The two of them stood there, frozen in place.

Lin Luxiao did not go over immediately. Instead, he lingered at the doorway, sweeping them with a glance. A police officer came over to speak with him — the distance was too great to make out much of what was being said — and he listened quietly, occasionally glancing over at them.

The gravity in that gaze jolted Lin Qi into a sharp start.

Once the officer finished, Lin Luxiao patted him on the shoulder and, in a rare moment, curved the corner of his mouth. “Thanks.” Then he lifted his feet and walked toward them. From behind, someone called after him: “Luxiao, come eat at my place tomorrow — Xiao Siwei will be there too, it’s been ages since we’ve all gotten together.”

Lin Luxiao said sure, then came straight toward them and stopped in front of them. He gave them a quick look, reached out, plucked Lin Qi off of Nan Chu, and deposited him onto a chair nearby. Then he bent down until he was eye level with Nan Chu.

“Fighting?”

“Street racing?”

“Tired of living? Hm?”

As he spoke, he narrowed his eyes slightly — the outer corners tilting upward, his gaze full of warning, brimming with danger.

At this moment, Nan Chu truly wanted to string Lin Qi up and beat him. If not for him, she should already have been sitting across a dinner table from the man in front of her right now.

Lin Qi planted his feet and rose from the chair. “Brother… we…”

Lin Luxiao straightened and glanced at him, his eyes signaling — go on, keep talking — every bit the picture of patience. So? What happened? Say it.

The two brothers had been close since childhood. Because of their parents’ work, Lin Qi had depended on Lin Luxiao from a young age — whenever anything happened, he’d come running home calling out “Brother, Brother!”

When they were small, there’d been a little street stall in the hutong laneway that sold glutinous rice balls, and they were delicious. Lin Qingyuan had forbidden the two of them from eating street food, but Lin Qi’s mouth wouldn’t stop watering, and he pestered his brother daily — so Lin Luxiao secretly took him out to eat. They came home and got soundly beaten for it, because Lin Qi had forgotten to wipe his mouth after sneaking food.

Back then, to avoid suspicion, Lin Luxiao would buy Lin Qi the rice balls and then head home first — but this little brother of his couldn’t even manage the most basic of a sneak-eater’s duties: wiping his mouth. He walked home with those two little white corners glistening at his lips and walked straight into Lin Qingyuan’s line of sight.

One brother was sharp, the other slow — the elders of the family often compared the two of them, and what they said most often was: “Luxiao, you’ve got to look after your younger brother more, this kid has no common sense.”

Everyone in the hutong knew Lin Qi was a sweet, simple-minded soul. He was also physically frail, hopeless in a fight, and had a stubborn streak — but because he was younger, Lin Qingyuan indulged him endlessly, and that was how these spoiled, young-master habits of his took root.

Lin Qingyuan always held Lin Luxiao to a higher standard than Lin Qi. And while Lin Luxiao was the sort who goofed around and seemed perpetually carefree, when something truly serious happened, his reaction was faster than anyone’s — and he could weather it.

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

In the beginning, he hadn’t understood why he had to learn so much more than Lin Qi. Occasionally he even felt something like jealousy. But then, as Lin Qi fell sick year after year, Lin Luxiao suddenly understood — the world is fair.

Lin Qi’s health had always been poor. Lin Luxiao remembered one year when he was hospitalized over a dozen times with fevers. When Lin Qi was ill, he became especially fragile and dependent — lying in the hospital bed, those dark little eyes fixed on you with a look that made it impossible not to ache for him.

The year their parents divorced, Lin Qi was taken away by their mother. In the middle of the night, Lin Qi ran back from his mother’s place, poked his little head into the courtyard, and banged furiously on Lin Luxiao’s window, calling out to him — asking whether he’d been abandoned because his health was poor.

Lin Qi was simultaneously slow and hypersensitive when it came to matters of the heart.

Like right now — he still couldn’t read the subtle emotional undercurrents between his brother and Nan Chu, and like a fool, he was clutching Nan Chu’s hand tightly, refusing to let her go.

