When they finished, Nan Chu glanced at the time — not yet ten o’clock.

He had cut the time short.

Lin Luxiao leaned against the headboard and lit a cigarette. She was nestled against him, listening to his steady heartbeat, her hand absently pinching at his chest in an attempt to raise a bruise — though the man’s muscles were too solid to oblige. Unlike her, whose body was covered in patches of blue and purple.

Especially her shoulders.

Nan Chu looked mournfully at her own smooth, white shoulder. “I can’t wear off-the-shoulder clothes anymore…”

Hearing that, Lin Luxiao glanced down at her, tapped his cigarette ash, and said in a neutral voice, “It’s deep winter — you’re not afraid of the cold?”

“There’s a formal dinner in a few days and everyone will be wearing cocktail gowns. Am I supposed to be the only one bundled up like a rice dumpling?”

“What’s wrong with a rice dumpling? It keeps you warm.”

He lifted an eyebrow and said it with complete conviction.

Nan Chu couldn’t be bothered to argue and could only pray that the marks would fade in time.

Despite her complaints about how roughly he treated her, she couldn’t help wrapping her arms around him. “And then we won’t be able to see each other again for a long time…”

“Hmm?”

“My schedule is packed coming up.” She pressed her face against him and said in a muffled, subdued tone.

Lin Luxiao nodded in understanding. His hand smoothed over her soft, slightly mussed hair. He knew that if he showed even a flicker of reluctance, she would only grow sadder.

After a gentle moment, he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “You focus on your work. Come find me when you have a free moment.”

“But you’ll be busy too…”

“I have nothing beyond work. Every one of my four days off a month — I’m reserving them all for you.”

“Hmm. No seeing other women.”

Lin Luxiao gave a soft, amused sound. “What women? My unit is nothing but a pack of bachelors desperate for someone to love.”

There were wolves in front and tigers behind, but Nan Chu kept her eyes closed and reached up to wrap both hands around his neck. “Staff Officer Xu counts as one. Dr. Xia counts as one.”

Lin Luxiao tilted his head and removed her hands, holding them lightly in his own. “That evening at the hotel, Xu Yun came to say goodbye. She left halfway through the meal. As for Xia Wan — I haven’t let her touch me with so much as a finger.”

Nan Chu was drowsy now, and satisfied. She nodded. “That’s the right attitude.”

……

And so the two of them truly fell into the rhythm of two people living parallel, busy lives.

She filmed. He ran rescues.

Nan Chu’s schedule in those weeks was genuinely packed. Inexplicably, she was receiving more film offers. Inexplicably, she had picked up more endorsements. Inexplicably, she had been cast as the female lead in a drama — not a top-tier director’s project, but the original novel apparently had a sizable, devoted following. And she had, inexplicably, trended twice on the hot search, to reviews that were neither especially positive nor especially negative.

Those who criticized her were still a vocal crowd. Adding to that the earlier news of Lin Qi’s drug arrest — though he had since entered a youth voluntary rehabilitation center — quite a few people still held a skeptical view of whether Nan Chu herself had used drugs.

But she did, for once, notice people speaking up for her.

Two days later, though, she found out those voices belonged to hired water army accounts — the comment accounts clicked into showed nothing but a profile picture and a blank page otherwise. She initially assumed it was Shen Guanzong’s doing, asked him twice, and Shen Guanzong said, “Given your current situation, buying fake commenters isn’t the right move. Let’s wait until the work speaks for itself.”

And then puzzled over it himself: “Who on earth bought you water army accounts?”

Whatever the case, things seemed to be trending in a slightly better direction.

But Nan Chu herself felt very little about any of it.

These past years of meditation retreats with her host had put many things in a calmer perspective for her. More and more, she found herself craving a quiet, undramatic life.

Meanwhile, Jiang Ge was spending his days gleefully scrolling through his phone, issuing commands left and right.

One moment he was directing his assistant: “This drama would suit Nan Chu. Go negotiate with the production team.”

Ten minutes later the assistant returned. “The female lead has already been cast.”

“Who?”

“A girl group member — Xu Zhiyi. She’s the new talent being heavily promoted by Huanshi this year.”

“I’ll add one hundred million. Tell the production team.”

Five more minutes. “Done.”

Jiang Ge nodded with satisfaction, then called He Zhengping. “I watched the rough cut. I think Liu Yingying is outstanding. Why not just trim the female lead’s scenes and let Liu Yingying take the top spot.”

He Zhengping was alarmed. “The female lead is A-list!”

