On the other side, at the lobby of Pure K, Liu Sijia leaned against the wall in a black dress, watching two figures walk away one after the other.

The expression on her face was complicated.

She fished a menthol cigarette from her pocket and bit down on it, her fingers working the wheel of a lighter again and again, unable to produce a flame, her irritation growing by the second.

Just as she was about to hurl the lighter with full force, a dark figure drifted lazily into view. Ning Chao, hands tucked in his pockets, strolled over with a cigarette hanging from his lips. He slid a lighter from his palm, bent his head to light up, and the movement exposed a sharp, clean jawline.

The craving Liu Sijia had been suppressing surged back at the sight of Ning Chao lighting his cigarette. Out of habit, she tilted her chin up and spoke: “Hey, give me a light.”

Ning Chao pulled the cigarette from his lips, glanced at her, and flatly refused: “No.”

Liu Sijia immediately recognized the silver lighter he was toying with — it was the Zorro lighter she had gifted him. She said, her tone imperious: “That lighter was a gift from me.”

Ning Chao couldn’t be bothered to respond. He went right on smoking. Liu Sijia suddenly felt utterly deflated and turned to leave. But without warning, a solid arm blocked her path, and the flame was extended to her, held sideways.

A soft click, and a flame of orange-red ignited. Liu Sijia looked over — the firelight lit up a face that was wild and untamed. But the stunned feeling lasted less than a moment, because in the very next second, that foul mouth of his lived up to its reputation:

“Look at you women and your petty little grudges.”

Liu Sijia’s eyes rolled so hard they nearly disappeared.

Fortunately, a minute later, the nicotine reaching her lungs eased Liu Sijia’s frayed nerves. She and Ning Chao stood side by side smoking, the atmosphere between them unusually calm.

Ning Chao pulled the cigarette from his lips, smiling in that thoroughly punchable way of his: “Doesn’t feel too great, does it.”

He had obviously just witnessed that whole scene.

“What?” A puff of white mist passed through her red lips as Liu Sijia had not yet come back from her own thoughts.

“Well, from Little Lord Ning’s many years wandering the streets, I’ll reluctantly teach you one thing — what’s yours is yours, and what isn’t yours, don’t force it——” Ning Chao held his cigarette between his fingers, his tone carelessly offhand.

Liu Sijia’s expression darkened, and she cut him off: “Save it. You sound like a gossipy old auntie right now.”

Ning Chao was just about to say something more when he caught sight of Liu Xiping walking over in the distance, and his expression shifted.

Old Liu had been stuck in the private room getting railroaded into singing several songs in a row by the students. He’d finally managed to slip out for some air, only to step outside and find two of his students huddled together in a cloud of smoke.

“Well, well — you two——” Liu Xiping’s fury was visible in the veins throbbing at his temple.

A broad hand grabbed her by the wrist. His palm was scorching hot. Before Liu Sijia even had time to react, Ning Chao had pulled her into a run. She was wearing red square-toed heels, and she stumbled along behind him, dragged forward at a pace she could barely keep up with.

In the scramble, both of them tossed their cigarettes away. The night air along the street was warm and breezy; their heart rates spiked with the running. The two cigarettes traced parabolic arcs and landed in a trash bin not far away.

Like two fleeting meteors streaking past them.

Old Liu gave chase relentlessly from behind, shouting as he ran: “Think you can hide from me? You can dodge today but not forever.”

Liu Sijia was gasping for breath and began to slow down: “I can’t anymore, I’m done. Since when does Ning Chao run from something like this?”

“I do run from this! My playground cleanup duty has already covered this entire semester — I’m not booking myself in for next semester too!”

Ning Chao pulled Liu Sijia by the wrist, scanning left and right. He spotted a billiards hall not far away and made a sharp left turn at the corner, dragging her inside.

The bead curtain swayed as Ning Chao pulled Liu Sijia in and ducked under one of the pool tables — the one in the corner, directly facing another table.

