At night, everyone slept together in the shelter, with an elderly lady from the first floor serving as a dividing line between men and women. Women were on the left, men on the right. The old lady had her daughter-in-law to her left and her son to her right, making it convenient for them to care for her. Other families were scattered—Fei Ni slept at the far left, Fang Muyang at the far right, with about twenty people between them.

Fei Ni woke very early. The shelter was separated from the outside by only a layer of transparent plastic sheeting that stretched from top to ground for rain protection. Outside was still murky darkness. Despite the dim light, Fei Ni noticed someone sleeping to her left, just on the other side of the fabric. Her heart skipped a beat. She instinctively looked toward the far right of the shelter for Fang Muyang, but at this hour, the shelter was still dark—that grayish-black ink slowly dissolving in water—making it impossible to spot him with the naked eye.

She shined her flashlight outside and discovered that the person sleeping next to her was none other than the one she’d been looking for. He lay peacefully on a narrow wooden board that could barely accommodate half his body. The flashlight beam on his face, filtered through the transparent fabric, gave him a soft glow. Though his features weren’t naturally gentle, they appeared serene now. She traced the light over his eyes, eyelashes, nose, and mouth, but he didn’t stir.

In the not-quite-silent night, occasional snores reached her ears, but they seemed increasingly distant. She could only hear Fang Muyang’s breathing and her heartbeat.

Perhaps from exhaustion, she gradually felt drowsy, too tired to worry about the person outside. She drifted off to sleep.

At dawn, Fei Ni felt someone poking her arm from the left. She knew it was Fang Muyang but ignored him. He poked her again, and she still pretended not to notice, until his finger slipped through the plastic sheeting to prod her face. That finally provoked her.

She tried to swat his hand away, but he caught her fingers. Perhaps from sleeping outdoors, his hand was cool, making her fingers feel even warmer in contrast. Her first instinct was to check if her mother beside her was still sleeping.

She whispered a warning through the plastic sheet, but he just kept smiling, his finger drawing patterns on her palm. His touch was light, making her palm tickle as he traced what she imagined was her angry expression—eyes half-closed in irritation, unlike others who glared when angry.

Seeing Fei Ni truly annoyed, Fang Muyang finally released her hand and said in a voice only she could hear: “Come out.”

Fei Ni crept out of the shelter carefully. She still wore yesterday’s clothes which, thanks to her peaceful sleep, weren’t very wrinkled. Yet she felt uncomfortable all over, sticky, especially her hair, which she’d planned to wash yesterday morning but hadn’t.

Fei Ni was about to scold Fang Muyang when he said, “I’ve heated water for you to wash your hair.”

She realized he must have noticed her need to wash her hair when he touched it last night. Maybe he’d noticed even the night before.

“Thank you.”

“No need for thanks. Just don’t refuse when I ask for your help later.”

Fei Ni had rescued their toiletries from home yesterday, and now she walked behind Fang Muyang carrying her washing supplies. He had a towel draped around his neck and casually took her hand, placing it on his basin. His shirt was wrinkled, but he seemed completely unconcerned.

They walked toward the building one after another.

Fang Muyang asked Fei Ni, “Did you sleep well last night?”

How could she have? Crowded with so many people, and him outside.

Fei Ni asked Fang Muyang, “Why did you sleep outside?”

“It was too stuffy inside.”

But that didn’t explain why he’d specifically chosen to sleep next to her.

Fei Ni didn’t pursue it further, sensing the answer might lead her into more awkward territory.

She asked him, “Why are you up so early?” Early enough to have heated water already.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Fei Ni guessed he’d probably been awakened by mosquitoes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing several mosquito bites on his forearms. She silently called him foolish—sleeping outside with exposed arms, as if afraid the mosquitoes wouldn’t find him.

The first-floor washroom was near the exit, its door removed by someone, standing wide open. Next to it were individual units, with families cooking in the hallways outside their doors. Fei Ni saw the kettle on the stove, steam rising steadily.

Fang Muyang lifted the kettle easily and entered the washroom.

Fei Ni placed her basin at the edge of the sink and bent to wet her hair. Her fingers were long and white, a striking contrast against her black hair as she worked up a lather. Foam slid down her neck and under her collar, causing an itchy sensation. She instinctively dipped her soap-covered hands in water, preparing to wipe away the foam from her neck, when Fang Muyang took a towel to dry her wet hands, claiming he worried she’d get her shirt wet. He’d forgotten he was brushing his teeth, holding the toothbrush between his teeth while using both hands to dry hers, even between her fingers.

“Enough, stop wiping.” Though well-intentioned, his attention was irritating her.

Fang Muyang explained he’d wanted to wipe away the foam himself but worried she’d suspect ulterior motives, so he’d chosen this more complicated approach.

Fei Ni remained silent.

Worried someone might come in, she washed quickly. After the first rinse, as she wrung out her hair, Fang Muyang understood and emptied the basin. For the second wash, he mixed cold water into the kettle. Holding it, he let the water trickle over the back of her hand, asking if the temperature was right as it flowed between her fingers.

Fei Ni said it was fine.

She closed her eyes as the water flowed over her hair. There was foam behind her ear, and the warm water gently ran past, slowly dissolving it.

She dried her hair until it was mostly dry, then asked Fang Muyang what help he needed.

“I want to take a bath. Could you watch the door? If anyone comes, ask them to wait a while.”

Seeing her questioning look, he explained further: “If a woman comes in and sees something she shouldn’t, she might blame me for being indecent. It would affect my reputation.”

His logic made sense, and Fei Ni urged him, “Then hurry up and wash.” Noticing no shampoo in his basin, she asked, “Where’s your shampoo?”

“I don’t use that. Isn’t soap enough?”

Fei Ni left her shampoo for him. Instead of standing at the washroom door, she walked a few steps further to the building entrance.

Fang Muyang hadn’t lied to Fei Ni—he was used to daily showers. Yesterday he’d been busy from dawn until night, working up a sweat, and worried he might smell. The building wasn’t safe, and the street was full of people, so this was his only option.

Fei Ni stood at the building entrance to prevent anyone from entering.

Fang Muyang’s mouth kept running: “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t mind being seen.”

“What’s it got to do with me?” Fei Ni only believed the second part—he truly wouldn’t mind being seen. She remembered his album of figure drawings.

“It has everything to do with you. If someone accuses me of being indecent, we’re married—my bad reputation would affect you too. Don’t you see the logic?”

Fei Ni urged him again: “Stop talking and hurry up.”

“Among women, I only allow you to look—isn’t that considerate?”

Fei Ni didn’t appreciate his sentiment: “Who wants to look at you?”

“I’m saying you have the right. You can exercise it anytime, or choose not to.”

As time passed, Fei Ni couldn’t help asking: “Why aren’t you finished yet?”

“Almost done.” Fang Muyang lifted the pot lid to add noodles.

She mentally cursed his dawdling. Seeing someone approaching from afar, she urged: “Someone’s coming! Hurry up!”

“My tomato noodles are ready, come try them. What were you thinking? How could you not smell these fragrant noodles?”

Fang Muyang brought the noodles to Fei Ni’s mouth for her to taste. She could smell soap on him, and his arms were still damp from his shower.

One thing was certain—he’d finished bathing long ago.

She wondered how she’d missed such a strong tomato aroma.