If the voice from the receiver hadn’t sounded so real, Lin Zhexia would have thought she was dreaming.

How else could it be that one moment she was thinking of Chi Yao,

And the next, she received his call.

“Lin Zhexia,” while she was in a daze, the person on the other end said her name, then asked, “Can you hear me?”

“…”

“If you can hear me, say something.”

Lin Zhexia sat up and pressed the light switch. The bedroom immediately brightened.

She threw off her blanket and got out of bed, saying into the phone: “I hear you.”

Lin Zhexia took her phone and opened the door to see someone leaning against the elevator entrance.

Chi Yao had come out in a hurry, without even wearing a coat. His hair fell messily over his forehead, and his entire person seemed to carry a chill. In his hand was a transparent umbrella, its tip pointing downward, dripping water.

Seeing her open the door, his fingertip moved slightly, ending the call.

After entering, Lin Zhexia asked: “You’re wearing so little. Aren’t you cold? Would you like hot water or tea?”

“Water.”

She turned toward the kitchen, asking another question: “Why are you still awake so late?”

Chi Yao: “Came to see if a certain coward was trembling under her blanket.”

As the coward in question, who had been accurately described, Lin Zhexia choked for a second.

She handed him the water cup: “Though what you said is true, couldn’t you give me a little face?”

Chi Yao took it: “How?”

Lin Zhexia: “Like finding some other reason. Just don’t say it so directly.”

Chi Yao’s pale knuckles rested on the glass cup. Lin Zhexia was prepared to be rejected, but saw him tilt his head slightly, thinking for two seconds: “Should I say it again?”

“Please.”

Lin Zhexia nodded and repeated her question: “Chi Yao, why are you still awake so late?”

Chi Yao responded flatly: “I have insomnia, can’t sleep, taking a midnight walk.”

Lin Zhexia: “…”

Chi Yao: “Is there a problem? Is there a law against midnight walks?”

Lin Zhexia: “Walking at 1:30 AM seems a bit far-fetched.”

Tonight, Chi Yao seemed unusually agreeable.

He was silent for two seconds, then found another reason: “Actually, I’m also quite timid. I was frightened awake by the thunder. I’m really scared.”

“That excuse works,” Lin Zhexia naturally went along with it: “Don’t be afraid. Since you’ve come to me, I’ll protect you.”

Chi Yao nodded slightly: “Thank you.”

Lin Zhexia: “You’re welcome.”

“Since you’re so scared,” Lin Zhexia brought a blanket from the bedroom, “why don’t we sleep in the living room tonight? I’ll take the sofa, you sleep on the floor. This quilt is for you.”

Chi Yao leaned against the wall watching her busy herself, saying in a mild tone: “Your house rules state guests can’t wash dishes, yet they can sleep on the floor. Quite a unique hospitality code.”

Lin Zhexia, who was laying a mat on the floor: “…”

“This is all your fault,” she said after finishing, placing a pillow on the mat. “I wanted to give you the sofa, but you’re too tall. Your excessively superior physical condition means the sofa might be a bit unsuitable for you.”

Before Chi Yao could speak, she belittled herself further, leaving him with nothing to say: “While I am just a shorty.”

Chi Yao could only say: “Didn’t realize you were so self-aware.”

Lin Zhexia: “As I should be.”

The heater was on in the living room, so they wouldn’t feel cold even without blankets. But Lin Zhexia still wrapped herself up, curling up on the sofa, ready to sleep.

Chi Yao wasn’t sleepy yet. He sat on the carpet with his legs bent, his back against the sofa.

Outside the window, lightning continued to flash and thunder rumbled. Lightning would occasionally strike, momentarily illuminating the dark sky.

Perhaps because there was another person in the room, Lin Zhexia suddenly felt the thunder was much farther away.

The central light in the living room was already turned off.

Only a dim, small lamp remained lit.

Lin Zhexia kept her eyes open. Through the faint light, she could see the young man’s slender neck.

“Chi Yao.” Lin Zhexia called him.

Chi Yao responded with an “Mm” to indicate he was listening.

Apart from the sounds outside the window, only their intermittent conversation could be heard.

“What are you doing?”

“Xu Ting messaged me. I’m replying to him.”

“He’s also not sleeping this late.”

“Mm, he has issues.”

Lin Zhexia pointed out: “We’re not sleeping either.”

Chi Yao said, “That’s different.”

Lin Zhexia: “…How is it different?”

Chi Yao: “Because I have double standards.”

“…”

Silence for a while.

Lin Zhexia asked softly: “What do you want to eat tomorrow morning?”

