Zhou Ya understood what his mother was worried about.

She worried that when she, too, passed away, he would be left alone in the world, all by himself.

That was why she wanted him to settle down and start a family soon.

Zhou Ya’s tone turned earnest. “Mom, I understand. I’ll think it over carefully. But don’t keep worrying yourself over nothing—Fang Long says you’ll live to a hundred.”

Ma Huimin’s tears turned to laughter. “You believe that smooth-talking little brat too? Well, I will try. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve become a grandmother.”

Zhou Ya’s mouth curved up slightly. “Then keep at it—all the way until you’re a great-grandmother.”

Having comforted his mother, Zhou Ya took his clothes and went into the bathroom.

Though he’d already showered once that afternoon, cooking dinner in the evening had left him with a bit of a smell, so he planned a quick rinse.

The bathroom floor tiles were still damp—left by Fang Long.

Something felt different from usual, but Zhou Ya didn’t dwell on it and turned on the water to wash.

Just as he was about to grab the soap to wash his hair, he paused.

There was moisture on the soap too.

Only then did he notice that the shower stall was missing that sweet, fruity fragrance, and instead carried a faint trace of soap scent.

Zhou Ya’s brow furrowed slightly. Had Fang Long used his soap?

What for?

He hadn’t figured out an answer by the time he finished showering.

Back in his room, he picked up his phone and found a new text message.

It was from Shen Ying.

She first praised his cooking, then asked if she could come eat at his restaurant sometime.

Zhou Ya didn’t reply to her. Instead, he called Fang Long.

“Take me away—even if my love, your freedom, all turn to foam—take me away—”

Fang Long was the only one in the tiny karaoke room. Even when her singing cracked off-key, no one was there to boo her.

The phone in her bag sat silent, because she’d turned it off.

Telling her aunt she’d “made plans with friends to sing” had just been a lie made up on the spot, but if you’re going to put on an act, you commit to it—so after her shower, she went out anyway.

On this holiday, even the lobby of “88” karaoke was packed with customers waiting for a room, but most were groups of friends coming to sing together; rarely did someone come alone like Fang Long.

A guest had left early, freeing up a mini room, and Fang Long, alone, happened to get it.

She used the big red envelope Zhou Ya had given her to pay. A bottle of Chivas, half a dozen Master Kong green teas, plus plenty of free peanuts she wheedled out of them.

Song after song, singing until her throat went hoarse, was the only way to temporarily ignore the fluttering that kept rising and falling in her chest.

Doing that thing with Zhou Ya’s soap in the bathroom hadn’t made her feel any better.

Once the soap film faded, all that was left was a dry, parched feeling.

Singing on, Fang Long suddenly realized—this mini room was the same one where she and her ex-boyfriend had fought before.

“How unlucky…”

Her mood soured instantly. She dropped the mic, switched to original vocal mode, and decided she’d finish the liquor, finish the playlist, and go home.

She didn’t like mixing in too much green tea—most people did a third liquor to two-thirds tea, but she did the reverse.

Drinking too much water made her need to pee. She grabbed her bag and headed to the restroom at the end of the hall.

While washing her hands, she hiccupped, all alcohol fumes.

She thought, time to head home.

The moment she stepped out of the restroom, Fang Long froze.

A familiar face stood in the hallway.

Jiang Yao leaned sideways against the wall, an unnatural flush on his face. Seeing Fang Long come out, he raised the corner of his mouth in greeting: “Hey, long time no see.”

Fang Long used to think he was the small town’s “playboy heartthrob.” Now she just found him repulsive.

She rolled her eyes and walked straight past him, not forgetting to curse under her breath: “Such bad luck, on New Year’s of all days.”

Jiang Yao caught up in two strides, blocking her path, his voice lazy and languid: “Who’d you come with? A friend? Or a new boyfriend?”

The man exhaled a strong reek of alcohol as he spoke. Fang Long covered her nose, growing impatient. “Who I came with is none of your damn business.”

Jiang Yao smiled. “No need to be so sharp… after all, we were pretty affectionate once.”

He’d come to “88” with friends after dinner, never expecting to run into Fang Long.

Watching her walk into the restroom, her peach-shaped rear swaying in tight jeans, he’d felt an inexplicable itch and waited here for her after using the bathroom himself.

The girl in front of him was gorgeous even with a cold, hostile glare, skin flawless, cheeks dusted with a light blush.

Jiang Yao asked again: “I’m asking for real—do you have a boyfriend or not?”

Fang Long was so furious she laughed instead, crossing her arms. “What if I do, what if I don’t?”

“If you do, then never mind.”

Jiang Yao shrugged. “If you don’t… if you’re really that lonely, you could come find me.”

Her chest and throat both burning, Fang Long forced down her nausea and asked coldly, “Oh? And what about Wu Danchun then?”

Jiang Yao sighed, looking thoroughly displeased. “Danchun’s fine in every way, it’s just she’s always so uptight, totally different from you—we’ve been together this long and she still won’t let me ‘hit a home run.’ We’re both adults, I don’t know what she’s playing coy for.”

He suddenly gave a short laugh, his eyes hazy and lewd: “Honestly, I still think about you sometimes…”

He hadn’t spelled it out, but Fang Long understood exactly what he meant.

A chill shot straight up from the soles of her feet; she was so angry her teeth chattered.

But tonight she didn’t want to resort to hitting someone.

She didn’t want to make a scene again—not on New Year’s, having Zhou Ya have to go bail her out from the police station!

Ren Jianbai’s words from that time in the police car circled in her mind: think of the people who matter to you before you act.

Her nails dug deep into her palm; Fang Long used the pain to suppress the impulse.

Word by word, clear and precise, she cursed: “Jiang Yao, you’re filthy.”

Jiang Yao’s smile faded a little, his tone turning contemptuous. “I’m filthy? Baby, you and I are cut from the same cloth, neither of us has room to talk.”

His voice grew louder, almost drowning out the music in the hallway: “You’re a pair of worn-out shoes that’s been through plenty of feet—what right do you have—”

Before he could finish, a hand shot out from behind Jiang Yao, grabbed his collar, and slammed him straight into the wall beside them!

A dull “bang” rang out as Jiang Yao’s back hit the wall hard, the impact making stars burst before his eyes.

It happened so suddenly that Fang Long, startled, stumbled back several steps.

She quickly made out that the person who’d hauled Jiang Yao roughly up from the ground and then driven a fist into his stomach was Zhou Ya.

The bitter bile in his stomach nearly all came up as Jiang Yao retched and cursed, “You… you fucking—ugh!!”

Zhou Ya didn’t want to hear another word from him, driving a fist into his face and knocking him flat to the ground.

“Zhou Ya, Zhou Ya, that’s enough, stop hitting him!”

Fang Long panicked a little. Seeing a KTV staff member hurry off toward the front desk, she had a vague sense of what would happen next.

She frowned and shouted loudly: “Brother!!”

But Zhou Ya, in the grip of his rage, was completely unable to calm down.

He crouched down, hauling up Jiang Yao’s collar: “Kid, I forgot to leave you a word last time.”

Blood and drool mixing together, Jiang Yao mumbled a plea for mercy: “Don’t hit me… big brother, not my face…”

Zhou Ya’s eyes went cold. His fingers, without much force, slapped Jiang Yao’s face twice. His voice, hoarse as if scorched by wildfire, said: “You’re really not a fucking man.”