Chapter 26: A Birthday Gift

The biggest problem about staying home is...

Lingjie pinched Jingjing’s chin with exasperated sighs. “You’re hopeless.”
Jingjing groaned, running a hand over her vanished abs. “Guess cafeteria food isn’t trustworthy either.”

Xiao Zhu glanced left and right, loyal as ever. “And外卖? Even less reliable.”

Jingjing protested: “I only ordered twice! The rest of the days I ate what you left me—so if I’m gaining weight, half of it’s on you.”

The consequence of indulgence? Lingjie handed her two options for the next half month—choose one: ten swimming lessons, or ten boxing classes.

Yu Tu felt utterly innocent. Just coming home for dinner and suddenly he was being blamed.

“Yu Tu,” Jingjing turned to him, “what should I pick? Lingjie said anyone who’s gained weight doesn’t get a say in this kind of thing.”

“I’ll tell her it was your choice.”

“Miss Qiao,” Yu Tu said gently, “Lingjie’s doing this for your good. Honestly, I don’t mind which one you pick…”

“But… getting a little plump isn’t so bad…”

“Yu Tu!”

After endless back-and-forth—and even sending Xiao Zhu to Lujiazui to dig up a mountain of unused swimsuits—Jingjing finally made up her mind with a grin: “Then I’ll go with… boxing.”

She curled up on the sofa, already buzzing with excitement, discussing gear upgrades with Xiao Zhu.

Across the room, Dr. Yu, buried in his book, hadn’t read a single line.

“Boxing pairs best with… sprinting?”

Jingjing’s life fell into a new rhythm—along with solving a long-standing issue. The club, naturally, offered VIP treatment. Lunch, for instance, was included.

Among the top-tier coaches, she picked a woman—not because of Yu Tu’s feelings (though that wasn’t entirely irrelevant), but because she genuinely admired how sleek and strong the woman looked.

When she brought it up with Yu Tu, she got a full-body demonstration of resistance.

September 23rd was a Thursday. As Jingjing stepped out the door, she asked, “Yu Tu, can you skip work today?”

He hesitated. She dropped her gaze. “Oh… okay then.”

Yu Tu pulled her close. “Sorry, Jingjing. I’ll be back by nine sharp.”

Feeling her silence in his arms, he added, “Or after your boxing session, why don’t you hang out at the studio? Or let Xiao Zhu take you to a movie?”

Jingjing forced a smile. Even his kiss tasted off.

But Yu Tu came home exactly on time. In the lab, someone glanced over. Guan Zai just gave a hollow chuckle. “Don’t let distractions derail us. Keep going.”

It was past nine when Yu Tu finally walked in.

“Jingjing! I’m back. Sorry I’m late—I accept any punishment… Jingjing?”

She stood in the middle of the living room, yoga mat laid out, legs twisted into an awkward knot, back turned to him.

Only the rustle of shoes, then footsteps fading toward the small storage closet.

So that’s it? Cold shoulder?

How dare she act like this after being late? Jingjing wanted to roll her eyes—but decided against it.

Just as she stood to tidy the mat, Yu Tu dragged out the Celestron from the closet.

“Jingjing! Come here—we’re gonna stargaze!”

She wanted to say no. But how could she refuse when he was grinning like a kid again?

One hand held the case, the other tugged her gently. They finally made it to the rooftop.

Jingjing seemed quiet, not very eager to help—but once they set it up, alignment took no time at all.

Yu Tu turned back down, bringing up another familiar little box. “Look, Jingjing!”

He opened it. “I found the high-power eyepiece! Old model—fits this scope perfectly.”

“You stayed out late just for this?”

“I’d been asking online forums for weeks.”

“But these are rare. A collector in Suzhou agreed to sell his. I only had time to pick it up today.”

“Suzhou’s so far—why not just ship it?”

“It’s something I love. I couldn’t bear to risk it in transit.”

The eyepiece snapped into place. Yu Tu adjusted it for her.

Suddenly, the moon exploded into detail—craters clearer than ever before. And the lunar seas—those mysterious dark patches she’d never distinguished—now had names: Mare Imbrium, Mare Serenitatis, Mare Tranquillitatis…

She stared at the eyepiece. Worn, yes—but carefully maintained. Clearly cherished. Whoever owned it must’ve loved it deeply. How did he convince them to part with it?

A wave of tenderness washed over Jingjing. She wrapped her arms around Yu Tu’s waist. “You didn’t eat, did you? We’ve fiber biscuits and instant noodles—what do you want?”

Instant noodles, of course.

They cooked together in the kitchen—chopped a few greens, cracked an egg, added some canned ham.

It was a feast for midnight.

As they ate, Yu Tu vented about Guan Zai. “I left on time. He looked like he’d swallowed a sour lemon—real exploitative energy.”

Jingjing remained fair-minded. “Most workers don’t stay late unless they have to. The bosses usually vanish into bars or parties. So calling Guan Zai a capitalist oppressor? Not really fair.”

The deeper the night, the farther the stars stretched. The Milky Way shimmered faintly across the sky. Before they knew it, it was midnight.

Jingjing flung herself into Yu Tu’s arms. “Happy birthday! Mmm…”

She gasped for breath. “Gifts! Gifts!”

Yu Tu stayed calm. “I already have the best gift.”

“Yu Tu, there *is* a gift.”

She wriggled free, smoothed her messy hair, then took his hand and placed it firmly on the thick barrel of the telescope.

“Yu Tu, this is my birthday gift to you. Though… it’s actually a gift from when you were eighteen.”

The photo was a self-shot. Jingjing leaning against him, his body bent slightly as he peered through the eyepiece. The Celestron stood tall in its tripod frame, silvered by moonlight.

Yu Tu leaned over her shoulder to see it. “There’s part of me in this image. I claim co-authorship.”

Jingjing shot him a look. “No copying. Thanks.”

*Qiao Jingjing’s Love Letter to 18-Year-Old Yu Tu.jpg*

At 9:30 PM, the car finally stopped after racing over 200 kilometers. Yu Tu took a deep breath, scanning the surroundings.

This was Hengdian. He couldn’t believe it—this place was bustling, alive. Ancient-style buildings and streets stretched ahead, glowing under lanterns and neon. On the other side, modern skyscrapers and fashion-forward boutiques lit up the skyline. It felt like stepping through a time portal.

Jingjing had told him this was the latest trend—“time travel” stories.

The doorbell rang. Jingjing was already showered, wrapped in a soft pink teddy-like robe, dabbing body lotion. Her room smelled of *Night Piano Piece*, and beneath it, a subtle, delicate fragrance she called “the scent of the soul”—osmanthus blossoms.