Lu Huaizheng was generally considered the weakest drinker in the entire special forces unit — though Sun Kai still had him beat by a little — but even the two of them together were no match for Zhao Dailin alone. And Yu Hao’s tolerance might have been even slightly higher than Zhao Dailin’s; neither had ever gone head-to-head in earnest, but from their various casual gatherings, Zhao Dailin had a vague sense she’d probably lose, so she’d always known when to stop and not invite trouble.
Yu Hao arranged for a designated driver.
The car rolled smoothly to a stop in front of Lu Huaizheng’s apartment building.
The two of them made their way upstairs in the dark. Lu Huaizheng was draped over Yu Hao — a towering man, solid and dense, leaning his full weight on her, sending her stumbling and lurching sideways. And drunk, he turned into something…
There was no easy way to put it.
By the time Yu Hao managed to drag him to the front door, she realized his apartment key was still in the car.
So she propped Lu Huaizheng against the wall and told him to stay put, not to wander.
The motion-sensor light in the corridor flared on for a moment, then went dark. The man leaned against the wall, fuzzy-headed and obedient, and nodded.
She’d barely turned to go when a hand caught her wrist — softly.
Yu Hao turned around.
Lu Huaizheng had hold of her hand. He pulled her into his arms and held on, refusing to let go. His head drooped against her neck, heavy and half-asleep, and he made a small, slow, brushing motion against her ear — like a big, fuzzy bear, carefully gathering warmth from her nearness with each shallow breath.
“Where are you going?”
Yu Hao was forced to tilt her head back just to breathe. “The door key is in the car. I forgot to bring it up.”
He gave a vague nod — but still didn’t let go. Then quietly: “I’ll get it. You wait here.”
Yu Hao almost laughed. “Do you know where the car is parked?”
Never mind the car — at this point, Lu Huaizheng probably couldn’t make it back down the stairs on his own, let alone find his way back up.
Just as she was about to ease him back against the wall, she heard him murmur, blearily, “I’m scared that if you go, you won’t come back.”
Something in her chest went soft and aching. She held onto the short-cropped hair at the back of his head the way you’d hold a sleepy child, and promised, “Two minutes. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
Lu Huaizheng released her. In the dim corridor, that long frame sagged lazily against the wall, head tipped back — and without a moment’s hesitation, he began counting:
“One. Two. Three. Four…”
*This impossible soldier.*
Yu Hao muttered a silent curse at him and sprinted toward the elevator.
When she came back, he was still in exactly the same spot, motionless against the wall. “You’re late.”
“By how much?” Yu Hao asked, already unlocking the door.
He was barely coherent when he’d had a little to drink, and that made him devastating. His gaze was soft and unfocused, hovering between amusement and something else entirely, and from the roots of his hair to the tips of his feet, he radiated a kind of easy, unintentional danger. Whenever he looked at her like that, Yu Hao felt her heart hammering like a drum — a hundred tiny deer colliding at once — and her whole scalp prickled with heat.
Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t get the key into the lock.
The architect of this disaster seemed entirely unaware of the effect he was having. He was still leaning against the wall, tilted slightly toward her now, upper body sinking just a little — drunk eyes looking down at her with careful, drowsy attention. “Lost count.”
His breath was warm, grazing her ear like a drift of petals scattering against her heart.
The air was laced with the clean sharp scent of alcohol, threading steadily into her senses. At her ear came his low, unguarded murmur: “Tonight — can I come to bed?”
Yu Hao’s hand jerked.
The key nearly fell, because Lu Huaizheng was kissing her ear in that barely-there way — light, delicate, deliberate.
He knew how sensitive she was there. The moment his lips touched her, she felt it through her whole body — the world went blank, and the only thought left was stark and undisguised:
*Even on a rocket, fine.*
Lu Huaizheng kissed her steadily.
Seeing her dazed expression, he smiled and said against her neck, “Open the door, then.”
Yu Hao was exasperated — could he not just *say* something instead of using his hands for everything? She shoved the key into his warm palm and turned away in mock annoyance. “Open it yourself.”