The girl’s fair, pale wrist was held in the young man’s grip — he squeezed gently yet firmly, his knuckles going white with the effort, still unwilling to release her, as though whatever he held in his hand were a treasure, afraid that the moment he let go, she’d be gone.

Lin Luxiao’s gaze drifted, seemingly without intention, to the joined wrists between them.

Lin Qi began his appeal to sympathy: “I got beaten up.”

Lin Luxiao’s hands were in his pockets. He fixed him with a mocking look and smiled. “Oh, so you’re telling me — you were just walking down the street, and someone grabbed you and started hitting you?”

“……” Lin Qi was at a loss for words.

Lin Luxiao’s deep, dark gaze was somehow even more frightening than the night outside. “How is it that I never noticed before how much your face deserves a beating?”

Lin Qi shifted his eyes, sidestepping the crux of the matter. “Fine. I went to a bar to unwind, got into an argument with someone, and it turned into a fight.”

Lin Luxiao tilted his chin toward Nan Chu, giving her an almost imperceptible glance. “And her? Was she at the bar drinking with you?”

“I called her over.”

Lin Luxiao let out a sound of mock surprise. The word written across his face was clear: I don’t believe you. “Impressive — you pick a fight and then call a woman to come help you?”

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

Lin Luxiao let out a short, contemptuous laugh and was about to say something when the door to the interrogation room swung open and someone walked out: six feet tall, blond hair, bangs hanging loosely across his forehead, lean face, soft features, white dress shirt, black trousers — slight build, very thin.

Lin Qi glared at him with naked hostility.

Nan Chu threw a cool glance in that direction. The man was unbuttoning his dress shirt as he passed her, shot her a coy, flirtatious look, then turned to provoke Lin Qi with a loaded glance, and finally spared Lin Luxiao one last look before strolling out with his suit jacket dangling from one hand, the very picture of swaggering nonchalance.

Lin Qi made to lunge at him, but Lin Luxiao pressed him down and shoved him back onto the chair. “Sit down!”

Lin Qi went still immediately and didn’t dare say another word.

Lin Luxiao glanced over at Nan Chu. She wore a look of utter indifference, as though nothing had happened. Lin Luxiao was genuinely puzzled — he’d never in his life encountered a woman who could be so audaciously unruffled. “What was it I said to you — have you forgotten?”

Nan Chu lifted her eyes toward him and said, with great conviction: “Scolding us right now won’t do any good. Take Lin Qi to the hospital first — that face of his is swollen beyond recognition.”

Lin Qi sat in his chair, head tilted back, one hand pressed to his face, nodding away with great enthusiasm, playing the pitiable victim for all it was worth.

He was right — this was not the time for a lecture.

Lin Luxiao glanced at the two of them, then turned to go speak with someone.

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

Lin Luxiao nodded, and started talking. His expression was so sincere as he made up his story that it was almost impossible not to believe him.

“Distant cousin from out of town — just a young girl. I’ll make sure her parents give her a good talking-to when I get home. She really is a handful. Definitely needs straightening out.”

“She’s quite a looker, though,” the officer said, glancing over in Nan Chu’s direction.

Lin Luxiao pretended to size Nan Chu up. “Looker? She’s barely even grown up yet.”

“I think she’s very pretty — and she looks strangely familiar, too. Alright, alright, go on then. Dinner tomorrow.”

Lin Luxiao waved a hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

He turned around, grabbed the two of them, and steered them outside. They were nearly at the door when Nan Chu’s phone rang — it was Shen Guanzong, his sharp voice slicing right through the receiver as though it meant to skewer her.

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“I’ll explain when I get back.”

Shen Guanzong: “There are paparazzi outside the station. Cover your face with something — anything — and flag down a cab. I’ll have someone come back for you later. Whatever you do, don’t let anyone recognize you! Do you hear me?!”

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

Lin Luxiao felt a sudden coolness in his palm — slender fingers, soft, wrapping around his hand. He gave a slight tug; Nan Chu held on a little tighter.

What the—

“Paparazzi.”

Lin Luxiao looked outside. Crouched among the shrubs were several people with cameras hanging around their necks, and parked along the roadside was a car with a telephoto lens poking through a crack in the window.

