It’s Okay to Divorce - Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Zou Tingshen finished hanging the clothes and walked over, but Mu Mian was still lost in the shock of “the film emperor washing her underwear,” unable to pull herself out of it.

He carried the basin past her, murmuring in a low voice, “Come on in, time to eat.”

Dinner was light and simple.

After the meal, exhaustion hit Mu Mian hard, and she planned to head back to the room to sleep. But the problem arrived right on cue.

There was only one bedroom, so… how were they supposed to divide it up?

The living room had no door, just a flimsy curtain for a barrier—drafty as hell. With the island’s endless white nights and big temperature swings, it was way too easy to catch a chill.

Zou Tingshen decided to take the living room.

Mu Mian was a girl, after all, and pregnant to boot—no way was he letting her crash out there.

Mu Mian was wiped out; the second her head hit the pillow, she was out.

Once she was deep in sleep, the dreams kicked in again.

She dreamed Zou Tingshen had eaten her baby. In the dream, she clung to his leg, roaring and wailing, sobbing her heart out…

—Zou Tingshen, spit out my baby!

When she jolted awake from the nightmare, dawn had already broken.

Mu Mian was drenched in sweat. Realizing it was just a dream, she let out a shaky breath of relief.

She looked down and stroked her round belly; the little one inside started wriggling again. That magical sensation—Zou Tingshen could never truly get it, but she could feel it down to her bones.

She gently caressed her abdomen, trying to chat with the baby.

“Hey there, little one, it’s your mama.”

Her belly got a kick in response, like the tiny life was waving hello right back.

Mu Mian’s heart melted into a puddle. For that one adorable moment, suddenly all the caution of these past months—the ditching of makeup, the trek across the ocean to this remote little town—felt totally worth it.

She hopped online and pulled up some pics of newborn babies, all chubby and white like little dough balls.

Fresh-out-the-womb infants had those faint, wispy brows, big eyes so clear they shook you to your core, and tiny fists with five perfect little dimples…

Mu Mian’s heart was straight-up liquefying…

She thought she might finally get… how Zou Tingshen felt.

—

In the morning, Zou Tingshen spent the whole time tending to the flower beds. Mu Mian lounged on the sofa, lost in her mobile game.

The cabin had no AC, but the sea breeze blowing in was naturally cool—way more refreshing than any canned air.

So, Zou Tingshen must’ve frozen his ass off on the living room sofa last night.

Lunch was fresh and nourishing without being heavy: a bowl of nutrient-packed chicken soup, a plate of vibrant greens. For the summer heat, there was even a dish of smacked cucumbers, hitting just the right spot for body and soul.

The greens and cukes were all straight from Zou Tingshen’s backyard plot—freshly picked that morning.

The guy really knew how to savor life. They’d only been in town a day, and Mu Mian was already forgetting who she was.

No scrolling Weibo, no WeChat pings—just tuning out the mainland chaos and duking it out with some kid in an online game.

Zou Tingshen had to be the best cook and life-enjoyer among all the male celebs out there.

The industry these days was a total grind—actors drowning in schmoozing and gigs, no time to actually breathe and appreciate the little things.

Zou Tingshen was like a breath of fresh air in that world.

The island’s climate and soil weren’t exactly veggie-friendly, but he’d experimented with a bunch of methods until he nailed it. The garden got some local help keeping it tidy, and they’d timed their arrival perfectly—the cukes and greens were ripe for the picking.

The meal tugged at Mu Mian’s memories of when Grandma was still around, whipping up those homey veggie dishes for them all.

Her parents had passed young, leaving Grandma as the only woman in the house.

Mu Mian hadn’t even had a chance to learn the ropes of housework from her before the old lady slipped away first.

After that, it was just her, big bro, and Grandpa.

The auntie they hired was a solid cook, sure, but Mu Mian never tasted veggies that fresh again. The little kitchen garden in the courtyard got turned into a flower patch by the auntie, and everything that screamed “Grandma” got a full makeover.

Her mind had wandered too far, only to be snapped back by Zou Tingshen’s probing gaze.

Mu Mian shoveled rice while sneaking peeks at him. After a beat, she set down her bowl and asked, “What? Can’t just stare at me ’cause I’m too pretty. So, what’s the plan for this afternoon?”

“I’ll tidy the yard; you do the laundry,” Zou Tingshen said, setting his bowl aside. That’s when Mu Mian clocked the real gap between them.

His bowl was man-sized, a solid fistful. Hers? Easily bigger than her face by a good margin.

Mu Mian marveled at her own ballooning appetite, snapping a pic on her phone to brag to Ming Wei about her chow-down.

Ming Wei: “Your buzz has died down lately. You’re eating like a champ—why not go live munching for the fans?”

Did she really need to tank her image that hard for some likes…?

Ming Wei: “Think outside the box. Let the fans ease into your cute side bit by bit.”

“You saying I’ve got ‘cute’ anywhere on me?” Mu Mian fired off a facepalm-cry emoji.

Ming Wei: “Give it a shot. Just be mindful during the stream. You’re off for four months—gotta keep the chatter going somehow.”

