Fu Xueli lifted her head and tilted it to the side, looking at Xu Xingchun. She curved her lips upward, leaned in, their nose tips rubbing together, responding to him very carefully.

But her thoughts began to drift…

She didn’t know where to start asking. There didn’t seem to be any good opening…

They stood at the kitchen doorway. The knitted sweater didn’t block the wind at all. Fu Xueli felt a chill rising from the soles of her feet, so cold her teeth were chattering. She rubbed her face with her hands to clear her mind a bit.

Swallowing then spitting out words, back and forth several times. Finally choosing her words carefully, Fu Xueli tried to begin, “Today your aunt showed me photos of you from when you were little.”

“Mm.” Xu Xingchun leaned against the doorframe looking down at her, adopting a posture of listening attentively. Under the lamplight, his features were deeply defined and clear.

“I thought you’d been very well-behaved in elementary school, getting merit certificates like ‘three good student’ until your hands were soft from receiving them, but your aunt said you never brought a single certificate home.”

After speaking, she looked up. Xu Xingchun seemed to be smiling.

Her heart settled a bit. From the tip of her nose to her cheeks, everything was frozen somewhat red. “But your grades were so good in middle school, and in high school too. Who knew you were actually a mischievous troublemaker in elementary school.”

The light overhead was soft and dim. Xu Xingchun pressed the back of his finger against the tip of his nose, leaning against the door without moving, coughing lightly. “I was never as mischievous as you.”

Fu Xueli pretended not to hear the teasing in his voice. “Can you tell me about your father?”

“Later.” He restrained his smile a bit.

“Then… your mother, was it… when you graduated from college…”

Xu Xingchun’s throat moved. “Late-stage cancer.”

The tiny wound on her finger hadn’t felt painful before, but now it began to ache slightly, followed by a twinge in her heart.

Her forehead pressed against his shoulder blade, her head buried low. Between each breath was that familiar scent.

A bit at a loss.

After a long silence, Fu Xueli finally ventured in a low voice, asking, “Back then… was it because of me…”

She thought about it. The words reached her lips then were swallowed back down, hesitating several times. She changed the word ‘suicide’ to ‘self-harm.’ Thinking again, she changed ‘self-harm’ to ‘injured’ before finally speaking.

She felt a bit uneasy. “Was it because of me that you got injured back then? Was it serious?”

Xu Xingchun was pressed so his back was against the door panel. “Not serious.”

A lie.

Knowing full well he was lying, she didn’t have the courage to probe deeper. Fu Xueli admitted she was a coward with a surface personality of very strong self-assertion.

But every time it was just her lips flapping up and down—in reality she had no courage at all to face the mistakes she’d made, the evil she’d sown.

Outside the window the twilight was clear. The big yellow dog lazily wandered back and forth in the courtyard. There was the smell of cooking smoke. They stood facing each other, like protagonists in a movie—spanning decades between them, going round and round yet still able to return to the starting point.

On the wall in the black and white photo frames, the smiles of his young-faced parents remained.

Memory was like a river bursting its banks, and like a deep abyss, flowing back to the very beginning.

When Xu Xingchun was little, where he lived, there was a woman who sold sweet potatoes. Her husband was violent by nature and an alcoholic. This woman’s mother had died when she was young, after which she was driven out of her home, became a homeless wanderer forced into prostitution, and finally married her current husband.

Later, this woman disappeared.

Because her husband was on drugs and borrowed from loan sharks, the two jumped into the river together to commit suicide.

For ordinary drug addicts, the most common ending was death. Dying on a bed in a small hotel with a syringe stuck in their arm. Or dying in some place in this world that no one knew about.

These were words his father had said.

But at that time he was five years old and didn’t understand death.

Xu Xingchun’s father was a narcotics officer. In that circle there were only three kinds of people—narcotics police, drug dealers, and addicts.

Narcotics officers. They had the patience and precision of snipers and surgeons, weren’t afraid of death, and were always ready to be covered with the flag.

But one wrong step and they could never see daylight again—even the greatest secrets had to rot in their hearts.

When he was eight years old was the last time Xu Xingchun saw his father.

He didn’t even have time to say goodbye. At the front door of their home, his father’s hands were twisted behind his back and cuffed. His mother chased after him running, and was shoved to the ground by someone. He turned to look at them once, and was quickly pressed down by the head and taken away.

The prison door clanged shut with a loud bang and was locked. Armed police with guns got into vehicles one after another.

From then on, every deep night, his mother wore a black armband and cried in the room next door.

She was a beautiful woman.

But now she had become neurotic.

The accumulated resentment was vented on Xu Xingchun. She used her hands to pinch his face, his mouth, various parts of his body. Day and night, he suffered immensely from this childhood lack of love. His self-esteem was sensitive, he lacked a sense of security.

Gradually the neighbors began spreading rumors. At school, there were benches thrown at him, people mocking his mother. There was a glass cup at hand. Xu Xingchun casually picked it up, expressionless, smashed it and stabbed at that person.

His arm and lower abdomen were all stained with blood.

Then he was expelled.

His mother took him and severed contact with everyone, moving to a neighboring city.