Although Nan Chu thought the odds of being recognized were low, it was better to be safe.

She asked Lin Luxiao under her breath, “Is there a back door?”

Lin Luxiao tilted his head sideways to look at her — he was tall by nature, and when he looked down at someone it came across as distinctly top-down — then let his gaze drop briefly to the hand gripping his, and let out a short, low laugh. “You’re asking me? I’ve never been here either.”

Nan Chu glanced at him again. There was something in her expression — a fleeting flicker of helplessness — utterly unlike her usual unruly self.

Lin Luxiao looked down at his captured hand, was quiet for a moment, then with his free hand fished his car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Lin Qi. “Go bring the car around.”

Lin Qi accepted the order and headed off. Lin Luxiao pulled Nan Chu close, placed his palm at the back of her head, and drew her into his chest with one arm wrapped around her head, shielding it.

This unexpected turn of events genuinely surprised Nan Chu. She’d assumed Lin Luxiao would rather throw a black plastic bag over her head than permit any physical contact between them.

The two of them stood at the door. Lin Luxiao had one hand tucked in his pocket, one hand cradling her head and pressing it against his chest. He lightly stroked the back of her head with his palm, utterly at ease — the movement practiced and natural.

“You’re rather skilled at this,” Nan Chu murmured from where she was tucked against his chest.

He gave a low hum, his chest vibrating with the sound.

Lin Luxiao had a faint, clean scent about him — fresh, and pleasant. His chest was firm and unyielding, his thin T-shirt doing nothing to conceal the full swell of muscle beneath. With her face pressed into his solid build, Nan Chu stole a glance upward — and a large palm immediately pressed her back down.

Nan Chu’s forehead rested against his chest, one hand settling on his abdomen — where tightly packed muscle rose in distinct ridges, sending a jolt right through her.

Her fingertips traced the lines of his physique, drifting slowly downward, down to the waistband of his trousers, catching on the buckle of his belt. Nan Chu extended her index finger and gave it a nudge, clearly trying to slip inside — whereupon Lin Luxiao grabbed her wrist and pinned it there, looking down at her.

“One more move like that and I’ll push you out the door.” The warning in his tone was unmistakable.

Nan Chu chuckled and thought better of it. Knowing full well the consequences of crossing him, she stopped fidgeting and lay quietly against his chest.

Lin Qi pulled the car around. Lin Luxiao guided her out, one hand still sheltering her head the whole way. At the car, he yanked open the rear door, unceremoniously shoved her in, and climbed in after her.

Lin Qi floored the accelerator and shot forward.

Inside the car.

Lin Luxiao looked at her, lifted his chin to gesture toward the far side, eyes signaling her to scoot over.

Nan Chu ignored him. She stayed pressed up against him and chatted idly with Lin Qi.

Lin Qi kept driving, not looking back. “Who were you supposed to meet tonight?”

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

Lin Qi: “Your boyfriend?”

Nan Chu made a vague noise and said nothing.

Lin Qi followed up: “You stood him up — he won’t be angry?”

Nan Chu looked at Lin Luxiao. He was gazing out the window, his profile carved sharp and angular. She noticed, somewhat unexpectedly, that his lashes were very long — curling at the outer corners like the snip of scissors, the arc of them bent outward. She said with total nonchalance: “He’s furious.”

Lin Qi sighed, then turned to ask Lin Luxiao: “What about you, brother — what were you up to just now?”

Lin Luxiao flicked a glance at Nan Chu, then said with great indifference: “Sleeping.”

Almost simultaneously, both of them let out a sound: “Sure.”

Lin Luxiao: “……”

Partway through the drive, Lin Luxiao could no longer tolerate watching Lin Qi steer with a head full of bruises and purple welts. He ordered him out of the driver’s seat, took over, and drove all the way to the entrance of the Military Third Hospital.

The Third Hospital was full of familiar faces. Lin Qi walked in with his motley, multicolored bruises and was immediately intercepted by Dr. Zhao.

Dr. Zhao was an old family friend of the Lins — she’d known both brothers since they were boys, treated all their fevers and ailments, watched them grow up. Lin Qi had always been sickly, so most of his care was internal; Lin Luxiao’s visits tended to be for the scrapes and cuts that came from his mischief.

