The two stood frozen in place.

Lin Luxiao didn’t go over immediately. Instead he stood at the door with his hands in his pockets, sweeping his gaze over the two of them. A police officer went over to speak with him; it was too far away to hear clearly. He listened quietly, occasionally glancing over at the two of them.

The depth in that gaze sent a shiver through Lin Qi.

After the officer finished speaking, Lin Luxiao patted him on the shoulder and, in a rare gesture, curved the corner of his mouth: “Thanks.” Then he stepped toward them. The officer called out to his retreating back: “Luxiao, come eat at my place tomorrow — Little Siwei too — it’s been so long since we’ve all gotten together.”

Lin Luxiao said sure, then walked straight toward them and stopped in front of them. He glanced over, then reached out and plucked Lin Qi off Nan Chu, tossing him onto a chair behind them. He leaned forward and met Nan Chu’s eyes.

“Fighting?”

“Street racing?”

“Tired of living? Hm?”

As he spoke, he narrowed his eyes slightly, the corners tilting upward, his gaze full of warning — quite dangerous.

At this moment, Nan Chu truly wanted to hang Lin Qi up and give him a beating. If not for him, she should already be sitting across a dinner table from the man in front of her.

Lin Qi stood up from the chair, hopping off on his legs. “Bro… we…”

Lin Luxiao straightened up and gave him a look, his eyes silently inviting him to continue — go on, what happened? He was being extraordinarily patient.

The two brothers had been close since childhood. Because of their parents’ work, Lin Qi had always depended heavily on Lin Luxiao, and whenever anything happened he’d come scurrying home calling “Bro, bro!”

When they were small there was a little food stall in the hutong alley — the glutinous rice balls from that place were incredibly delicious. Lin Qingyuan wouldn’t let either of them eat from street stalls back then, but Lin Qi’s cravings drove him to pester his brother every day. Lin Luxiao would sneak him out to eat, and they’d come home and get a thorough beating — because Lin Qi had eaten and forgotten to wipe his mouth.

Back then, to avoid suspicion, Lin Luxiao would buy him the dumplings and then head home first. But this little brother couldn’t even manage the most basic task of wiping his mouth after sneaking food; he walked straight home with those two white smudges at the corners of his mouth and was caught red-handed by Lin Qingyuan.

These two brothers — one clever, one foolish. The elders in the family often compared them, and what they said most often was: “Luxiao, you’ve got to look after your little brother more. This little one has no sense.”

Everyone in the entire hutong knew Lin Qi was an innocent, sweet-natured simpleton. He was also physically frail, couldn’t hold his own in a fight, and had a stubborn streak — but because he was younger, Lin Qingyuan indulged him in everything, and that was how he’d developed this pampered young master’s temperament.

Lin Qingyuan had always held Lin Luxiao to a higher standard than Lin Qi, and though Lin Luxiao was normally mischievous and carefree, when something real happened, his reaction was faster than anyone’s, and he could handle it.

The thing Lin Qingyuan said to Lin Luxiao most often was: “The more you shoulder, the better your brother’s life can be.”

At first he didn’t understand why he had to learn more than Lin Qi. He occasionally felt something like envy. But later, as Lin Qi fell ill year after year, Lin Luxiao suddenly understood that this world was fair.

Lin Qi’s health had never been good. Lin Luxiao remembered one year when he was hospitalized for fever more than a dozen times. People become especially vulnerable when they’re sick, and especially dependent on others. Lying in the hospital bed, those dark little eyes would look up at you, and it was impossible not to feel for him.

The year their parents divorced, Lin Qi was taken away by his mother. In the middle of the night, he ran back from his mother’s place, pressed his small head to the rear courtyard window, and knocked desperately, calling out to Lin Luxiao, asking whether he’d been abandoned — was it because he wasn’t healthy?

Lin Qi was both emotionally obtuse and hypersensitive at the same time.

Like right now — he still couldn’t detect any of the subtle emotional currents running between his brother and Nan Chu. He just kept clutching Nan Chu’s hand like a fool, refusing to let her go.

The girl’s fair white wrist was held lightly but firmly in the young man’s grip, held as if grasping a treasure, his knuckles white from the effort — yet still he wouldn’t release her, as though the moment he did she would run.

Lin Luxiao’s gaze drifted, seemingly absent, to where their wrists met.

