My Iridescent Dream - Chapter 4

I’m impatient, with a powerful need for control.

Perhaps because my parents were terrible people. I’d spent sixteen years living with them, and by the time my aunt took me away, much of who I was had already set.

Fortunately, my mother’s younger sister taught me a few important things, too.

First and foremost: patience.

She was extraordinarily patient.

And I, watching her day after day, learned some of that patience myself.

Using patience to suppress my need for control was like covering a fire with a thick quilt.

Sometimes it smothered the flames. Lift the quilt, and only heavy black smoke remained.

More often, though, it merely delayed the fire spreading through my heart. In the end, the flames would roar up and burn the quilt along with everything else.

And Nalan Tumi attracted me so intensely.

Her very existence poured oil on that fire.

I couldn’t stop myself pushing things forward.

Yet I had to tell myself, again and again: patience.

Be patient.

Very patient.

Nalan Tumi had willingly spent four years keeping house for a man, all to marry him and have his children.

Changing her thinking would take time.

And a great, great deal of patience.

I let out a frustrated sigh.

How had my aunt managed to quietly watch over someone for two years? Two years, without even knowing that person’s name.

Yet she’d never been restless or impatient.

If nothing unexpected had happened, she probably could have kept waiting.

What patience. What perseverance.

I couldn’t do it.

I wasn’t my aunt. I’d have to use my own methods.

—

That evening, Nalan Tumi replied.

She accepted.

As always, she made decisions remarkably fast.

My agitation finally eased a little.

I messaged her. “Nine tomorrow morning. Be at the office on time.”

“Okay,” she replied.

I tossed my phone aside and leaned back in my chair.

Good.

The first step, at last.

If I could keep her close, I’d find a way to make her see me.

She didn’t know what a personal assistant was.

But she knew how to take care of someone’s daily needs.

She’d been doing it for four years.

She arrived at eight thirty, thinking she was early. I was earlier still.

Seeing me at my computer, she opened those doe eyes wide.

Her expression made me laugh. “What?”

“I… I didn’t expect you to be here so early, Miss Jun. What time do you usually come in?”

“It doesn’t matter how early I come. You only need to be here at nine.”

“…Oh.”

She took an insulated lunchbox from her canvas bag. “Have you had breakfast, Miss Jun? I made shrimp and seaweed rolls. Would you like some while they’re warm?”

I glanced at the box she’d set on my desk.

“What about you? Have you eaten?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“And Ma Zhiming?”

“…I left some for him.”

“Looking after me and him—won’t that wear you out?”

She paused.

“It’s fine. I… I can manage.”

I said no more.

Inside the box lay six neatly arranged seaweed rolls, pan-fried golden and fragrant.

Two hands offered me a cute pair of ceramic chopsticks.

I looked up.

For some reason she instinctively avoided my gaze. Head lowered, she said, “Use these, Miss Jun. They’re new. Nobody’s used them.”

I took the Cinnamoroll chopsticks.

She watched me eat, then asked, “Is there a refrigerator here, Miss Jun?”

“A shared one in the break room.”

“I’ll be right back.”

She left with her canvas bag.

Soon she returned. “Where’s my desk, Miss Jun?”

I pointed to the farthest corner of the office, where a desk and chair stood.

As she went to organize her things, I reminded her, “Go to HR for your onboarding paperwork. I’ve already spoken to them.”

“Huh? Oh, all right.”

—

I took a call that morning.

In my office, I habitually used speakerphone so I could keep working.

A rough voice came through. “Engineer Jun, the boss says the main entrance isn’t grand enough. He wants a ‘wow’ factor.”

I snorted.

Nalan Tumi was making coffee. She put down the pot and turned to listen closely.

I rubbed my brow. “What kind of ‘wow’? Be specific.”

“How should I know? He just said he wants wow. Whatever makes it wow, do that.”

I laughed in exasperation.

Nalan Tumi turned back, but I saw the corners of her mouth climbing despite her efforts to hold them down.

After hanging up, I sighed at the drawings on my screen.

She brought over the coffee. “Miss Jun…”

“Don’t call me Miss Jun.”

“Engineer Jun.” Clever girl—she changed it immediately. “Try this and see if you like it.”

“Leave it there.”

“…Oh.”