The call from the brigade had been taken by Yang Zhenggang. The tone was unlike any he could remember, and something in his gut told him it was another mess that young man had stirred up. On edge and unable to settle, he eventually found someone to ask around — and learned that the incident of the two performers fighting in the unit had reached the higher-ups. The person told him: “Director Meng somehow got wind of it. He went and looked at Team Leader Lin’s combat training report — and there was nothing written in it, just a bunch of hollow words. Of course he blew up. Right about now he’s probably in the next room, flinging the ashtray at him.”

Yang Zhenggang grew frantic. “Can’t you go in and say something to calm him down?”

The man chuckled. “The door’s shut. I’d never dare walk in. Besides, you know what both of them are like — each as stubborn as the other. You’d better stay over there and say a prayer for Team Leader Lin.”

“Praying would’ve worked, I’d have entered a monastery ages ago.” Yang Zhenggang yelled, red-faced and neck flushed.

“Why are you yelling at me? I’m not the one who tipped off Director Meng.”

Yang Zhenggang caught himself, apologised quickly, then asked: “But how did Director Meng hear about it?”

The person on the other end of the line gave a quiet laugh, drawing out the words with a meaningful air: “Let me put it to you this way, Yang Zhidao. Listen carefully. Director Meng has a son.”

“I know — Meng Chen. The one who’s always playing games.”

“Correct. He had another falling out with Director Meng recently. Apparently he wants to get married — found a girl from outside — and Director Meng refuses to approve it. They’ve been at each other’s throats at home, absolutely explosive the past while. Just recently Meng Chen cut ties with his father entirely. Now, as you know — Director Meng has watched Team Leader Lin grow up since he was a boy. With his own son out of the picture, he treats Team Leader Lin like his own. And you know how Director Meng operates — especially now, with all the assessments under way. If there’s even a whisper of anything from your side, his ears are already listening.”

In other words: he’d had someone keeping watch.

Yang Zhenggang pressed his fingers to his temple, a headache blooming. He’d known all along this young man would never give him any peace.

“This whole thing — Team Leader Lin is in for it, and poor Instructor Zhang next door got dragged in for nothing. I’ll ask you one question: which one of those two girls is Team Leader Lin actually trying to shield?”

Yang Zhenggang startled. “Luxiao doesn’t understand any of that — it’s definitely not about shielding anyone. Don’t worry.”

“That’s good. If Director Meng finds out — this won’t end there.”

He hung up, and a long silence followed.

……

When Lin Luxiao walked in, he discovered a second person already standing before the desk of red peach wood. Incense was burning in the room. Instructor Zhang turned around and made a face at him. Director Meng Guohong’s gaze swept past — Zhang Wei thought better of it and turned back without a word, sheepish.

Lin Luxiao bent down, picked the fallen training report up from the floor, gave a faint smile, and walked over at his usual unhurried pace. He set the papers back on the desk and drew back the corner of his mouth: “What’s the matter?”

That lazy, unbothered expression of his irritated Meng Guohong to no end. He furrowed his brow with full authority: “Don’t you play dumb with me!”

In truth, the moment Lin Luxiao had walked in — Instructor Zhang, plus the training report — the picture was already clear enough.

He dropped the lightness from his face, composed his expression, and fell silent. He would accept the reprimand. Since childhood, Meng Guohong had scolded him even more than his own father had, and expected even more of him. Lin Luxiao could still get in a word or two back with Lin Qingyuan when the mood turned sour — but before Meng Guohong, he had basically no choice but to stand there and take it.

Meng Guohong’s very eyebrows were warped with fury.

“What were you thinking? Not reporting something like this — who are you covering for? What did I tell you at the start? Any breach of military discipline, any insubordination — expulsion from the unit! Have you got nothing in that head of yours but porridge? At a time like this, what are you doing making trouble for yourself?”

Lin Luxiao stood with perfect posture, expression blank and patient, as though taking the scolding quite seriously.

Meng Guohong despised that look on him — nothing ever seemed to touch it — and his temper flared twice as hot. He slammed his palm on the desk, all the ferocity he usually kept in check coming to the fore: “I’ve been through your age myself. I know every trick you’ve got up your sleeve better than you do. If you actually develop feelings, then take off that uniform! And don’t let anyone catch you on camera giving them ammunition!”

At those words, Lin Luxiao’s face went cold.

“Is the political education building any place for that girl to be? Do you think people are blind, the way you two were tangled up in each other in the office doorway?” Meng Guohong leaned back in his chair with his arms folded, gave a cold snort, and turned his head away. “You pull another stunt like that, and I’ll have that girl pack her things and clear out immediately.”

Lin Luxiao suddenly smiled. “So you’ve had quite a few eyes planted over in my area?”

Meng Guohong picked up the ashtray as if to throw it. Instructor Zhang caught his arm. He drew a breath, set it back down on the desk, and said, still fuming: “I’ve been stationed there longer than you! Every last one of those people owes me their life!”

