Wei Lai was puzzled by himself — the kiss went on for so long.

As a man, the things in the male-female domain that were genuinely worth being proud of for their duration and intensity were not kisses.

As Milu put it: a man’s vitality — either howling across the battlefield of his career, or spent in the warmth of a lover’s bed.

In the years before Milu had married, before Ke Ke Shu was still in training in Europe, when they’d all been young and full of reckless energy, they’d gotten up to all kinds of entertainment. On the more refined end of the spectrum: staying up all night with popcorn and cola, watching romance “action” films.

After too many of those, the appeal wore off, so they switched to clean, wholesome love stories.

Painfully slow pacing. An hour of waiting for one kiss. Ke Ke Shu was so impatient she nearly climbed out of her seat, yelling at the male lead onscreen: “Are you capable or not? If not, I’ll come in there and do it for you!”

Wei Lai said: “Crude!”

Milu: “Wei — what in the world sustains a kiss that has to go on that long?”

Wei Lai: “Director’s call, probably. There’s a paycheck riding on it.”

When the two-hour mark finally arrived, tragedy struck.

Ke Ke Shu: “Wei, they never even made it to the bed, and the man died for the woman. That makes no sense, does it?”

Wei Lai: “What do you know — that’s called loyalty!”

He had always thought of the male-female relationship as a film: the climax was what mattered, and everything leading up to it was filler — lighting, makeup, props — and all of it could be done carelessly, perfunctorily.

What was the point of kissing? He’d kissed women and he’d kissed men — during training, the nights could turn to games on a dare, and with not another soul for miles, men would steel themselves and go through with it. Afterward there would be mutual insults: someone complaining about stubble, someone else about bad breath, and one very aggrieved voice saying we agreed lips only, you lunatic, why did you use your tongue.

But now — he found himself sinking into it.

Every sense at its most acute, alive to and aware of everything.

— Her body grew heavier in the circle of his arms, and softer.

— When the tip of his tongue lightly grazed the inside of her lip, her throat arched back suddenly, her lashes damp at the roots, her breath coming faster.

— When his teeth gently caught the surface of her lower lip, the hands she had pressed against his chest abruptly curled inward, the tips of her fingers trembling faintly…

So a kiss could actually be interesting. So much room for discovery.

Cen Jin had probably been right — he was, in fact, serious about this.

Serious affection was more interesting than something purely physical.

A purely physical encounter was wildfire — flame consuming everything in its path, the whole world overturned in a single go, finished in extremes.

Serious affection was watching fine grass put out its first shoots, having the patience to wait as greens in every shade gradually stained the near hillsides and the distant ridgelines. These things he had never cared to do before, but now every small moment of it had become something he couldn’t get enough of.

The officer knocked on the door: “Hello — anyone in?”

Wei Lai let go of Cen Jin.

She sank back into the chair, her chest rising and falling sharply, the loosened collar revealing a flush of pink against white. After quite a long moment, she lowered her head and pressed the back of her hand lightly against her lips.

Wei Lai said: “What is it?”

“I’ve finished up. You’re foreigners — the village needs to receive you officially, so you’ll need to fill out a form and sign it.”

Done already? All the grievances lined up at the door, resolved? No wonder it had gone quiet outside.

Wei Lai went to open the door.

The officer held out a folder very politely — he had ruled the lines on the form himself, by hand and ruler.

A quick scan showed only the usual fields: name, nationality, purpose of visit, contact information. This officer clearly had no experience receiving foreign visitors at all, but he was determined to be diligent and responsible, to show that everything was done properly.

Wei Lai felt overheated through his whole body. He asked: “Is there water for washing up?”

The officer pointed to the drums at the corner of the container: “Use as much as you like.”

Wei Lai walked over, lifted the straw cover off one drum — inside was a short-handled plastic ladle — and scooped out a measure of water, pouring it straight over his own head.

Better.

The officer stood watching him blankly. Wei Lai explained: “I know water is precious here… I’m from Northern Europe. It’s cold there. Here is far too hot — I can’t take it.”