Lu Huaizheng kissed her without looking away from her — and found the lock by instinct alone, slid the key in, turned it.
The next second he kissed her hard and pulled her inside, fingers lacing through hers and pressing her hands above her head against the door. They were still tangled in the doorway when he bent his head and pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck, pulling — and a dark bruise bloomed.
“Don’t be so rough,” Yu Hao said, wincing, struggling against him.
Lu Huaizheng pinned her still, didn’t bother with the lights — but at her complaint, he paused and looked, in the faint light through the window, at the reddened patch where his lips had just been.
He gave a small, low laugh. “That sensitive?”
Seeing her embarrassed indignation, he curved his mouth near her ear. “I’ll be gentler, then?”
He carried her into the bedroom, pressed her down against the mattress, and kissed her slowly. Against her ear he said, low and hazy, “What did you say to me last night? Say it again.”
Yu Hao’s mind dissolved entirely. Her whole body had gone warm, suffused with a heat she couldn’t quite name as pleasure or overwhelm.
Her voice barely held together. “I was wrong.”
Lu Huaizheng gave no quarter, one hand already dealing with his belt — a clean snap — the other arm keeping her in place. He hauled her a little higher, voice dropping low in mock warning: “Too late. I’m drunk. I’ve lost all self-control.”
Yu Hao went still with something close to real alarm. “Don’t… do that.”
He kissed her hard, his voice thick and restrained. “Do what?”
Yu Hao trembled and didn’t answer.
And then, at the sight of her genuine fright, Lu Huaizheng let out a sudden soft laugh. He fell sideways in one motion and lay flat on his back, then turned his head to look at her. With great gentleness, he smoothed the damp hair back from her temple, wiped the perspiration from her skin, and turned toward her — pulling her into his arms and pressing a quiet, soothing kiss to her forehead, which served as the entirety of his apology.
His head was spinning, and he was seeing things slightly doubled. He had no energy and no intention for anything except lying here holding her, staying close to her a little longer.
He nuzzled into her — a little like a golden retriever settling in — pressing steadily into her warmth. The feeling of having found what he’d lost. The feeling of a future that was possible again. He hadn’t been this content in a very long time. He wrapped his arms around Yu Hao and held tight, tighter, as if the slightest inattention would let her slip away.
A drunk man, it turned out, wanted considerably more affection than usual, and was considerably more difficult to manage.
When she wiped his face for him, he took hold of her hand and kissed it over and over, and refused entirely to let go.
When she helped him out of his shirt, he leaned against the headboard with his hands folded behind his head, watching her with an expression of complete, unabashed tenderness — a smile she couldn’t quite read the edges of. She glared at him. Somehow, without quite knowing how it happened, she was pinned against the bed and kissed for a long while — clingy as a snail, thoroughly and inconveniently attached.
At last, she got the great nuisance settled into bed.
Yu Hao was about to go shower when something nagged at her — she couldn’t name what, only that something felt off.
The smile on Lu Huaizheng’s face gave her a faintly uneasy feeling.
In the split second before she pulled the bathroom door shut, some instinct overtook her. She spun back to him, hand out. “Hand over the key.”
He blinked.
“What key?”
Yu Hao turned and pointed. “The bathroom key.”
Under normal circumstances, Lu Huaizheng would never do something so graceless as peeping — but tonight he was drunk, and the whole atmosphere of him was simply too unrestrained to be trusted.
He was thoroughly reluctant. “I admit there are times my mind goes certain places it shouldn’t,” he said, slightly bleary but still managing petulance, “but I have never acted on it. Asking me for the key is an insult to my character. I won’t hand it over.”
Then, under his breath: “And anyway, even if I did take a little look — it wouldn’t be so terrible, would it? What kind of girlfriend doesn’t let her boyfriend…”
Yu Hao had always had a stubborn streak, and a strong instinct toward self-protection. Drunk Lu Huaizheng made her feel genuinely unsafe.
“Absolutely not. Your brain isn’t working properly right now. I don’t trust you.”
“…”
He handed over the key.