Jiang Ge said brazenly, “Nan Chu will be A-list too.”

He Zhengping chuckled. “You rascal. Word is you’ve been securing a lot of projects for her lately. What’s in it for you?”

Jiang Ge made a smug noise. “I call it having vision.”

He Zhengping let out a dry laugh. “You’d better watch out for your grandfather. Keep this up and one day he’ll put a stop to it himself.”

Jiang Ge was too used to doing as he pleased to give it much thought. He made a dismissive sound and hung up. Whoever tried to stand in the way of someone he intended to launch — he’d like to see them try.

……

That day, Nan Chu had just attended an awards ceremony — not that she had any chance of winning, just another seat-filler appearance. But the press and reporters were thick outside the red carpet, so she had dressed properly for the occasion, wearing a small slip dress and shivering in the winter wind.

Her coat was in the car.

Ordinarily there would be heating throughout the venue, but the backstage holding room she shared with several other actresses had a broken heater. There had been a small hand warmer — until it was taken by the dressing room next door, which housed the A-list.

The other actresses were furious but swallowed their resentment, keeping their smiles fixed whenever anyone came in.

The entertainment industry was like this too — glamorous on the outside, with layers of experience inside that most people couldn’t begin to imagine.

Nan Chu sat for a while.

The ceremony wasn’t until seven. She checked the time and slipped back out to call Lin Luxiao.

It had been a long time since they’d seen each other.

In between, they’d managed only a few phone calls. Lin Luxiao was even busier than she was — his phone was often switched off, and the chances of getting through were slim.

Miraculously, today it connected.

After the first ring, Nan Chu’s heart was already beating fast, inexplicably nervous.

They had done everything together, and yet she still felt like a seventeen-year-old girl, missing him to the point of near-madness.

“Nan Chu?”

The moment she heard Lin Luxiao’s voice, Nan Chu felt a wave of contentment wash through her all at once. “Squad Leader, are you off duty yet?”

Lin Luxiao was just stepping out of the station with his phone to his ear. He brushed off a series of greetings from passing soldiers, made it to the parking area, pulled open his car door and climbed in — the door shutting with a solid thud — and then, sealed in the quiet of the car, there was finally something like a private world for just the two of them. “Just finished.”

The corridor was crowded with people rushing about their business, too occupied to pay her any notice. A draft of cold air swept in. Nan Chu rubbed her arms. “I’m at the awards show. I’m freezing to death.”

Lin Luxiao leaned back in his seat and lit a cigarette. He narrowed his eyes — he could picture perfectly well what she had worn today. Every time he saw her photos, he couldn’t help but feel cold on her behalf.

He drew on the cigarette slowly, taking his time. “Serves you right for not dressing warmly. I’ll have Aunt Meng find you a big flower-print padded jacket to wear.”

“Are you treating me like an elderly grandmother?”

Lin Luxiao gave a quiet laugh. “Who decided that flower-print padded jackets belong only to grandmothers? Your thinking is flawed.”

“Fine, go ahead and get one. In a few days at the celebration banquet, I’ll wear it there — let’s see whose face gets more red.”

Several low laughs.

Lin Luxiao stubbed out the cigarette and, suddenly serious, called her name. “Nan Chu.”

“Hmm?”

“Is your mother abroad?”

“Hmm.”

“Is she coming back?”

“You’re looking for my mother?”

“Hmm.”

Nan Chu’s throat caught. “Why are you looking for my mother?”

“I need the household registration booklet.” He said it with easy candor, and a low, quiet laugh followed. “You don’t need the household registration booklet to get married?”

“Are we actually getting married?”

He said teasingly, “What, you don’t want to marry me?”

“Did you propose?” Nan Chu lowered her voice.

“……”

At that, the line went quiet.

When she was very young, Nan Chu had imagined that if a man ever wanted to marry her, it would come with a full ceremonial procession, or at the very least a grand, sweeping proposal.

As she got older.

Circumstances, ideals, experiences, and the weight of identity conspired to narrow the possibilities.

Lin Luxiao’s role in life left him with no way to give her something grand and sweeping.

In the parking garage.

Lin Luxiao had lowered the car window. He held the phone in one hand and held a cigarette between the fingers of the other, that hand resting on the window ledge. The cigarette had gone unsmoked for a long while — the ember wavered, tilted, and the long grey ash gave way and fell at the wind’s nudge. He tossed the cigarette aside, then reached down into the storage compartment and pulled out a form.