Today, seeing these two brothers arrive in this state gave her quite a shock. She took Lin Qi’s head in her hands with motherly concern. “How did your head end up like this? Got into a fight?”

Lin Qi rubbed the back of his head with an easy, sheepish grin. “It was an accident, an accident!”

Lin Luxiao stood a step back with Nan Chu, hands in his pockets.

Dr. Zhao looked behind them. “Your brother didn’t do this to you, did he?”

“He didn’t! It really was an accident — please don’t report me.”

Dr. Zhao had always been fond of these two brothers and could not stand seeing him making light of himself even now. She grabbed his shoulder and gave it a firm pinch. “Is that the kind of person I am? Follow me!”

She dragged Lin Qi into the examination room, then looked back at Lin Luxiao. “Luxiao, you come explain — what happened?”

Nan Chu and Lin Luxiao each leaned against opposite sides of the doorframe.

Lin Luxiao, in his white T-shirt and black trousers, leaned against the doorframe in a languid slouch, one knee bent, one shoulder raised in a careless shrug. “You know how he is — he picks fights he can’t win, then comes home too proud to cry about it.”

Lin Qi’s face turned red.

Dr. Zhao shot him a look. “What kind of way is that to talk about your younger brother?”

Everyone knew that Lin Luxiao had always been fiercely protective of Lin Qi. Even if he knew his little brother had done something truly wrong, he could never bring himself to raise a hand against him — and it was precisely because of that that Lin Qi had always leaned on him. Now that both brothers were grown, Lin Luxiao’s nature had tempered somewhat, but Lin Qi’s young-lord airs had only grown more pronounced.

Suddenly, a quick clatter of footsteps echoed down the corridor — high heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. Nan Chu recognized those footsteps at once. She turned, and sure enough, there was Xia Wan, hair swept into a small ponytail with wispy bangs framing her forehead, white coat billowing, clicking her way down the corridor at a rapid pace.

“Excuse me, coming through.”

That was directed at Nan Chu.

But Lin Luxiao instinctively glanced back and stepped slightly aside.

Xia Wan looked at him briefly, then stepped inside. The sight of Lin Qi’s state made her jaw drop. She covered her mouth in shock. “What happened to you?”

Lin Qi laughed sheepishly. “Minor injuries, nothing serious.”

Beside him, Dr. Zhao spoke while applying medicine: “This is not minor. Don’t make light of it. Your constitution is already weak — bruises like these won’t clear up in ten days to two weeks. And with how brittle your bones are, if you keep this up, you’ll be dislocating joints every time you sneeze.”

Xia Wan said: “Exactly. Listen to Dr. Zhao, and start taking your body seriously — or you’ll regret it!”

Lin Qi was being bombarded from all sides. His ears had heard enough to grow calluses. He could only nod frantically.

When she was done, Xia Wan turned back, looked at Lin Luxiao, then swept her gaze briefly over Nan Chu standing nearby. She stepped up to Lin Luxiao, both hands in her coat pockets, planted herself there, and tilted her face up toward him, her voice softening considerably. “What have you been busy with lately?”

As she spoke, her wispy bangs drifted about in the air and poked into her eyes. Just watching made Nan Chu uncomfortable on her behalf.

Lin Luxiao stood with his arms folded, resting against the doorframe. He looked down at her. “Training away from the city.”

“It’s been so long since we’ve had a meal together. Eat with me tomorrow?”

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

Xia Wan’s face fell. “When does the training end?”

“Three weeks from now.”

“Will you be back next weekend?”

“No.”

Lin Luxiao kept his answers brief — he replied only when she asked, saying nothing more, evidently somewhere else entirely in his mind.

Xia Wan, oblivious to all this, pressed on.

“Then once the training’s done and you’re back, let’s go see a movie together — Director He’s new one, about firefighting heroes, about people like you. Let’s go?”

Lin Luxiao finally looked at her directly. One beat, two beats. Then he turned away again. “I’m not interested.”