Lin Luxiao smiled with self-deprecating acceptance, gave a brief nod. “Understood.” He wet his lips and took a breath. “I handled this badly — and I dragged Instructor Zhang into it. I’ll accept the punishment.”

Instructor Zhang finally couldn’t hold back. He glanced at Lin Luxiao, let out a sigh. “Actually, this is partly my fault too. It shouldn’t all fall on Luxiao. Let me share the punishment with him.”

“Don’t — this has nothing to do with Instructor Zhang. I was the one who asked him not to write it in the report.”

Meng Guohong gave a quiet, disgruntled sound. He had watched Lin Luxiao grow up and knew this young man’s character inside and out. Whatever else, when he made a mistake, he never passed the blame. He had backbone — far more than that useless son of his, who at the first sign of trouble would slick oil on his feet and bolt faster than anyone.

And of course there would be no real punishment. If Meng Guohong had wanted to make it official, he wouldn’t have made such a theatrical show of summoning him here in the middle of the night.

……

When Lin Luxiao returned to the unit, it was nighttime. Stars scattered thickly across the sky. Yang Zhenggang spotted the headlights at the compound gate and came rushing down from the political education building. Instructor Zhang had come back with him. Yang Zhenggang came quickly to the two of them. “How did it go? He didn’t punish you, did he?”

Lin Luxiao walked ahead, shoved his car keys back into his pocket, and turned to say one line: “I’m going upstairs to change. Both of you head to the training ground and wait.”

Zhang Wei gave him a wave. “Go on.”

Yang Zhenggang couldn’t make sense of it. He stared at Lin Luxiao’s straight-backed figure disappearing into the building and called after him: “Why are you changing clothes at this hour?”

Zhang Wei glanced at him. “Come on. Let’s go to the training ground.”

Yang Zhenggang fell into step beside him. The two walked in silence for a moment. Zhang Wei spoke without warning: “Does Luxiao genuinely have feelings for that girl?”

“Of course not — absolutely not!”

Zhang Wei gave a quiet laugh. “No need to put on a show for me.”

The truth was, Yang Zhenggang didn’t know with any certainty. He’d noticed the ambiguity between them, but he didn’t dare say it aloud to anyone — he could only turn it over in his own mind. At first, when he’d asked the young man himself, he’d denied it. Hard to say for certain. But thinking it over, it wasn’t hard to understand. The man was almost thirty, hadn’t been in a serious relationship, saw a beautiful young woman — developing a little pull toward her was only natural.

“Does Director Meng know?”

Zhang Wei lit a cigarette. “He knows. He went through a tirade. Keep an eye on that young man yourself — he’s prone to making rash moves.”

Yang Zhenggang’s stomach dropped. Big trouble.

“And what did Director Meng say?”

Zhang Wei took a drag. “What else? A thorough dressing-down, then back here to run laps.”

Yang Zhenggang didn’t believe it. “That easy?”

“Ten kilometres with full load, plus five hundred push-ups. Easy? If that’s easy then you’d better stay and watch. With Luxiao’s fitness, doing all of that — it’s still going to be the middle of the night before he’s done. I’m an old man — I don’t need this kind of suffering. I didn’t ask to be dragged into it.”

……

When Lin Luxiao was heading upstairs, Nan Chu was just coming out of the washroom, having finished washing her face.

The women’s dormitory was on the second floor, his on the third. At the turn of the staircase, the girl was making her way along the corridor, carrying her washbasin. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun resting behind her ear, a few short strands framing each side. No makeup — face scrubbed clean and damp, a few water droplets still clinging to it — clear-browed, bright-eyed.

Lin Luxiao only cast her a light glance, then looked away. His steps didn’t slow at all — he turned and went up the stairs.

In expression and manner, he bore no resemblance to the man who had pushed her hard against the wall and kissed her at midday.

If not for the fact that her body still remembered, Nan Chu might have wondered if the whole afternoon had been a dream.

“Lin Luxiao.”

Nan Chu called after him.

The figure ahead didn’t slow — if anything, he quickened his pace, taking the stairs in long strides. His lean silhouette disappeared around the bend.

That was the pattern of a man who kisses and runs.

She’d gotten the short end of that deal. At the very least, she should have gotten him first at noon.

……

The training ground.

Lin Luxiao had changed into a military-green vest and fatigues, muscles clearly defined beneath. He warmed up in place, crouching to stretch. There was no lighting on the ground — only the faint, pale wash of moonlight, tracing his lean frame in clean lines.

Zhang Wei clicked the stopwatch. “Push-ups first, then.”

Lin Luxiao nodded. He bent forward, both palms flat on the ground, arm muscles bunching, toes braced, body level. Down. Up. The movement was textbook — flowing, unhurried.

Zhang Wei coughed and reminded him: “Roughly speaking, I still need to go home and settle my son in for bed.”