Smoking and fighting—he knew how to do both before entering middle school.

Later a psychological expert at the bureau looked at Xu Xingchun and said that from childhood his emotions hadn’t been properly channeled, his negative psychology had always been suppressed, and once released it couldn’t be controlled.

He was somewhat psychologically abnormal.

Yes.

For Xu Xingchun.

Not being needed by this world, the feeling that his existence was utterly meaningless—this persisted for a very long time.

Until middle school.

He met a girl.

A very beautiful girl.

Wearing a tender yellow dress.

Every day she would pass through a small alley.

In that small alley, he was like a filthy insect that couldn’t see light, his gaze morbid, hiding in a corner watching her.

Watching her hand reach up to an old windowsill, under the setting sun, a small cat jumping down from her arm to the ground.

Watching her cry for a very long time after breaking a beloved cup.

Back then Xu Xingchun had a thin face, wore an oversized white school uniform, and had no presence whatsoever on campus.

He occasionally began to masturbate while thinking about this girl. Like some kind of unknown impulse, blooming on a sacred and pure crucifix, withering again in an instant.

Later he transferred classes. They became deskmates. She was very lazy, late to class, always bringing him wontons sold at the school gate to get him to help write her homework.

They got together. Xu Xingchun was extremely careful, concealing his extremely sensitive personality quite well, learning to restrain himself.

In his lonely life, she was the only bit of joy.

He liked her wearing that tender yellow dress with the pearl shell button on the chest. Watching her put on airs, her face practically glowing. “Besides my beauty what else do I have left—you only like my face.”

She was proud and willful, heartless and careless. But he, this poor wretch, liked her for no reason at all, yet couldn’t suppress it. He could only involuntarily, using every possible method, want to get close to her.

Having never experienced intimate relationships between people, Xu Xingchun was at a complete loss with all of this.

Later on.

He had thought about it—being liked by her in that heartless way was fine, being her daily entertainment was fine. Living without tomorrow was fine.

The way to overcome temptation was to surrender, give up dignity and freedom, and maintain this affection that could be taken away at any moment.

His love had already hit rock bottom.

The human heart was terrifying.

What conquered desire was always only a higher level of desire.

“Xu Xingchun, once you turn the page, don’t look back.”

“Okay?”

When she spoke, tears fell unconsciously.

Bad.

Fu Xueli quickly pulled out a tissue from the side and covered her nose, pretending to blow her nose. Her fingers pressed tight, her voice muffled and nasal. She didn’t want him to see her crying again. “I’m pretty miserable too. We’re both miserable together. If I had known back then how miserable you were, I wouldn’t have abandoned you.”

The number of times Fu Xueli had cried in front of Xu Xingchun during this period, added together, could almost equal half a lifetime’s worth of her giving in to others. It didn’t match her arrogant and domineering style from childhood to now at all.

She had no image left at all.

He gazed at Fu Xueli’s charming face. His eyes lingered on her face for a long time. He used his hand to caress the side of her face, from her eyes to the warm, dry corners of her mouth.

His fingertips were slightly rough, scraping across delicate skin.

Fu Xueli’s face was very thin, but pinching it felt fleshy. When she got irritable she was like a bristling little animal. When guilty she would lower her eyebrows and look docile, wearing an expression of admitting mistakes. Fragile yet stubborn.

“Okay.”

Xu Xingchun’s voice was low and hoarse, with a gentle feeling. There were slight trembling air currents in the air, striking against eardrums.

The old master and Xu Yuan had returned. The rustling sound of opening the door was accompanied by dog barking. They were setting up tables and chairs in the main hall. Fu Xueli was leaving after dinner tonight.

In the kitchen, Xu Xingchun rolled up one sleeve with one hand, picked up a clean white porcelain small bowl from the table surface, and placed it in the sink to wash. Revealing a bit of forearm—taut muscles, smooth lines.

It had to be said, his features were exquisite, extremely ornamental. His looks had more style than many pretty boys in the industry.

She leaned over, both hands propped on the stove, tilting her head to look at him. She could never look enough.

Xu Xingchun’s arm lifted slightly, blocking her hand reaching over. “The water’s cold, don’t touch it yet.”

Fu Xueli made a sound of acknowledgment, her head leaning over, her body soft without proper form. “I’m going abroad in a few days. I checked the weather forecast—the domestic temperature is dropping. You have to remember to add layers, okay? I see your work is so hard, always having to wander around the streets.”

Thinking of something, she suddenly became somewhat troubled and hurriedly instructed, “Oh right, Xu Xingchun, when you’re out executing missions or whatever, don’t smile at those women.”

His voice was a bit low and hoarse. He laughed for a while, couldn’t hold it in and still coughed a bit. “What’s wrong?”

“Yes, yes, yes, it’s exactly that smile. Do you know or not—smiling at women like that can easily incite criminal behavior.” Fu Xueli spoke methodically, very seriously.

What was she taking him for?

“I’m a police officer.” Xu Xingchun’s motion of turning off the fire paused for a moment.

Precisely because he was a police officer… that made it even more tempting…

She clamored, silently hugging his waist, her arms tightly encircling his back. “I don’t care what you are.”