Truthfully, it was perfectly normal that Zhou Jin couldn’t remember this incident.

As a child, she was the sort of troublemaker who would drag home any stray cat or dog she encountered — and beyond Jiang Hansheng, she had brought countless classmates and friends back to her house, filling it with noise and laughter every single day.

Because Zhou Songyue worked as a police officer at the local station, parents felt completely at ease letting their children play at the Zhou household. It wasn’t unusual at all for those children to stay over for ten days or even half a month at a stretch.

Jiang Hansheng had simply been one among that crowd of children.

Yet when Zhou Songyue brought up the nanny from the Jiang family, Zhou Jin turned the memory over carefully in her mind, and something gradually took shape.

There weren’t many games they could play together as children — the greatest entertainment for the kids in the neighborhood was gathering in the alleyway for a rousing game of hide-and-seek.

Jiang Cheng was a few years older than the rest of them, and sharp as a tack. No matter where Zhou Jin hid, it seemed he could always sniff her out.

Except for once. Once, she had won. That time, she had hidden inside Jiang Hansheng’s home.

The truth of it was that she couldn’t find anywhere to hide. Passing by the entrance to Jiang Hansheng’s house, she noticed the door hadn’t been shut, and curiosity drew her to peek inside. The family had planted an enormous willow tree in their courtyard, and Jiang Hansheng sat beneath it at a stone table, working diligently on his homework.

He was thin and slight, his hair dark as ink but his cheeks pale as snow. Pale gold light filtered down through the willow leaves, drifting in scattered fragments.

Jiang Hansheng had eyes of striking contrast — black and white, clear and defined. When he caught sight of Zhou Jin, something in their depths flickered and brightened for just an instant.

But he said nothing.

Zhou Jin met his gaze. Her father had taught her that failing to greet someone was impolite. She had no choice but to whisper: “What are you doing?”

Jiang Hansheng’s voice was even softer than hers. “Writing — writing homework.”

Zhou Jin heard the rush of footsteps surging through the alley outside and startled badly, scrambling into the Jiang family’s courtyard and pulling the gate firmly shut behind her.

Every day, Jiang Hansheng would hear the children in the alleyway outside laughing and making a ruckus — he knew they were playing games. He watched Zhou Jin with focused attention for a moment, then said: “You can hide in my room. I won’t say anything. They won’t find you there.”

Zhou Jin lifted her chin, delight sparking in her face. “Really?!”

Jiang Hansheng gave a solemn nod.

He led Zhou Jin inside, into his room.

Jiang Hansheng’s room was quite large. Along one wall stood a row of glass-fronted bookcases, packed floor to ceiling with books. Zhou Jin had never seen anything like it — nor was she remotely interested. Her gaze kept drifting instead toward the brand-new gaming console sitting in the corner.

“Can I hide in the wardrobe?” Zhou Jin asked.

“Yes,” said Jiang Hansheng.

He hadn’t moved in long, and there wasn’t much inside the wardrobe yet. Zhou Jin climbed in without any difficulty. The door swung shut, leaving only a thin sliver of a gap, through which a thread of light crept inside.

As Jiang Hansheng turned to leave, Zhou Jin called after him: “You absolutely cannot give me away — no matter who asks, don’t say a word.”

“I won’t say anything,” Jiang Hansheng promised.

Zhou Jin crouched in the wardrobe, watching motes of dust drift and ripple lazily in the daylight filtering through the gap.

She had been running and playing wildly for half the afternoon. Now that she had gone still, exhaustion crept over her quickly. Her eyelids drooped, fought, drooped again, and finally gave out entirely. Zhou Jin slumped sideways inside the wardrobe and fell deeply, soundly asleep.

She drifted through a hollow, empty dreamscape — adrift for who knew how long — until suddenly a door slammed with a sharp bang. Zhou Jin lurched as though she had missed a step, and crashed hard, cracking her head against the wardrobe wall, nearly tumbling out entirely.

That impact jolted her completely awake.

She was still tucked inside the wardrobe. Through the narrow gap before her, she saw Jiang Hansheng stumble and fall to the ground, his palm blooming with a thin spreading stain of blood.

A thick, fleshy arm reached in and seized Jiang Hansheng by the hair, a voice erupting: “Why won’t you listen?!”

The woman’s shriek was low and savage. “Are you waiting for your father to come back so you can leave with him?! Why won’t you think about me?! I look after you, I’m good to you, I’m the one who cares about you most — why won’t you just listen to me?!”

Zhou Jin was so small. She had never witnessed anything like this in her life.

She stared at the woman’s contorted face, frozen in absolute terror, every drop of warmth draining from her body.

“I treat you like my own son — please, stop calling your father — won’t you? Why won’t you say something, say something!”

She wrenched Jiang Hansheng upright and hurled him against the wall, driving him into a corner with nowhere left to retreat, then fell upon him in a frenzy — twisting, pinching, clawing at him.

Jiang Hansheng’s face had gone an unnatural white. He pressed his lips together in a hard line. When the pain became unbearable, he would only furrow his brow, instinctively flinching back — yet through it all, he made not a single sound. No crying. No screaming.

In the chaos, his eyes moved on instinct toward the wardrobe — and without any warning, he and Zhou Jin locked gazes.

In hide-and-seek, Zhou Jin had chosen this hiding place because it felt safe. But the moment she met Jiang Hansheng’s eyes, it was as though invisible hands had closed around her throat. An unbearable suffocation seized her.

