A rainy night.

The glass window was mottled with rain streaks, blurring the city’s lights that glittered like a river of stars.

This was Zhou Jin’s first time coming home since marrying Jiang Hansheng.

The past week had left her spinning with exhaustion.

A woman’s body had been discovered along the Tonghe riverbank on the outskirts of the city. Based on the wounds on the victim’s skull, the forensic examiner had made a preliminary ruling of homicide.

Haizhou City had always enjoyed excellent public security. No homicide cases had occurred within the South District’s jurisdiction for half a year. This time, bystanders had recorded videos and taken photographs, posting them online, which immediately drew considerable public attention and discussion.

The city bureau’s leadership personally pressed for answers on the case, and the Major Crimes Unit dared not slack off. Throughout that week, Zhou Jin and her colleagues had worked nearly around the clock, racing tirelessly through their investigation.

Unfortunately, after a full week, the case had made little progress.

Returning to the office, Zhou Jin was so exhausted she could barely keep her eyes open. She forced herself to stay alert and flipped through the interview and investigation notes.

After a long while, her neck had gone stiff and begun to ache. As she tilted her head back to rub it, then lowered her gaze again, she finally noticed the bouquet of roses beneath her desk — nearly wilted by now.

She had received them three days ago. She had been heading out on an assignment at the time, and hadn’t even had a chance to read the card tucked inside the bouquet. She had simply tossed it under the desk without a second thought. Only now, in this moment, did Zhou Jin finally have the time to pay it any attention.

It was a small card — likely complimentary from the flower shop — with a pale pink pattern. Written on it in a bold, forceful hand with a fountain pen were the words: “To Miss Zhou Jin.”

That handwriting. Zhou Jin could hardly have failed to recognize it. It was from Jiang Hansheng.

She picked the roses up from the floor and set them back on the desk, pinching the dried and withered petals between her fingers. Only after a long moment did it finally occur to her that she ought to go home.

Jiang Hansheng was a university professor. For the convenience of his commute, he had purchased an apartment near the campus — a one-bedroom unit where, ordinarily, only he lived.

Today was also Zhou Jin’s first time visiting his home.

The apartment was spacious and bright, its décor rendered in cool tones of grey and white — much like Jiang Hansheng himself: cold, and quiet.

She shuffled about in Jiang Hansheng’s slippers, draped in Jiang Hansheng’s pajamas. Only now, standing here like this, did the reality of it slowly dawn on her — she had truly married this man.

Zhou Jin’s heart gave an inexplicable little lurch.

Just then, Jiang Hansheng emerged from the bathroom. The door clicked shut with a soft sound — not loud, yet it startled her.

Zhou Jin looked up at him. “Jiang—”

“Dry your hair before you sleep.”

Zhou Jin had short hair — dark, soft, and neat, giving her a capable, clean-cut look.

In truth, her hair had been very long when she was young, black and glossy as satin. Then one day she had it cut to its current length, and felt no regret over it whatsoever. Far less trouble that way.

Following Jiang Hansheng’s instruction, she returned to the bathroom and dried her hair before coming back out.

Jiang Hansheng had already gotten into bed. He was reading by the light of the bedside lamp, his book held at an angle that obscured the cover. She had no idea what he was reading.

At the moment, Zhou Jin had no attention to spare for what he was reading. She was occupied with a single pressing question: “Where am I supposed to sleep?”

Share the bed with him? From the day they first met to the day they married had been just three months. Things between them had not progressed nearly that far. Climbing into his bed out of nowhere — he might think she was after his looks.

Sleep on the floor?

Actually, that seemed like a perfectly good idea.

Zhou Jin said, “I’ll sleep on the floor. I have to be back at the bureau first thing in the morning — I’d hate to wake you.”

Jiang Hansheng looked up at her.

His eyes were phoenix eyes — long at the outer corners, with thin, elegant lids. His irises were so dark they were nearly black, and his gaze was sharp as a scalpel, the kind that could dissect a person from head to toe.

A student on the receiving end of that look from Jiang Hansheng would likely be ready to wail in misery. Zhou Jin, however, read in his expression a single wordless sentiment: “Are you out of your mind?”

Though not a single word had left his lips, the invisible weight of his disapproval made it perfectly clear to Zhou Jin that sleeping on the floor was not an option — his sense of propriety simply wouldn’t allow it. And yet it was equally evident that he had absolutely no intention of offering to take the floor himself.

Zhou Jin crept onto the bed like a turtle easing into its shell, pressing herself all the way to the very edge, clutching the tiniest scrap of blanket, and lay down with the utmost caution.

