The walk to Yan Lie’s home took ten minutes in total.

In reality it was not quite that fast. At a normal walking pace it would take about a quarter of an hour.

Just as they came out of the row of tree-lined paths ahead, Fang Zhuo’s palm began to grow warm with sweat. She tried to pull her hand free, but the pressure of Yan Lie’s grip increased steadily — his knuckles tensing visibly with the effort, the bones beneath pressing outward.

Fang Zhuo had not managed to say a word before Yan Lie leaned in to ask: “Have you been drinking?”

“I haven’t.” Fang Zhuo sniffed — she did not smell anything on herself. “It must have rubbed off from being around Yu Qingjiang.”

Yan Lie said, unhurried: “I’ve heard that alcohol can be absorbed through the skin.”

Fang Zhuo could tell the moment she caught his tone that he was about to put on a performance.

Yan Lie said, “For your safety, I’ll need you to cooperate.”

“Aren’t you hot?” Fang Zhuo studied him up and down with genuine curiosity. “You’re covered in sweat.”

Yan Lie looked straight ahead and kept walking: “Even Zhu Bajie carrying his bride never had the sense to set her down halfway.”

Fang Zhuo said, “Zhu Bajie?”

“Zhu Bajie at least managed to carry his bride all the way home.” Yan Lie flashed a sudden sly grin, grabbed her hand, and broke into a run. “Whatever I bring home is mine — and if anyone tries to take it, I’m calling the police!”

Yan Lie, a citizen of a socialist nation, was indeed safer than Zhu Bajie — and considerably bolder than Sun Wukong.

Fang Zhuo indulged him and matched his pace for a stretch, and by the time they reached the entrance to his residential compound, she was unavoidably drenched in sweat.

Yan Lie stopped when he reached the small supermarket they were passing, pausing in front of its brightly lit counter, and released Fang Zhuo’s hand. Fang Zhuo assumed he was going in to buy something — but instead Yan Lie pointed toward the entrance and gestured for her to go in herself.

Fang Zhuo asked, “Buy what?”

“You can wear my pajamas.” Yan Lie’s gaze and his train of thought both made a small jump. He glanced sideways at her expression. “It’s already nine o’clock. If you go back to school, the dormitory might already be locked. And I have a spare room.”

The scene was uncannily familiar — unsettlingly so. Like something that had happened before, in exactly this way.

Only the last time, it had been unplanned. This time was harder to explain.

Fang Zhuo stood there for two or three seconds, then went into the supermarket. She bought a toothbrush and a change of underwear, zipped her bag back up, and stepped out unhurried.

Yan Lie in the lamplight was treading on his own shadow. He felt the cool air drifting out through the opening and closing door and looked up, giving her a small smile. Said nothing. Turned and walked ahead to lead the way.

This was Fang Zhuo’s second visit to Yan Lie’s home. The first time, the circumstances had been too awkward to take much notice. Now she looked around properly, taking everything in, and had a vague sense that something was different from before.

“I’ll shower in the inner bedroom — you use the bathroom on this side.” Yan Lie showed her the way. “My room is the one at the far end. I’ll give you a tour of it later.”

Fang Zhuo shot him a sideways glance and said evenly, “Why would I want to tour your bedroom?”

Yan Lie proceeded as though he had not heard her, and gestured calmly toward the opposite side. “That’s the guest room. The housekeeper has already tidied it. I’ll make up the bed for you in a moment.”

Then he added: “You’ll probably like it.”

Fang Zhuo had no particular reaction. Who would not like a beautifully furnished room like that?

Yan Lie tugged at his collar and walked briskly inside, looking thoroughly overheated. “I’ll shower first — do whatever you need.”

Fang Zhuo took her time in the shower. By the time she came out, toweling her still-damp hair, Yan Lie was already sitting in the study.

She went first to check the guest room. She pushed open the door, took one look at what was inside, and stopped dead, half a step in.

The bed had indeed been made with new sheets. A pale pink set — clearly one size too large for the mattress, its edges trailing long onto the floor. The matching duvet cover was printed with chibi cartoon characters in vivid, eye-catching colors.

Fang Zhuo was silent for a moment.

To speak plainly: not once in her life had she slept on anything this unabashedly girly. Outside of the solid green grid pattern common to schools and the magnolia print that had a distinctly retro charm, the most normal thing she had ever used was plain, unadorned solid-colored sheets.

Why had Yan Lie gone out of his way to buy bedding for her?

Or rather — what else had he been quietly buying?

Did ordinary people have thoughts this difficult to follow? Was he simply not fond of Ye Yuncheng’s bedding? Was that it?

Fang Zhuo sat down blankly on the edge of the bed for a while, slowly drawing herself back from the shifting tangle of her thoughts.

She moved to the doorway of the study, raised her hand and knocked lightly, then slipped inside to ask: “Did you buy these specifically for me?”

