Xiaoman ran around us twice, then suddenly slipped his little hand between ours.

There were no guests. No music. Nothing that needed grandeur to prove its worth.

Only stems and leaves we hadn't cleared away, three people standing close together, and a room full of flowers quietly blooming through the winter night.

Later, we held a small wedding at the botanical garden where we had first taken Xiaoman.

In his little formal suit, he was the most serious ring bearer imaginable.

Halfway down the aisle, he suddenly stopped to check his pocket. Only after making sure Xiaolan had come too did he continue, reassured.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves. The guests' laughter was soft.

As He Yuheng took my hand, the daisy at his cuff stirred.

After the ceremony, Xiaoman threw himself into our arms, petals falling into his hair.

I brushed them away. Looking up, I saw the new shop's sign deep in the botanical garden.

The spring breeze passed through the clear greenhouse, setting the little whale-shaped wind chimes ringing.

I tightened my hold on the hands beside me and walked slowly across the soft carpet of petals toward the open door.

18

The first weekend after the wedding, Xiaoman suddenly announced that he wanted a “family meeting” in the flower shop.

He meant business. He carried a blank drawing book down from the children's shelf and arranged three chairs in a semicircle.

He Yuheng had just finished a telephone meeting and still wore his shirt and suit trousers. His son ordered him to sit up properly and stop looking at his phone.

I came in with a plate of washed cherries to find three sheets laid out on the table.

The first read: “Dad mustn't work late all the time.”

The second: “Mom mustn't get too busy to eat.”

The third: “Xiaoman must put away his own toys.”

He had painstakingly written every stroke himself, substituting pictures for characters he didn't know.

Beside the overtime rule was a computer. Beside the missed meals, an empty bowl. Beside the toys, a crooked blue whale.

After reading them, He Yuheng raised his hand first.

“I agree to the third rule.”

Xiaoman immediately objected.

“You have to agree to yours first!”

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped a cherry onto the plate.

He Yuheng cleared his throat and grew serious.

“All right. I'll try to come home before dinner. If I really can't, I'll call beforehand.”

Satisfied, Xiaoman turned to me.

I cooperated.

“Even when I'm busy, I'll remember to eat. And I'll accept supervision from both of you.”

“What about me?”

“You're in charge of putting your toys away. And telling us when you're unhappy.”

He solemnly pressed a handprint beneath each sheet.

When it was He Yuheng's turn, he didn't object to the children's paint. He pressed his print straight onto the paper. I followed.

Three red prints of different sizes crowded together, rather like an unruly flower.

At the end of the meeting, Xiaoman tucked the drawing book into a drawer and declared the rules effective immediately.

That afternoon, he went with me to the shop.

Outside the new premises was an open patch where we had planned to put benches.

Instead, Xiaoman crouched by the wall and stared at a cluster of wildflowers growing through the paving.

“Mom, nobody watered them, but they still grew.”

“Yes. They tried very hard.”

“Can we give them a home?”

Following his gaze, I had an idea.

The shop had long wanted to create a community flower garden for children, but opening had kept us too busy.

We immediately contacted the botanical garden's manager and applied to turn the space into a small community garden, inviting neighborhood children to plant flowers on weekends.

When He Yuheng heard, he didn't ask about the budget. He simply had his assistant bring child-safe tools and several pairs of little rain boots.

He specifically said the sign shouldn't bear He Group's name.

Only “Xiaoman's Garden.”

More than a dozen children came to the first event.

Some scattered seeds everywhere. Some smeared mud on their faces. One little girl hid behind me because she was afraid of earthworms.

Xiaoman wore yellow boots and looked a little nervous at first.

Then, remembering he was the little host, he copied me and handed out seedlings.

“Put these down gently,” he reminded everyone. “Otherwise their roots will hurt.”

A boy complained he was too slow and snatched his little spade.

Xiaoman flushed, his eyes filling. But he didn't shrink back as he once would have.

He took a deep breath and walked up to the boy.

“That's my spade. If you want to use it, you can ask me.”

The boy paused, muttered an apology, and handed it back.

A few steps away, I didn't rush to defend him. I simply gave him a thumbs-up.

Seeing it, he quietly straightened his chest, then ran to help someone prop up a crooked plant label.

At sunset, the children had all gone home.

Sunflowers, petunias, and mint filled the little garden. The soil was still damp.

Mud covered Xiaoman's shoes, and a gray streak marked his nose, but his smile was radiant.

He Yuheng brushed dirt from his trouser legs and asked whether he was tired.

He shook his head.

“Dad, I protected someone today too.”

He Yuheng looked at him, his eyes gentle.

“I know.”

On the drive home, Xiaoman fell asleep in the back seat, still hugging the pot of mint he had planted.

We drove slowly so as not to wake him.

By the time we passed the riverbank, darkness had settled. Lights along the shore came on one by one, reflected in the still water.

I leaned against the window, watching He Yuheng's profile as he concentrated on driving, then turned to look at the sleeping child.

Xiaoman's hand still rested on the tiny mint leaves, as though guarding a secret that had only just sprouted.

Wind slipped through the partly open window, carrying the dampness of a spring night.

The car was very quiet. Only Xiaoman's even breathing broke the silence, with the occasional soft bump of Xiaolan against the flowerpot in his arms.

I closed the window and gently spread my coat over him.

Streetlights slipped behind us, stretch by stretch. Our car moved into the warm yellow glow, slowly carrying us toward a home where someone would always wait to share a meal.

When we arrived, the entrance light came on.

Aunt Zhou's postcard lay on the shoe cabinet.

Xiaoman was deeply asleep. He Yuheng carried him upstairs while I placed the mint on the windowsill.

A little night dew clung to the leaves, fresh green under the light.

The scent of dinner still lingered in the kitchen. A breeze stirred the family calendar on the refrigerator.

Our three red handprints hung quietly in the center, beside Xiaoman's blue whale and crooked star.

I stood before the living room's floor-to-ceiling glass and watched the magnolia in the courtyard, its new leaves just emerging.

Upstairs, the child's bedroom door stood ajar. Warm light spilled through the gap onto the wooden floor.

He Yuheng came down with very quiet steps.

He joined me and adjusted the coat around my shoulders.

Beyond the window, the spring night was gentle. The mint we had brought from the shop slowly scented the air.

I turned, noticed the tiny daisy on his cuff, and reached out to touch it.

Together, we looked at our peaceful, brightly lit home.

On the coffee table, the packets of seeds Xiaoman would take to the garden tomorrow lay in a neat pile.

In the glass vase, the lisianthus opened its last petals.

Moonlight fell silently across the tabletop, and across the backs of our tightly clasped hands.