Lin Luxiao kept his palms on the ground, laughed under his breath: “Not worried someone will report it to Director Meng tomorrow?”

Zhang Wei was quiet for a moment. “You’d better just do it properly.”

……

Five minutes later, Zhang Wei asked: “Any regrets?”

“No.”

The man on the ground was gradually soaking through with sweat, running down his jaw in beads and falling. His usual limit was four hundred — beyond that, it became a struggle. Meng Guohong knew his physical thresholds precisely, and always set punishments at exactly ten percent above his limit. That was the cruelest kind — just when you felt you couldn’t take another one, if you pushed, you’d get through.

“You’ve actually developed real feelings?”

After a long silence, the man on the ground gave a low groan of affirmation, sweat dripping bead by bead onto the dirt.

Zhang Wei exhaled a long breath. “Does the girl like you?”

He didn’t answer. He clenched his jaw and kept going.

Zhang Wei sighed again, voice filled with the weight of hard-earned wisdom: “Luxiao — when I was as young and reckless as you, I acted on impulse too. But in the end, I realised it was only impulse. So often you’ll find that in the end, the one you end up with isn’t the one you love — it’s the one who’s right. It’s about compatibility.”

Lin Luxiao finished his last rep, pushed himself upright, and looked at Zhang Wei. The moonlight was faint and vague — he could barely make out the shape of him, let alone his expression. He narrowed his eyes slightly. His face was all sweat, his hands dark with mud. He slapped his palms clean and said with a half-joking air: “Give it a rest. Are you telling me there’s no love between you and my aunt? Any time she so much as talks to another man, you look like you’re about to throw a chair.”

Zhang Wei gave a faint smile. “Feeling can be cultivated. When she and I first married, there was nothing there. But after all these years together, even nothing becomes something. You understand? So nothing is insurmountable. The next one — whoever comes along, whoever ends up staying — in time, it all becomes love. That’s reality.”

Zhang Wei’s eyes grew quieter, deeper. “That kind of reality isn’t even rare. Do you believe it?”

Of course — that was “reality.” And it wasn’t rare at all.

One bleak reality after another laid bare the cruel face of this world.

To hell with “reality.”

“Reality” was a miserable thing. They just couldn’t bring themselves to admit they’d stopped caring — so they let “reality” take the blame.

……

In the days of training that followed, whenever Nan Chu and Lin Luxiao crossed paths, neither said a word. Frequent encounters, frequently sidestepped. Several times Nan Chu’s gaze found his face — and each time he let it pass right over her without a flicker.

At dinner, they both reached for the soup ladle at the same moment. Their hands touched. Their eyes met. Both immediately looked away. Lin Luxiao simply scooped up the last two mouthfuls of his food and left the table, going to the small pavilion by the entrance to smoke. Yang Zhenggang followed close behind and murmured in his ear: “Things are nearly settled on that end. Hold it together. Don’t give yourself any more headaches. You hear me?”

Lin Luxiao smoked, and knitted his brow with impatience. “Old Yang.”

Yang Zhenggang paused.

Lin Luxiao had his cigarette between his teeth, and turned to look at him. His tone was sardonic: “You’ve been flipped by Director Meng, haven’t you?”

Yang Zhenggang was furious and shoved his head sideways. “Get out of here — am I that kind of person? Old Yang never betrays his brothers!”

Lin Luxiao gave a self-mocking smile, glanced away — and spotted Nan Chu coming out of the canteen door, looking around. He dropped the smile, stood, clapped Yang Zhenggang on the shoulder. “I’m off. Stall her.”

He ground out the cigarette and walked away, hands in his fatigues pockets.

Yang Zhenggang turned around, only to see Nan Chu heading in the opposite direction entirely — not so much as a glance this way.

Yang Zhenggang shook his head with a quiet, wry smile.

Flattering yourself, are you? That girl wasn’t looking for you at all. You, young man, are in for quite a bit of pain ahead.

……

That same evening, Yang Zhenggang brought Lin Luxiao a piece of news.

At the time, Lin Luxiao was reclining in his chair, turning over in his mind how to slip past the “eyes” and get to Nan Chu.

A knock came at the door. He didn’t even bother opening his eyes. “Come in.”

“Luxiao.”

“Talk.”

Yang Zhenggang paused before continuing: “Someone’s been sent down from the division.”

“What for?”

Yang Zhenggang hesitated briefly. “To give them a fire safety education briefing — and to tie in with the show, make a year-end fire prevention short film.”

The words were barely out before the sound of footsteps came down the corridor — heels, light and nimble. Clearly a woman.

“Luxiao, this is —”

But before Yang Zhenggang could finish the introduction, the woman spoke for herself. There was a playful smile on her face, her voice a lilting, melodious lilt: “Lin Luxiao. I’m Xu Yun.”

Xu Yun.

……