Lin Weixia sat down beside Ban Sheng. He raised a hand, and someone swapped the glass that had just been placed in front of her for a carton of milk.

Someone watching quipped: “Incredible — only Ban Ye could make a bar produce milk.”

After the drink in front of Lin Weixia was exchanged for milk, no one dared swap it again, and no one in the room tried to pressure her to drink.

Ban Sheng said nothing — but anyone with eyes could see it.

The two of them were anything but simple.

Even if nothing was happening now, something had happened between them before.

The lights were a little glaring. Ban Sheng turned his head sideways. The atmosphere between the two of them felt slightly more relaxed; he brought his lips close to Lin Weixia’s ear, and the warm breath that spilled out was moist and hot. Lin Weixia instinctively flinched — it tickled.

“Don’t drink anything someone else hands you.”

Ban Sheng said it and pulled back, called away to join a game. Lin Weixia remained seated beside him. She had no interest in joining in, but she hadn’t forgotten the reason she’d come to find Ban Sheng tonight — to ask why he had changed his major.

But every time Lin Weixia tried to speak, she was interrupted by Shi Li, who had returned to her seat.

Ban Sheng moved through this atmosphere of indulgence with complete ease. He gave no sign of wanting to have a serious conversation with her, remaining engrossed in the game.

Ban Sheng pulled a cigarette from his pack, bit down on it, the tendon at the side of his neck visible, neck bent as he searched around for a lighter. A hand with nude-painted fingernails extended toward him, palm open — holding a silver lighter.

“You left this with me last time, remember?” Shi Li’s voice was casual and ordinary, yet it carried an intimacy that was invisible to outsiders.

Lin Weixia lifted her gaze to look. It was indeed Ban Sheng’s lighter — a silver Zorro engraved with the word “Ban.”

“Thanks.” Ban Sheng said quietly.

He took it, the case giving a sharp click as it opened, and lit the cigarette. Ashen-white smoke rolled from his lips and drifted toward Shi Li’s direction; the tip of Lin Weixia’s nose caught a little of it too — rather suffocating.

The next second, Shi Li spoke: “You’re so annoying. Can’t you smoke a little less?”

Ban Sheng slanted a sharp gaze at her.

Lin Weixia sat to the side. Every moment more here was a moment too many — the air was thick and cloying, oppressively warm.

She also couldn’t read what Ban Sheng’s expression toward Shi Li meant. A warning? Or flirtation?

Lin Weixia suddenly rose from her seat, walked to the window, and pushed it open. Fresh, damp, cold air drifted in.

Lin Weixia leaned against the wall and watched the young men playing billiards a short distance away. She watched a few rounds, her mind going a little blank.

After a moment, a young man with refined features and a tall, lean build walked over. He held out a cocktail to Lin Weixia and smiled:

“If I told you I’ve seen you somewhere before, you’d probably think that’s a pretty tired opening line, right?”

Lin Weixia blinked, then smiled: “It is.”

“But where was it, though?” she asked.

“That public service activity in our first year — visiting the youth psychology center for troubled adolescents. I was one of the volunteers too.” The young man said with a smile.

He was also the one who had earlier thought Lin Weixia was an innocent little flower and had been about to step in on her behalf.

Lin Weixia accepted the drink he offered but hadn’t yet taken a sip. “I see.”

“My name is Jiang Heng. I’m at Beijing University too, though not studying psychology. Actually, I’ve always been a little curious — people like you who study psychology, can you see through what other people are thinking really easily? That would mean ordinary people like us have nowhere to hide in front of you.” He scratched his head, a little self-consciously.

Lin Weixia tapped her finger against the side of the glass and corrected him: “We are psychotherapists — not mediums.”

Jiang Heng was amused. He pointed at the drink he’d handed her, lightly: “Why don’t you try this one? It has a really beautiful name — ‘Fallen Angel.'”

“Sure.” Lin Weixia looked at the glass.

She drank the glass down and the conversation flowed pleasantly enough. He brought over another glass; she was just about to decline and say she was heading home when a voice came through the air — dark, sliding low, carrying the clear sense that its owner was not particularly pleased:

“Lin Weixia. Come here.”

Lin Weixia looked over. Ban Sheng was standing not far away. If she wasn’t mistaken, his expression was not good.

“Sorry — I have something to attend to.”