The neighboring table was surrounded on all sides by a crowd, which happened to block their view perfectly. Liu Sijia’s forehead was damp with a fine sheen of sweat. She crouched on the ground catching her breath, and through the gaps in the crowd, she could see Old Liu’s worn leather shoes moving across the floor — he was clearly searching for them.

The atmosphere inside the billiards hall was not pleasant. The smell of cigarettes mingled with peanuts and snacks, and the person standing nearest to Liu Sijia reeked so heavily of alcohol it nearly made her gag.

The sound of cue striking ball and ball dropping into pocket rang out in crisp succession.

Liu Sijia covered her mouth and nose with her hand, intending to endure it until Old Liu left — but he seemed convinced they were right there, pacing back and forth without any sign of leaving.

The space under the pool table was cramped. Ning Chao had been keeping watch sideways the entire time, eyes fixed on Old Liu’s movements. Fortunately, after wandering around the hall for a bit, Old Liu pivoted and headed for the exit.

Liu Sijia had been holding her breath the whole time. The moment Old Liu left, she couldn’t stand the suffocating smell for another second. She covered her mouth with her forearm and moved to stand up — just as Ning Chao, who had exhaled in relief and turned around, moved in the same direction.

In that instant, Ning Chao’s lips brushed, entirely by accident, across the soft, pale skin of Liu Sijia’s arm.

Both their pupils widened, each reflected in the other’s shocked face.

Crack — the cue struck a ball cleanly into the pocket, sending a crisp sound through the air. The crowd around the table erupted in cheers.

Moist, peculiar, and strange — like a feather falling against her heart, Liu Sijia felt something stir inside her, like a leaf instinctively curling inward upon being touched.

Liu Sijia snapped back to herself. That stunning face of hers shattered in an instant. She immediately cried out: “What is wrong with you?! Are you insane?!”

She scrambled out from under the pool table on all fours as she spoke. The young lady was beside herself with mortified fury. She walked out while vigorously scrubbing at her arm, her expression one of pure disgust.

Ning Chao emerged sideways after her. He stood with both hands in his pockets and paused for a moment, then raised his chin and let out a cold snort through his nose: “I’m the one who got the short end here. Young lady, you got your arm hair all in my mouth.”

Liu Sijia completely lost it. Her almond-shaped eyes flew wide open: “I did NOT! Your arms are the hairy ones, you absolute Tarzan!”

The adults playing pool nearby, who had been laughing and chatting, looked up in astonishment to see a boy and girl crawling out from under the neighboring table. They watched as the strikingly beautiful girl stormed out in a rage, while the close-cropped boy followed behind her with both hands in his pockets, clearly not particularly enthusiastic about it — yet when he dropped his head, the corners of his lips curved into a smile that was just barely visible.

The onlookers could only think: what an odd pair of young people.

By the time Ban Sheng finished celebrating Lin Weixia’s birthday and finally let her go, it was already very late.

Lin Weixia arrived home deep into the night. After showering, she sat down at her desk. She realized it had been a long time since she had written in her diary. Her right hand patted at her dripping black hair with a white towel while her left hand pulled open a drawer and retrieved her soft leather-bound journal.

Thud. A leaf-shaped amber pendant fell to the floor. Lin Weixia bent to pick it up. At the same moment, her phone on the desk buzzed with the vibration of an incoming message.

Lin Weixia sat in her chair, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at her phone screen for a long while. Her left hand gripped the leaf amber pendant so tightly that the blood rushed back into her hand, leaving it red across the back.

The light in the room was bright and stark white. Across the city, in another place entirely, the lights of a bar burned low and hazy, red and purple alternating across the stage. With a football match just underway, the clash of glasses sent froth blooming from one beer to the next.

There was even a young man who had lost a bet and was being held down by others trying to pull his trousers off.

Ban Sheng was sunk into the sofa of a booth, all in black from shirt to trousers. A cigarette rested between his fingertips, its smoke curling slowly upward, the crimson firelight making the bones of his hand look sharp and defined. He was watching the football match projected on the bar’s screen with a distracted air.

Languid, yet somehow magnetic.

