The group nearby who had been smoking wore expressions of pure shock. The young man with the floral sleeve tattoos let his cigarette burn right down to the butt, swore under his breath, and said: “Good lord.”

“Is the bad boy going straight?” someone replied. “Color me convinced.”

Ban Sheng had never cared what anyone said about him. He lowered his head and looked at Lin Weixia: “Happy now?”

Lin Weixia tucked his cigarettes and lighter into her coat pocket. The nearly burned-out cigarette, still trailing the last faint sparks, she dropped into the trash can. She looked up at him, her tone unyielding:

“Then come home with me now.”

From anyone else, that kind of demand would’ve read as shameless overreach to Ban Sheng. He let out a short, exasperated laugh and looked at her without saying anything. By now, the group from the private room had played themselves out and come downstairs to the convenience store for cigarettes. They naturally spotted the two of them standing together not far away.

One of them cradled a paper cup packed with skewers of hot pot and called out: “Ban bro, still drinking?”

Ban Sheng looked down at the girl standing in front of him — she wore a black coat and a beret, her smooth hair pressed against her chest, black brows and lips the color of wild cherries. Clean and whole and beautiful.

She looked at him, and the meaning in her eyes was unmistakable: she would follow him into hell.

Ban Sheng exhaled. He didn’t even look at the group. He turned to her and said slowly: “Not drinking.”

Once everyone had dispersed, the rain was still falling. The edge in Lin Weixia’s gaze softened a little, and her voice lost some of its seriousness:

“Do you… want to come see my dog?”

Ban Sheng nearly laughed from sheer exasperation. A moment ago she had been formidable. Now here she was, putting on her best gentle voice. He reached out and gripped the back of her neck, pulling her along.

“Let’s go.”

His palm was wide and cold. The moment it pressed against the back of her neck, Lin Weixia stiffened from the chill. And then Ban Sheng, as if deliberately making mischief, let his palm — rough with calluses — drag slowly and deliberately across her skin at a pace that was neither fast nor gentle, the teasing intent unmistakable.

Lin Weixia shuddered from head to toe, and slapped his hand away. “You rotten scoundrel.”

The moment those words were out of her mouth, Ban Sheng raised an eyebrow with exaggerated surprise. His unruly hand moved from the back of her neck to her cheek and pinched it, letting out a dry, amused laugh:

“Who taught you that word? You’ve got quite the arsenal for insults.”

Lin Weixia’s face went a little red. She didn’t dare answer — she was afraid Ban Sheng would get even more insufferable. Ban Sheng’s car was in the parking basement, and since he’d been drinking, he couldn’t drive. The two of them caught a cab together.

Lin Weixia’s rented apartment was on Luotan Middle Road, close to campus. The ride took about half an hour. They arrived below her building, both getting out one after the other.

Lin Weixia closed the taxi door. She was just about to walk into the complex when a car horn sounded from somewhere behind her. She turned. A black Bentley was sitting there with its hazard lights blinking, as though calling to her.

Lin Weixia squinted at the license plate. It seemed vaguely familiar, so she walked over. Ban Sheng followed, unhurried.

As she drew near the black Bentley, the car door was pushed open and Song Yihang hopped out from the passenger side. He had on a little tuxedo today, looking like a pint-sized adult — sharp and adorable at the same time. He was clutching two books, which he held out to Lin Weixia.

Lin Weixia blinked, then remembered — these were the books she had left at Song Yihang’s house the day before. She smiled and took them, reaching up to ruffle his hair. He turned his head away with a straight face and dodged her hand.

Lin Weixia looked toward the driver’s seat. The man sitting there wore a grey-brown overcoat. He was in his mid-thirties, his manner cold and composed, his features striking, with a quality that brought to mind the clear moon overhead.

This was also Lin Weixia’s first time meeting Song Yihang’s guardian in person. She hadn’t expected someone quite this young.

“He insisted on coming to see you. And thank you for looking after Song Yihang all this time,” the man said, his tone genuine.

“Not at all — thank you for going out of your way to bring the books back.” Lin Weixia thanked him warmly.

The man gave a slight nod. His voice softened a little when he addressed Song Yihang — less distant: “Time to go. Say goodbye to your teacher.”

Song Yihang climbed back in, face blank, and waved to Lin Weixia with a stiff hand. She laughed and waved back.

Ban Sheng kept his face in an unmistakable scowl with no intention of being polite. He reached for a cigarette. He raised an eyebrow, then bent forward lazily and wrapped himself around her from behind — his cheek resting lightly against her pale neck, his face angled to the side as he rummaged in her coat pocket looking for his cigarettes.

It wasn’t any overtly intimate gesture. Yet it said everything about a connection between the two of them that the world didn’t know about.

Ban Sheng pulled a pack of Marlboros from her pocket. As he glanced up, his gaze met the man in the car in midair. Neither of them looked away first. The meaning was clear without words. But in the end it was Ban Sheng whose eyes held the denser and more deliberate weight of emotion.