Lin Weixia set down her glass and followed. Ban Sheng walked toward the left wall, where there turned out to be a door she hadn’t noticed. He turned his neck to the side and bent to enter.

She followed him in. Inside was a small compartment with a small sofa; a side table held a small lamp giving off warm-toned light.

But it was quite dark.

Lin Weixia assumed Ban Sheng finally had time to talk, and instinctively moved to press the light switch on the wall. A large, wide hand covered it before she could.

Her fingertips instinctively curled — she couldn’t move them. She felt long, bony fingers beneath hers and shivered. Ban Sheng lifted her hand and pressed it against the wall, his whole body pinning her in place, a wave of invasive heat closing over her.

Ban Sheng held a drink heavily loaded with ice, giving it a gentle swirl — the ice cubes clinked against the glass walls with a clear, ringing sound.

Dark brows and eyes pressed down with a simmering edge. He raised his gaze and looked directly at Lin Weixia.

Lin Weixia’s heart contracted, beyond her control.

The ice in the glass was melting, drop by drop, condensation beading on the outside. Ban Sheng brought the glass toward Lin Weixia’s pale face.

The rim traced a slow circle along the pale skin, following its contours. In no time, the girl’s face was damp, droplets running down. The cold glass moved to brush her eyes, then shifted to her lips, then finally to the soft hollow behind her left ear. His movements were practiced and teasing.

He was every bit a player.

This was no longer the high school days, when she was roused from sleep by the heat, and her cheek was suddenly iced by a cold salty lemon soda, and she looked up into a pair of carelessly amused eyes.

The Ban Sheng of now was simply flirting with someone.

Unbearably cold. Lin Weixia tensed her toes. Every place the glass had touched was now filmed with a fine layer of perspiration; her body trembled faintly.

“Did you listen to me?”

Ban Sheng’s voice carried a rusted chill — teasing and commanding at once. He bent his neck low without touching her, but that gaze burned her until restlessness spread across her entire body.

She still couldn’t make out what the tattoo at Ban Sheng’s collarbone was. The creature lay across his body, adding a strange and captivating quality to that cold, sharp face.

Compared to before, the Ban Sheng of now was harder to read. Everyone around him could only be played at his whim.

But Lin Weixia, staring at that face, couldn’t deny it — meeting him again only made her heart stir more. Her feelings were set in motion by his slightest expression, wavering again and again.

This person completely embodied what the books said —

“A dangerous spade-rank figure. Once you’ve shuffled the deck and drawn him again, the danger only deepens.”

Lin Weixia looked at him and asked: “Is the girl outside your girlfriend?”

“No.” Ban Sheng frowned.

Lin Weixia might have drunk a little too much. Her mind stalled for half a second. Staring at that face, without stopping to think, she lost control of herself and rose onto her toes to press her lips to his.

Lin Weixia didn’t have much experience with kissing. Her technique was clumsy. She touched her lips against his softly, then caught his lower lip between hers, and the tip of her tongue ventured a tentative brush inside — only to be blocked by his lips and teeth.

He didn’t react. He stood there with that careless, languid ease of his, neck bent very slightly, as if humoring her.

Just letting her kiss him however she liked.

Simply refusing to respond.

It made her look like an impatient child desperate to get candy.

The fingers clutching his collar loosened slightly. The creased fabric gradually smoothed back out on its own. At the same time, Lin Weixia sobered up a little, feeling a mixture of wounded pride and deflation, a fine, pervasive ache moving through her. She was just about to pull away —

A forcefully commanding figure pressed in. Ban Sheng raised his hand and grasped her chin. The hand that had been holding the glass was ice-cold; the moment it touched her, Lin Weixia shuddered from the chill.

His lips came down — soft lips meeting soft lips, then licking away the layer of cold frost on her mouth, deepening into something that pressed and turned and advanced.

Lin Weixia was entirely at his direction, her back against the wall, her fingers brushing the light switch without meaning to — the light blinking on and off, falling in and out of a pair of dark eyes.

His face moved lower. Hot breath poured onto her neck; his lips grazed it softly, so lightly it was maddening with the itch of it, and Lin Weixia automatically shrank away.

The next instant, he pressed forward, and his teeth sank in hard — Lin Weixia let out a muffled cry, pain making her eyes water. Her snow-white neck immediately bore a row of vivid red bite marks.

A startling sight.

……

Ten minutes later, the two of them left one after the other.