Lin Qi started playing the sympathy card: “I got beaten up.”

Lin Luxiao stood with both hands in his pockets, staring at him with a mocking expression. “Oh? So you were just walking down the street and someone grabbed you and beat you?”

“…” Lin Qi was speechless.

Lin Luxiao’s deep, dark eyes were somehow even more unsettling than the night outside. “How come I never noticed before how much you deserve a beating?”

Lin Qi deflected: “Alright, alright. I went to a bar to relax, got into an argument with someone, and it turned into a fight.”

Lin Luxiao used his chin to gesture toward Nan Chu, glancing at her obliquely. “And her? Was she at the bar drinking with you?”

“I called her over.”

Lin Luxiao let out a short, scornful sound — his expression written all over with disbelief. “Impressive. You got in a fight and called a woman to help?”

“…” Lin Qi lowered his head. “She drives really well! I thought we could make a run for it.”

Lin Luxiao gave a short derisive laugh, and was about to say something more when the door to the interrogation room opened again. A figure emerged — one meter eighty, with dyed yellow hair, wispy bangs hanging across his forehead, a lean face with soft features, white shirt, black trousers, not muscular, very thin.

Lin Qi glared at him fiercely.

Nan Chu cast an indifferent glance that direction. As the man walked past her undoing his shirt buttons, he threw her a flirtatious look, then provoked Lin Qi with his eyes, then finally glanced at Lin Luxiao, before swaggering out in his suit jacket.

Lin Qi made a move to charge at him, and was promptly grabbed by Lin Luxiao and shoved back down into his chair. “Sit still!”

Lin Qi immediately restrained himself and didn’t dare say another word.

Lin Luxiao looked at Nan Chu. Her expression was cool, as though nothing had happened. This genuinely puzzled him — he’d never seen a woman with such effortless self-assurance. “What did I tell you before? Already forgot?”

Nan Chu looked up at him, and said with characteristic decisiveness: “There’s no point scolding us right now. Send Lin Qi to the hospital first — his face is so swollen it’s almost unrecognizable.”

Lin Qi sat in the chair, head tilted back, hand pressed to his face, nodding over and over with exaggerated pitifulness.

True enough, now wasn’t the moment for lectures.

Lin Luxiao looked at the two of them, then turned to go say his goodbyes.

“You’re taking both of them? The girl too?”

Lin Luxiao nodded, and when he spun a story, his expression was so sincere it was nearly impossible not to believe him.

“A distant little cousin from out of town — just a young girl. I’ll definitely have her parents give her a proper talking-to when I get home! She was out of line, needs to be sorted out.”

“That young lady is quite the looker,” the officer remarked, glancing in her direction.

Lin Luxiao pretended to look at Nan Chu. “Looker, my foot — still wet behind the ears.”

“She’s quite pretty though. Why does she look so familiar to me? Alright, alright — off you go. Dinner tomorrow.”

Lin Luxiao waved him off: “I’ll be in touch.”

He then turned and marched the two of them out. Just as they were nearing the door, Nan Chu received a call from Shen Guanzong, whose shrill voice seemed to want to pierce straight through the phone and stab her.

“Have you lost your mind?!”

“I’ll explain when I get back.”

Shen Guanzong: “There are paparazzi outside the police station. Find something to cover your face and get out of there, flag down a car, and I’ll have someone circle back later. Whatever you do, don’t let anyone recognize you! Did you hear me?!”

The moment the words were out, Nan Chu quickly grabbed Lin Luxiao and turned around, putting her back to the entrance.

The coolness of his palm registered the sensation — soft fingers, long and slender, wrapping around his hand. He tried to pull away, but Nan Chu tightened her grip.

What the—?!

“Paparazzi.”

Lin Luxiao looked out toward the entrance and spotted several people crouching in the shrubbery with cameras, plus a car parked at the roadside with a camera lens jutting through a gap in the window.

Nan Chu felt the chance of being recognized wasn’t huge, but it was still worth being cautious.

She asked Lin Luxiao quietly: “Is there a back door here?”

Lin Luxiao tilted his gaze sideways. With his height, looking down at someone always felt like looking down from above. He glanced at the hand she was gripping, and gave a short, contemptuous laugh. “How would I know? It’s my first time here too.”