After goodbyes were said, Lin Weixia pulled Ban Sheng away. He bit down on a cigarette, looked back once more at the man in the car, then turned — and met a pair of clear, bright eyes. He let out a quiet laugh, pulled the cigarette from his lips, and dropped it into the nearest green trash can.

“Let’s go,” Ban Sheng said.

Lin Weixia’s apartment was in a complex near the university, built for retired faculty. The building was aging, but the rent was reasonable, the greenery was lush, and it was quiet.

The moment the door was unlocked, Shengxia came shooting across the floor like she was on a skateboard. She sniffed at Ban Sheng’s trouser leg in circles first, catching the familiar scent — and then her tail started wagging furiously as she leaped up at him.

Ban Sheng crouched down and ruffled her round little head. He said, with a low laugh: “Your mom’s been feeding you well.”

The little dog stared up at him with round black eyes, as if she understood, and let out a soft, whining cry, pressing herself eagerly against his arm. Lin Weixia poured him a glass of water and said:

“I haven’t eaten yet — I was about to cook noodles. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

Lin Weixia went to the bathroom and found a pearlescent white hair clip, using it to casually pin her hair up at the back. It left her face clean and unframed, and in the warm lamplight she had a soft, calm quality about her.

Making dried noodles didn’t take long. She brought the water to a boil, dropped in the thin noodles, cracked two eggs in, seasoned it, and ladled it into bowls.

Ban Sheng was quiet when he ate — well-mannered, making no unnecessary sounds. Only occasionally would their eyes meet across the table, hold for a long moment, and then part.

He finished everything in his bowl. Lin Weixia refilled his glass. She sat across from him and asked:

“How many cigarettes do you smoke in a day?”

Ban Sheng glanced at her sideways and gave a vague number:

“Two or three packs.”

Lin Weixia nodded. She was surprised, but she kept it from showing too much. Then she began to speak, in her characteristically unhurried tone — quiet and deliberate, yet with an unmistakable firmness beneath it:

“Starting now, you’re only allowed two or three cigarettes a day.”

Ban Sheng said nothing. After a long pause, he simply looked at her and laughed:

“Lin Weixia, don’t you think you’re asking too much? I’m already addicted to cigarettes and alcohol.”

Lin Weixia’s lashes stirred. She rose from the sofa. Ban Sheng lounged where he was, leaning back, eyes drifting around Lin Weixia’s apartment.

The curtains were a vintage red with a cat pattern printed on them. Several potted plants sat on the windowsill in the afternoon light. The whole place was tidy and clean.

Ban Sheng was lost in thought when a wave of sweet white peach fragrance drew near. Before he could react, slender fingers brushed his lips — and then something was pressed into his mouth.

The moment the tip of his tongue touched it, a sharp, intense sourness hit both sides of his jaw, weakening his bite. His brows drew together involuntarily. The sourness lasted only thirty seconds. Then the coating dissolved rapidly. Sour became sweet, flooding across his tongue and teeth.

Lin Weixia was kneeling on one knee on the sofa beside him, wearing a cream-white knit top that revealed the fine lines of her collarbones. Her lovely eyes glinted with mischief:

“Good, isn’t it? That’s your quit-smoking candy.”

Ban Sheng fixed his gaze on her. The warmth in his eyes grew denser and denser. Lin Weixia felt increasingly at a loss under that look, heat creeping into her face. Just when she was about to lose her composure, the young man reached out and took the blue candy wrapper she was holding between her fingers.

He smoothed the blue transparent wrapper flat with his thumbnail and let his dark lashes fall, as if contemplating something. He asked:

“Do you remember—”

“What?”

Ban Sheng closed his fingers around the wrapper. The complicated look on his face disappeared, and he slipped back into his usual casual manner:

“Nothing. I eat this brand of preserved plum candy too.”

Had for a long time.

Ban Sheng stayed at Lin Weixia’s for a while. He played with the dog for over ten minutes. When he was about to leave, Lin Weixia came out of her room carrying a glass jar filled to the brim with preserved plum candies.

She pressed the jar into his hands, her voice a little stiff:

“Since you like them — take them all.”

“And please ease up on the cigarettes.”

Ban Sheng looked down at the jar of candy that had been shoved into his arms. His throat moved. He seemed to be pressing something down. In the end, he answered:

“Alright.”

Monday. The sky was clear and bright. After a full week of snowfall, the capital’s north finally saw sun again. The snow covering everything began to melt quickly, and with the rare good weather, the campus was visibly livelier.

Lin Weixia and Ban Sheng both happened to have a morning class. They had arranged to eat lunch together at the dining hall. Ban Sheng took her straight to the second-floor restaurant — the first floor was too crowded.

They ordered from the Singaporean menu. Lin Weixia got a seafood fried rice and a bowl of pork rib soup. Ban Sheng glanced at the house specials on the menu and picked a few dishes at random.

While they ate, they talked here and there. Lin Weixia was in the middle of sharing an experiment from her psychology class, speaking with genuine enthusiasm, when she noticed Ban Sheng listening with only half his attention — his thumb sliding across his phone screen, clearly replying to someone’s messages.