Yu Hao went in to shower. Not five minutes later, she heard someone outside bellowing, “How long does a shower take?! That’s been half an hour!”
Yu Hao, furious, slapped the glass wall of the shower stall — a sharp bang — and yelled back, “Lu Huaizheng!”
Instant silence.
Five more minutes passed.
“Fire! Yu Hao, there’s a fire!”
Yu Hao had been planning to ignore him entirely — until she saw smoke curling in under the gap at the bottom of the bathroom door. Her thoughts blanked in an instant. She had barely managed to grab a towel before yanking the door open — to find Lu Huaizheng sitting cross-legged in front of the bathroom door, smoking a cigarette, which he had been directing directly at the gap.
She could not decide whether to be furious or laugh.
Yu Hao crouched down, clutching her towel tightly, and with tremendous effort suppressed her anger. She patted his handsome, bewildered face. “What exactly do you want, my Commander Lu?”
He was looking at her. That towel was doing its best, and what it contained had been slightly compressed by the crouch into a soft, visible line. Lu Huaizheng thought it looked a great deal like the plain white buns he’d eaten as a small child — soft, rounded, irresistible. He wanted very much to poke at it.
Yu Hao’s reflexes kicked in and she went to step back, forgetting she was crouched.
She went down.
The towel went with her.
And what had been contained came free — pale and soft, catching the light.
The air froze. Both of them sat completely motionless.
Yu Hao’s reflexes were extraordinary. She grabbed the towel and flung it directly at Lu Huaizheng — landing squarely over him and covering him completely.
Lu Huaizheng sat like a white lampshade, cross-legged on the floor, not moving.
His face was a little red. He kept his gaze carefully fixed on the floor — and found himself watching a pair of perfectly shaped ankles moving back and forth across the room.
He offered, quietly, “Put your shoes on.”
Yu Hao did as he said, then looked back at him. “Is this how you always act when you’re drunk?”
Lu Huaizheng shook his head slowly.
“Am I drunk? I don’t think so.”
He really was.
Then: “There isn’t much time left. I just want to be with you a little longer.”
And that was that. Yu Hao lost all her irritation at once, and spent the next stretch coaxing a three-year-old into bed.
The three-year-old was not cooperative. Halfway through the night, the arm around her kept reaching, trying to work at the collar of her top — she wasn’t wearing much as it was, and with two young and restless bodies pressed together, heat kindling heat, they found themselves kissing again — lips and breath tangled, languid and consuming.
Under the blankets, everything was warm and flushed and tangled…
At last, Lu Huaizheng buried his face against her and tugged at her collar, shameless and unrelenting. “I just want to look.”
“…Just one look?” Yu Hao held onto her collar. She’d been thinking about this too, in the time since — and she felt, with a small ache, some tenderness for him and what he’d endured.
“Yes.” The word came out uneven, barely held together.
With her permission, Lu Huaizheng nudged at the blankets, pinched the straps at her shoulders, and slowly eased them aside. Her skin was the color of pale porcelain, smooth and unblemished — she looked as untouched as a girl who had never had reason to guard herself.
Click. The bedside lamp came on.
“Why did you turn the light on?” Yu Hao was horrified.
“So I can see better,” Lu Huaizheng said, with complete sincerity.
The look on his face — pure, focused, almost scholarly — made Yu Hao feel as though he was genuinely studying the subject from an artistic perspective.
…
The next morning, after the alcohol had cleared.
Lu Huaizheng was sitting against the headboard, stiff-limbed, blinking himself back into the world, when he found Yu Hao already awake. She was lying on her side, head resting on one arm, watching him quietly.
He noticed she was awake. He reached over and smoothed her hair, voice still rough with sleep. “What?”
“Promise me one thing.” Yu Hao was smiling at him.
Lu Huaizheng’s head throbbed. He pressed at his temple and looked sideways at her. “What?”
“Don’t drink anymore. Can you promise me that?”
Lu Huaizheng blinked — convinced for a moment he’d done something last night to upset her. But her expression was light, easy, and carried no sign of unhappiness. He pulled her up and settled her against his chest. “Alright. No more drinking.”
