He had always known she’d forgotten.

Within the three months they had been together, Jiang Hansheng had already noticed that Zhou Jin held no memory of those events.

Perhaps it was because she had, as a child, chosen to bury that memory as a form of self-protection. Or perhaps it was simply because the whole affair had been nothing more than a passing gesture to her — something too trivial to hold onto.

But he remembered. And that was enough.

“Then don’t think about it.”

Jiang Hansheng pressed forward, his posture unyielding, bearing down until Zhou Jin lay back against the bed. His breathing came slightly uneven as he dipped his head and grazed his lips along her neck.

His long, elegant hands closed over hers and pressed them firmly into the sheets. One of his legs moved with practiced ease, nudging her knee aside, the shape of his arousal unmistakable against her.

Zhou Jin’s face had gone a deep flush. She seized on a gap in her breath and said quietly: “Let’s not — my parents are right here…”

Jiang Hansheng regarded her for a moment. The muscle along his flank eased, and he did not continue.

He straightened up and sat beside her, reaching up to pull the towel — which had slipped to his neck — back over his hair and giving it a few cursory rubs. Then, without warning, he tilted slightly toward Zhou Jin’s side.

A few stray droplets landed on her.

She recoiled. “Water.”

Jiang Hansheng asked, in a tone that was almost a request: “Would you help me dry my hair?”

“Oh — sure.”

Zhou Jin didn’t think anything of it. It was just drying someone’s hair. She raised her hands and got to it without a second thought.

Even if she had thought more on it, her mind wouldn’t have wandered anywhere remotely romantic. What occurred to her instead was that Jiang Hansheng had injured his arm not long ago — it probably still gave him trouble.

“Has your arm healed up properly?” she asked.

Jiang Hansheng half-closed his eyes, letting himself settle into the sensation of her fingers working through his hair through the towel — rubbing and kneading wherever they pleased. The faint scent of shampoo drifted through the air between them.

“It still aches a little,” he said quietly.

“Then I’ll blow-dry it for you before we sleep,” Zhou Jin said.

A smile crossed Jiang Hansheng’s face — faint, restrained, barely there at all.

The following afternoon, the moment Yan Bin clocked off work he came roaring up to Number 24 on his motorcycle, killed the engine at the door, and bellowed for Xiao Wu at the top of his lungs.

His voice was loud enough to shake loose a layer of ancient dust from the rafters. Zhou Jin hurried outside to meet him.

Yan Bin spotted her, then craned his neck left and right to peer behind her, noting the absence of Jiang Hansheng.

“Where’s your — whoever he is?” he asked.

“He took the birdcage out for a walk with my dad,” Zhou Jin said.

Yan Bin pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm, launching immediately into an interrogation: “You got yourself a boyfriend and didn’t bother telling Third Brother?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Still trying to fool me? I heard it plain as day yesterday — he even called her Mom. Completely shameless, honestly.”

“…”

It was at this point that Zhou Jin registered the usefulness of having a ring. She fished the chain out from her collar and held it up. “We’re married. We just registered — haven’t held the ceremony yet.”

Yan Bin froze. He stared at the ring on the chain for a long, wordless moment, then his expression shifted into something grave. “Don’t joke with me.”

“I’m not joking.”

Yan Bin pressed her again and again until he was satisfied she was telling the truth, then his brow furrowed deeply. “What? Why? What about the eldest? You carried a torch for him for so many years — how do you just up and marry someone else out of nowhere?”

At the mention of Jiang Cheng, Zhou Jin’s expression grew heavy. “Mom and Dad are getting older. I want to move forward too. Third Brother — can we stop talking about Jiang Cheng?”

Yan Bin went quiet.

Regarding what had happened with Jiang Cheng, the Zhou family kept their silence, and Yan Bin had only ever caught the barest fragments of the story.

Even so, he still couldn’t bring himself to fully accept it.

But however much he struggled to accept it, the facts were right in front of him. If there had been any misunderstanding, knowing Zhou Jin’s nature, she would never have let go.