She added: “I’m a bit hungry. Tomorrow morning I want to eat xiaolongbao.”

“Then you need to sleep first,” Chi Yao said.

“Oh.”

Lin Zhexia closed her eyes.

Outside, the thunder had stopped. With her eyes closed, she heard the pitter-patter of rain.

She recalled the first time she revealed her fear of thunder to Chi Yao. It was many, many years ago.

So long ago that she couldn’t quite remember the exact year.

It seemed to be during their second year after moving here. That year, there was a thunderstorm one night.

At that time, Lin Zhexia was still the “tigress” who could beat anyone in the neighborhood, and Chi Yao was still the “little brother” she had unilaterally recognized.

That day, Lin He and Wei Ping went to a colleague’s dinner, then went singing afterward. By the time they headed home, it was past midnight. The rain had intensified, and due to the weather, they were stuck in traffic with their phones out of battery.

Lin Zhexia had never shown her fear of thunder in front of Lin He because, as long as someone was home, she wasn’t as afraid. So Lin He only knew her daughter disliked rainy and thundery days, but didn’t know about her fear of thunder sounds. She thought that so late at night, her daughter should already be asleep.

But that night, Lin Zhexia hadn’t fallen asleep.

She clutched her phone, her body tense, continuously calling Lin He.

“The number you have dialed is switched off…”

“Please leave a message after the beep…”

“…”

Lin Zhexia’s lips turned pale as she thought to herself:

Why can’t I get through?

Even just answering a call would be good.

Just hearing someone’s voice would be enough.

The fear that followed was like rising tide water, almost engulfing her.

In the end, she couldn’t remember what she was thinking. Without even taking an umbrella, she crouched in the rain at Chi Yao’s doorstep. When Chi Yao opened the door, she was soaked from head to toe.

“Your big brother went out,” she shivered, making up an excuse, “forgot to bring my keys.”

“…”

A miniature version of Chi Yao stood at the door, looking at her for a moment: “You went out in the middle of the night?”

“Is that not allowed?” she shivered, saying, “I just like going out in the middle of the night.”

Eventually, Chi Yao let her in, giving her a new set of clothes and a towel.

Lin Zhexia had short hair back then, and after changing into a boy’s clothes, she looked like a little boy.

At first, Chi Yao thought she was shaking uncontrollably because she was tired from being rained on. But half an hour after coming inside, Lin Zhexia was still huddled in the corner of the sofa, shivering.

Chi Yao seemed to have asked her, “Are you cold?” several times, but she hadn’t responded.

It wasn’t until Chi Yao stood in front of her, reaching out to check her temperature, that she came back to her senses.

“When I was little,” Lin Zhexia felt the warmth on her forehead, which pulled her back to reality. Suddenly unable to suppress it, she said, “That’s how my father left.”

“He had another woman outside, and… another child.”

“The thunder was very loud. I begged him for a long time, but he still left.”

These words had always been hidden in her heart.

She was afraid of worrying Lin He, so she had never spoken of it.

This fear she had always hidden, that even Lin He didn’t know about.

From that moment, there was one more person who knew.

With her eyes closed, as Lin Zhexia withdrew from her memories, she heard rustling sounds beside her. Chi Yao was lying down.

The two were positioned very close to each other. The sofa wasn’t high; if she lowered her hand and leaned a bit to the side, she could touch Chi Yao’s hair.

She pulled the blanket up a bit more, covering her nose tip, and asked in a muffled voice: “Chi Yao, Chi Yao, are you asleep?”

“No.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“…”

“Can you tell stories?” Lin Zhexia said again. “Maybe I’ll fall asleep faster if I listen to a story.”

Chi Yao asked: “How old are you?”

Lin Zhexia: “Three years old this year.”

The bedtime story was just a casual request.

After all, Chi Yao as a person didn’t match the words “bedtime story” at all.

He was more suited for dark fairy tales.

But today’s Chi Yao was being unusually accommodating, so accommodating that she couldn’t help making some excessive requests.

In the darkness, the living room was quiet for a moment. Then came a slight rustle, followed by a faint light from the lower side of the sofa as Chi Yao unlocked his phone.

“What do you want to hear?”

“Anything is fine, preferably something suitable for girls.”

After a while, Chi Yao began speaking without emotion: “A long time ago, there was a group of wild boars.”

Lin Zhexia, huddled in her blanket, felt a bit suffocated: “Do you have some kind of misunderstanding about girls?!”

After another moment.

Chi Yao scrolled through his phone for a while, finding a story: “In the forest, there was a group of little rabbits… Tsk, rabbits should be okay, right?”

This was acceptable.

A story about rabbits shouldn’t have any bizarre twists.