It was the political review form Lin Qingyuan had had Secretary Zhang pass along a few days ago.

“Do whatever you feel is right. I won’t stop you. If you eat bitter and swallow hardship, don’t come crying to me about regret.”

A while back, he’d dreamed of little else.

And now that permission had actually come, he felt the odd mixture of wonder and quiet deflation — as though a long-held tension had released, leaving a momentary hollow. But then he thought of the little woman, and the hollow filled right up again.

At least this much had been accomplished.

All that remained was for Nan Chu’s side of the political review to clear, and for Nan Yueru to give her consent — and after that, in principle, the two of their names would be joined together.

From that point on, the box for spouse on Lin Luxiao’s forms would carry Nan Chu’s name.

In life she would be his.

In death she would be his ghost.

He tucked the phone against his ear and reached for a pen, uncapping it with his teeth. He smoothed the form out on the steering wheel and began filling it in at a leisurely pace.

Full Name: Lin Luxiao.

Firm strokes, bold and clean.

His handwriting was good — he had practiced brush calligraphy under his grandfather’s guidance since he was a child.

Lin Luxiao bent over the steering wheel, filling the form line by line, while asking her quietly through the phone: “Marry me? Hmm?”

On the other side, the young woman had gone stiff from the cold, rubbing her arms, and stubbornly answered: “Not marrying.”

Lin Luxiao smiled faintly and kept writing.

Gender: Male.

Ethnicity: Han.

He spoke in a leisurely drawl, “I’m filling out the marriage application right now. If you won’t marry me, I’ll rip it up—”

As he said it, he crumpled the paper deliberately.

The sound of crinkling paper reached her through the phone, and she panicked on the other end. “Hey — don’t you dare!”

He gave a low laugh and pressed the point: “So are you marrying me or not?”

“Marrying, marrying, marrying!”

The young woman rushed her answer, breathless. “But we have to keep it secret — register first, don’t announce it publicly. And don’t let my company find out.”

He filled out the rest of the form at his own pace. When it was done, Lin Luxiao leaned back in his seat, held it up, and looked it over. “Fine. I’ll submit it tomorrow. We’ll make up the wedding ceremony later.”

By the end of that call.

Even Nan Chu herself hadn’t quite realized — had she just gotten herself married, just like that?

……

Lin Luxiao submitted the report to the brigade the very next day.

Meng Guohong looked it over and shook his head. “Do you have to be this rushed? Your father barely gave the nod and you’ve already filed a report on my desk?”

Lin Luxiao stood straight and tall. “I’m thirty. If I’m not in a hurry now, when should I be?”

Meng Guohong replied with cold displeasure — he still hadn’t warmed to this. “Just don’t bring trouble on yourself!”

Lin Luxiao took a breath. “My wife is pretty, yes — but do all of you have some kind of issue with pretty women?”

Meng Guohong couldn’t be bothered to dignify that with a response. He waved him out.

These kids — every last one of them was completely out of control.

Coming out of the office, in an unusually good mood, Lin Luxiao made a few calls to Da Liu, checking in.

Da Liu had been in a sulk lately over Xu Zhiyi.

“What’s the sulk about?”

“She won’t listen to reason. She’s an idol — perfectly fine staying in her lane and singing. Why does she have to go into acting? And then the female lead role she’d just landed was taken by someone else. She’s been in a bad mood for days and won’t agree to go out no matter how I try.”

Lin Luxiao pulled out a cigarette and placed it between his lips, unbothered. “Just coax her.”

“I’ve been coaxing her to the high heavens.” Da Liu suddenly found something odd about this. “You sound like you’re in a good mood?”

Lin Luxiao lowered his head to light the cigarette, exhaled slowly, and replied in a lazy, unhurried tone, “I was going to tell you something, but since you’re in a bad mood, I didn’t want to set you off. Never mind — I’ll just be happy by myself.”

“Get out of here! Like you haven’t been winding me up since we were kids?”

Lin Luxiao curved the corner of his mouth, said nothing.

Da Liu was desperate. “Come on, tell me! What’s the good news?”

Lin Luxiao flicked off a bit of ash, took his time answering. “I’m getting married.”

“You absolute— your family agreed?”

“Hmm.”

Da Liu: “Holy — congratulations! So I really have to start calling Nan Chu ‘sister-in-law’ now?!”

“I’ve already filed the report. Once the approval comes through, I’m going to meet Nan Chu’s mother.”

Everything else was manageable.

