Business at the KTV was good tonight—every room had customers. Even with all the doors shut, the singing still bled through the thin panels: this room belting “The God of Wealth Arrives,” that one singing “A Thousand Years Later,” and someone early on already trying for the impossibly high notes of “Love Is Worth Dying For,” all mingling chaotically in the hallway.

Soon several staff members rushed over and separated the two feuding guests. Someone stood in front of Zhou Ya, while another helped Jiang Yao up, asking if he wanted the police called.

“Police…” Jiang Yao, as if his soul had only just returned to his body, shook his head repeatedly. “No—no need! It was a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding!”

The staff member looked troubled. “But you’re bleeding from the nose…”

“I fell myself, no need for police…”

Not daring to even look at Zhou Ya, Jiang Yao pushed away the staff trying to help him, propped himself against the wall, and staggered toward the other end of the hallway.

Some room’s door had been pushed open, spilling out singing—off-key, but still recognizable as someone belting Jeff Chang’s “Love Like a Tide.”

Fang Long paid no attention to Jiang Yao’s odd behavior, nor did she have any mind to answer the staff member asking questions beside her.

Her head buzzed. Her whole being felt like a stone on a beach, once buried deep in the sand, now swept loose by wave after wave, dragged into a more turbulent tide.

Gurgle, gurgle.

She kept sinking, down toward the depths of the sea.

A figure swayed beside her, the light dim as water. She looked at him; he looked at her.

Fang Long moved first.

She reached out and grabbed Zhou Ya’s hand, pulling him outward.

Zhou Ya, who had been like an erupting volcano moments ago, had already gone quiet.

He looked down at his hand, now held, somewhat dazed.

But he didn’t shake it off.

She walked fast, her ponytail swinging cheerfully behind her head, a stretch of exposed neck flushed with a faint red.

Higher up, her earlobes too looked like peeled pomegranate seeds.

Whether from the alcohol, or from emotions running too high—

Or perhaps it was the light in this hallway, mixing the feelings hidden in people’s hearts into something ambiguous and hazy.

The lobby still had many customers waiting for rooms, but Fang Long moved as if through an empty space, pulling Zhou Ya out of the KTV.

Motorcycles crowded the space outside. Fang Long looked left and right—she’d walked too fast—and, panting, looked up to ask, “Where’s your motorcycle? Where’d you park it?”

Zhou Ya met her eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Her eyes were rimmed red.

He tilted his chin, pointing toward the parking lot across the street: “The bike suddenly wouldn’t start, I drove the car.”

Fang Long couldn’t help herself and glared fiercely at him.

She had so many things she wanted to ask, wanted to say, all pent up in her chest like a balloon ready to burst at any moment.

She dragged him across the street.

He let himself be dragged, obediently.

At half past ten at night, the small town had few cars left. The road, without a median barrier, rippled with light and shadow like waves.

Their two hands remained clasped.

A swaying little bridge, yet it connected two isolated islands.

The open-air lot held plenty of cars, sedans and SUVs, license plates all gleaming—but the silver-white van parked in the corner stood out, one in a million, unmistakably conspicuous.

Fang Long only let go of his hand once they reached the car, her voice muffled: “Open the door.”

Her palm had left his hand warm and burning. Zhou Ya clenched his fist tighter, nails digging into his palm—not quite painful, but enough to keep him a little more clear-headed.

He took out his car key and unlocked the door.

Fang Long sat in the passenger seat and heard Zhou Ya ask, “Home?”

Fang Long slammed the door shut hard, cutting straight to the point: “How did you end up here?”

“…Your phone was off.”

Zhou Ya inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The car shuddered as it started, the sound not quiet either.

He continued: “So I came to ’88’ to find you.”

“Wait.”

Fang Long reached over and pulled his key out, stuffing it into her shoulder bag, then tossed it into the back. The trunk had no padding, and it landed with a dull “thunk.”

“My phone was off, and then you came to ’88’ to find me.” Though she’d been drinking, her thoughts were unusually clear right now. She stared straight at Zhou Ya. “There’s a sentence missing in between. Fill it in for me.”

Zhou Ya, at a loss, frowned slightly. “…Fill in what?”

Fang Long rolled her eyes, forcing herself to slow her pace patiently. “My phone was off, and you came to ’88’ to find me—there’s a reason missing in between.”

Zhou Ya pressed his lips together, turning his head to avoid her gaze, which seemed intent on seeing through him.

Fang Long pressed further: “Say something.”

“…I don’t know what you mean.” Zhou Ya, somewhat agitated, tapped the steering wheel a few times, then abruptly reached back, trying to grab for Fang Long’s bag.

He hadn’t expected to be shoved back, nor had he expected Fang Long to have that much strength—he was pushed off balance, his whole body tilting toward the car door, his elbow knocking against the side of the seat.

“You know. You know what I mean.”

Fang Long stared straight at him, her gaze burning, starlight in her eyes.

His chest felt as if scalded by the light in her eyes. Zhou Ya pressed his lips together again, withdrew his hand, leaned back loosely against the seat, turned to look out the window, and said nothing.

Fang Long told herself to stay calm, to stay calm…

A moment later, she heard Zhou Ya take a deep breath. She sat up straight, as if her own heart had been yanked into midair along with his breathing.

But all that came was Zhou Ya letting out a long sigh, then falling silent once more.

Fang Long couldn’t hold it in any longer.

She had never been the type to stay calm and swallow things down!

“Fine then, at a time like this you turn into a mute!” The balloon in her chest, pricked by a needle, sent air spilling everywhere. Her eyes burned hot, and she climbed straight over the gearshift between the seats, bounding cat-like into the driver’s seat.

