And so Li Xun’s hair color stayed, from that day on.

Faced with that striking, almost aggressive color, Li Lan felt a powerful tenderness stir deep inside her. However you looked at it, the money to dye his hair had been borrowed from her — even if the connection wasn’t especially significant, and even if Li Xun had never once said thank you — still, this “secret” that no one else in the world knew about gave Li Lan a feeling of warmth she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

Li Xun grew slowly, and the hardship of his circumstances made him mature far earlier than his years, with a wariness that ran deep.

But no matter how early he had grown up, he was still a child, and children need care. In time, he gradually came to accept Li Lan’s looking after him — even if his mouth never yielded an inch.

The days passed, one by one. Li Lan noticed that as Li Xun grew older, the quiet routine of life became increasingly turbulent.

Li Xun began leaving home frequently, though never for very long. The family at that time was absorbed in arranging a marriage for Li Lan’s eldest brother, and had no attention to spare for him. His mother even thought it was good that he went — one less person meant one less mouth to feed.

Eventually, Li Xun didn’t just go out on his own — he started taking Li Lan with him. Li Lan was timid by nature and could never have brought herself to venture out alone; every time, it took Li Xun physically dragging her to get her out the door.

The appeal of the city was undeniable, and even Li Lan, trembling with nerves, found herself drawn in by the dazzle of the outside world. One time Li Xun took her out after preparing for a long time in advance. Li Lan asked him what for and he wouldn’t say; it was only when they arrived that she understood — he had brought her to a concert.

Li Lan was completely stunned. It was the band from the cassette tapes Li Xun’s mother had always let her listen to. She couldn’t believe her own eyes, and couldn’t bring herself to go inside; Li Xun grabbed and shoved her through the entrance by force.

The entire concert felt like a dream. The surging music struck against her eardrums, and she couldn’t tell what was real. Afterward she pressed Li Xun for where he had gotten the money. He told her it was none of her business.

After the concert, Li Lan saw Li Xun talking to a boy outside the venue. The boy was a bit older than Li Xun, and from his clothes and manner, it was clear they came from entirely different worlds.

They exchanged a few words, then the boy got into a car and left — but not before calling back over his shoulder:

“Don’t forget the exam date!”

Afterward, Li Xun took her to a small restaurant near the venue for dinner. While Li Lan was still replaying the highlights of the performance in her mind, Li Xun said to her: “I’m leaving soon.”

Li Lan assumed that by “leaving” he meant what he usually did — slipping away from the house now and then, playing outside for a while, then sneaking back once he’d had his fill. So she nodded and thought nothing of it.

It was only later that Li Lan understood what he had actually meant. She refused without a moment’s hesitation, clinging to Li Xun desperately, begging him not to do something so reckless.

In her mind, home might have its flaws, but it provided shelter and a stable life. That was enough.

Li Xun sat down and talked it through with her. He told her that while he had been in the city, he had stumbled across a few people by chance, and had seen all kinds of extraordinary things at their homes.

“Do you know what a computer is?” Li Xun said. “They had one of those very thin, very thin computers.”

When Li Xun talked about new things, his eyes lit up. Li Lan was already unfamiliar with any of it, and his excitement made him speak so fast that she understood even less.

But she at least caught the final sentence —

“I want that too. But if I stay here, I’ll never have it. Not ever.”

It was the first time Li Xun had ever told her what he was thinking — and what he wanted.

Li Lan was completely unable to accept it. She didn’t know what any of those things he talked about were. She only knew that her little brother was a boy in his teens, and that leaving home would mean he couldn’t survive on his own.

Li Xun tried to reason with her. Li Lan wouldn’t hear any of it. She didn’t have his gift for words or his ability to explain things clearly, and no matter what he said, all she could repeat over and over was: No. I won’t allow it.

In the end Li Xun erupted in fury. He and Li Lan had a huge fight. The things he said were cutting, and left her hurt and angry.

Li Lan fell ill not long after. To her surprise, Li Xun stayed by her side throughout.

In her feverish state, Li Lan dreamed of the scene when Li Xun’s mother had died. She dreamed of her final words.

Li Lan couldn’t bear to let Li Xun go. At times she even felt that if she had her own children one day, she could never love them as much as she loved her little brother. Her mind was not sharp, but somehow every moment spent with Li Xun — every word he had ever said to her — she remembered with perfect clarity.

But she also knew: she was one of them.

Once she recovered, Li Lan stole the money her father had set aside for drinking and gambling, and told Li Xun to leave that very night and never come back.

Before Li Xun left, he said one thing to Li Lan.

“I’ll pay you back someday.”

The coffee had long gone cold. The service staff had already changed shifts once.

Zhu Yun was thinking.

Her mind went first to what Ren Di had said — he’s been saving up to pay back a debt.

What debt?

The small amount of money Li Lan had spent on him was entirely negligible by Li Xun’s current standards. The debt he spoke of was almost certainly not money.

It was a debt of the heart.

Zhu Yun looked at Li Lan sitting across from her, flinching at every small thing — she was the very picture of a person ground down by life until every sharp edge was worn smooth.

“I always knew, from the very beginning, that he would leave.” Li Lan murmured. “He hated our family. Hated us with everything he had.”

Zhu Yun said nothing. Li Lan continued, barely above a whisper: “I never expected him to repay anything. But now our father is gone, our mother can’t get out of bed, and my eldest brother has fallen ill — the hospital says it will cost a great deal of money, and we simply don’t have it. My mother is forcing me to come ask him for help… I have no other way.” Li Lan stared blankly at the table. “Everything that’s happened to our family must be our punishment.”