The smile at the corner of Lin Weixia’s lips went still. “Who are you texting?”

“Someone wants me to race mountain bikes day after tomorrow,” Ban Sheng replied without looking up.

Lin Weixia didn’t answer right away. Her dark lashes dropped, fanning out in a row like crow feathers. She prodded gently at the distinct grains of rice in her ceramic bowl with her chopsticks, turning something over quietly, then said:

“Will there be girls at the race?”

Ban Sheng raised an eyebrow and looked up from his phone. He answered with characteristic recklessness:

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Then you have to take me along.” Lin Weixia met his gaze steadily.

Three seconds of silence. Ban Sheng could see that the girl had already put down her chopsticks and had no intention of eating. He picked them up and handed them back to her. Then he surrendered, in a tone of indulgence he himself hadn’t noticed was there:

“Fine, fine. You win — your royal highness.”

Lin Weixia quietly let out a breath of relief. What she actually cared about wasn’t whether there would be other girls at the race. She cared about what, exactly, Ban Sheng was doing.

She worried about him. She wanted to go and see for herself.

But because their relationship was still suspended in that ambiguous, unresolved space, Lin Weixia didn’t know what standing she had to interfere in his life again and again. She didn’t know where Ban Sheng’s boundaries were.

Wednesday night, seven o’clock. Ban Sheng drove his black GTR with Lin Weixia in the passenger seat, leaving Tanjiang Middle Road and driving at speed. The night scenery outside the window shifted endlessly — pinpoints of light scattered across the river, the city glittering below. The car wound out of the expressway and up a mountain road, eventually arriving at the foot of a fully lit villa.

With a click, Ban Sheng released his black seatbelt. Lin Weixia was still sitting there. She took out her phone and opened the map app. A round icon spun on the map of the capital’s north. She tapped it — it showed their location as Jiujia Mountain.

Jiujia Mountain had steep terrain and plenty of winding, narrow roads. Several large-scale mountain racing events had been held here before. Over time, it had become a regular spot for enthusiasts and serious hobbyists to race.

Lin Weixia stared at the elevation readings on the map and drew in a slow breath. There was a knock on the car window. She looked up, unfastened her seatbelt, and got out.

Ban Sheng led Lin Weixia into the villa. The moment she stepped inside, a dozen pairs of eyes swept over her. Someone spotted Ban bro bringing a girl in and gave a long, appreciative whistle.

Ban Sheng raised his eyelids and cut the man a look. The man quickly fell silent. The rest immediately started calling out their greetings to Ban Sheng and cleared a spot for him.

Ban Sheng didn’t take them up on it. He pulled Lin Weixia with him and found a chair for her to sit in.

Lin Weixia looked around. Everyone was a stranger, except for Qiu Minghua. By the look of their clothes and the way they carried themselves, these people were clearly wealthy young men. Several heavily made-up women in short skirts sat nearby, smiling accommodatingly.

These people all shared one quality: drained and hollow in the daylight, like creatures that shunned the sun — but as night fell, their nerves turned electric, like animals that came alive in the dark.

Before long, Lin Weixia noticed a young man sitting on the sofa with a head of bright red hair, grinning with a loose, cocky ease that marked him immediately as someone born with everything handed to him. He was swirling a glass of champagne, tilting the bottle over a girl beside him.

There was a pop. White foam gushed out and drenched the girl. The red-haired young man let out a whoop and gestured for the room to applaud. Far from being angry, the girl giggled and let him help wipe her off.

After spending some time in the villa, someone called them out. The whole group moved out in a noisy wave and made their way to a red rest station.

Walking closer, Lin Weixia could see the race course had already been laid out — yellow markers pulled taut, tracing the race line. A crowd of young onlookers stood along the sides. At night, the temperature plummeted, and everyone exhaled small clouds of white mist as they spoke.

The participants chose their vehicles. A girl with long, wavy hair walked up and spoke to Ban Sheng, her tone ingratiating:

“Ban Sheng, want me to carry your stuff?”

Lin Weixia’s lashes shifted. She said nothing.

Ban Sheng, who had been listening to someone else with half an ear, glanced sideways at that. His gaze rested on the girl’s face for less than a second, then he tilted his chin toward Lin Weixia beside him:

“Already covered.”

At Ban Sheng’s words, the noisy crowd suddenly quieted. Everyone turned in unison and noticed the quiet girl standing beside him. She was holding Ban Sheng’s cigarettes, his lighter, and his wallet.

He had handed everything he had to her.

The unanimous verdict was that the girl was genuinely beautiful. Clean-looking. A kind of classical elegance — and in those eyes, a cool, understated pride.

Red Hair noticed Lin Weixia too: “Ban bro — your girlfriend?”

“No.”

The quiet, flat denial reached her ears. Lin Weixia’s chest tightened. She dropped her gaze, and her grip on the lighter tightened — she squeezed until she felt a faint ache in her palm.

Then, in the next second, she heard Ban Sheng give a very quiet laugh. And in front of everyone, unhurried and deliberate, he said:

“She’s my boss.”