“……”

Xia Wan looked crestfallen. Only now did she notice Nan Chu standing to one side. She feigned surprise: “How did you two end up together?”

Lin Luxiao glanced at Nan Chu and said nothing.

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

Hospital corridors always carried a persistent undercurrent of chill and the sharp, insistent smell of disinfectant. At the far end of this one, a small window stood open. Moonlight spilled through it, scattering a pale, still luminescence that pooled along the floor like a lake of quiet light — something in it felt steadying.

Last time she was here in this same spot, Lin Luxiao had been leaning against the wall in his regulation uniform, a cigarette between his lips, his cap brim shadowing half his face, the line of his jaw taut and fine enough to make you want to reach out and touch it. And Xia Wan had come clicking down that end of the hall, tilted her face up, and spoken to him in soft, gentle tones.

Nan Chu leaned against the wall by the waste bin and called Shen Guanzong.

Shen Guanzong’s voice was sharp as a blade, seeming to lance right through the receiver. “Have I been too lenient with you lately?! So you’ve been turning the world upside down trying to make a mess for me to clean up, is that it?! Where are you right now?! Get back here immediately!”

“At the hospital.”

Shen Guanzong’s voice shifted in pitch. “Are you hurt?”

“A friend is.”

He composed himself. “Get back here now. If I don’t see you within the hour, I’m pulling your little assistant apart joint by joint and boiling the pieces down for soup. Believe me or don’t.”

Nan Chu lowered her voice, her tone carrying its own threat: “Touch her and see what happens.”

Shen Guanzong was completely unbothered. He dropped a single line: “What is there I wouldn’t dare do?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Nan Chu muttered a curse, had a strong urge to hurl her phone at the wall — and then heard a voice behind her.

“What are you doing out here?”

A shadow fell across the open corridor, long and drawn out by the moonlight streaming in from outside. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Nan Chu slid her phone back into her pocket, leaned against the wall, and said without any particular feeling: “Leaving you two some space.”

Lin Luxiao stood behind her, hands in his pockets, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. He gave a slight pull of his lips, stepped forward two paces, and stopped directly in front of Nan Chu, boxing her in between himself and the wall. He bent down until he was level with her eyes, his own dark as pitch, clear as still water, and smiled slightly. “I never realized before — you can actually be quite sensible.”

Then he straightened, reached into his pocket, and produced a lighter. He turned his head to the side and lit the cigarette, drew in a breath, and exhaled softly. A ribbon of pale smoke drifted through the thin white moonlight and for a moment blurred the lines of his silhouette.

The two of them stood very close — one leaning against the wall, the other standing before her, cigarette between his lips.

A dark, deserted corner. The kind of place that always seemed to bring out the hardness in men and the pride in women.

Nan Chu’s eyes narrowed. The mischievous impulse slipped through again. She raised her hand and placed it against his waist and abdomen, fingertips tracing slowly downward along the ridges of muscle there — then looked up at him. In the darkness, his features were sharper, his bearing more severe — handsome and fathomlessly deep. Her gaze drifted gradually lower, to the slight prominence at his throat, which moved in a subtle rise and fall as he inhaled and exhaled. Her fingers, light and soft, gently lifted the hem of his T-shirt and slipped beneath it. With one hand, she reached and gripped his belt buckle.

Her thumb gave a light, deliberate hook.

In the quiet of the empty corridor, a clean, crisp sound rang out — clear as a raindrop.

The belt came undone.

The next instant, her hand was seized. A wide, rough palm — the feel of it reached her mind like a current. Nan Chu’s lips curved with satisfaction.

From somewhere above her came a low, muted voice: “Buckle it back.”

Lin Luxiao held her hand pressed against his waist and looked down at her, his eyes deep set, the hollows of his eye sockets pronounced. The cigarette was still between his lips, a thread of blue smoke curling from its tip. The two of them regarded each other through that pale, thin haze of smoke.

The look between them was — direct, and unblinking.

Nan Chu noticed that he had very attractive under-eye contours — the kind many male celebrities flew to far-off countries to surgically acquire.

“Buckle it back.”

His voice cleared slightly, and he repeated it once more.