Nan Chu looked at him again. A trace of exasperation appeared in her eyes — not a trace of the usual spiky girl she normally was.

Lin Luxiao lowered his head and looked at the hand she was holding, was quiet for a moment, then pulled the car keys from his pocket with his other hand and tossed them to Lin Qi. “Go bring the car around.”

Lin Qi accepted the order and left. Lin Luxiao pulled Nan Chu closer, curled his palm around the back of her head, and tucked her against his chest with one arm — the way you’d shield someone’s head.

This unexpected development caught Nan Chu a little off guard. She’d figured Lin Luxiao would more likely throw a black plastic bag over her head while refusing any physical contact with her whatsoever.

The two stood at the door: Lin Luxiao with one hand in his pocket and one hand cradling her head, pressing it into his chest, his palm lightly stroking the back of her head, completely natural and unhurried.

“You’re quite practiced at this,” Nan Chu said from within his embrace.

He gave a low hum, his chest resonating.

Lin Luxiao had a faint, clean scent about him — fresh and pleasant. A man’s chest is hard, and the thin T-shirt did nothing to soften the taut muscle beneath. Nan Chu had her forehead pressed against solid muscle. Nestled against him, she tilted her head up to peek at him, and was immediately pressed back down by his palm.

Nan Chu’s forehead rested against his chest; her hands found his abdomen, where distinct, packed muscle made her breath catch. Her fingertips followed the definition of his muscles slowly downward, reaching the waistband, where the buckle of his belt sat. Nan Chu pressed her index finger downward, probing to slip it beneath the waistband — and her wrist was instantly seized by his broad, rough hand. He looked down at her.

“Touch anything else and I’ll push you out the door.” The warning was unmistakable.

Nan Chu stopped herself, knowing the consequences of offending him. She quit while she was ahead and stayed quietly tucked against him.

When Lin Qi drove up, Lin Luxiao walked her out, hand still shielding her head, then pulled open the rear door, unceremoniously shoved her in, and got in after her.

Lin Qi gunned the engine and lurched forward.

Inside the car.

Lin Luxiao looked at her and, gesturing with his chin toward the interior, silently indicated she should scoot inward.

Nan Chu ignored him, pressing herself right against him, chatting idly with Lin Qi.

Lin Qi, eyes on the road, head still facing forward: “Who were you meeting tonight?”

Nan Chu glanced at Lin Luxiao, then settled back comfortably against the seat. “A man.”

“Boyfriend?”

Nan Chu made a vague sound and didn’t answer.

“Won’t he be upset that you stood him up?” Lin Qi pressed.

Nan Chu looked at Lin Luxiao. He was gazing out the window. His profile was sharp and chiseled, and she noticed with some surprise that he had very long lashes — they curled at the outer corners, as if cut with scissors. She said carelessly: “He’s upset, alright.”

Lin Qi sighed and turned to Lin Luxiao: “What about you, bro? What were you up to earlier?”

Lin Luxiao glanced at Nan Chu, then said with cold indifference: “Sleeping.”

Both of them made a sound almost simultaneously: “Sure.”

Lin Luxiao: “…”

Halfway through the drive, Lin Luxiao couldn’t stand watching Lin Qi drive with a head full of blue-purple bruises, so he sent him to the back seat and took the wheel himself, driving all the way to the gate of the Military Third Hospital.

The hospital was full of familiar faces. Lin Qi walked in with his motley, battered head and was immediately caught by Dr. Zhao.

Dr. Zhao and Lin Qingyuan were old family friends — he’d watched both boys grow up and treated them for all their ailments, big and small. Lin Qi had been sickly in childhood, so his treatment had mostly been internal; Lin Luxiao’s visits were invariably for injuries from his mischief and roughhousing.

Seeing the two brothers today, she was taken aback. She held Lin Qi’s head tenderly. “How did your head get into this state? Were you in a fight?”

Lin Qi rubbed the back of his head and grinned. “Just an accident, no big deal!”

Lin Luxiao stood behind him with Nan Chu, hands in his pockets.

Dr. Zhao glanced back. “Your brother didn’t beat you up, did he?”

“No, no, just an accident. Please don’t go reporting to anyone on my behalf.” Lin Qi gave his most ingratiating smile.

Dr. Zhao had always doted on these two brothers, and seeing him crack jokes in this state only made her more exasperated. She gave his shoulder a hard pinch. “What kind of person do you think I am? Come with me!”

