Girls are softer than velvet. Brilliant roses, blooming and withering in turn, sealed berries bursting open. As the tide receded, she asked him whether the wounds on his body still hurt.

On the tip of a tongue scorched by the fire in his heart, no complete sentence could find its way out. Wei Qingyue simply kissed her hair again and again.

Jiang Du had scratched up his back, so the first thing he did was hold her hands up to the light to look at them. Ah — Jiang Du’s nails needed trimming. Pink and tender nails, like flower petals, but clearly their owner had never paid them much careful attention, nor had she, like other fashionable girls her age, gone to get her nails done beautifully.

“Shall I trim your nails for you?” Wei Qingyue asked her. His body bore scars that were anything but attractive, scattered across his taut muscles. Jiang Du said yes, then pressed her lips softly against the scar on his shoulder, her face burning red.

Wei Qingyue touched her cheek, then climbed out of bed, found the nail clippers, and began trimming Jiang Du’s nails.

Her hands seemed boneless, their color like fine porcelain — like the rest of her body. Wei Qingyue had always been astonished by how fair she was; a person could actually be this pale. But right now she glowed like a sweet, fragrant peach.

Crescent-shaped nail clippings fell away. He worked with careful, deliberate movements, not forgetting to ask: “How am I doing?”

“Not particularly well, it seems,” Jiang Du said, head bowed, her hair puffed out on both sides like clouds. Her smile was hidden deep, keeping her face out of his sight.

Wei Qingyue refused to believe it. “Nonsense — what exactly is wrong with how I’m trimming them?” He spread her hand open in his palm, pressed his thumb down, and held it up toward the lamp. “They couldn’t be more beautiful. No one else could cut such a perfect arc for you.”

Jiang Du’s face was still very, very red. She murmured, “You’ve always been this self-absorbed, haven’t you?”

Wei Qingyue gave a dismissive laugh. “How could you call this self-absorption? It’s simply objective fact. Whatever I set my mind to, I do well.”

“Then why did your startup go bankrupt?” Jiang Du continued in a low voice.

Wei Qingyue replied with perfect nonchalance: “Selling at a premium — not everyone is worth that price.”

Jiang Du’s gaze drifted lightly to the blanket beside them. She said, “Oh, if you’re that valuable, what am I supposed to do — I don’t have much money.”

“What?” Wei Qingyue was momentarily confused. His robe hung loose and careless on his shoulders. Then he seemed to catch on. He cupped her face and turned it toward him, his eyes burning with sincerity and something warmer still, his breath spilling across her face. “If it’s you — I don’t want money. I’ll give you money. All of it. Every bit I have.”

He spoke like a man drunk.

Jiang Du had to press her lips together with great effort to hold back her smile.

Yet Wei Qingyue suddenly pulled himself back. He picked up the nail clippings one by one, wrapped them in a tissue, and placed them inside the bedside drawer.

Jiang Du tugged at him. “Why are you keeping those?”

Wei Qingyue just smiled. The drawer slid shut. He got up and poured her a glass of warm water. Wherever he walked, Jiang Du’s gaze followed — Wei Qingyue moved barefoot across the carpet, making no sound at all.

Once she had finished drinking, he pressed back down over her again, holding her by the shoulders, pinning her down. And then he began to touch her. The bed seemed to sink and collapse beneath them.

Jiang Du didn’t dare meet his eyes. Her breathing grew more and more rapid.

But then Wei Qingyue frowned. He said suddenly, “The sheets seem to be wet. Did you not notice?”

Jiang Du’s face went scarlet. She stiffly pushed him away and sat up. “I suppose they are,” she said.

Wei Qingyue pulled the wardrobe open, took out a fresh set of sheets and duvet covers, and flung them at Jiang Du’s face. “I hate changing these more than anything. Can you handle it?”

Jiang Du yanked the sheet off her head and emerged, her hair a complete bird’s nest.

She began changing the sheets — the fitted sheet first, then the duvet cover. Her arms were still just as weak as ever; she couldn’t shake them out properly, and they fell onto the bed in wrinkled heaps.

Wei Qingyue had been standing there with his arms crossed, watching. He lasted only a few seconds before walking over, nudging her firmly to one side with his hip, and taking over. “I’ll do it.”

His strength made it easy work. When he snapped the sheet into place, the air it stirred up was cool and billowing, sweeping across their faces.