The officer had a look of realization, and then something apologetic showed in his face, as if the country’s geography and climate were somehow his personal fault: “It is quite hot here… no matter, please use it.”

…

Wei Lai chatted with the officer for a while. He filled in the form roughly, asked about the surrounding area, and the conversation came around to pirates. The officer said: “We rarely have pirates here. Pirates don’t dare come to large villages. You can relax. The most famous are the Somali pirates, but they’re very far away…”

Very confident — you might have four of them here tonight and not know it.

Wei Lai shook out his left arm, squeezing his fist intermittently to work out the muscle. His left palm up to the crook of his elbow had been feeling numb and tingly.

From the corner of his eye he caught Cen Jin slipping out. Without making a sound, she drew water and went inside to wash up. After a while she came back out and hung her wet clothing on the drying line.

Wei Lai watched the clothes going up on the line: she had washed his things too.

The officer said something. He hadn’t caught it: “Hmm?”

“The room at the end there,” — he pointed to the last unit in the container — “is my quarters. It only has one bed, so it’s only enough for one person. I asked Miss Cen Jin — since you and she are not husband and wife, she may need separate accommodation. I’ve borrowed a palm-leaf mat for her.”

Isn’t this a bit… backwards?

Wei Lai confirmed: “I get the bed?”

“That’s right. Miss Cen Jin can sleep in the telephone room. She’ll lay the mat on the floor. I’ll sleep in the office — if you need anything, call for me.”

I see. In this place, men ranked higher than women and received priority.

Wei Lai smiled and patted the officer on the shoulder: “All right — don’t worry about it. I’ll sort it out.”

Cen Jin needed no “sorting out” from him. The thought that the bed was his had never crossed her mind. When he had finished washing up and came inside, she was already lying down.

Wei Lai turned off the light and spread the palm mat on the floor, laying down on it.

Wonderful. The feeling of lying flat was, in fact, considerably more comfortable than being soaked in seawater.

A small window had been cut into the container wall, with two iron bars welded across it horizontally and vertically. Through the window, the drying line was visible: his shirt moved in a gentle, unhurried sway.

His thoughts drifted to what Ai Lin had once said.

— “Don’t you have any plans for the future? You should save some money — find a woman you love, buy a decent house, live a settled life…”

What a settled life looked like, he didn’t know.

He felt his fate was like a wrecked boat — always adrift on the water. The people and events of his life were the great winds and waves that blew over it, and once they passed, they passed. He had no wish to entangle anyone, and no wish to take anyone aboard.

What did a settled life look like? Was it having someone wash your worn clothes, dry them, and put them away — so they were always there when you needed them? Or was it always thinking about coming home, because there was someone there waiting?

He fell asleep a long time later, deeply.

He dreamed again of that boat, drifting at sea.

He went up on deck and found Cen Jin sitting on a high stool, an easel set before her. She wasn’t wearing an evening gown — she wore his shirt, bare feet. She turned and smiled at him.

Oh, you’re here again. What are you painting?

In an instant the sky and sea transformed. A great wave came roaring at them from one side.

The deck lurched sharply. Cen Jin was thrown from her stool, tumbling across the deck, rolling toward the railing.

The blood surged to his head all at once. He sprinted and threw himself forward, grabbing her hand.

The wave broke over them. Icy water cascaded from above his head. He forced his eyes open and saw her dark hair seized and tangled by the wind, her body swinging in midair.

He said: “Don’t be afraid. Come on — raise your hand, get it over here, hook it around my neck. Like that time we went up to the roof in summer to catch the cool air…”

Cen Jin didn’t raise her hand. She only looked at him and smiled.

He suddenly noticed she was wearing lipstick.

A deep wine-red. Not heavily applied.

That lipstick — hadn’t it been destroyed in the explosion, along with everything else?

…

Wei Lai twisted and sat up. The moment he rose, his back was cold — as though the great wave from the dream had truly come.

He moved quickly to the bedside: “Cen Jin?”

She was having a nightmare — the same as that time on the plane. Her body trembled faintly, her hands lifted and clawed at the air on reflex. He could hear her murmuring over and over: “Where’s the car — I need to get in the car.”

