Only once she was in the taxi did Fang Long feel the exhaustion hit her; the streetlights flickering past the window left her momentarily dazed.

Jiang Yao, Wu Danchun — both faded gradually from her mind along with the retreating streetscape.

Yes, tonight she’d vented her anger for herself, but there wasn’t a shred of satisfaction in it now.

There was already a hole in her heart, like a bottomless abyss, no matter how she tried to fill it, it never filled.

She let her mind wander blankly, not noticing the meter on the taxi driver’s dashboard ticking away rapidly.

Her aunt’s home was in the north of town — from the police station it should’ve cost at most ten yuan, but when the taxi stopped at the alley entrance, the meter displayed a glaring red “20.”

Absurd. Clearly the driver had rigged the meter.

If it were the usual Fang Long, she’d have fought with the driver at once, but right now she couldn’t even muster the energy to speak, just wanting to get out of the car and go home to sleep.

To make things worse, she’d spent quite a bit singing karaoke tonight, and there was only a single ten-yuan note left in her pocket.

“Little sister, hurry up and pay, I still need to pick up more fares.” The driver kept sizing her up in the rearview mirror, his gaze a little lecherous.

“…I only have ten yuan left.” Fang Long unfolded the crumpled bill and handed it to the driver.

“Are you serious?” The driver suddenly raised his voice. “You look like a decent person, why are you trying to skip out on the fare?”

Fang Long frowned: “Isn’t it your meter that’s the problem? Did you take a detour too?”

The driver naturally denied it: “Impossible, my meter works fine, and I didn’t take any detour! If I had taken a detour, why didn’t you say something earlier? Only now that we’ve arrived you’re accusing me of detouring — I think you’re just trying to dodge the fare!”

Nine out of ten taxis in town had rigged meters; residents had been burned by this before, and in recent years, people had learned to agree on the fare with the driver before getting in.

Fang Long regretted not settling the fare before getting in the car, but she really didn’t have the energy to argue with the driver right now.

She took out her phone and opened her contacts.

At this hour, her aunt would already be asleep, and Fang Long didn’t want to wake her.

Jiang Yao and Wu Danchun’s names were still in her contacts; Fang Long scrolled past them quickly, but for a while she couldn’t think of a single friend who could conveniently come help her.

“So what now, little sister? No family you can call to pay?” The driver stroked his chin, his tone suddenly turning flippant. “How about this — leave me your phone number, I’ll come find you tomorrow, and you can pay me back then.”

Fang Long finally noticed the driver’s unpleasant gaze, and her whole body immediately felt uneasy. She shifted toward the car door and rolled all the windows down.

At that moment, the sound of a motorcycle exhaust came from behind the car, growing closer.

Fang Long blinked and quickly leaned out to look back.

It was actually Zhou Ya — he hadn’t gone back to the shop?

The motorcycle rolled slowly closer, and Fang Long hurriedly pushed open the car door, blocking Zhou Ya’s path: “Hey! Help me out!”

Zhou Ya squeezed the brake, one leg down, chin tilted slightly as he looked at her: “…Who are you?”

Fang Long knew Zhou Ya was still angry — he was petty like that, and whenever the two of them fought, he’d sulk for a whole week.

But she wasn’t like that; she could bend when needed.

Fang Long’s voice went small: “Brother, I’m short on cash.”

Zhou Ya pressed his lips together.

The streetlights on this road were spaced far apart, the light dim, but the girl’s eyes were unusually bright.

Stars hidden within, a moon hanging there.

He gave a snort through his nose: “Who was it that just said not to bother me?”

Fang Long shook her head: “No, I never said that.”

She remembered she’d only told Zhou Ya not to come bail her out from the police station next time — strictly speaking, the two statements weren’t the same.

As she shook her head, the light in her eyes swayed along with it.

An itch rose in Zhou Ya’s throat; impatiently, he tilted his chin: “Stand aside.”

The driver, tired of waiting, got out too, hand resting on the roof of the car: “Little sister, how much longer is this going to take?”

Zhou Ya kicked down the kickstand, pulled a wad of cash from his back pocket, and walked toward the driver as he got off the bike: “How much?”

The driver glanced him over and said: “Twenty.”

Zhou Ya paused, lifting his eyelids, asking bluntly: “Meter’s rigged?”

The driver choked, and this time, unlike his loud, aggressive tone from moments ago, he stammered: “No, no, it’s not rigged.”

The man in front of him was tall and built, his face stern, his gaze cold — even on such a freezing night wearing only a short-sleeved shirt, he still radiated menace.

The driver, somewhat intimidated, finally backed down: “…Just, just give me ten, that’s fine.”

Zhou Ya pulled out a bill and handed it over; the driver took it, got back in the car, muttering something unpleasant under his breath.

After the taxi left, Zhou Ya turned to walk his bike, only to find that Fang Long had quietly slipped away at some point.