Ban Sheng went first. By the time Lin Weixia finished straightening the clothes that had been pulled into disarray and stepped out, pushing the door open, she saw he had already resumed his seat on the sofa — elbow on knee, one hand holding a glass, listening to someone else talk, occasionally pulling the corner of his lips as an acknowledgment.

Lin Weixia’s face typically wore an expression of composed detachment. She returned to her seat as if nothing had happened. This time Ban Sheng was seated directly across from her, only a table between them. No glances were exchanged, yet for some reason her face felt warm.

“Hey — Ban Ye, forget the dice for a second. How come your lips are so red — is that lipstick?!” Someone across from them blurted out in shock.

The rowdy noise of before hushed all at once as everyone turned to look at Ban Sheng. Now that they looked — it really did seem like lipstick. And that was not all: there were two visible scratch marks on Ban Sheng’s pale neck. Most tellingly, his lips weren’t just red — the color was uneven, a smudge here and a mark there. That was definitely from someone sucking on them.

Ban Sheng already had a bad-boy look to him. With all this, he really did resemble the heartbreaker the outside world made him out to be.

Everyone stared at Ban Sheng expectantly, waiting for an explanation. Lin Weixia sat there feeling the half-guessing glances already drifting her way.

She was feeling rather nervous. She picked up the carton of milk to take a sip and soothe her dry throat.

Then she thought better of it and set it back down.

She tended to blush easily and did not want to have the whole topic dissected in front of a crowd. But that kiss just now, reckless and rum-tinged and disorienting —

Would Ban Sheng own up to it?

Silence settled. Everyone waited for Ban Sheng’s answer, including several girls who had feelings for him. In front of all those watching eyes, Lin Weixia felt Ban Sheng’s gaze drift slowly over to rest on her face for what felt like half a minute. The blood vessels beneath her skin began racing, and her face grew hot.

Then his gaze unhurriedly withdrew. He reached over to the fruit bowl, picked up a strawberry, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly and deliberately, his cheek hollowing slightly.

The juice of the strawberry clung to his lips — a bright, translucent red, adding a hint of sensuality to that cold face; it made one want to kiss him.

“I just ate a strawberry.” Ban Sheng reached calmly for a tissue and, without so much as a flicker, wiped away the lipstick on his mouth.

The moment the words were out, a rain of playing cards came flying at him from all directions, accompanied by a barrage of laughter and profanity:

“Give me a break — I eat strawberries all the time and my lips don’t do that!”

“Since when do strawberries have that effect? Unless it’s a strawberry-tinted lipstick?”

“If that’s a thing, I’m starting a strawberry wholesale business tomorrow!”

Shi Li had just come back in from making a phone call outside, having missed the whole spectacle. She pushed open the door and caught only the tail end, laughing as she asked: “What strawberry?”

“Oh, you know.” Someone answered her over the fading laughter.

After that small episode, the group fell back into easy conversation. Ban Sheng raised his hand and patted his trouser pocket. Lin Weixia watched him looking for something and prompted:

“Could it be in that little side room just now?”

Ban Sheng glanced toward the closed door in the distance and said quietly: “Probably.”

He stood up, left the sofa, and headed that way. Before long, Lin Weixia, still seated on the sofa, watched as Shi Li also rose and followed him over.

Then a door slowly swung shut in front of a pair of brown eyes.

Lin Weixia said nothing. She sat where she was and didn’t move.

Not long after, Ban Sheng pushed the door open and walked straight back out. Shi Li, on the other hand, returned to the sofa. She looked to be in a good mood — with a slight, charged air of excitement about her.

“I’m telling you, I finally know what Ban Sheng’s tattoo is!” Shi Li said conspiratorially.

“Ban Sheng showed you his tattoo?” her companion asked.

Shi Li lowered her voice: “Right. He was in the side room looking for his wallet, and I followed in. I asked if I could see the tattoo, and he gave a very soft laugh.”

“And then? What did he say?” her companion urged her to continue.

She had that artist’s talent for building a scene in just a few words — she’d strung everyone along beautifully.

Lin Weixia poured herself a glass of ice water and took a sip. The coldness ran clear through her foggy head, ice water sliding all the way down her throat to her chest, leaving a cold trail behind.

Shi Li rubbed her nose with a trace of self-consciousness. She deliberately glanced over at Lin Weixia sitting across from her, and continued:

“He said yes. Then I saw it.”

