It was already very late at night.

Xi Tang took fresh sheets from the wardrobe and made the bed neatly. Zhao Ping Jin came out after showering and saw that she had placed her pillow on the sofa.

Zhao Ping Jin lay on the bed with his eyes closed, resting, then said, “Come up and sleep.”

Xi Tang was stunned for a moment.

Zhao Ping Jin gave a cold laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not good in that department. I don’t dare to touch you.”

Xi Tang’s body seemed to tremble slightly, but she still didn’t speak. Then she put the pillow back at the head of the bed.

After turning off the lights, Xi Tang lay on the edge of the bed with her back turned, while Zhao Ping Jin lay flat on his side.

The room fell into darkness. The patter of rain outside filtered faintly through the window.

From the other side of the bed, Zhao Ping Jin suddenly said, “What’s that strange smell on you?”

Xi Tang was so tired that her mind was sluggish. It took her a while to respond. “Oh, I went for a massage before coming back. It’s probably the smell of the bruise ointment. You can still smell it after I showered?”

Zhao Ping Jin said, “I just caught a whiff of it.”

“You went for a massage after finishing work so late?”

“I’ve had a lot of fight scenes lately.”

In the darkness, Zhao Ping Jin glanced at her right shoulder. “Can your right hand still hold a sword?”

Xi Tang didn’t want to continue this topic. “It’s fine. It’s late, let’s sleep.”

The room finally quieted down. Xi Tang tossed and turned for a while, but was too tired and eventually drifted off to sleep.

In the middle of the night, she suddenly woke up. The fan was still turning, and the rain had lessened. She turned to look at the person beside her. Zhao Ping Jin had his back to her, curled up, his entire back covered in cold sweat.

“Hey?”

“Zhao Ping Jin?”

“What’s wrong? Is it your stomach pain?”

She turned on the small lamp by the bed.

Zhao Ping Jin still had his back to her, his left arm pressed horizontally across his stomach, motionless, his entire body rigid.

Xi Tang smiled slightly. “Just say something if you can’t bear it.”

Zhao Ping Jin gritted his teeth and said icily, “Don’t mind me. Go back to sleep.”

Xi Tang turned off the light with a snap and lay back down.

She closed her eyes. The person beside her was very quiet, not making a sound, except for deep, labored breathing at intervals, forcibly suppressed.

Xi Tang lay in bed. Ever since she saw him throw up all the porridge, she had firmly decided not to care whether he lived or died. She held out for a long time but finally couldn’t help asking, “Where are your medications?”

Zhao Ping Jin was already in so much pain that he was gasping, gritting his teeth, unable to speak for a moment.

Xi Tang got up and rummaged through the pockets of his jacket on the side table.

“Not there…” Zhao Ping Jin said haltingly. “In the car.”

Xi Tang found his car keys on the old tea table in the room. She put on a jacket over her pajamas. Zhao Ping Jin had already sat up.

As she was about to leave, Zhao Ping Jin grabbed her hand.

Xi Tang gave him a look. “What are you doing?”

Zhao Ping Jin tried to stand up. Without his glasses, his vision was a bit blurry, and Huang Xi Tang’s face was also indistinct. “It’s the middle of the night, it’s raining outside, will you be safe…”

He only heard Huang Xi Tang’s voice, carrying a hint of nonchalant amusement: “Don’t worry, I’m much safer than you.”

She pushed his hand away forcefully.

Zhao Ping Jin couldn’t withstand the force and had to lean back against the headboard.

She shook her sleeves and nimbly went downstairs.

Just two seconds later, Huang Xi Tang quickly came back. “Which car is yours?”

Zhao Ping Jin was in so much pain that his vision was a bit hazy. It took him a while to understand her question. “It’s parked a bit far, the black Range Rover.”

Realizing she wouldn’t recognize the car, he added, “Across the street, black, Beijing plates. Can’t you just press the key?”

Xi Tang turned and went down.

Zhao Ping Jin remained leaning against the headboard, wiping the cold sweat from his face, lips slightly pursed, enduring the burning pain that came in waves in his stomach. Huang Xi Tang used to mock him about this, saying he had been pampered since childhood and didn’t understand real suffering. How could someone raised so delicately by two big families still have gastritis? Despite her mockery, when she graduated, she finally agreed to move in with him because she was concerned about his health. The company had entered a period of rapid expansion and development. They worked day and night during that time, staying up late every night to write project proposals. Often his stomach would hurt in the middle of the night. When it became unbearable, he would slip into the bedroom, tug at her hand to wake her, and say plaintively in a small voice, “Tang Tang, wake up.”

She loved sleeping as a child, almost falling asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, but whenever he called her, no matter what time it was, she would struggle to get up groggily. She had already prepared rice porridge for him, keeping it warm in the pot, and had reminded him before going to bed. Zhao Ping Jin never remembered these little things. When he felt unwell, he would close his eyes and lie in her arms to rest, and everything would feel better.

Xi Tang loved him so much back then, unwilling to let him suffer even a little. She would sit at the bedside and feed him porridge, fill a hot water bottle for him, and hold him as he slept, comforting him tenderly like she was soothing a child. He would soon fall asleep comfortably.

Six months later, Jing Chuang Technology was listed in Hong Kong, and the company’s scale multiplied several times. They moved into a high-end office building in Zhongguancun. Zhao Ping Jin formed a board of directors and stopped writing programs himself. He had gotten through the hardest period, and his stomach had recovered seven or eight-tenths. Even Li Ming said that Tang Tang deserved part of the credit for his achievements.

