The first time Lin Xinyi woke He Zhiyuan in the middle of the night, it was for dumplings.
Not just any dumplings—handmade, freshly steamed, with vinegar and chili oil on the side.
At three. In. The. Morning.
"Zhiyuan," she whispered, gently poking his shoulder.
He didn't stir.
She tried again, this time tugging the blanket. "Zhiyuan~"
Nothing. Only the quiet rhythm of his breathing.
Xinyi huffed, narrowing her eyes at his sleeping form. "Fine. You asked for it."
She leaned close, her breath brushing against his ear. "Mr. He," she murmured, voice low, teasing. "Wake up… or I'll find another man to make me dumplings."
His eyes snapped open instantly.
"…What?"
She bit her lip, feigning innocence. "Oh, you're awake."
He groaned, rubbing his temples. "It's three in the morning."
"I'm aware."
He turned his head toward her, half-dazed, half-amused. "You can't be serious."
She nodded solemnly. "Dumplings. Vinegar. Chili oil. Please."
Zhiyuan stared at her for a long second, then sighed, already swinging his legs off the bed. "You're lucky I love you."
From the kitchen came the faint sounds of clattering pans and running water. Fifteen minutes later, she was perched on a stool in one of his oversized shirts, cheeks glowing, watching him wrap dumplings with bleary precision.
"You look very professional," she teased, chin in her hands.
He gave her a dry look. "Do professional chefs usually have their wives drooling over the counter?"
"Yes. It's motivation."
When he finally placed the plate before her, she clasped her hands together dramatically. "My hero!"
Zhiyuan, mid-yawn, still couldn't stop the faint smile tugging at his lips. "Your hero needs sleep, Mrs. He."
The second time she woke him, it wasn't for food—it was to admire him.
He woke to the feeling of soft fingertips tracing along his jaw.
"Xinyi?" His voice was still thick with sleep.
She froze. "…You weren't supposed to wake up yet."
He squinted one eye open. "You're staring at me."
"Just appreciating," she murmured. "You're very… symmetrical."
Zhiyuan groaned softly, dragging her closer. "You woke me up to discuss geometry?"
"I like your face," she said simply, her tone sweetly matter-of-fact. "It makes me feel calm. Like… if I stare long enough, the baby will turn out handsome too."
He laughed quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You're ridiculous."
"And you love it," she whispered, snuggling against his chest.
He did. More than he could say.
The third time, she didn't even try subtlety.
It was almost four a.m. when she shook him awake, whispering urgently, "Zhiyuan, it's an emergency."
His instincts kicked in immediately. "What happened? Are you okay? The baby—"
"I want mango pudding."
He blinked. "…Mango pudding."
"Yes. But not just any mango pudding," she continued seriously, "the one from that dessert shop near the company."
"At four in the morning."
She nodded. "The craving doesn't wait for business hours."
He stared at her for a long second, somewhere between despair and laughter. "…I married chaos."
"And you adore me," she countered cheerfully.
"Unfortunately, yes," he muttered, grabbing his keys.
Half an hour later, Zhiyuan stood at the kitchen counter, messy-haired, spoon-feeding his very pleased wife the pudding he somehow found in the back of their fridge. She leaned against him, giggling sleepily.
"See?" she murmured. "Our hero saves the night again."
"'Our hero'?" he repeated, amused.
She patted her belly. "You're his hero too."
Zhiyuan froze for a moment, then smiled—quietly, deeply, the kind that reached his eyes. "Best title I've ever earned," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Sometimes, though, she woke him up for no reason at all.
Just because she wanted to hear his voice. To feel him hold her.
Those nights were the quietest. She would turn to him in the dark, trace his face with her fingertips, and whisper, "Zhiyuan… are you awake?"
He'd hum in response, still half asleep, instinctively tightening his arms around her.
"I love you," she'd whisper, barely audible.
His lips would find her hair. "Sleep, silly," he'd murmur. "I love you too."
And she would—safe, content, her heart full.
By the end of the month, He Zhiyuan had perfected the art of 3 a.m. husband duty: cooking noodles with one eye open, finding obscure snacks, and deciphering cravings that changed every other night.
And yet, every time she called his name, every sleepy "Zhiyuan~ please," every tiny smile when he returned with food — it all reminded him of one simple truth.
She wasn't just the woman he loved.
She was his home.
And now, the mother of the small heartbeat that was slowly becoming the center of their world.