She dragged Lin Qi into the examination room to treat his wounds, then glanced back at Lin Luxiao behind her. “Luxiao, you come explain — what happened?”

Nan Chu and Lin Luxiao each leaned against a side of the doorframe.

Lin Luxiao, in his white T-shirt and black trousers, rested his back lazily against the doorframe with his arms folded, one foot bent. He shrugged, with an easy-going air: “You know him, Doctor. He couldn’t beat the other guy but insisted on picking a fight anyway, then came back with a head full of lumps too scared to even cry.”

Lin Qi’s face turned red.

Dr. Zhao scolded Lin Luxiao: “Is that any way to speak about your little brother?”

Everyone knew Lin Luxiao was fiercely protective of his own from a young age. Even if he knew this troublemaker had done something absolutely reckless, he wouldn’t bring himself to actually hurt him. It was precisely because of this that Lin Qi had always depended on him. Now that they were grown, Lin Luxiao had pulled himself back somewhat, but Lin Qi’s pampered young master temperament had only grown worse.

Suddenly, a rapid clicking sound came from the corridor — high heels tapping the tiled floor in a quick, urgent rhythm. Nan Chu recognized that particular cadence instantly. She looked back and, sure enough, there was Xia Wan — white coat, wispy bangs, small ponytail — coming toward them at a clip from the far end of the corridor.

“Sorry — excuse me.”

That was directed at Nan Chu.

Yet Lin Luxiao instinctively turned and stepped slightly aside.

Xia Wan glanced at him, then walked in and was stunned by the sight of Lin Qi’s face. She covered her mouth in shock. “How did you end up like this?”

“Just a small injury, nothing much,” Lin Qi said sheepishly.

Dr. Zhao, still applying medicine, cut in: “This is not a small injury. Don’t take it lightly. Your constitution is poor to begin with. These bruises won’t heal easily in less than ten days to two weeks, and with your brittle bones, if this keeps up, you’ll be dealing with habitual dislocations.”

Xia Wan said: “Exactly. Please listen to Dr. Zhao. If you keep treating your body like this, you’ll regret it!”

Lin Qi was being lectured from all sides. His ears were growing calluses. He could only nod vigorously.

Xia Wan finished, then turned to look at Lin Luxiao and scanned Nan Chu briefly before stepping up to face Lin Luxiao. She tucked both hands into the pockets of her white coat, stood there with her face tilted up, voice going softer. “What have you been busy with lately?”

As she spoke, her wispy bangs drifted this way and that into her eyes. Nan Chu felt uncomfortable just looking at it.

Lin Luxiao leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking down at her. “Training out of town.”

“It’s been so long since we had a meal together. Let’s eat tomorrow?”

Lin Luxiao: “I have to head back tomorrow.”

Xia Wan showed a crestfallen expression. “When does the training end?”

“Three weeks.”

“Will you come back next weekend?”

“No.”

Lin Luxiao was sparing with words — answering one question per question, quite detached. Xia Wan seemed oblivious and kept pressing for details.

“Then when the training ends and you’re back, let’s see a film together? Director He’s new one — about firefighter heroes — it’s written about people like you. Will you go?”

Lin Luxiao finally looked at her properly — one second, two seconds — then turned back away, and said evenly: “Not particularly interested.”

“…”

Xia Wan looked regretful and only then noticed Nan Chu. She made a show of surprise. “How did you two end up together?”

Lin Luxiao glanced at Nan Chu and didn’t respond to Xia Wan.

Nan Chu said quietly to Lin Qi: “I’m going out to make a call.”

Hospital corridors always carried a perpetual chill — yin-cold air mixed with the sharp smell of disinfectant. At the end of the corridor, a small window was open, and moonlight poured in through it, pooling on the floor like a layer of pale clouds, soothing to the heart.

The last time she’d been in this spot, Lin Luxiao had been leaning against the wall in his military uniform, smoking, the brim of his cap shading half his face, the line of his jaw taut and achingly clean. Xia Wan had come clicking down the corridor and stood before him, speaking softly.

Nan Chu stood by the wall next to the trash bin and called Shen Guanzong.

Shen Guanzong’s voice was sharp as a blade, as if trying to stab through the phone. “Have you been too spoiled lately? So now you have to go stirring up trouble above and below just to give me something to clean up?! Where the hell are you now?! Get your ass back here immediately!”

