Chapter 21 — After Notarizing 5 Houses, I Just Got Married

“Your other door—how far is it open?”

I looked at him. The city lights stretch out behind him. One and a half years ago, in front of the Civil Affairs Department, I was asked to take away my house. A year ago, I started my own career department. Half a year ago, I signed a contract for eight million yuan. Three months ago, this man said "I can wait". Now he was standing in front of me, asking me how far the other door was open. The corner of his mouth curled up. It's not a big smile, but the corners of the eyes curl to form an arc. Just like the smile at night eating grilled meat on skewers in Chengdu.

“So can I come in?”

“Let's go in and try it out.”

He held out his hand. Palms face up. I put my hand on it. Dry hands, moderate temperature. He held my hand and walked towards the car parked on the side of the road. The streetlights cast long shadows between the two of us. Overlapping. That night, I called my aunt.

“I have a lover.”

“Co Dien?”

“How do you know?”

"You think I'm blind? I knew the day after he put the cup in your office."

“Then why didn't you say anything?”

"It's your business, you decide for yourself. I'm only responsible for stopping you when you make the wrong choice. But this time—"

She paused for a moment.

“No need to stop.”

This end of the line, the bridge of my nose.

“Thank you.”

"Thank you for what? You totally deserve it."

I leaned my back against the window, admiring the night view along the banks of the Tan Giang River. Five houses are still there. All intact. But at this moment, the most valuable thing is not those lifeless real estate blocks. It's the heat from his palm that still lingers in my hand. Another half year has passed. The annual revenue of Cam Hoa design company has exceeded the two hundred million yuan mark. The staff from the original three people increased to one hundred and twenty people. The project of 12 boutique hotels nationwide has completed 4 facilities, each of which opened with full rooms. Industry media gave me a title: "Leader in New Chinese style space design". I find it a bit gimmicky. But my aunt said: "If you don't show off a little, people won't remember you." This statement makes sense. The relationship between me and Co Dien also changed in quality during this half year. In the third month after officially confirming the relationship, he took me home to meet his parents. His father, Co Chinh Hanh, before retiring was Deputy General Director of a state-owned corporation. His mother, Tran Uan Thu, is a university lecturer, teaching Comparative Literature. The meeting took place in his living room. The house is not big, an old-style house with three bedrooms and a living room, but it is very tidy. Books take up an entire wall. Mrs. Tran Uan Thu looked at me, then gave me a cup of tea.

"Nien Niem, right? Tieu Dien has mentioned you to us many times."

“Hello, you two.”

“I heard you work as an interior designer?”

"Yes."

“Previously, I taught a subject called ‘Space and Narrative’—Is the work you do also related to narrative?”

This question was beyond my expectations. A professor of Comparative Literature asked me about the relationship between design and narrative. I thought a bit.

“What you said is very right. Design is essentially the same thing story in one space. A good space will make people know what this story is about as soon as they enter."

Ms. Tran Uan Thu nodded with satisfaction. Mr. Co Chinh Hanh next to us didn't say much, but when we left, he patted Co Dien's shoulder. Just a single word. Co Dien told me that all his life his father evaluated others only into three levels: Okay, Okay, Not Okay.

“Okay” is the highest level.

On the way home, I leaned back in the passenger seat.

“Is your father the same way with everyone?”

"No. The closest person he said 'Yes' to was his old boss."

“So your status is higher than mine?”

“Your status is inherently higher than mine. I have five houses.”

“... Do you want to go back to being single?”

He laughed, reaching out to gently squeeze my finger.

“Forget it. What's mine is mine, what's mine is mine. We divide it fairly.”

“Do investors also play fair?”

“Investors must be even more clear about the exchange value.”

“So what do you use to exchange with me on equal terms?”

“Use yourself.”

The car stopped at a red light. He turned and looked at me very seriously.