Yan Bin exhaled slowly. “Maybe we’ve all grown up. A lot of things change.” He paused. “You don’t know this, but before you even started liking the eldest, he once said to me—”

“If I said I liked Xiao Wu — do you think Uncle Zhou would kick me out?”

Yan Bin could never quite forget the look on Jiang Cheng’s face when he’d said it.

He had been feeling inferior. Actually inferior.

It was so unlike the Jiang Cheng Yan Bin had always known that he could barely reconcile them as the same person.

In Yan Bin’s eyes, Jiang Cheng had been proud from the time he was small — exceptional in every way, sharp and outstanding in everything he touched. Even in a crowd, without saying a word, he was the center of all light and attention.

Someone who didn’t know his history might have assumed he came from a privileged and comfortable family. In truth, Jiang Cheng had lost his parents when he was very young. They had died in a car accident, and he had been sent to live with his grandparents in the countryside. Before long, he had slipped away on his own and made his way back to Gardenia Alley — he never said why, but nothing on earth could make him leave again.

Jiang Cheng had grown up in Gardenia Alley eating meals wherever a door was open to him, and the Zhou household had given him the most. He had grown the way wild grass grows — reckless and vigorous, proud and brazen, with a ferocious sense of self-worth.

In the early days, some of the neighborhood children had mocked Jiang Cheng for having no parents. He flew into a rage and thrashed them soundly.

The other child’s parents, seeing their son bloodied and battered, refused to let the matter drop, and demanded that Jiang Cheng kneel and kowtow in apology.

At that moment, Zhou Songyue pushed through the gathered crowd, pulled a young Jiang Cheng behind him, and said with quiet authority: “Medical expenses — we’ll cover them. But do not be unreasonable.”

The parents pressed on, unbowed. “Oh, so being a cop makes you something special?! Cops are allowed to take sides?! I’m telling you — your kid beat my son. If he doesn’t get on his knees and apologize, this isn’t over!”

Zhou Songyue said: “I’m not a police officer right now. I’m his father. And I want to know — why did your child say my son has no parents?”

Others had come out from their homes along Gardenia Alley. They surged in around Jiang Cheng, pulling him toward them, calling out: “That’s right — how could he possibly have no mother and father?”

The confrontation spiraled into a full-blown commotion. It took the officers from the nearby station coming to mediate before the whole thing was finally laid to rest — compensation paid, apologies given.

Afterward, Jiang Cheng buried himself in Zhou Songyue’s arms and sobbed with the full force of his body — as though he were wringing out every tear this life would ever give him. After that day, he was never seen crying again.

Jiang Cheng had grown up in Gardenia Alley like wild grass — untamed and proliferating, proud and reckless, with a self-regard that bent for no one.

It wasn’t until that moment when Jiang Cheng, careful and tentative, let slip what was in his heart, that Yan Bin realized even he had moments of insecurity and weakness.

Yan Bin could tell. Jiang Cheng had genuinely cared for Zhou Jin.

He was just about to find a way to bring this up properly with Zhou Jin when, not far off, Zhou Songyue and Jiang Hansheng came strolling back home.

Yan Bin raised a hand toward Zhou Songyue. “Uncle, my mom asked me to bring you a duck — for soup tonight.”

He untied the plastic bag hanging from the handlebars and passed it over.

Zhou Songyue accepted it without ceremony and asked: “What’s the occasion — heading out for dinner?”

“That hot pot place I went in on with a partner just opened,” Yan Bin said. “I’m taking Xiao Wu to have a look.”

“Go on then,” Zhou Songyue said.

Jiang Hansheng stood where he was for a moment. Zhou Jin stepped up beside him and asked: “Hot pot all right with you?”

Jiang Hansheng smiled. “Whatever works for me.”

Zhou Jin turned to Yan Bin: “You have the half-and-half pot, right? He doesn’t eat spicy.”

“…”

Yan Bin shot a look at Jiang Hansheng, and felt the old hostility stir in him without his even meaning for it to.

Some things changed. Some things didn’t. For instance — seeing Jiang Hansheng again now, Yan Bin found he disliked him every bit as much as he always had.