He had even thought about giving her equity. The startup fund for Jing Chuang was an angel investment, money he had taken from his family. During the later part of that period, Huang Xi Tang had a complete falling out with his mother, and the two of them argued every day, breaking dishes and pots at home. Huang Xi Tang was also stubborn with a strong sense of self-esteem. Once when they were arguing and this matter came up, she just shouted at him, “Who wants your dirty money? Don’t look down on me.”

Zhao Ping Jin’s head was throbbing with pain, but the only thing he remembered was that she indeed didn’t take his money, and just disappeared swiftly from Beijing.

Huang Xi Tang returned with an umbrella, her clothes still damp. She poured water for him to take his medicine. Zhao Ping Jin complied, drifting off to sleep in a daze.

As the medicine took effect, the pain subsided. He was a light sleeper and opened his eyes to find the space beside him still empty.

The bathroom light was on.

He pushed the door open.

Xi Tang was sitting on a small plastic stool, turning her head suddenly like a startled rabbit. She had a bare head, her eyes glistening—whether with tears or rainwater, he couldn’t tell. In her hand was a cotton swab soaked in iodine, and on her knee was a row of bandages, pink Hello Kitty ones.

Zhao Ping Jin felt a pang in his heart. She was still the same—impatient, running too fast, probably fell. He asked, “Did you disinfect it?”

Xi Tang nodded.

Zhao Ping Jin held onto the doorframe and said, “Come back to sleep. It’s almost dawn.”

The next day’s shoot was at an inn within the scenic area. Xi Tang didn’t have many scenes, so it was relatively relaxed. By noon, she was able to eat lunch with the crew on time.

It was unbearably stuffy inside the set. The temperature had been above thirty degrees every day since June began. Because they needed to record sound, they couldn’t turn on the air conditioning. Period dramas were usually filmed in cooler weather, trying to finish before the scorching summer arrived. The heat of summer made things difficult—actors wearing layers of costumes and complicated headpieces, repeatedly going through their positions in front of the camera, sweating profusely—it was truly arduous work.

Xi Tang took her boxed lunch outside to cool off under the shade of trees in a covered walkway.

She had just sat down when she saw Zhao Ping Jin walking in.

He had just woken up—his hair uncombed and slightly messy, wearing sunglasses, hands in his pockets, idle and looking exactly like a bored tourist.

This morning when she got up, Zhao Ping Jin was still sleeping in the room.

Zhao Ping Jin sat down beside her. “I’m starving. Is there any food?”

Xi Tang went back and got an extra boxed meal, which she handed to Zhao Ping Jin.

Xi Tang didn’t use the disposable bamboo chopsticks that came with the meal, instead using a wooden spoon. She drank the soybean soup, finished the vegetables, and placed the meat slices in a cup of clear water to rinse them before eating two pieces.

Zhao Ping Jin only ate white rice with green pepper and shredded pork.

Xi Tang glanced at him. “That’s spicy. Don’t eat too much.”

Zhao Ping Jin looked up at her, then at the spoon in her hand. “Eat more. You’re thin enough.”

It was the first time he had seen her in costume—a pure white undershirt beneath a gray robe. Her daytime makeup was light, making her look exactly like a pretty young nun contemplating leaving the monastery, quite adorable.

Passing tourists took photos of her.

She ignored them, holding her lunch box, only occasionally looking up to smile gently at the people with cameras.

Having eaten less than a third of her meal, Xi Tang carefully washed her wooden spoon and put it back in the utensil box in her bag.

After last night’s downpour, today’s sun was even more fierce. Xi Tang waited for her scene under a tree, memorizing her lines. Zhao Ping Jin sat beside her, feeling unbearably hot.

After fanning himself with her folding fan for a while, Zhao Ping Jin’s temper was about to flare. “Isn’t there a restroom or makeup room for you to wait in?”

Xi Tang looked up from her folding stool and shook her head. “Only the lead actors and director get those. You should go book a room at the hotel.”

Zhao Ping Jin said, “I called someone to install air conditioning this morning. I left the key with the landlord.”

Before Xi Tang could reply, someone from the set called for her. It was her turn.

Zhao Ping Jin followed her inside. The film set was even hotter, with the lights making it feel like being baked in a scorching furnace. All the staff had towels draped over them. Xi Tang, wearing a thick costume, performed opposite a greasy-faced young man. The other actor forgot some of his lines, causing several takes to be cut. Both of them had sweat dripping down, which they quickly wiped away for makeup touch-ups.

Finally, the director yelled cut.

Zhao Ping Jin walked straight in and handed Xi Tang mineral water. “Is the shooting finally done?”

The man’s appearance was too outstanding. Even wearing sunglasses, his imperious air made him impossible to ignore.

Even several female assistants who were fanning and touching up the male lead’s makeup couldn’t help but turn to look.

Zhao Ping Jin paid no attention to the gazes around him and didn’t bother with introductions. Xi Tang didn’t introduce him either. The two sat in a corner of the rest area and spoke quietly for a few moments.

Zhao Ping Jin sat for a while. Xi Tang noticed that the black hair at his temples had become slightly damp, and the back of his shirt was beginning to get wet. “Why don’t you go back? If you get heatstroke, it’ll be a big problem for me.”

Zhao Ping Jin responded irritably, “You shoot for over ten hours a day. How come you don’t get heatstroke?”

Xi Tang didn’t know what to do with him. Fortunately, Shen Min called at that moment—Li Ming needed him for a meeting, so he left on his own.