“At the hospital.”

Shen Guanzong’s tone shifted sharply. “You’re hurt?”

“A friend is hurt.”

Shen Guanzong cleared his throat. “Get your ass back here right now. If I don’t see you within an hour, I’ll pull your little assistant’s arms and legs off and make soup out of her. Believe it or not!”

Nan Chu dropped her voice, threatening back: “You try touching her and see what happens.”

Shen Guanzong was thoroughly unbothered. He said, “What’s there I wouldn’t dare do?” and hung up.

Beep, beep, beep…

Nan Chu swore under her breath. She felt like throwing the phone at the wall — but then a voice came from behind her.

“What are you doing skulking out here?”

A dark shadow appeared in the long, empty corridor, stretched long by the moonlight pouring in. Even without turning around, she knew who it was.

Nan Chu slipped the phone back into her pocket and leaned against the wall, indifferent. “Giving you two some space.”

Lin Luxiao stood behind her, hands in his pockets, an unlit cigarette between his lips. He curved the corner of his mouth, stepped forward a couple of paces, then trapped Nan Chu between himself and the wall, bent slightly, and met her eyes — black as a still, clear pool. He gave a low laugh. “Didn’t realize before — you can actually be quite considerate.”

Then he stood straight, pulled his lighter from his pocket, turned his head to light the cigarette, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. In the pale moonlight, the white smoke looked cloudy and thick, blurring his silhouette for a moment.

The two of them stood very close together — one leaned against the wall, one stood in front of her, cigarette hanging from his lips.

In dark, unoccupied corners, there is something that always sharpens the edges of a man’s presence and a woman’s quiet pride.

Nan Chu’s eyes narrowed; the mischievous impulse crept back out. She raised her hand and touched his waist and abdomen, her fingertips slowly tracing the line of his muscles downward, then looked up at him again. His features were clearer and sharper in this light — handsome and deep-set. Her gaze drifted lower. The slight protrusion at his throat moved faintly with each pull of the cigarette. Her fingers were gentle and soft; she lightly lifted the hem of his T-shirt and slipped her hand under, closing her fingers around the buckle of his belt.

Her thumb gave a light hook.

In the silent corridor, a crisp click rang out, light as a raindrop.

The belt came undone.

In the next second, her hand was seized. A broad, rough palm — that texture, when it registered in her brain, made Nan Chu’s lips curl with satisfaction.

A low, husky voice came from above her: “Buckle it back.”

Lin Luxiao held her hand pressed against his waist, looking down at her, his eyes deep and shadowed, the cigarette still between his lips, a thread of smoke curling. The two of them regarded each other through the thin bluish haze.

Their gaze was direct.

Nan Chu noticed he had an exceptionally attractive lower lid — the kind many male celebrities travel far and wide to a certain country to have surgically created.

“Buckle it back.”

His voice cleared a little as he repeated it.

Nan Chu had her back against the wall, one hand bent and resting on it, looking up at him from under her lashes. Finally, under the pressure of his gaze, she relented — and slowly, unhurriedly, fastened his belt back for him.

A moment of quiet.

Nan Chu reached out to steal the cigarette from his lips. Lin Luxiao saw it coming and removed it himself first, pressing it out against the side of the trash bin. Then his gaze tilted up at the corners as he asked her: “You and Lin Qi — what happened between you in Milan?”

Nan Chu curved her lips in an amused smile: “In what sense?”

Lin Luxiao looked at her steadily and said nothing.

“Emotionally?”

Lin Luxiao bit down on his lower lip.

“Physically?”

Lin Luxiao pressed a hand to his hip, the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip lightly, his brow creasing.

“Or do you think I’m just easy? That any man will do?”

That insufferable girl.

Lin Luxiao was naturally proud too. Even though he thought he was raising a “reasonable” question about the relationship between Lin Qi and her, there was nothing else behind it. Having to actually explain himself felt beneath him — why should he, a grown man, explain his thinking to some girl? The words that did reach his mouth were sharp: “If you’re not easy, how come you casually undo a man’s belt?”

The girl’s eyes deepened.

When Nan Chu’s stubbornness flared up, there was no talking to her.

If this wasn’t Lin Luxiao standing in front of her, she’d have picked up the trash bin and hurled it at him!