Zhou Ya sucked in a sharp breath, his entire body tensing.

The man was tall, and the driver’s seat had been pushed far back, leaving plenty of room. Fang Long knelt astride his lap, grabbing his collar, saying, “If you won’t say it, I’ll say it for you. Because my phone was off, you were worried something happened to me, worried sick, so you came to ’88’ to find me, right?!”

She’d been drinking, and the thick smell of alcohol wafted onto Zhou Ya’s neck and chin.

His Adam’s apple rolled up and down, but his throat, hoarse as a desert, found no relief in swallowing.

“You’re fucking drunk… get off me.”

He gripped both hands around Fang Long’s waist, trying to lift her up and toss her back into the passenger seat.

“I’m not drunk!”

Fang Long, of course, had no intention of going back. She threw her arms around Zhou Ya’s neck and said fiercely, “Zhou Ya, you have to explain yourself clearly to me tonight!”

“Explain what? What are you fixating on?”

This position had already crossed far beyond the line between siblings. Zhou Ya, somewhat anxious, released her waist and instead reached to pry off her hands.

His speech, when it sped up, easily slipped into breathy, voiceless sounds, his throat like a broken bellows: “You’re my sister! Your phone was off, I was worried something happened to you, I came to the KTV to find you—what’s wrong with that? Huh?!”

“No… you’re clearly not just concerned because I’m your sister…”

Fang Long used one hand to fumble at Zhou Ya’s fingers, and the other to grab at his hair—recently grown a bit longer, but still short and bristly.

She forced his head up, forced him to look straight at her.

She didn’t want to pretend not to hear anything anymore. All the suppressed emotions, the murky feelings of this stretch of time, poured out all at once in this moment.

Tears welled up from her eyes, and Fang Long’s voice trembled: “I heard you calling my name in the bathroom, I know you had a reaction to me… Zhou Ya, you like me, don’t you?”

Zhou Ya gritted his teeth, pressed his lips shut, like a poor mute whose mouth had truly been sewn shut with thread.

Had he really been exposed? Had all those filthy, unspeakable thoughts been discovered?

Was there still any excuse he could use to bluff his way through this?

And Fang Long seemed to have seen straight through him entirely.

She leaned in close to the side of his neck, burying herself against his shoulder, her lips brushing faintly, uncertainly, against the slightly bulging vein as she spoke: “Zhou Ya, you can’t do this, you can’t do this…”

Fang Long was tough as nails. In all the years since she’d been brought to live in their home, Zhou Ya had rarely seen her cry.

The only time was when he’d caught her stealing and disciplined her with a feather duster; after that, he’d never again seen her emotionally break down like this.

Her soft, murmured words sounded so wronged, tears falling one after another, wetting his collarbone and collar.

Bit by bit, they melted his heart.

Zhou Ya slowly let his tension go, allowing her to lean against his shoulder and cry.

His other hand, he wasn’t sure when, had climbed onto Fang Long’s back, patting it gently, again and again.

The car had never had its windows opened. Damp, warm air gathered inside, and a thin layer of fog had already begun to gather beneath the windshield.

After a long while, as the girl’s crying gradually weakened, Zhou Ya crooked his fingers, tracing two strokes into her palm.

“Hey.”

His first sound was still just breath. He cleared his throat, adjusting where the sound was coming from, then spoke again. “Hey, look up.”

Fang Long’s forehead ached from crying, her tears and mucus a mess.

She wiped her nose on Zhou Ya’s clothes before reluctantly looking up: “What…”

Zhou Ya gave a soft huff, using his sleeve to wipe her face, and asked quietly, “What can’t I do?”

“Huh?” Fang Long didn’t understand.

“You said I can’t do this, can’t do that—do you mean you won’t allow me to like you?”

“…No.” Fang Long shook her head, looking at him as she said, “You can’t be too good to me.”

The girl’s eyes had been washed clean and dark by her tears. Zhou Ya’s expression sank. “And why is that?”

Fang Long sniffled, her voice choked: “If you’re too good to me, I’ll fall for you too.”

She knew. She knew it all.

And her feelings—this was the first second Zhou Ya learned of them.

He found it hard to describe his current state of mind. It was too complicated—more complicated than if every seasoning in the kitchen had been knocked over and mixed together.

Sour laced with spicy, spicy mixed with salty, and still a trace of sweetness he could taste.

No matter how high or sturdy the wall built in his heart, what use was it now?

Her simple sentence alone was enough to smash open a window in that wall.

Seeds buried deep in the soil sprouted at the sight of light, wildly growing bloom after bloom of gorgeous, seductive flowers.

Thorny stems, honey-dripping hearts.

Zhou Ya knew they were dangerous.

But he couldn’t help himself—he still wanted to embrace her.

“Fang Long…”

Zhou Ya called her name softly, one arm loosely encircling her waist, yet not daring to go further.

There was too much to consider. Once you crossed the line, there was no going back.

“It’s not as simple as you think…” He still had reservations in his heart, wanting to hold onto this last line of defense, even as it was on the verge of crumbling.

Just as Zhou Ya was still hesitating, Fang Long suddenly leaned in and kissed his lips.

She pulled back quickly, frowning as she asked, “What exactly are you struggling with? You like me, I like you—isn’t that all it takes?”

The high wall collapsed entirely. Zhou Ya cursed, tightening his arms abruptly, pulling her into his embrace.

His other hand lifted her chin. He narrowed his eyes slightly, his voice hoarse: “Then after this, don’t you dare run.”

The kiss fell heavily, the love that erupted more fierce than liquor, deeper than the night.