Yan Lie turned halfway toward her. His gaze passed once over the oversized pajamas Fang Zhuo was wearing, then turned back to the computer screen. He reached up and scratched at the back of his ear and said, “Yes. I bought them for my girlfriend. If she doesn’t like them, I’ll save them for my daughter. Cute, aren’t they?”

Fang Zhuo’s mind ran a little hot, and she said before she could think: “What makes you so sure you’ll have a daughter?”

“A granddaughter would do just as well.” Yan Lie tried to maintain his composure, talking off the top of his head with no idea where it was going. “I’ve heard that in the early days, bedding was passed down from one generation to the next. The day might come when this particular style is discontinued, so I’m keeping it in reserve for them ahead of time.”

When he finished, Fang Zhuo was completely at a loss for how to respond, and found herself caught in an odd logical loop.

There was something slightly scheming about it — and yet, thinking it through carefully, there was also something that felt entirely open and above board. After all, how could someone with impure motives make up two beds?

The air conditioning brought their feverish minds back down to a cooler temperature fairly quickly, and a faint chill settled into the air. Just then, the ping of a messaging notification sounded at just the right moment, breaking the bewildering silence.

Fang Zhuo turned and pulled the wooden door shut behind her, then asked: “What are you working on?”

“My dad is sending me messages.” Yan Lie said, his brow creasing almost imperceptibly, as though he could not quite make sense of something. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. He says he wants to mark a holiday with me.”

“Is there something wrong with that?” Fang Zhuo hesitated, then offered up a carefully neutral observation. “That’s actually fairly open-minded, isn’t it?”

Yan Lie said indignantly, “But the holiday he wants to mark with me is Children’s Day!“

Fang Zhuo: “……”

“He says young people all love celebrating it!” Yan Lie’s fingers struck the keyboard with force, each keypress ringing out clear and unyielding. “I have no idea where he got that notion — what a sweeping generalization. Do I look like the sort of person who would enjoy Children’s Day?!”

Fang Zhuo decided it was best not to defend Yan Chengli any further, for fear of getting drawn into the crossfire. Though privately she did think Yan Lie was actually rather well suited to Children’s Day. He was so childish.

Notification pings came in quick succession. Fang Zhuo kept her head down and could not see the messages, but from the sounds she could picture Yan Chengli on the other end, scratching his head and tugging at his ears.

“Now he’s saying he wants to throw me a birthday party — is he going through a calendar?” Yan Lie muttered, “Who on earth contacts someone months in advance to ask what they want for their birthday?”

Yan Chengli’s intent was far too transparent.

Fang Zhuo thought to herself: some people did, actually — after all, the power of genetics was remarkable.

She recalled the approaching month of July and asked: “So what do you wish for, for your birthday?”

Yan Lie turned to look at her again, his eyes catching on the damp patch on her shoulder. He came back to himself abruptly and said, “Why haven’t you blow-dried your hair? The hair dryer is in the second shelf of the cabinet.”

“Oh,” said Fang Zhuo. “You still haven’t answered my question. Can you flag that for the exam, Professor?”

The examiner himself was not entirely sure of the answer. He pulled a towel toward him and draped it over her hair, then rubbed it gently.

He wished time could move a little faster, and yet felt that not a single day spent with Fang Zhuo should be squandered. His hope for the future gave rise to all manner of contradictory thoughts — and it was clear that this particular kind of feeling was not altogether unpleasant.

“Figure it out yourself,” Yan Lie said, quite coolly. “How do you not know that already?”

For Yan Lie’s birthday, Fang Zhuo intended to honor their agreement and accompany him to the seaside — after all, she had stood him up for half the holiday the previous year, leaving him to get through an absent-minded, distracted break. With that in mind, Fang Zhuo arranged the itinerary well in advance, requested a few days off from her part-time employer, and went with Yan Lie to a coastal city.

Unfortunately, after they arrived at their accommodation, only the first day brought overcast skies. On the second day, a heavy downpour set in.

Looking back on it, Fang Zhuo felt as though her mood had been battered to pieces by the torrential rain, leaving her without any spirit.

First, she forgot to close the window before they went out in the morning, and came back to find the living room and balcony covered in rainwater — it took a good while to clean up, and then in the evening the light bulb blew.

On the second day, they bought a new bulb and fumbled to replace it, only to immediately discover that a screw on the wardrobe door had come loose and the door was about to fall off — requiring them to find tools and make repairs.

It was only on the final day that the weather grudgingly cleared. The two of them went to the shore and took a few photos.

Yan Lie showed her the results. In one, her smile was too exaggerated and unnatural. In another, the smile looked a little forced. In the third, only her profile had been captured — her face tilted up toward the open sky, expression blank, which gave her the appearance of being serene and wise.

Fang Zhuo chose the third one. Yan Lie saved all three of them anyway.

The second summer of university arrived again, as it always did, in the stifling heat of humid air and the gentle ease of evening breezes — sweet and fragrant and smooth, like the shaved mango ice Fang Zhuo was holding in her hand.