Zhu Yun looked steadily at this thin woman — weathered by years she had not deserved, drained of vitality in every line of her body, her pain so worn-in that it had become dull and monotonous.

Li Lan wiped at her face.

“I’m sorry, going on like this with all of this rambling…”

Zhu Yun shook her head.

Li Lan said softly: “There’s no one back home who wants to hear any of this.”

“Maybe he doesn’t hate you as much as you think,” Zhu Yun said suddenly.

Li Lan: “You don’t know him. You don’t understand him.”

I think I might understand him just a little, Zhu Yun thought.

Li Xun was proud — at times almost to the point of being irrational about it. He rarely said what he actually felt. He couldn’t be threatened by anyone, and no one could force him to do anything. If he truly hated Li Lan, then no matter what she tried, she would never get a single coin out of him.

And yet there he was, with his enormous monthly expenditures, supporting a band that was guaranteed to lose money…

Now that she had heard the whole story, a great many things had fallen into place.

Every heart needs somewhere to find solace.

“Thank you for listening to all of this.” Li Lan looked as though she had no proper way to express her gratitude. She thought for a moment, then gave a soft, tentative sound of realization. “I know — let me show you a picture of my little brother.”

Zhu Yun had been in the middle of some rather weighty moral reflection, and nearly leapt out of her seat.

Li Lan rummaged in her cloth bag and produced a laminated photograph, clearly some years old, its colors slightly faded. “This is the only family photo we have — it was taken one New Year. Look, this one here…”

Li Lan moved to point, but Zhu Yun didn’t need any pointing at all. The moment the photograph came out, her eyes had found their mark on their own.

“How old was your brother here?”

“Nine.”

Zhu Yun drew in a slow breath. He’s so adorable…

Young Li Xun was thin, but his frame was good. His small face was taut and set, directed at the camera with the faintest trace of a cold smile — that defiant, imperious bearing that looked down on the world was already clearly evident even then, at that age.

Zhu Yun forgot to blink. She just kept looking and looking, as if staring long enough could somehow push back the clock and make it so they had known each other ten years earlier.

In the photograph, Li Xun stood apart — a small distance between himself and everyone else. Only Li Lan was standing just behind him.

“Your brother must have liked you a great deal,” Zhu Yun said.

Li Lan shook her head. “What he liked was women like his mother.”

Zhu Yun glanced at Li Lan once, and said nothing.

A while later, when curfew was drawing close, Zhu Yun went to the front counter to settle the bill. When she returned, Li Lan asked: “Can I stay sitting here a little longer?”

Zhu Yun paused, then said: “Of course.”

Before she left, she quietly ordered a steak set meal for Li Lan as well, and told the server: “If she asks, say it’s a complimentary dish for the anniversary promotion.”

She left the café and spent the whole walk back turning the conversation over in her mind. She drifted all the way to the base, pushed the door open, and found Gao Jianhong inside.

That was when it hit her — she had apparently stood him up.

Zhu Yun hurried over to apologize. “I’m sorry, I got caught up with something—”

“It’s fine.” Gao Jianhong gathered up the books on the table. “I just had a chat with Wu Mengxing. He seems pretty interested in the competition too — let’s all talk more about it tomorrow.”

Zhu Yun nodded in agreement. Gao Jianhong stood. “Alright, I’m heading back.”

“Where’s Li Xun?”

“He stepped out a little while ago. Should be back soon.”

After Gao Jianhong left, Zhu Yun was alone in the base. She closed the door and went over to Li Xun’s seat. She opened the bag from the city stadium that was tucked under the corner of the desk.

As she’d suspected — inside were concert tickets. This coming weekend.

Was he planning to take her?

Just then, footsteps sounded in the corridor. Zhu Yun put the bag back where she had found it.

Li Xun came back in. He saw Zhu Yun and raised an eyebrow.

“Still here? What for?”

Zhu Yun shook her head. “Nothing. Just packing up — I’ll be gone in a minute.”

Li Xun settled into his seat, didn’t turn on his computer, and cast a lazy look at Zhu Yun. “Where were you tonight?”

Zhu Yun’s heart gave a little skip. She told herself to stay calm.

“Had something to take care of. Stepped out for a bit.”

“Is that so.”

“Mm.”

Zhu Yun kept her expression neutral as she pulled a couple of books off the desk at random and stuffed them into her bag. She looked up — and found Li Xun beckoning her over with a curl of his finger.

Zhu Yun stepped closer. Li Xun leaned forward at the same time.

She was standing; he was sitting. With him turned to the side and leaning in like that, his ear came to rest exactly against her chest.

…!?!?!?!?!?!?

The weather had been getting warmer, the clothing thinner. Through a single layer of cotton-linen, Zhu Yun’s skin could clearly feel the contour of Li Xun’s cheek pressed against her.

Her bra was being compressed just slightly under the contact.

A wave of heat started at the back of her spine and spread outward to every limb, up behind her ears.

She couldn’t step back — his right hand was resting at her waist.

She was losing the ability to breathe. What was one plus one again…

Just as Zhu Yun was starting to feel certain she was about to pass out, Li Xun tilted his head back. He didn’t straighten up — just lifted his eyes along the line of her chest, looking up at her from below, brow arched slightly, expression somewhere between a smile and not.

“Heart’s beating this fast. Looks like someone was lying.”

Zhu Yun went numb all over.

My heart is beating fast for a completely different reason, I promise.