That simple band engraved with their birthdays was like a burning mark, imprinting warmth into Zong Yi's palm and branding itself into the softest place in her heart.
After that embrace on New Year's Eve, many things became different, yet at the same time, it seemed like nothing had changed.
Yan Hanxie did not rush her to wear the ring, nor did she immediately demand a clear definition of their "relationship."
She simply placed the deep blue velvet box gently on the bedside table in Zong Yi's room, as if setting down an ordinary decoration.
Then she stepped back and raised her hand, somewhat unpracticed yet extremely gentle, brushing away the tears that had not yet dried on Zong Yi's face.
"It's late. Go to sleep," she said, her voice still slightly hoarse, carrying a kind of exhaustion after surviving a disaster, along with a strange sense of fulfillment.
When her fingertips brushed the corner of Zong Yi's eye, there was an almost imperceptible tremor.
Zong Yi nodded, her throat feeling blocked, unable to make a sound.
She watched Yan Hanxie turn and leave, gently closing the door behind her, leaving behind a room full of silence and the heavy band in her palm.
That night, she barely slept.
Her fingers repeatedly traced the tiny numbers engraved on the inside of the ring—0716 & 0807. The cold metal gradually warmed, as if it had taken on life. It wasn't a diamond, nor an elaborate design—just the simplest band, yet it carried all of Yan Hanxie's unspoken solemnity, hesitation, and… desperate devotion.
She thought of Yan Hanxie lying pale and fragile on the hospital bed, of her vacant gaze when she threw away the prayer beads, of her clumsy attempts at cutting potatoes and stewing soup, of her calmness when she gave shelter on a stormy night, of the many times she had drawn her into her world with various "reasonable excuses"… all those scenes connected together, sketching out a Yan Hanxie completely different from the one she had known—beneath the powerful exterior lay hidden fractures; within the cold shell burned a fierce heat; behind every calculated step was a cautious heart, afraid of loss, yet stubbornly trying to hold onto something.
And she, Zong Yi, was that "something" Yan Hanxie wanted to hold onto.
This realization no longer made her feel fear or resistance. Instead, it brought a heavy sense of belonging, mixed with heartache and stirring emotion.
The next day was the first day of the New Year.
They tacitly did not mention the previous night. Yan Hanxie still woke early to prepare a simple breakfast. When Zong Yi came downstairs, she was already seated at the table watching the news.
Seeing Zong Yi, she lifted her eyes, her gaze lingering on her face for a moment as if confirming something, then nodded slightly. "Morning."
"Morning." Zong Yi sat down, her gaze unconsciously drifting to Yan Hanxie's fingers—empty.
In her own palm, the simple band was still tightly held, leaving it damp with sweat.
Breakfast passed in a subtle, unspoken quiet.
Only when Zong Yi stood up to clear the dishes did Yan Hanxie suddenly speak. "Today… any plans?"
Zong Yi paused. "Nothing special. Maybe… I'll call home."
"Mm." Yan Hanxie responded, then after a pause added, "If you're free this afternoon, come with me somewhere?"
"…Okay."
In the afternoon, the sunlight was unusually bright, dispersing the chill of winter.
Yan Hanxie drove, taking Zong Yi out of the city.
The car finally stopped outside a quiet cemetery in the suburbs.
Zong Yi's heart sank slightly.
She could roughly guess who Yan Hanxie had brought her to see.
Yan Hanxie's parents had passed away early, and she had been raised by her grandfather—this was something Zong Yi vaguely knew.
But Yan Hanxie had never brought it up herself, and Zong Yi had never dared to ask.
The two got out of the car and walked up the silent steps.
Yan Hanxie held a bouquet of plain white lilies. Her steps were steady. Under the thin winter sunlight, her profile showed no expression, only a slight tension along her jawline.
In front of a pair of side-by-side gravestones, Yan Hanxie stopped.
The gravestones were simple, engraved only with names and dates of birth and death.
She bent down, placed the lilies gently in front, then straightened and stood in silence.
Zong Yi stood a step behind her, quietly looking at the two cold stone markers.
The wind was cold, stirring Yan Hanxie's clothes and hair.
After a long time, Yan Hanxie finally spoke in a low voice, calm as if telling someone else's story. "When they passed, I was fourteen. A car accident."
Zong Yi's heart tightened sharply.
"My grandfather said their relationship was very good. They left together," Yan Hanxie said, her gaze resting on the gravestone, distant. "When I was little, I didn't understand. Later… I think I began to."
She paused, then turned to look at Zong Yi. Sunlight flickered in her eyes, reflecting a clear and honest glimmer.
"Zong Yi," she called her name, her voice soft yet extremely clear, "I didn't bring you here to make you promise anything, or to burden you with anything."
Her gaze flicked to Zong Yi's left hand, unconsciously clenched (the simple band still in her palm).
"I just wanted to tell you what kind of person I am, and where I come from." Yan Hanxie's lips curved into a faint, almost bitter smile. "I might… not be very good at loving someone. I'm used to control, used to calculation. I'm afraid of losing, so I always use the clumsiest, sometimes even annoying ways to get close, to test, to… hold."
Her gaze returned to the gravestone, her tone carrying a trace of self-mockery. "Like with my grandfather—I clearly wanted to be close, yet I always went against him, until he was gone, and I regretted it too late. And like with you…"
She stopped, not finishing the sentence.