On the old sheet, there was a small, dark red stain — very small. Wei Qingyue paused mid-motion, bringing it closer to examine it. Before he could get a proper look, Jiang Du snatched it away. She clutched it to her chest, lips pressed together. “Where’s the washing machine? I’ll go wash it.”

Wei Qingyue laughed — a slow, glowing laugh, like a cigarette’s ember fading in and out.

Watching her head toward the balcony, he flung out one arm to block her, refusing to let her pass. His gaze filled inexplicably with teasing warmth. “Haven’t asked you yet — are you feeling alright?”

Jiang Du ducked low, trying to slip beneath his arm. Wei Qingyue caught her and pulled her back, trapping her in the corner beside the wardrobe. He leaned down over her, eyes unblinking, and pulled the balled-up sheets and duvet covers straight out of her arms, dropped them on the floor, and kicked them aside with one foot.

“We’re not washing anything.” Wei Qingyue gathered her up sideways against his chest and pressed her down onto the bed, pinching her earlobe while murmuring against her, “Would you like to do a thorough study of me?”

Jiang Du’s hands scrambled free from his, her fingers breaking loose in a panic. His leading touch was dangerous. Trapped beneath his control, she trembled without being able to stop herself, wanting to squeeze her eyes shut.

Wei Qingyue glanced at the bedside lamp and switched it off. In the darkness, he bit her ear and said, “Don’t be so afraid of me, sweetheart.”

He borrowed the term from her grandmother.

Jiang Du felt her heart cave in just like the bed. She said suddenly, “Wei Qingyue, I’m so happy.” And as she said it she felt like crying. In the dark, her courage seemed a little bigger. “Are you happy? I want to know if you’re happy.”

A soft laugh escaped from Wei Qingyue’s throat. “Silly.”

“Are you happy?” Jiang Du asked again.

“Happy.” He hinted at her with sly suggestion. “If you were willing to study me a bit more thoroughly, I’d be even happier.”

And so, Jiang Du was compelled to conduct an in-depth study of his body. Wei Qingyue said, I have to reciprocate in kind — I ought to study yours as well, don’t I?

When they woke the next morning, Wei Qingyue’s phone would not stop ringing. Jiang Du was still asleep. He got up, took his phone out to the balcony to take the call — a last-minute industry salon had come up, requiring his attendance.

Wei Qingyue felt like cursing.

It was the first time he had ever thought that work was a complete and utter nuisance. A salon — a salon — what kind of nonsense was this.

Whatever happened to staying in bed for three or five days?

He was already out of bed, and now he had to find food, get dressed, put together an outfit — and there was a sweetheart still in that bed who needed looking after.

Wei Qingyue went to check the refrigerator. There was nothing in it but mineral water, milk, and sports drinks. All liquid.

It was only then that he remembered his kitchen had never once been used. Sometimes the housekeeper would bring him homemade lunches from her own cooking — those were the only occasions he ever got to eat simple, home-style food.

In the end, Wei Qingyue made a cup of instant noodles and called Jiang Du to get up and eat.

Tender and devoted through the night, only to face instant noodles first thing the next morning.

Jiang Du stared at the instant noodles and seemed lost in thought. She didn’t feel like eating. Wei Qingyue stood with his hands in his pockets, still carrying a certain early-morning irritability. Watching her not eat, he reached over, took a taste himself, and said, “Forget it, don’t bother. I’ll go downstairs and get you proper breakfast. What do you want?”

He thought of her grandfather — a man who appreciated fine food. Jiang Du’s palate had, in truth, always been rather pampered.

“Then get soy milk and boiled corn,” Jiang Du thought about it. “Sweet soy milk — I like it sweet.”

Wei Qingyue had originally planned to establish his image as the ideal, devoted boyfriend — the sort who excels in every act of care. But he found himself facing immediate obstacles. He didn’t know how to cook. The cooking skills he’d picked up during his years studying in America had long since been swept into the dustbin of history.

When he came back with breakfast, Wei Qingyue ate at his usual pace — fast. Jiang Du, by contrast, was quite refined about it, eating like a little bird pecking daintily at her food: a bite of corn, a sip of soy milk, the corn chewed slowly and carefully, the soy milk savored as though she were detecting some particular nuance of flavor.

Their differences surfaced from the very first morning together. She was unhurried; he preferred to get things done without delay.