The darkness, the close walls — all of it seemed to press inward, compressing against her, gathering into some formless force that suddenly shoved her forward.

She thrust one foot out of the wardrobe. She didn’t know where the strength came from, but she found it — driving both hands hard into the woman’s back, then seizing Jiang Hansheng’s hand and bolting—!

Zhou Jin heard the woman’s shrill, wailing scream at her back. She was in such a panic that she completely forgot her own home was just next door, and she simply ran, pulling Jiang Hansheng as far and as fast as her legs would carry her.

She didn’t stop until her vision was blurring at the edges and her legs had given out entirely. Only then did she release Jiang Hansheng’s hand, bending double, pressing both hands to her aching sides and gulping down breath after ragged breath.

Jiang Hansheng was also gasping, winded from the run. Sweat traced down his temples, and his heart pounded furiously against his ribs.

His vision was slightly blurred. He looked past Zhou Jin’s shoulder, to the sky stretching out behind her.

Across the horizon, a band of evening clouds burned — deep orange bleeding into rouge and violet — blazing in the last light of dusk. The setting sun cast a pale, luminous glow across her hair and the curve of her cheek.

Magnificent, and radiant.

It took a long while before Zhou Jin managed to steady her breath. She turned to him, a thread of irritation in her voice: “She was hitting you — why didn’t you run?!”

Jiang Hansheng said nothing.

“My father always told me,” Zhou Jin said, “that when someone is talking to you and you don’t answer, it’s rude.”

Jiang Hansheng pressed his lips together for a long moment before he spoke. “She… is very pitiful. She’s like my mother…”

Zhou Jin heard this and nearly combusted with frustration. “She was hitting you — you’re the one who’s pitiful. You should tell your father, and have her replaced!”

Another long silence. “Then… there would be no one at home.”

“…”

Zhou Jin’s brows — usually gently curved — were now knitted so tightly together they nearly met. After a long moment, she asked: “Would you be alone in the house? Are you afraid of the dark?”

Jiang Hansheng fell silent again.

“You can come to my house. My father is a police officer — he’s not afraid of any bad person. He can protect you.”

“…”

She turned a smile on Jiang Hansheng — bright and blazing, like sunlight. “Come on.”

Jiang Hansheng seemed to stall, bewildered. He still hadn’t moved a step. “I… don’t need to,” he said.

Zhou Jin grabbed hold of his wrist and pulled him toward her home with absolute resolve, talking as she walked: “Jiang Hansheng, trust me.”

“…”

Her palm was warm and slightly damp. The heat of it seeped through his skin. Jiang Hansheng felt something burn in his chest — burn, and burn.

“I’ll take you home.”

Though Zhou Jin had put on a display of tremendous courage in that moment, deep inside she had been terrified by what she witnessed. Not long afterward, she came down with a fever — on and off for a full week — and in the haze of illness, the memory of that day gradually faded away.

What remained was only a dim, half-formed impression: a woman who had not properly cared for Jiang Hansheng, and who had ultimately been arrested by Zhou Songyue. Even this much was tangled up with other recollections, all muddled together into an indistinct knot.

Zhou Jin chewed absently on her chopsticks, a dull, gloomy discomfort pressing at her chest. “I think something like that did happen…” she said finally.

The conversation soon drifted elsewhere.

During the meal, they also asked Jiang Hansheng about his work. Zhou Songyue — a seasoned police officer — and Jiang Hansheng — a professor who lectured in criminal investigation — had no shortage of things to discuss between them.

Jiang Hansheng didn’t say a great deal, but every word he did say was measured and thoughtful. By the time dinner was over, the two elder members of the Zhou household had grown steadily more fond of him with every passing moment.

After the meal, Lin Qiuyun washed dishes alongside Zhou Jin and took the opportunity to offer a quiet word of guidance: “Busy or not, a wedding ceremony is still something you ought to hold. Honestly, the way you are — you can’t always let Hansheng be the one making all the concessions.”

“We’ll wait until this period passes,” Zhou Jin replied lightly.

Lin Qiuyun’s hands stilled for a moment. She understood — Zhou Chuan’s anniversary was coming soon. After a long pause, she said quietly: “If your older brother were still here, he would have been so happy for you.”

That night, when it came time to rest, Jiang Hansheng stayed in Zhou Jin’s room.

Zhou Jin was busy laying out fresh sheets and bedding. Jiang Hansheng showered first, and came out changed into clean clothes.

His hair was still undried, droplets trailing from the ends, his eyes soft and dark from the steam — quiet and deeply black.

“Why haven’t you dried your hair?” Zhou Jin pulled a fresh towel from the shelf, draped it over his head, and — worried it might slip — gave his hair a couple of casual rubs herself. “I don’t know where the hair dryer ended up. Let me go find it.”

“Zhou Jin.”

He leaned in toward her. Zhou Jin felt the back of her knees meet the edge of the bed, and she lost her balance, sinking down onto it.

Jiang Hansheng didn’t stop. He bent forward and pressed his lips to hers. Water droplets from his still-damp hair trickled down into the hollow of Zhou Jin’s neck, cold enough to send a fine shiver through her.

He kissed her with slow, gentle thoroughness, until Zhou Jin’s hand drifted up to his shoulder, her fingers sliding into the damp tangle of his hair — and only then did he draw back.

The space between them was close but not quite touching. Zhou Jin let out a soft, quiet exhale. “I think I’ve just remembered something very unhappy,” she said.