Lin Luxiao said those words on impulse, and by the time he came back to his senses, the girl had already walked to the entrance.

When Lin Qi came out of treatment with Xia Wan, there was an extra person on the ride back. Lin Luxiao drove. Xia Wan scrambled to claim the front passenger seat, but Lin Qi snatched it before her and tossed her to the back. “I haven’t seen my brother in ages — you take a back seat.”

Xia Wan: “…”

Lin Qi: “Bro, let’s go see a film together sometime.”

Xia Wan: “Yes, yes — take me along, the three of us.”

Lin Qi glanced back at her. “Why should we take you?”

Xia Wan: “What are two grown men going to do at a film anyway?”

Lin Qi, bluntly honest: “I feel weird with you around.”

Xia Wan: “… So today, with Nan Chu around, you didn’t feel weird?”

Lin Qi waved it off. “Of course it’s different. Nan Chu is reliable.”

The real reasons: she was useful, generous, good-looking, kept good company, could hold her liquor like nobody’s business, and once she was warmed up, she’d take you street racing for the experience of it.

Xia Wan: “…”

Lin Qi, sweet and clueless as ever, genuinely didn’t see any issue with what he’d said.

Lin Luxiao sat quietly the whole time, occasionally glancing in the rearview mirror. He noticed Nan Chu was unexpectedly quiet, resting against the window watching the scenery outside — not a trace of her earlier restless mischief.

It felt oddly wrong.

After Nan Chu got out of the car, she gave Lin Luxiao a polite bow of farewell. “Thank you, Squad Leader Lin.”

Lin Luxiao had the window halfway down, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the window edge, watching her with a slightly upturned gaze, looking faintly amused.

She didn’t wait for his response — just turned and went upstairs.

Lin Qi muttered beside him: “Something’s off. Why is this girl being so polite today?”

Lin Luxiao watched her disappear upstairs, then raised the window, swung the wheel, stepped on the gas, and roared out of the residential compound.

The engine thundered in the deep of night — impossibly brazen.

Lin Qi, in the passenger seat, was nearly thrown into the door. He grabbed the ceiling handle in a panic and hollered: “What’s going on! Bro! Why the sudden tantrum?!”

Over these years, Lin Luxiao had reined himself in quite a bit. He didn’t say much. He was deep and still. Showing emotion wasn’t his style — a raised brow, a narrowed eye, that was about as much as displeasure got. Worse: clenched back teeth, a bite at the lower lip — anger was in there somewhere.

Flooring it like this? Lin Qi had never seen this before.

Though, to be fair, he hadn’t been around much. Back at the entrance to the third alley on Heng Street, Lin Luxiao and big brother Liu’s gang used to mess around — not too seriously, just small trouble, a beating, then forgetting all about it and starting again a few days later.

A little older, they played pool, haunted the arcade, gunned engines.

A little older still, they knew the reckless days had to end. A sense of purpose arrived from somewhere. That whole crowd — one went to military school, one went abroad to study, one enlisted.

And now, in the blink of an eye, it had been ten years.

At the core of it all, Lin Luxiao hadn’t changed much — that proud, unyielding streak was still exactly the same.

The next morning.

Still bleary-eyed, barely awake, Nan Chu was hauled out of bed by Shen Guanzong. She was notoriously ill-tempered in the morning — so ill-tempered that Xi Gu, standing behind her, didn’t dare look at her.

Nan Chu’s weapon was the cold shoulder. She’d been like that since she was small — a habit born of years without communication, and she rarely raised her voice. She just stopped acknowledging you.

Like Lin Luxiao, who’d been sent to her personal cold palace just yesterday.

Her morning temper was the same way — no blowups, no matter the circumstances. Woken under any conditions, her expression was always dead-level cold. If her gaze were a blade: Shen Guanzong at this moment would be riddled with steel.

Clearly, Shen Guanzong had no intention of being cowed by any of this.

He waited until there was a sliver of consciousness in her eyes, then threw a phone at her.

“Didn’t I tell you to sneak past the reporters?! If you really couldn’t get past them, couldn’t you have grabbed a black plastic bag from the police, put it over your head, and run?!”

Nan Chu still hadn’t fully come to. She leaned against the headboard and dug a finger in her ear. “Your throat opens up this loudly at this hour?”