From his perspective, the bureaucratic approval was not a concern. Lin Qingyuan’s temperament he understood well enough. All of those factors were within his control. The only unpredictable variable was Nan Chu’s mother.

“Congratulations then! You’re going to meet the mother-in-law! And hey — while you’re at it, casually get me an autograph? I’m such a huge fan of her role as the female swordsman Zhao Ziying! And the lone wanderer Xie Yuan! She’s played so many iconic characters!”

Lin Luxiao, who neither followed celebrities nor watched dramas, said blankly: “What is that?”

Da Liu sighed with exasperation. “See, this is where you’re clueless. If you want to win over your future mother-in-law, you’d better at least watch her major roles first. Otherwise, when you’re sitting across from her and she asks what you think of her work, and you can’t say a single meaningful thing — imagine how many impression points that’ll cost you?”

God help him for listening to that.

Even so, in his spare moments, Lin Luxiao actually tracked down a few of Nan Yueru’s period costume dramas and watched them.

One of them turned out to be rather bold in its content — intimate scenes every few minutes without fail.

Lin Luxiao ended up with one hand on the fast-forward bar, skipping every suggestive moment, until he’d watched the whole thing in a state of mild bewilderment, somehow coming out the other end in a cold sweat.

He closed the video, forehead vaguely damp.

Nan Chu’s call came in right then, precisely on schedule. “What have you been up to?!”

Lin Luxiao jolted upright in his chair. “Ah — what is it?”

“Do you have WeChat? I want to send you some pictures.”

He had set up an account a long time ago — no profile photo, and hardly any contacts. He barely used it. Anyone who needed to reach him called.

He gave her his account name, waited for her to send the friend request, accepted — and a few pictures came through almost immediately.

“Help me pick — I have an anniversary event tonight. Which one looks better?”

He studied the photos for a while, and in the end chose the one that was slightly more modest.

Nan Chu replied quickly: “I knew it. Got it, I’ll listen to you.”

He replied with satisfaction: “Good girl. What time does it end? I’ll come pick you up?”

Nan Chu’s reply took a little while. While he waited, Lin Luxiao tapped on her profile picture. There was the young woman sitting on a sofa, holding up a small plush rabbit — it happened to cover her face entirely.

As if moved by some inexplicable impulse.

He pressed save, then set it as his own profile photo.

He didn’t have many contacts — aside from Da Liu and a couple others, mostly squadmates and soldiers he had once commanded.

The account that had been dormant for years suddenly changed its photo.

His WeChat instantly exploded.

Da Liu: “Holy — is that sister-in-law? She’s adorable.”

Lin: “Is she cuter than your girlfriend?”

Da Liu: “Get out! My girlfriend is the cutest!”

Lin Luxiao replied with a middle finger emoji.

Shen Mu: “You’ve risen from the dead?”

Lin: “Is that a problem?”

Shen Mu: “Is the profile photo Nan Chu?”

Lin: “Hmm.”

Shen Mu: “Not even your WeChat is safe from you showing off.”

Lin: “Is that a problem?”

System notification: To message this person, please add them as a contact first…

Nan Chu: “Why did you use my photo as your icon?”

Lin: “That little rabbit is cute.”

Nan Chu: “……”

Another message followed right away: “I have to go. Talk later. Don’t come pick me up tonight — there are a lot of reporters here. I’ll come find you in a few days.”

Lin Luxiao leaned back in his chair, both feet propped idly on the edge of the desk, and after a long moment replied with a single word: “Okay.”

Tonight, Nan Chu was attending F&D’s fiftieth anniversary celebration, held at the Huanyu Tower.

Among the attendees were many listed-company CEOs, A-list actors, prominent directors and producers, Jiang Ge’s most recent investment productions, newer talent like Nan Chu, and also a number of veteran artists and legendary performers — people from the same generation as Old Master Jiang.

Tonight was a battlefield of fame and wealth.

And in comparison, the actors present occupied the lowest rung — the newer ones angling to get their faces remembered, the top-tier ones jockeying for leverage. Only Nan Chu stood apart from the game: she spent the whole evening being steered by Shen Guanzong from table to table, toasting, while every part of her radiated a bone-deep exhaustion and weariness.

A grand ballroom. Brilliant crystal light.

Everywhere: impeccably dressed, exquisitely presented figures wearing invisible masks, smiling and receiving each other.

Moving through the crowd, passing one familiar face after another.

Nan Chu felt as though she had drifted into a masquerade ball, where everyone conversed loudly and naturally, projecting an air of serene harmony.

She turned her head.