Ming Wei had a point.

This place was such a hidden idyll, Mu Mian had nearly blanked on the fact that she was a star.

—

After lunch, Zou Tingshen pulled out a tray.

Inside: needles, thread, scissors, fabric scraps, and a half-finished baby onesie.

There was already one finished piece—a pair of tiny fabric shoes, with little pom-poms dangling from the straps. Adorably pint-sized.

Mu Mian snatched up the shoes, cradling them in her palm for a closer look, totally smitten—her inner girl was about to burst. “These are so cute! Where’d you snag ’em? The embroidery’s top-notch.”

“Handmade.” Zou Tingshen ducked his head to thread the needle, his posture straight out of some wise old grandma’s playbook.

His long fingers looked like polished jade against the floral fabric, his expression its usual cool detachment. Paired with this girly craft, though? It came off weirdly tender.

—Handy-with-a-needle Old Zou.

Mu Mian propped her elbows on the table, chin in hands, watching Old Zou stitch up the baby clothes. Her lips curved up, a fizzy little joy bubbling in her chest.

The more she watched him embroider, the more familiar it felt. She asked, “Where’d you get these fabrics?”

“From the closet,” Zou Tingshen said.

“!!!”

Mu Mian clutched her chest, eyes bugging out. “Zou Tingshen! You cut up my clothes?! Do you know how much that limited-edition one cost? What happened to ‘thrifty housekeeping’?”

Zou Tingshen glanced up at her, his tone flat. “Looks versus the baby—which matters more?”

Mu Mian hugged her belly, blurting, “Both, obviously!”

“If they’re equal, what’s the harm in beauty sacrificing for the kid?” Zou Tingshen said.

Mu Mian’s heart bled. She grabbed his needle hand, squeezing tight, gazing at him all earnest and lovey. “Old Zou, thrifty housekeeping means not wasting stuff like this—it’s way pricier than undies! Baby clothes are everywhere; can’t we just shop together?”

“That’s different,” Zou Tingshen said, slipping his hand free, cool as ever. “Thrift doesn’t apply to the child. As parents, we should step up with some sacrifice, got it?”

He was schooling her.

She’d used the kid to rein him in; now he was flipping it right back.

Mu Mian pulled a long face. “Old Zou… what’ll it take for you to stop hacking up my wardrobe?”

Zou Tingshen pondered for a sec, then stood. Mu Mian heaved her belly up and waddled after him in tiny steps.

He ducked into the bedroom and hauled out a pile of clothes—his stuff mixed with hers.

“I’ll handle the yard,” he said, dumping them into her arms. “You do the wash. There’s a basin out back, height’s perfect for a pregnant lady. Call me when you’re hanging ’em, okay?”

“Okay, fine—anything as long as you quit snipping my clothes.” Mu Mian clutched the bundle and headed to the backyard, firing herself up like she’d mainlined caffeine. She cranked the faucet and got to scrubbing.

She soaked his white shirt, soaped it up, and went to town with her hands.

Zou Tingshen stood silently behind her the whole time, watching. He didn’t even get a word of guidance out before she finished the first piece.

Turns out, the lady wasn’t incapable of laundry—she was just terminally lazy.

Look at her go—nailing it.

He curved his lips in a smirk, tossing out, “Miss Mu, who couldn’t wash a stitch yesterday? Talk about a glow-up.”

“…” Mu Mian kept scrubbing, mumbling something evasive. “Call it a natural gift. Never eaten pork, but I’ve seen pigs trot by, y’know? Laundry’s no match for me.”

“Fair point.” Zou Tingshen patted her shoulder. “Keep it up, Miss Natural Gift.”

His pat was feather-light.

Mu Mian caught a glimpse of his face—something off about it.

By evening, sure enough, the man crashed on the sofa and… couldn’t get up.

Zou Tingshen was burning up at 39 degrees Celsius. Mu Mian stared at the thermometer, freaked.

She’d only been here a day—total stranger in a strange land. So now what…?

She helped him to the bed, belly and all, then knelt by the side, feeling his forehead. “Old Zou, how do I even get you to a hospital?”

Zou Tingshen was delirious with fever, body dead weight—he couldn’t stand if he tried.

He hacked up a cough and shoved his phone at her. “Doctor Qima’s in my contacts. Call her.”

“Got it.” Mu Mian took the phone and dialed, filling the doc in on Zou Tingshen’s state.

Dr. Qima arrived quickly, hooked him up to an IV, then switched to English to brief Mu Mian. “Mr. Zou’s got a high fever from chill and overwork. Call me when the drip’s almost done; I’ve got another patient waiting. I’ll head out.”

“Alright, take care, Doctor.” Seeing the doc off pushed it past midnight.

Mu Mian glanced up at the fresh IV bag, bone-tired, and knelt back on the wooden floor.

She propped her chin on the bed edge like a long-snouted pup draping its muzzle over its owner’s frame, staring up at him all wide-eyed and woebegone. In a small, pitiful voice, she asked, “Can I sleep in the bed with you tonight?”