Only then did she pick up the phone.

She looked down at it.

It wasn’t some major gossip source — the share and comment counts were low. But the bold black headline still irritated her:

F&D Second Young Master Jiang Ge Caught Street Racing at Night — the Other Party Turns Out to Be the Daughter of Former Acclaimed Actress Nan Yueru.

The write-up dragged both her and Jiang Ge through the mud. She was made out to be some minor-league “wild model,” and a completely fabricated romantic history between her and Jiang Ge was woven in for good measure.

Nan Chu scrolled further. There were no photos taken at the police station, which meant the paparazzi staking out the entrance hadn’t recognized her. The piece ran on a set of street images — her and Jiang Ge in a chase with another car, and photos of her being cornered by his vehicle.

She opened her Weibo. Her private messages had multiplied. She didn’t even need to look — they’d be insults, all of them.

Nan Chu sat against the headboard and lit a cigarette.

She hesitated for a second before lighting it. But then Lin Luxiao’s infuriating face surfaced in her mind, and she lit it anyway.

In the normal course of things, marketing accounts with gossip to publish would contact Nan Chu’s team first. Given Han Beiyao’s disposition, he’d never have let those photos leak. But this account had received the tip in the early hours of the morning and posted immediately, without any prior contact — that was the part that baffled Shen Guanzong most. Clearly, whoever was behind it wanted this news out.

This was aimed at either Nan Chu or Jiang Ge.

Given the relative weight of the two names, the obvious read was that Nan Chu had been dragged into a power struggle within a wealthy family.

The top floor of Jiahe.

It was Xi Gu’s first time being called to the boss’s office, and she followed behind Nan Chu and Shen Guanzong like a trembling little rabbit, eyes cast down.

Out of the elevator, door opening — immediately visible was a beautiful secretary who gave them a small nod of acknowledgment. “Mr. Han is waiting inside.”

The lighting was dazzling, the secretary’s smile even more so. It felt very much like being three small lambs about to be slaughtered.

Even the corridor was opulently decorated, radiating golden light. Yet compared to the executive office inside, the corridor was nothing. The enormous office — Han Beiyao reclined in a plush leather chair with his legs crossed, polishing his sunglasses. Behind him: a full wall of floor-to-ceiling transparent glass looking out over the rooftop of the building across the street. Working in an environment like this every day — no wonder people developed a habit of looking down their noses at everyone.

The way Han Beiyao moved the cloth — it looked rather like he was sharpening a knife.

Heh, heh, heh —

Xi Gu stared, bewildered.

The three of them stood in a row in front of his desk.

The beautiful menace opened his mouth: “You saw the news this morning?”

Nan Chu nodded: “Saw it.”

“Thoughts?”

“The ‘wild model’ characterization isn’t particularly accurate — there’s a personal bias to it.”

“…”

Han Beiyao lunged toward her and would have put his hands around her throat; Shen Guanzong intercepted him. “This girl’s mouth has always been like this — it’s not like this is the first time you’ve dealt with it.”

Han Beiyao took a breath to steady himself. “Do you know who Jiang Ge is?”

Nan Chu: “I do now.”

Han Beiyao undid one shirt button and dropped back into his chair. “How did you meet him?”

Nan Chu told him the truth.

Nan Chu had previously been with another management team, but it had dissolved at year’s end due to poor management and other complications — including Nan Chu’s chronic ability to attract controversy — and she’d signed with Han Beiyao’s Jiahe company at the start of this year.

Han Beiyao nearly choked on his own breath. He could not believe what he was hearing.

“You tied Jiang Ge up, drew hundreds of turtles on him, photographed it, and posted it on his own Instagram?”

“So the brief dip in F&D’s stock price a while back — that was because of you?”

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, there was an indirect causal connection.

The entire room went silent for three full seconds.

Not one person in the office spoke.

Xi Gu’s legs were shaking so badly they ached.

Han Beiyao slapped the desk, pointed at Nan Chu, and said to Shen Guanzong: “Go get her a termination contract.”

Shen Guanzong stared at Han Beiyao: “You actually want me to get one?!”

Han Beiyao: “Get it! When I tell you to get it, you get it — do you have any backbone at all?!”

Then pointed at Xi Gu behind him: “And you — what are you cowering back there for?! Get over here.”

Xi Gu shuffled one step forward. “Han… Han… Mr. Han.”