And caught a glimpse of Xu Zhiyi being led out by a grey-haired older man, his arm around her shoulders.

Nan Chu looked away as though she had seen nothing, and then from the other direction, Yan Dai was weaving toward her through the crowd, wine glass in hand, trailing her long gown. She smiled. “Drink with me?”

……

Ten o’clock at night.

Special Rescue Unit, First Company.

The urgent wail of sirens tore open the night sky —

Every firefighter snapped upright in their bunk, swung their feet to the floor, and poured out in a disciplined stream.

Lin Luxiao was already charging out of his office, sliding down the pole in the corridor, and hit the garage floor first. He pulled on his firefighting gear in rapid sequence, then stood and checked his watch, counting the seconds.

“Move it!”

One by one, firefighters came running in.

Forty seconds. All accounted for. Lin Luxiao jumped into the vehicle and gave the order in a single word: “Go!”

The voice in his earpiece belonged to the dispatcher. “Fire location — Huanyu Tower, seventy-sixth floor.”

“What’s the situation inside?”

“F&D Group is holding an anniversary celebration. Many actors, directors, and elderly guests in attendance. The estimated number of people trapped is around 300, including hotel staff. The exact count is still being reported…” The dispatcher spoke, then noticed something strange — Lin Luxiao was unusually silent. Normally by now, he’d have already calmly begun analyzing the situation. Cautiously, the dispatcher asked, “Squad Leader Lin, are you there?”

A long pause before the answer came: “I heard you.”

The voice was flat and measured, but underneath it lay something tightly, almost unbearably compressed. The dispatcher nodded and continued, “Another call is coming in. Get there fast.”

“Hanging up.”

The line went dead.

The veterans who had responded to countless calls alongside Lin Luxiao — Yan Dai included — had never seen Lin Luxiao’s face look like this.

Dark as a gathering storm. As though he might erupt at any moment.

Yang Zhenggang assumed it was the severity of the situation — and that given the timing of Lin Luxiao’s transfer, any misstep tonight would be costly.

“Is the situation serious?”

Lin Luxiao shook his head, reached for the water bottle beside him, tipped his head back, and drained it in one go. Then he crushed the empty bottle flat and dropped it on the dashboard.

All he could hear were Nan Chu’s words from earlier.

— “I have an anniversary event tonight — which outfit do you think is better?”

— “I knew you’d pick that one. Alright, I’ll listen to you.”

He could almost picture the playful expression on her face when she’d said those two lines.

He couldn’t let himself picture it.

The moment his thoughts went there, his focus shattered. She had spent a few days at the station before — she knew the best windows for survival in a fire, better than most. That was something.

What he dreaded was that she would give her own chance at survival to someone else.

He suddenly bowed his head, fist pressed to his lips, teeth biting down on his own knuckle, the whites of his eyes going red — his whole back already drenched in sweat.

There was no room in his mind for anything else.

Just Nan Chu. Just Nan Chu.

When the vehicle reached the scene, a ring of people had gathered below — a dense, surging mass of heads pressing in from all sides.

Some were filming on their phones. Some were still talking on theirs.

Lin Luxiao didn’t wait for the vehicle to fully stop. He jumped out and looked up. The fire was a column of red violence threatening to blow apart this entire half of the night sky, rolling black smoke already merged with the darkness.

The tongues of flame clawed upward like something alive.

Spreading across the face of the building, hurling fireballs every few moments — blazing, trailing things that crashed onto the cars and street stalls below.

The onlookers below screamed and shouted with something almost like excitement.

“Fire!”

“Quick, post it on social media!”

“There are celebrities trapped inside, apparently!”

“Well, as long as my idol isn’t there.”

This was human nature in a disaster —

When calamity falls elsewhere, the bystander finds it thrilling.

Outside the perimeter, reporters were already trying to surge through. One grabbed Lin Luxiao by the arm, wearing the expression of someone who had just caught a front-page exclusive. “Excuse me, excuse me, what can you tell us about the situation inside? Even just a little?”

Lin Luxiao shook them off with a sharp motion. “Get out of the way.”

Then he turned, and with the brothers who had walked through fire beside him countless times before, charged toward the center of the flames.

Without looking back.

— What people call running toward danger.

In the year I enlisted, I made myself a promise.

Loyal to the Party. Loyal to my country. Loyal to the people. Never to betray.

All these years, I have carried that vow.

Into fire over a thousand times. Brought out thousands of lives.

A faith forged from blood and bone.

And now I have only one wish.

— May she be safe.