“Big Sis Ji, still staring? He’s practically got your soul in his hand,” one of the younger staff teased.

“Get out of here. Go do your job.”

The woman they called Big Sis Ji had an air of mature confidence about her — big waves, silver earrings — though she was barely in her early twenties. Having entered the workforce young, she’d worked her way up over several years and now managed the bar for the owner.

Li Yiran was a regular here. She hadn’t expected him to bring a new face along tonight. And what a face it was — exactly her type.

“Hey, Ban-ge, which side are you betting on?” someone asked.

Ban Sheng tossed a stack of red chips across, his posture unhurried: “Spain.”

The other person bet on the opposing team. Big Sis Ji brought over a glass of tequila, ice clinking against the sides as she set it in front of Ban Sheng, smiling warmly:

“Then I’ll take the opposite. I’ll go with Croatia. You’ll have to accept the forfeit if you lose.”

Ban Sheng said nothing. Big Sis Ji squeezed in and sat down beside him, a rich wave of perfume drifting over. Li Yiran had had a bit too much to drink; the corners of his eyes were flushed red, which somehow made him look even more ascetically beautiful in a worn-down sort of way. He sprawled back against the sofa like a dissolute young dandy.

“Young master, weren’t you saying you weren’t coming back until after the college entrance exams?” Big Sis Ji shot him an exasperated look.

At that point Ban Sheng spoke up, with the ease of someone who never worried about stirring up trouble: “Where’s Wusuan?”

Li Yiran, who had been wearing the expression of someone who didn’t care about anything, showed a ripple of emotion at the name. His brow darkened like a storm rolling in — but a moment later, it smoothed back into his usual easygoing, well-mannered expression.

“Sheng-ge, you’re playing with fire,” Li Yiran said, lowering his head with a quiet laugh.

The match reached its most heated moment. Ban Sheng sat there watching, and the glass of tequila on the table hadn’t been touched at all — the ice was on the verge of melting into the drink.

He leaned forward to pick up the glass. The ice clinked against the sides, and Big Sis Ji’s heart lurched along with the sound.

Unable to hold back any longer, Big Sis Ji leaned in, her red lips bold and bright: “Sheng-ge, leave me your number. Next time you come by, I’ll give you a discount.”

Ban Sheng still gave no reaction at all, eyes fixed on the big screen, not sparing her a single glance. He wore a cap pulled low. In profile, his face was expressionless, revealing only a sharp jawline. He spoke slowly: “You don’t get to call me Sheng-ge.”

Big Sis Ji froze, just about to say something, when the phone he was holding tightly in his hand suddenly lit up with an incoming call.

She glanced over. The contact name displayed was “Xia.” Ban Sheng looked at it, and the face that had been ice-cold just a moment before shifted — visibly. His expression eased. It was the same absence of expression on the surface, yet all the previous chill and distance had dissolved entirely.

The corners of his lips curved, almost imperceptibly.

Ban Sheng stood up, one hand in his pocket and phone in the other, and headed for the exit — pausing only to add: “My girl.”

Li Yiran shouted after him, slamming his glass down on the table with a bang: “Bullshit! You’re still chasing her, and she’s not even yours yet.”

The bar’s lights happened to fall across Ban Sheng’s straight, upright shoulders just then. He glanced down at his phone, heard the words, and extended a middle finger back over his shoulder.

Ban Sheng stepped outside and stood at the entrance to the bar. It had just rained, and the air was still thick and humid. He pressed answer and helped himself to a cigarette:

“Hello.”

“Hello, it’s me.” Lin Weixia’s voice was soft.

“I know,” Ban Sheng said.

Lin Weixia switched the phone to her other hand. She held a pencil and made idle marks on scratch paper, and her voice paused for a moment before she spoke: “I want another birthday gift.”

A second gift.

“Sure. What do you want?”

A faint static crackle came through the line, then the sound of a lighter wheel spinning. Ban Sheng seemed to be lighting a cigarette. Lin Weixia’s voice seemed to pull at something in his breathing as she spoke:

“I want Ban Sheng to become my boyfriend.”