“What time tomorrow?” Jiang Hansheng was still reading, appearing to pay her little mind, when he suddenly asked.

Zhou Jin blinked. “What time for what?”

“What time do you start work. I’ll drive you.”

Zhou Jin declined immediately. “No, no, it’s fine — I’ll take the subway. It’s a quick ride. You don’t need to bother.”

Jiang Hansheng: “I’m not busy.”

Zhou Jin: “…”

Once Jiang Hansheng made up his mind about something, it was genuinely very difficult to talk him out of it.

After a moment, Jiang Hansheng set down his book, reached over, and switched off the bedside lamp. The room fell entirely dark. The curtains weren’t fully blackout, and a faint trace of light seeped through — dim and hazy.

Silence settled between them. Then more silence.

Zhou Jin knew he wasn’t asleep. He surely knew she wasn’t asleep either. Keeping up the pretense any longer was too awkward. Zhou Jin decided to break it. “What were you just reading?”

“The Lord of the Rings.“

“…Oh.”

That was genuinely not the sort of book Zhou Jin had imagined Jiang Hansheng would read. She had assumed he’d be working through some dense, esoteric stack of academic texts with titles that meant nothing to the uninitiated.

A fantasy novel was the last thing she’d expected.

Zhou Jin said, a little flatly, “I’ve heard of it… The films are supposed to be excellent…”

He gave a low hum of acknowledgment.

Zhou Jin added, “The roses — I got them. Thank you.”

Jiang Hansheng replied, his tone even and unhurried, “One of my students grew them for an experiment. As long as you liked them.”

“Oh. Then thank the student for me.”

Jiang Hansheng: “…”

Zhou Jin felt that this brief exchange was a necessary duty between a married couple. Having fulfilled her duty, she could now peacefully announce: “I’m going to sleep.”

Jiang Hansheng said nothing in return.

The soft, quiet rhythm of their breathing rose and fell in the room. Zhou Jin was dead tired, yet now that she was actually lying down, sleep refused to come.

Her thoughts drifted to her marriage with Jiang Hansheng.

They had known each other as children, but had gradually lost touch as they grew older. Their reunion now had come about because their respective parents had arranged the occasion.

When it came to the marriage, both the Jiang Family’s parents and the Zhou Family’s parents were far more eager than either of the two people actually involved. Jiang Hansheng and Zhou Jin had gone on a few dates together — they were nowhere near making any definite decisions — and yet the older generation was already happily scheming about how to become in-laws.

Jiang Hansheng was a man of few words and a cool temperament, which made it all the more astonishing when he turned around and did something so earth-shaking — proposing to her after just three months.

What was even funnier was that Zhou Jin, whose own approach to life was arguably even more reckless, had accepted on the spot.

But at the very least, Jiang Hansheng was faithful.

That was what Zhou Jin valued most about him.

“Zhou Jin.”

He called her name. Zhou Jin’s mind, which had been drifting in a drowsy haze, slowly sharpened back into clarity. She answered him like someone murmuring in their sleep — “I’m here.”

A palm, carrying a faint coolness, settled against Zhou Jin’s back.

She jolted, fully awake in an instant. She arched away, pulling back from Jiang Hansheng’s hand, and turned to face him. “What are you doing?”

Without any warning, a heat-laden breath drew close — intimate, overwhelming — and Jiang Hansheng kissed her.

Gentle at first, then deeper. The gentleness was a question; the depth was surrender.

Zhou Jin was stunned for two or three seconds. When she finally came back to her senses, she found she wasn’t nearly as resistant as she might have expected. He carried a clean, fresh scent that she couldn’t quite name, but breathing it in felt comfortable — and oddly settling.

His kiss wasn’t urgent. But it was tender, and there was something in it — some instinct he seemed born with — that knew how to fold a request into the press of lips.

Zhou Jin could at least feel that much.

She wasn’t one for pointless prudishness. She had agreed to marry someone — it made no sense to haughtily refuse this kind of thing. Besides, Jiang Hansheng was so strikingly handsome.

She caught hold of his collar, and gradually, with growing warmth, kissed him back.

Lips and breath entwined, and then he raised a hand to cup Zhou Jin’s face, drawing back just slightly. In the darkness, the only light came from the flame that burned in his eyes — like stars.

Zhou Jin exhaled softly a few times, then affected a composure she didn’t quite feel. “You smell really good.”

“Do I?” His voice had gone a little husky. Hearing it, Zhou Jin felt a ticklish warmth spread to the tips of her ears. Jiang Hansheng leaned in closer, and asked quietly, “Better than Jiang Cheng?”