He gripped her shoulders and shook her hard.

After a few seconds, Cen Jin slowly opened her eyes.

Wei Lai said: “You were having a nightmare.”

She didn’t speak. Her gaze was blank.

“Was it about Ka Long again?”

Still nothing.

“Was it the same dream?”

She finally came back. She closed her eyes and said quietly: “A nightmare leaves you exhausted. More than running for your life all day.”

Wei Lai smiled. He slid his arm beneath her back and lifted her into the circle of his arms, saying: “Tell me your dream.”

“If you don’t let a nightmare out, it stays in the dream forever.”

Cen Jin still said nothing.

Outside the window, there was a moon. The moonlight moved across the drying line, the clothes hanging in it still and awkward, like a silent, clumsy creature.

After a long silence, she said quietly: “Do you believe — even though my reasons for coming to aid in Africa weren’t entirely pure, after I got here, seeing how hard their lives were, I genuinely did want to do something for them?”

Wei Lai lowered his head. His chin rested lightly against her lips.

He said: “I believe it.”

“When I arrived in Ka Long, the situation there was already very tense. The Huka people were in power. The Kasi people had a liberation front in exile, and the two sides had already fought several wars. The United Nations stepped in to mediate and arranged negotiations between the two parties in a neighboring country.”

“After the Huka president flew out for the talks, the country descended into chaos. Hard-liners were calling out that the president couldn’t be a traitor — they would not sign a peace agreement with cockroaches; they absolutely refused to share power with them.”

“That day, the radio had news very early in the morning: the negotiations had achieved major progress, peace was within reach. The president would return that same day to announce the specific plan.”

“Our office at the time was in a primary school. It had both staff and a detachment of peacekeeping soldiers stationed there to ensure our safety. That evening, just before I fell asleep, I suddenly heard a tremendous boom. I went to the window and saw, far away, a huge fireball — it lit up that whole part of the sky red.”

“Everyone gathered in the school yard. Phones weren’t working, the television had lost its signal, and then the power went out. No one knew what had happened. Later, a peacekeeping officer told us to stay calm — it was probably an arms depot explosion.”

She seemed to lose herself in memory, and stopped for a long time.

“In the middle of the night, confirmed word came through: the Huka president’s plane had been struck by a rocket as it was coming in to land. No one on board — not a single government official — survived.”

“My first reaction was shock. But the peacekeeping officers immediately changed their bearing. That night they didn’t sleep — all personnel on duty. The atmosphere was extremely tense. I heard them murmur many times: Something is going to happen.“

She shuddered faintly.

“In the early hours, almost every radio station in the city came on at almost the same moment. The furious voices of the Huka people echoed through the entire city: The Kasi people killed our president! We will not tolerate this any longer!“

Wei Lai asked quietly: “Was it the Kasi people who did it?”

She shook her head: “No one knows. Nobody knows to this day.”

To this day, there was no answer, and the two sides were still pointing fingers at each other. The Huka people said the Kasi people had used the pretext of negotiations to launch an attack; the Kasi people said it was the hard-liners within the Huka who had deliberately assassinated their own president to provoke a conflict.

And then, it happened.

After breakfast, the first wave of refugees arrived at the primary school bearing its international organization and peacekeeping soldier markings: families dragging their belongings, hastily packed, faces stricken with terror.

Someone was wailing — there has been killing; the Huka people are killing people in the streets!

Two peacekeeping soldiers drove out to look. When they returned, the windows were shattered, the vehicle full of refugees covered in blood.

The car sped into the school yard, and soldiers waiting to receive them immediately shut the school gates.

Fear spread through the school. Cen Jin, having just evacuated from the conflict in Somalia, was comparatively one of the calmer ones. She organized registration lists, soothed people, sealed all entrances to the school buildings, and requested the peacekeeping officer to post several armed soldiers to patrol the perimeter of the area where refugees were massed.

A woman clutched her sleeve in terror and wouldn’t let go.

Cen Jin knelt down and pointed to the flag of the globe and olive branch flying high above: “This is an international organization compound. No matter what is happening outside, please be at peace — you are absolutely safe here.”