If love could be won with just a love poem, there wouldn't be so many heartbroken people in this world. Unfortunately, the life modes you and I started on were set to the highest difficulty, while Yang Yi was playing on easy mode.
Murphy said, "If you write me a new love poem on the spot, I'll say yes!"
Hearing this, Yang Yi was overjoyed. Figuring out how to be romantic was a real headache for him, but "writing" a love poem? That couldn't be easier. So he agreed readily, then racked his brains, trying to pick the most romantic love poem to give to Murphy.
Got it!
Yang Yi stood up, holding a chopstick in his right hand as if it were a microphone. He was a bit nervous, clenching his left fist and then releasing it, trying to adjust his state.
Murphy pursed her lips, a pang of guilt rising in her heart. She wondered if she was being too willful, pushing Yang Yi too hard.
Maybe a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl had the right to act spoiled, to make a man do this and that for her, to demand he fulfill all her wishes.
But she wasn't a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl anymore! She was thirty, had a child—what right did she have to be stubborn and willful? Even if he was Xixi's father, wouldn't Yang Yi get impatient? Wouldn't he be annoyed by her capriciousness?
Murphy felt uneasy, afraid she had crossed Yang Yi's boundaries. What if things turned sour and there was no way to back down?
Yet, Murphy also wanted to experience the kind of sweet love described in books! She wanted to be treated like a little princess, doted on by a man, indulged in her whims, with him going out of his way to create romance and surprise her.
It was so contradictory.
Just as Murphy was caught in this push-and-pull, Yang Yi cleared his throat softly and began his poetry recitation: "I love you!" Note 1
Huh? Murphy looked up, a bit confused. Was "I love you" a direct confession? Or the title of the poem?
"I love you, not only for what you are, But for what I am when I am with you. I love you, not only for what you have made of yourself, But for what you are making of me."
It really was a poem! Murphy froze. The first stanza stirred a whirlwind of emotions within her. She thought of the changes in Yang Yi over the past two months.
Maybe this was his way of baring his heart?
"I love you because you have done so much to make me the most of myself. I love you because you have looked past my foolishness and weakness, as if they didn't exist. And the most beautiful part of my heart has been lit up by your light."
Murphy stared blankly at Yang Yi. In that moment, she felt he had voiced her own feelings—yes, it felt like the roles were reversed!
Though Yang Yi was confessing, Murphy felt that it was her own foolishness and weakness that seemed nonexistent in his eyes.
She also felt a pang of shame, remembering how she had been picky before, often complaining to Mo Xiaojuan about Yang Yi's stubbornness and rigidity, never noticing his brilliance, his captivating excellence.
Yang Yi said she had brought out the truest part of him. Murphy felt she hadn't done as much as Yang Yi thought, so she was both moved and ashamed.
Yang Yi's voice was pleasant, a magnetic, sexy tone, gentle and rhythmic as he continued:
"No one else has ever bothered to go that far, No one else thought the search was worth the trouble, So no one ever discovered my beauty, So no one ever came here. I love you, Because you have turned my life from ordinary to extraordinary."
At this point, Yang Yi's voice grew passionate, infused with genuine emotion. He felt that the killing and loneliness of his past life had long tired him, but in this life, his ordinary world had become colorful because of Xixi and Murphy, these two women.
Yes, wasn't that turning the ordinary into the extraordinary?
Murphy's heart swelled with an indescribable pride, or perhaps secret joy.
What Yang Yi said was true—"No one ever discovered my beauty." Murphy now felt incredibly lucky.
Because in the past, he had spent his youth in the military, and not long after leaving, he met her. Though the beginning of their acquaintance was unpleasant and the process delicate, the outcome now seemed good. Fate had bound them tightly together, keeping other flashy temptations from stealing him away.
Only this way did she have the chance to discover Yang Yi's excellence.
This man was devoted, never flirting with others. This man was family-oriented, caring for their daughter without complaint, better at housework than any woman. This man was talented, able to write bestselling novels and sweet love poems, cook delicious meals, and tell fascinating stories. This man was also romantic, usually as stiff as a log, but when he decided to be romantic, it was overwhelmingly sweet.
More importantly, it all seemed to have changed for her. He was gradually becoming excellent for her sake.
She was grateful, grateful that Yang Yi had hidden his brilliance behind a mask of rigidity and dullness, grateful that she could slowly uncover his goodness.
"Because of you, my life, Is no longer an ordinary inn, But has become a magnificent temple. In my daily work, There is no longer complaint, But beautiful melodies!"
Yang Yi continued reciting with deep emotion, while Murphy could no longer contain the turmoil inside her. She covered her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes as she gazed at him with deep affection.
At the end of the poem, it began again with a heartfelt confession:
"I love you, Because you make my life infinitely better than faith, Because you make my life full of joy more than fate. And you do all this, Without a single effort, a single word, a single hint, Just because you are you!"
What confession could be more touching than telling someone: It's not for any other reason, but because it's you—you make everything in my life beautiful, so I love you!
Murphy understood Yang Yi's poem. She was crying, so moved she couldn't speak, unsure of what to say.
Yang Yi was a bit nervous, asking cautiously, "So? Is this poem good enough?"
Murphy nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again, leaving Yang Yi confused.
What did that mean?
Yes or no?
But Yang Yi thought, Murphy had to be satisfied to agree! And her tearful expression didn't exactly look like satisfaction.
"It's okay if it's not enough—I have more!" Yang Yi was determined today, ready to recite all the poems from his past life if needed to make Murphy happy.
He raised the chopstick again and recited with deep feeling:
"How I wish, for a doorway, In the morning, sunlight on the grass, We stand, Leaning against our door. The door is low, but the sun is bright. The grass is seeding, The wind is rustling its leaves. We stand, without speaking, And it's already perfect." Note 2
Another classic. Yang Yi painted a beautiful picture—a happy scene of the two of them together!
In fact, it already existed. There had been many such beautiful mornings, with grass growing and birds flying, the two of them on the balcony singing together, or down on the lawn—though not just the two of them, but also a lovely little girl.
These beautiful moments were exactly what Murphy longed for!
She was already overwhelmed with emotion, tears blurring her vision, happiness choking her voice. She could only shake her head vigorously.
"Still not enough?" Yang Yi misunderstood, scratching his head earnestly. "Then I'll keep going."
"No need! I'm satisfied—I agree!" Murphy sobbed, but her voice was distorted.
Yang Yi heard her vaguely and asked in confusion, "What did you say?"
"I said, I love you!" Murphy stomped her foot, glared at him, wiped away her tears, and said huffily.
This time, Yang Yi heard more clearly, but he couldn't believe his ears. "Huh? You, what did you say?"
"Mmph—" This time, he couldn't speak either.