Lin Zhexia fell silent, letting him continue.

When Chi Yao told the story, he still lacked emotion. His tone even subtly conveyed an attitude of “what a stupid story.” But because his voice was much softer, coupled with the nighttime ambiance, Lin Zhexia found the voice in her ears somewhat gentle.

“The little rabbits went out to pick carrots. Little rabbit Tutu,” midway, he paused to criticize, “What kind of name is this?”

Lin Zhexia: “Don’t improvise. It ruins the story’s atmosphere.”

Chi Yao: “It’s already a rabbit. Is it necessary to name it ‘Tutu’?”

Lin Zhexia: “…Don’t worry about it.”

Chi Yao: “I’m the storyteller, and I find it awkward.”

Lin Zhexia huddled in her blanket, too lazy to argue with him, casually saying: “Then give it a different name.”

Chi Yao’s voice paused for a moment, then continued in his neither cold nor warm tone: “Little rabbit Xiaxia took her basket and beloved lotus leaf umbrella and went out.”

“…”

“Even if you want to change the name,” Lin Zhexia felt a deep sense of embarrassment, “don’t, use, my, name!”

This boring carrot-picking story was quite long.

In the middle, the little rabbit encountered a black bear and then a cunning fox. The lotus leaf umbrella was tricked away by the fox, and finally, the weather changed, and it started to rain.

By the time Lin Zhexia heard the latter half of the story, she was already feeling drowsy. Before the ending, she asked with her eyes closed, sleepily: “…What’s the ending?”

Chi Yao scrolled to the next page.

During these few seconds of pause, he heard Lin Zhexia’s soft breathing.

She had fallen asleep before hearing the ending.

Chi Yao’s eyes, partially hidden behind his messy hair, were illuminated by the screen. He propped himself up, half-sitting, to look at the person on the sofa.

The girl’s hair was very messy, sprawled out. She slept on her side, one hand pressed against the side of her face, the other hanging off the edge of the sofa, her slender wrist almost touching his hair.

Chi Yao looked at her for a while.

The Lin Zhexia before him gradually overlapped with the Lin Zhexia who had huddled on his sofa many years ago.

But besides that rainy night from childhood, he also recalled another scene.

It was a few years ago, the night before starting middle school.

Lin He’s original intention in suggesting Lin Zhexia attend an all-girls school was entirely because she was too wild in the neighborhood.

“You’re a girl,” Lin He said in exasperation. “Chasing after He Yang and beating him all day, is that appropriate?”

Lin Zhexia, at that time, stubbornly protested: “He was asking for it.”

Lin He: “You dare talk back—”

Lin He would grab a broom, intending to hit her, but Lin Zhexia could always run away. Thus, a mother-daughter confrontation scene often played out in the neighborhood.

Lin Zhexia: “He bullied Chi Yao first.”

Lin He: “Then you could have reasoned with him. Why did you have to use your hands?”

Lin Zhexia, thinking herself cool, said: “In a man’s world, problems are solved with fists.”

Lin He laughed in anger, chasing and shouting: “…Come here, don’t run. Now I’m going to solve our problem with fists, too. Stop right there!”

At first, Lin Zhexia didn’t think there was anything wrong with attending an all-girls school. School was school, after all. But as the start date approached, she realized everyone else in the neighborhood would be attending the same school, meaning they could go to school together, return home together, and even go to the small shop together to buy snacks.

Only she would be alone, solitary, in a different school.

The night before enrollment, she finally couldn’t hold back anymore and cried in front of him for a long time: “I don’t want to go to school alone. I want to be with you all. I won’t hit He Yang anymore. I’ll reason with him. Isn’t reasoning good enough?”

As she cried, she even hiccupped.

That night, Lin Zhexia said many things, one of which was: “…Chi Yao, couldn’t you become a girl and go to school with me?”

That was one of the rare times she showed vulnerability in front of him.

Just like her fear of thunder, she was very timid, very afraid of separation between people, always lacking a sense of security.

The scene in his memory shifted again.

It shifted to middle school. After filling out his high school entrance exam preferences, the teacher called him to the office. The forty-something-year-old grade director spoke cautiously, tentatively saying: “Between No. 1 High and No. 2 High, did you make a writing error?”

“No error,” he heard his past self say. “I chose No. 2 High.”

…

Chi Yao looked back at his phone.

He found that the carrot-picking rabbit story had only a brief one-line conclusion: When the rain stopped, they finally picked the carrots and happily returned home.

“Finally, the rain cleared up,” Chi Yao said very softly, “and the little rabbit saw a rainbow. Good night, scaredy-cat.”