He turned to look down the narrow side street and saw she’d already run some distance away.

The sound of her boots was not quiet — tap tap, tap tap — bouncing into his ears.

The side street was long and narrow, lit only by the wall lamps on either side.

The warm lamplight wrapped around her figure, like a candy dissolving the moment it touched the tongue.

Zhou Ya looked a moment longer, then looked away.

He muttered through gritted teeth: “Ungrateful little white-eyed wolf.”

Zhou Ya didn’t rush into the side street right away; he waited a short while before riding in.

The Zhou family lived in an old building deep within the side street. After parking, Zhou Ya grabbed his leather jacket and headed upstairs.

When he reached the second floor, he stopped in his tracks.

Fang Long was actually standing at the stairwell corner, hands behind her back, pressed against the wall, as if waiting for him.

Zhou Ya froze slightly, momentarily disoriented, unsure for a second what year it was.

Fang Long glanced up toward the third floor and said in a lowered voice: “Auntie seems to be awake, I saw a light in the room.”

Zhou Ya just stood there on the second floor, not going up further, half a flight of stairs still between them.

After a long moment, Zhou Ya spoke: “Scared now? Weren’t scared when you were causing trouble.”

Fang Long puffed her cheeks, looking down and kicking at some dust on the floor: “Auntie’s not in good health, don’t worry her too much.”

Zhou Ya gave a “hmph,” walked up the stairs, and threw the leather jacket over Fang Long, covering her head entirely.

He said: “That outfit of yours is a mess, it’s hard not to make my mother suspicious. Also, let your hair down, cover your face and neck a bit.”

Fang Long pulled the jacket off, secretly shooting him a glare.

Small, light.

The two of them had quite a size difference — he was tall, she was short; he was sturdy, she was thin. The leather jacket on her looked like a child sneaking into an adult’s clothes.

The collar carried the smell of leather mixed with tobacco; Fang Long wrinkled her nose and zipped it up.

When the two entered the apartment, Ma Huimin was sitting by the landline, phone receiver in hand.

Fang Long’s phone rang at that exact moment too, the electronic tune ringing loudly through the stairwell.

Fang Long hung up her call, trying to make her voice sound as lively as possible: “Auntie, why aren’t you asleep yet?”

Ma Huimin set down the receiver, somewhat surprised — she hadn’t expected her son and niece to walk in together: “I was already asleep, got up to use the bathroom, saw you weren’t back yet, so I was calling you. How did you two end up coming back together?”

“Didn’t I go out singing with friends tonight? After we finished, everyone said let’s go grab a late-night snack, so I took them to Brother’s shop. After eating, Brother said he was heading home too, so he gave me a ride back on the way.”

Fang Long fluffed her hair, deliberately turning the cheek that hadn’t been slapped toward her aunt. “My fault, I had too much fun tonight and forgot to check in, made you worry.”

Ma Huimin looked at her gently for a few seconds, then sighed: “As long as you’re okay. It’s late, go shower and get to bed. You’ve got work tomorrow.”

“It’s fine, I’m on the evening shift tomorrow. Auntie, you should get some sleep.”

“Alright.” Ma Huimin looked to Zhou Ya. “A-Ya, come in for a moment.”

“Okay.”

The moment he stepped through the door, Zhou Ya had put away all his usual sharp edges, his tone considerably gentler.

He gave Fang Long a look signaling her to go do whatever she needed to do, then went into his mother’s room.

The bedroom was a bit cold; Zhou Ya frowned: “Why isn’t the heater on?”

This year was a cold winter, temperatures had dropped early. Ma Huimin was frail and sensitive to cold, so Zhou Ya had bought her a new oil heater in advance.

Ma Huimin sat on the bed and shook her head: “Running it too long dries the air out, my throat gets uncomfortable.”

“Then tomorrow I’ll get you a humidifier.”

“No need, no need, the forecast says it’s warming up soon, don’t waste the money.”

“How is that a waste?” Zhou Ya walked to the bedside, tucking the blanket corner around his mother, and asked, “Anywhere feeling unwell?”

“No, I’m fine, just worried about your sister.” Ma Huimin sighed softly. “Did something happen to her again? I noticed her expression looked strange, and her face seemed swollen.”

Zhou Ya was silent for a few seconds, then answered honestly: “Nothing serious, just some kids causing a scuffle. It’s already been sorted out, don’t worry.”

“Is she badly hurt?”

“A little, but it’s all just surface injuries. She’ll be fine in a few days.”

“That child’s temper just isn’t great, but her heart is still good.”

Ma Huimin took Zhou Ya’s hand, patting the back of it. “As her older brother, look after her more. After all, we’re the only family she has left… whatever you do, please, don’t let her end up like her parents, getting mixed up in things she shouldn’t.”

Ma Huimin’s hand had little flesh on it, skin over bone, with visible marks left from IV lines.

Zhou Ya held his mother’s frail hand, gently patting it: “Mm, I know.”