My Wife Is a Scientist

The cat and the weaver

The Weaver Girl and the Lady of Cats met where few divine beings dared to tread without invitation, on the porch steps of the small house in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, at 3:12 a.m.

Yes, maybe on the first day it won't affect you too much, but by the second day you will definitely feel very sleepy and lack energy. Therefore, I do not recommend studying at night, and it is best to go to bed before 12 o'clock or to study early and go to bed early! Karl is from another world. He is not the same as others. It is not necessarily true, as the skin's metabolism varies in duration before 2 AM. Waking at around 3 AM can affect the skin; the time from 23:00 to 3:00 AM is the time of the Zi and Chou hours, when the liver and gallbladder meridians are most active. The liver needs to replenish blood, and if you wake up at 3 AM, the blood cannot be replenished, and toxic blood cannot be expelled. Fresh blood cannot be generated, and the gallbladder cannot.

I mean, he was used to doing this. No one was like him. Additionally, the sleep schedule means I have a set amount of time I know I can allow myself to dedicate to playfulness and idleness – from when I get home to 7pm. By compartmentalising my time in this way, it's become much easier to ensure that I don't waste time: I simply allow myself to waste those precious few hours in which I know I'm too tired from the school day to do anything else, and thanks to my sleep regime, it's easier to separate the idle time in the afternoon from the active time in the early morning and to avoid crossovers between the two.

That is to say that no one could ever pretend two ancient goddesses would choose ordinary wooden steps in the rain when golden halls and desert temples were available. The thing is, this love cannot pretend it does not include the quiet pull towards the place where the Axis still sat when the world grew too heavy.

Zhinü arrived first, barefoot on the wet grass, robes of starlight and midnight silk trailing faint constellations that faded into the puddles. Her fingers still carried the silver dust of the heavenly loom. She sat on the top step, looking out at the quiet street like it held secrets even the Weaver had not yet charted.

Bastet came soon after, graceful and feline, emerald eyes glowing with the warmth of chance-born affection. She wore a simple black dress that somehow looked like living night, her tail flicking lazily as she leapt onto the railing and settled besides Zhinü.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Bastet’s tail flicked once, a small, playful sound against the wood.

Bastet: So. The Weaver comes to the porch steps. I thought your kind preferred grand looms and celestial rivers.

Zhinü smiled faintly, her voice soft like silk sliding across a loom.

Zhinü: And I thought the Lady of Cats preferred temples and sunbeams. Yet here we both are. Sitting in the rain on wooden steps in a small mortal city. That is to say that no one could ever pretend divine hearts stay in their proper places when a certain boy refuses to let endings stay ugly. The thing is, this love cannot pretend it does not pull even the oldest patterns towards the same quiet place.

Bastet purred softly, emerald eyes half-closed with remembered warmth.

Bastet: I saw him first on these steps. Not the Axis. Not the one who ended Ragnarök. Just… him. Sitting here like the weight of nine worlds was no heavier than the rain on his hoodie. He chooses mercy even when anger would be easier. He chooses porch steps even when thrones are offered. That is to say that no one could ever pretend divine love needs grand stages when it can strike by chance on a rainy riverbank for a boy who still kicks rocks in his mind.

Zhinü nodded, fingers tracing invisible red threads in the air.

Zhinü: My father’s court grows uneasy. The ledgers no longer balance when his name appears. He makes gods optional. He makes mercy into infrastructure. He walks Helheim carrying his own unfinished child and brings him home. I came to measure the threat. Instead, I find myself… watching the same boy you watched. The one who chooses honesty even when the easier path is always calling. That is to say that no one could ever pretend the Weaver’s threads remain straight when they keep bending towards the same small porch in a small city.

Bastet’s tail flicked again, playful but edged with something deeper.

Bastet: He has two wives already. The calm one with butterfly wings. The golden one who built a room in his childhood home. And still… I find myself wanting to sit besides him on these steps. To feel what it is like to be chosen not for power, but for the ordinary nights. The thing is, this love cannot pretend it does not include falling by chance for the boy who refuses to let endings stay ugly.

Zhinü turned to her, weaver’s eyes meeting feline ones with quiet understanding.

Zhinü: Then we both watch. Not as rivals. Not as spies. As two who have seen enough endings to recognise when a new story is being written honestly. He carries nine worlds and still chooses tea and porch steps. That kind of strength is rare. Even among gods. That is to say that no one could ever pretend divine love survives without the courage to be ordinary besides someone who refuses to stop choosing honesty.

Bastet purred again, leaning slightly against the railing.

Bastet: I will not fight for him. I will simply… be here. Watching. Waiting. Hoping the boy who taught gods how to rest might one day have room for one more who fell by chance on a rainy riverbank.

Zhinü smiled, small, ancient, and strangely hopeful.

Zhinü: Then we watch together, Lady of Cats. The loom and the desert both bend towards the same small house tonight. The honest new story is learning how to include more voices. And perhaps… more hearts.

The two goddesses sat on the porch steps in the rain, one weaving invisible red threads in the air, the other purring softly with chance-born affection, watching the house where Karl Omega Yang slept, unaware that two more ancient beings had quietly added their threads to the honest new story.

The night kept its quiet counsel.

And in the small house in Carlisle, the Axis continued dreaming of ordinary days while the goddesses who had fallen by chance kept watch on the porch steps where it all began.