But the meaning was clear to both of them.
Zong Yi's nose stung.
She looked at Yan Hanxie's upright yet lonely back, at the way she had, for the first time in front of her parents' graves, shed all defenses and admitted her clumsiness and vulnerability. The barren ground in Zong Yi's heart that had long fallen for her was suddenly drenched by a spring rain, something breaking through the soil and growing wildly.
She stepped forward, coming to stand beside Yan Hanxie.
Then she extended her left hand and gently held Yan Hanxie's hand hanging at her side, cold to the touch.
Yan Hanxie's body trembled almost imperceptibly, but she did not pull away.
Zong Yi's fingers slowly slipped between hers, interlocking their hands.
The grip was not strong, but it carried undeniable firmness.
"Yan Hanxie," she called her name as well, her voice slightly choked but striving to remain steady, "you don't need to be very good at loving someone."
She turned her head, looking at Yan Hanxie's profile, the sunlight outlining her features clearly.
"You just need to… be yourself," Zong Yi said, word by word, seriously. "The Yan Hanxie who calculates, the Yan Hanxie who pretends to be strong, the Yan Hanxie who gets sick and feels fragile, the Yan Hanxie who clumsily stews soup and secretly prepares a ring…"
She felt Yan Hanxie's fingers suddenly tighten in her palm.
"All of that is you," Zong Yi looked at her, tears finally falling, yet her lips curved into a gentle and firm smile. "And I…"
She took a deep breath, lifted their interlocked hands—along with her own left hand that had been tightly clenched—and raised them between them.
Then, she slowly opened her left palm.
The silver-gray plain band lay quietly in her palm, reflecting a gentle, restrained glow under the sunlight.
"I want to wear it." Zong Yi looked at Yan Hanxie's suddenly widened eyes, at the overwhelming surge of joy and disbelief that instantly flooded her gaze. Her voice was soft yet firm. "As Zong Yi, I want to wear the ring Yan Hanxie prepared."
"Not because of a promise, and not because of any burden."
"Only because…"
She paused, then gently slipped the ring onto the ring finger of her left hand.
The size fits perfectly, without the slightest discrepancy.
The cool metal encircled the base of her finger, carrying the warmth and intention of another person.
"I want to be with you." Zong Yi finally said the words that had long lingered in her heart. Her tears fell more fiercely, yet her smile grew even brighter. "Every year from now on, I want to spend it with you. Not just Spring Festival, but birthdays too, and… many, many more ordinary or extraordinary days."
She raised her hand, now wearing the ring, and gently touched Yan Hanxie's cheek, her fingertips wiping away the tears that had somehow also fallen from the other woman's eyes.
"So, Yan Hanxie," she looked at her, her gaze clear and brave, "are you willing?"
Willing to let me enter your life, your future, and your perhaps still clumsy, yet one-of-a-kind love in this way.
The cemetery was silent, save for the mournful sound of wind passing through bare branches.
Sunlight poured over the two of them, stretching their overlapping shadows long.
Yan Hanxie looked at her—at those eyes washed by tears yet brighter than ever, at the ring on her ring finger that belonged to her, at the unreserved acceptance and love in her gaze.
After a long while, she lowered her head, gently pressing her forehead against Zong Yi's, their noses touching, their breaths intertwining.
Warm liquid slid down their touching skin, indistinguishable as to whose it was.
Then, very lightly, yet with utmost solemnity, she placed a trembling kiss on that cool plain band.
A kiss on the ring.
And also a kiss on the finger wearing it—Zong Yi's finger.
"I'm willing." Her voice was hoarse, almost breaking, yet it carried immense weight and the overwhelming joy of something regained. "Zong Yi, I'm willing."
She lifted her head, cupped Zong Yi's face, and gazed deeply into her eyes, as if wanting to carve this moment into the depths of her soul forever.
"Every year, every day, every moment from now on…" Yan Hanxie's thumb gently stroked the ring on Zong Yi's finger, as if confirming its real existence, "I want to be with you."
"In Yan Hanxie's way," she paused, and in her eyes, the familiar fire of possession and determination finally ignited again—yet softer than ever before, "to love you."
Zong Yi smiled, her vision blurred with tears, yet she nodded firmly.
Then, she rose onto her tiptoes (at 171 cm, she still needed a bit of effort in front of Yan Hanxie's 178 cm), closed her eyes, and for the first time, took the initiative—accurately kissing Yan Hanxie's lips.
Soft lips met, carrying the saltiness of tears and the warmth of sunlight.
Yan Hanxie's body trembled violently for a moment, then she kissed back with even greater force.
Her arms tightened, locking the person in her embrace as if wanting to knead her into her very bones, never to be separated again.
The winter sunlight warmly enveloped the silent cemetery, enveloped the two who embraced and kissed, enveloped the simple white lilies before the gravestone, and also enveloped the two plain bands on their ring fingers—pressed closely together, engraved with each other's birthdays.
The journey of chasing her wife began with a long-planned approach, deepened through illness and vulnerability where they leaned on each other, and finally, at this moment—before her parents' graves, within vows woven from sunlight and tears—settled into its conclusion.
The hunter had finally enclosed her prey firmly in her arms, placing upon her the mark that belonged to both of them.
And the prey, willingly, fell into the gentle yet domineering net the hunter had woven over a lifetime.
From then on, through storms and snow, they would share the rest of their lives.
—
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