Wei Qingyue watched her, cleared his throat, and said, “Jiang Du, are you always this slow when you eat? Aren’t you in a rush for work?”

Jiang Du replied earnestly: “I don’t sleep in, so I have plenty of time for breakfast. Nine to five, and my apartment is close to the office. Besides, I don’t like eating on the subway.”

Wei Qingyue nodded along, still watching her eat, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. “You’re a goose, aren’t you?”

Jiang Du looked at him, puzzled.

Wei Qingyue raised a hand to cover his mouth, concealing his teasing smile. “Wasn’t there that essay by Feng Zikai — ‘The White Goose’ — in our school textbooks? That goose of his ate in a very fixed, methodical way. How did it go again — unhurried, step by step: a bite of rice, then a sip of water, then a bite of mud and grass. You’re only missing me getting you a portion of mud and grass to round out the meal.”

Jiang Du’s face went red. Watching the amusement in his eyes deepen and deepen, she finally adopted an air of serene, effortless composure:

“I may be a goose, but that makes you a pig.”

Wei Qingyue was not pleased. “How am I a pig?”

“The kind raised in the countryside — covered in filth, charging over the moment it hears someone about to throw in the feed, head down, snorting and gobbling everything up. Do you know what pig slop is? The owner spends half a day stirring it together, and the pig finishes it in three minutes. That’s exactly how you eat.” Jiang Du bit back her laughter and continued gnawing on her corn.

Wei Qingyue made a sound of mock disdain. “I thought you were such a gentle soul. You hold a grudge like nobody’s business.” He got up, flicked her on the forehead, and walked away — pulling out a key and placing it on the table with a clatter. Hanging from the ring was a brand-new Tweety Bird charm, still in its plastic packaging.

“House key. Take one.”

Jiang Du weighed it in her palm, lips curving into a smile. Wei Qingyue turned back, both hands braced on the dining table, and looked at her seriously. “Stop smiling. Can we possibly eat a little faster? I’ll drop you off first.”

“Alright then,” Jiang Du said, a little embarrassed. “Actually, I can take the subway myself. You don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Wei Qingyue straightened up. “I want to go to the trouble. I’m happy to.”

He really was not a likable person, Jiang Du thought to herself. By then, Wei Qingyue had already gone to change. He was dressing more formally today — dress shirt with suit trousers. He stood at his full height of one hundred and eighty-nine centimeters. Quite tall.

His appearance had changed, she noticed — subtly but genuinely. In the past he had that quality of a lean, unfinished youth. Now he was handsome and vigorous, filled out into himself.

Jiang Du glanced at his wardrobe and saw that it was not particularly organized — clothes from all four seasons hanging together in a jumble. She said warmly, “I’ll come over after work and help you sort it out.”

Wei Qingyue was still doing up his buttons, and he laughed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “Such a little housewife.”

“Who are you calling a little housewife — what a terribly old-fashioned thing to say,” Jiang Du said. She really did find Wei Qingyue’s mouth rather insufferable.

“You,” he answered without hesitation. Wei Qingyue’s waist really was narrow — lean and taut, but radiating a sense of latent strength. She had just been irritated by his lack of any decent way of referring to her, yet now Jiang Du found her gaze drifting involuntarily to his waist, her mind a mess of disordered thoughts.

Wei Qingyue seemed to read her thoughts in an instant. He smiled in that knowing, slightly wicked way of his and said, “Tonight I’ll turn the lights on, take my trousers off, and you can look properly.”

Jiang Du still blushed easily. She was no match for him — this was simply how Wei Qingyue was. He was so unrestrained. With the person he was most intimate with, he was bold and uninhibited, spirited and free.

That edge of sharpness he used to carry seemed to have gone.

He smiled easily, joked freely, his brow and eyes relaxed and open.

Jiang Du found herself slowly smiling along with him. The two of them left together. Seated in his car, Wei Qingyue said he would come to her place tomorrow — she should let her grandparents know.

True to his word, after dropping Jiang Du off, he asked Lao Luo to help him pick out some gifts.

Lao Luo asked, “Is President Wei going to visit a friend, or…?”

“Meeting the parents. Though my fiancée’s family is just her grandparents — two elderly people. Find something suitable for them. I don’t really know what’s appropriate.” Wei Qingyue’s voice was light and buoyant — his step even more so.

He had never felt this light in all his life.