Han Beiyao exploded again: “Can you speak without stammering?!”

Nan Chu: “Why are you yelling at her?”

Han Beiyao: “Yelling at her? I’m about to fire her! Do you know how much trouble these past few days alone have caused?!”

Nan Chu: “You dare?”

Han Beiyao — this second-generation heir who’d been afraid of nothing from birth — when he first encountered Nan Chu, he sensed in her bones a stubborn toughness that, properly cultivated, could make her burn brilliantly. That was precisely why he’d signed her on the spot without a second thought. Men are always initially drawn in by a woman’s surface — and a woman like Nan Chu ignited a particular instinct to conquer in him.

In the beginning, he had been genuinely moved. But then he realized this girl was an iceberg, and no fire could melt her. After a while, not even a stray thought remained. Just picturing that permanently cold expression — in certain respects, she wouldn’t be the passionate type.

But sometimes, being confronted by her bluntness left him with a strangely satisfying sting. At the very least, his whole life through, no one had ever talked back to him like that. Over time, somehow, he’d grown accustomed to it.

Han Beiyao gave Xi Gu a sideways look, threatening: “Think I wouldn’t dare?!”

And just as the two of them were facing off, a small, soft voice drifted in: “I’ll resign. You don’t need to fire me. I’ll file it myself — my probation period isn’t even over. I’ll submit the notice tomorrow.”

Well, now she wasn’t stammering.

“…”

“…”

“…”

Shen Guanzong and Nan Chu both turned to look at Han Beiyao. The latter gave a dry cough. “What are you two looking at me for?!”

He waved a hand. “Fine, resign then!”

When the three of them emerged from inside, Nan Chu looked at Xi Gu and pinched her soft little cheek. “Seriously resigning?”

Xi Gu lowered her head and pressed out a soft sound.

Nan Chu sighed, ruffled her hair, and spoke in an unusually gentle voice — gentle enough that even Xi Gu felt herself melt. “Think it over a bit more.”

Even Shen Guanzong, notorious for his sharp tongue, felt moved to add a word, though his tone wasn’t exactly warm: “You young people these days — so impulsive. Get yelled at once and you’re ready to quit. Jobs aren’t that easy to find, you know? The boss was just venting. He’s not actually going to let you go. Have some courage, girl.”

Then he pointed at Nan Chu: “And you — this whole thing is almost certainly aimed at Jiang Ge. F&D’s patriarch was hospitalized a while back, the family power struggle has only just kicked off, and Jiang Ge is the wild-card young master — not much stock, but the old man’s clear favorite. If the patriarch decides to leave him a will putting him in charge of F&D, next year’s opening drama just writes itself. Everyone is watching this play out. Jiang Ge has bigger things to worry about than you right now. Don’t go stirring anything up for a while!”

After delivering this lecture, Shen Guanzong handed her a schedule jam-packed with engagements.

Then one day he came to find her on set with yet another booking in hand. Nan Chu was reading — a copy of a Buddhist sutra, dog-eared from countless readings — and listened with half an ear as Shen Guanzong said: “This one’s different. No dramas this time. It’s a large-scale outdoor experience show.”

“What?”

“Something along the lines of life experience and survival games. Each stop has a theme, lasting a tentative half a month. For those two weeks, you’re in complete lockdown — phone off, internet off. Three stops in total. First stop: airport ground crew inspection. Second: firefighting. Third: jungle survival.”

Nan Chu stared at her book, paused, and said: “Can I refuse?”

“No option to refuse. Mr. Han agreed to it. It’s one of Jiang Ge’s conditions for settling things.”

“Is he mentally unwell?”

“I don’t know about Jiang Ge, but Mr. Han is certainly not unwell.”

Meanwhile, Lin Luxiao had just returned from the Nanshan training session. His political instructor came running and saluted him breathlessly: “Don’t change out of your uniform yet — come upstairs with me right now. Several of the brigade leaders are in.”

Lin Luxiao parked the car and followed the instructor into the political education building.

In the conference room sat a row of uniformly upright, composed-looking senior officers.

Lin Luxiao straightened his uniform, set his cap on the edge of the table, and said in a low voice: “Give me the inside track — who are we criticizing today?”

The political instructor gave him a look. “A show wants to film our unit next month. The leaders are talking it over.”