“Well? What is it?! Tell me!”

“Go ask him yourself.” Shi Li left the mystery hanging. She was not about to share this with anyone else.

Her companion immediately feigned indignation and began tickling Shi Li, saying: “Just you wait, I’ll find a way to make you talk.”

At some point, someone turned off the room’s brightest light. Without its harsh glare the space grew darker, and it somehow amplified the nerve-sparking energy of the atmosphere.

Qiu Minghua appeared from somewhere with a bar of shaved ice in his mouth and a card in each hand. “Friends, shall we play a game? 7-8-9 — losers do truth or dare!”

“Not 7-8-9 again, I’ve developed a phobia of the number 9. Can’t we try something different?”

“This game will actually be the death of me.”

The rules were simple. Everyone took turns rolling a die. Whoever rolled 7 could designate someone to drink; whoever rolled 8 could decide how much the designated person had to drink; whoever rolled 9 was that unlucky designated drinker.

The person being penalized could also refuse to drink and opt for truth or dare instead.

Just then, Ban Sheng came back from a phone call and sat back in his original seat — directly across from Lin Weixia, only a table between them.

Shi Li and her companion exchanged glances, whispering together.

Lin Weixia didn’t even need to guess — the subject of their conversation was definitely Ban Sheng.

Qiu Minghua was handing out glasses to those participating in the game. With the larger group, he started losing track, and a square-bottomed glass ended up placed in front of Weixia.

He paused, then recalled something, and picked it back up: “Wait, you can’t play.”

A pale hand intercepted the glass. Lin Weixia rested her palm on the rim of it, and as she did, her eyes met the dark gaze looking over from across the table. She looked back at him:

“I want to play.”

The game began with the cheerful clinking of spoons against glasses.

Shi Li was the first to roll. She landed on 7, and stretched out one finger to point at Ban Sheng — though she didn’t quite dare look at him.

The crowd gave a round of teasing sounds, glances darting between the two.

“Shi, our goddess — you’re actually making Ban Ye drink? I’ll never understand you women.”

“You straight-edged types understand nothing. Obviously she wants to hear the truth.”

People were taunting and egging each other on; any number other than 7, 8, or 9 meant nothing. When it came around to Qiu Minghua, he rolled an 8 and pointed at the glasses on the table: “Five mixed drinks.”

Mixed drinks go to your head the fastest. Ban Sheng lifted a thin gaze at Qiu Minghua — who received the signal and only then realized he’d just condemned Ban Ye to the drinks Shi Li had originally targeted him with.

But the words were out; nothing could be done. Qiu Minghua could only curse himself for being an idiot.

When it was Ban Sheng’s turn to roll, he grabbed the dice cup and gave it an indifferent shake.

The black dice cup was overturned. Everyone held their breath and looked — the number showing was 9.

“Whoo!” Someone let out a high-pitched cheer.

Shi Li’s companion crossed her arms and spoke: “Drink or truth or dare, Ban Sheng?”

“Truth or dare,” Ban Sheng said without hesitation.

Shi Li’s companion laughed, resting her chin in her hand. “Xiao Li passed her turn to me. So — tell me honestly, Ban Sheng: I’m actually curious about that tattoo at your collarbone. Show us?”

Someone whistled. Qiu Minghua scratched his head: “I want to see it too.”

In truth, none of those present knew what Ban Sheng’s tattoo looked like. He normally wore an outdoor jacket, the zipper pulled up to his collarbone, so only half the design was ever visible. Or he wore a black sweatshirt, and you couldn’t see anything at all.

Everyone was very curious.

Ban Sheng gave a short, amused hum. He raised his hand, caught the zipper pull, and dragged it down. Everyone looked over. The lighting was dim, but the image was clear enough.

Lin Weixia looked too.

A black swallowtail butterfly lay nestled in the pale hollow of his collarbone. Its body was in dark, muted shades of black-red. Its tail appeared to connect to something extending downward toward the center of his torso — but beyond a certain point, there was nothing more to see.

The swallowtail butterfly design was exquisite. It seemed as though it had been born as part of him.

It gave the impression of something fated.

He had tattooed a butterfly on himself.

A tremor ran through her heart.

“Wow, it’s a swallowtail butterfly.”

Someone breathed close to her ear in a continuous stream: “What a beautiful butterfly!”