“Your tolerance is terrible — Senior Zhao barely got two bottles into you,” Yu Hao remarked, tilting her head to look at him.
“I don’t drink much,” Lu Huaizheng said, and then, with deliberate weight, looked down at her. “Your tolerance, on the other hand, seems excellent. Drinking often?”
Yu Hao nestled against his chest. “Back in university, I used to go out drinking with Senior Zhao all the time. Never got drunk on beer.”
Lu Huaizheng gave a cold little laugh, reached down, and caught the tip of her nose in a firm pinch.
“Impressive — drinking, is it?” He squeezed hard enough to make her gasp. “Next time I find out you’ve been sneaking off to drink with Zhao Dailin behind my back, I’ll deal with you when you get home.”
Yu Hao struggled. He didn’t let go, just stared her down.
“I won’t go, I won’t go, I really won’t go,” she conceded.
—
Then, one week after Lu Huaizheng returned to his unit.
Yu Hao had just come out of Professor Han’s office. The whole institute was in an uproar over the Di Yanni situation — the entire research hall felt like it was on fire. Zhao Dailin texted asking her out for drinks. Yu Hao thought of Lu Huaizheng’s repeated warnings before he left and said no.
Zhao Dailin said nothing. Without another word, she turned and walked away. No persuading, no lingering.
Guilt immediately pricked at Yu Hao. She wanted to explain. She caught up with her, took hold of her arm — and found Zhao Dailin crying, tears spilling down her face as if her heart were breaking.
In all the years Yu Hao had known her, Zhao Dailin was the closest thing to indestructible she’d ever met. Not once had she lost composure. Not once had she been anything less than even-keeled. The time she’d said simply, *sure, it’s fine, no problem* — that was the only kind of retreat she knew.
But now she was weeping.
It rattled Yu Hao to her core.
“Is it about feelings?” She thought back to that dinner, and what Lu Huaizheng had mentioned about Sun Kai’s situation.
Zhao Dailin’s tears ran on. She turned her head away and didn’t answer.
Yu Hao’s heart squeezed. She was the one who’d been immersed in the happiness of her own new relationship, going on about Lu Huaizheng to Zhao Dailin without once stopping to think about how it must feel on the other end. That had been thoughtless of her. And Zhao Dailin had been nothing but good to her — surely one quiet drink to ease her heartache couldn’t really be breaking any rules.
They ended up at a small outdoor stall they used to frequent, and ordered two cases of beer.
Zhao Dailin sat without speaking. She reached for a bottle, bit the cap off, and poured it straight down without pausing.
Yu Hao sat with her thoughts for a long, long time.
An exceedingly long time.
In the past, when Yu Hao had been hurting, Zhao Dailin had always matched her — drink for drink, no shortcuts, no excuses.
But she’d made a promise to Lu Huaizheng.
The two impulses pulled at her from opposite sides, and she gave herself a very stern internal lecture about the whole situation.
She was genuinely torn. She felt genuinely guilty. It was as if she were hovering at the edge of a crime.
She sat rigid with indecision. It was like sitting on a board of nails. Every nerve in her was on edge.
The stall wasn’t crowded — small clusters of people here and there, a few young men across the way calling for toasts at the top of their lungs. Under the streetlight, shadows shifting in the warm breeze, the back of her neck prickling with heat, Yu Hao glanced around furtively and then, very slowly, reached toward the case of beer.
*Two sips. Just two sips. Lu Huaizheng will never know.*
She brought the bottle to her lips, positioned her teeth against the cap — and just as it cracked open with a clean snap, a voice came from directly behind her, familiar and spectral:
“Yu Hao. What are you doing?”
“…”
Her whole body went bolt upright.
The bottle cap slipped from between her barely-parted lips and hit the ground with a small, ringing *click*, rolling across the pavement and coming to rest at the toe of someone’s boot.
Military boots. He hadn’t even had time to change out of his field uniform — still wearing his service dress.
Lu Huaizheng stood beneath the amber glow of the streetlight, in his perfectly pressed uniform, looking extraordinarily handsome.
She was finished.
—