Nan Chu had her back against the wall, one arm bent and resting against it, looking up at him from under her lashes. Eventually, under the pressure of his steady gaze, she relented. Slowly, unhurriedly, she helped him buckle his belt back.

A moment of quiet passed between them.

Nan Chu reached up to take the cigarette from between his lips. Lin Luxiao saw it coming, got there first, drew it out himself, and pressed it out against the side of the waste bin. His eyes tilted at the corners as he looked at her and asked: “Between you and Lin Qi — what happened in Milan?”

Nan Chu’s lips curved with a playful smile. “What are you referring to?”

Lin Luxiao stood with his hands in his pockets, looking at her, saying nothing.

“Emotionally?”

Lin Luxiao bit down on his lower lip.

“Physically?”

Lin Luxiao placed a hand on his hip, ran his tongue over his lips, and furrowed his brow.

“Or do you think I’m just that kind of person — that any man who comes along will do?”

This impossible little—

Lin Luxiao was hard-natured by nature. Though he felt his suspicions about her relationship with Lin Qi were entirely reasonable, there hadn’t been any other meaning behind his words — but now that she’d said it like that, explaining himself felt beneath him. Why should he explain his thoughts to a girl? Whatever he’d been about to say died on his tongue, and instead what came out was cutting: “If you’re not like that, how do you explain casually undoing a man’s belt?”

The girl’s eyes darkened.

When Nan Chu dug in her heels, nobody could get through to her.

If this hadn’t been Lin Luxiao standing in front of her, she would have grabbed the waste bin and hurled it at him right now.

Lin Luxiao had spoken on impulse. By the time he came back to himself, the girl had already walked herself to the main entrance.

Lin Qi came out from the back after having his injuries treated, and Xia Wan walked with him. On the way back, there was one more person in the car — Lin Luxiao drove, and Xia Wan made a grab for the front passenger seat, only to be bodily deposited by Lin Qi into the back seat. “I haven’t seen my brother in ages. You can wait.”

Xia Wan: “……”

Lin Qi: “Brother, we should go see a movie together sometime.”

Xia Wan: “Yes! Include me — the three of us go together.”

Lin Qi looked back at her. “Why would we include you?”

Xia Wan: “What would two grown men want to see a movie alone for?”

Lin Qi said with blunt directness: “Having you tag along feels strange to me.”

Xia Wan: “……And having Nan Chu tag along doesn’t feel strange?”

Lin Qi waved a hand. “That’s completely different — Nan Chu feels right.”

The important thing was she was useful, generous, striking to look at, fit to be seen in public with, could drink twice as much as anyone else, and once the mood was right, could take you racing through the streets for a good time.

Xia Wan: “……”

Lin the sweet, simple-minded fool truly hadn’t noticed a single thing wrong with any of that.

Lin Luxiao listened quietly throughout, occasionally glancing at the rearview mirror. He noticed that Nan Chu had gone strangely quiet — leaning against the window, gazing out at the scenery passing by. No trace at all of her earlier mischief.

He found it oddly unsettling.

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

Lin Luxiao had the window half-lowered, one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped over the window frame. He tilted his eyes toward her, the barest flicker of amusement in his expression.

She didn’t wait for a response. She turned and went upstairs.

Lin Qi muttered beside him: “That’s strange — why is she being so polite today?”

Lin Luxiao watched until she’d gone upstairs. He raised the window, turned the wheel, and hit the gas — the car roared out of the residential complex.

The engine was a thundering proclamation into the dead of night, brazenly loud.

Lin Qi, in the front passenger seat, was nearly thrown against the door. He grabbed at the overhead handle and wailed: “What’s going on?! Brother! What’s got into you all of a sudden?!”

Over the years, Lin Luxiao’s temperament had noticeably settled. He spoke little, carried a deep stillness to him, and kept emotion off his face. A furrowed brow, a slight squint — that was how you knew something was sitting badly with him. A step beyond that, teeth clenched against his back molars, bottom lip compressed — that meant real anger was stirring.

Flooring the gas pedal like this — Lin Qi had never seen it before.

Then again, he hadn’t witnessed that much of Lin Luxiao’s earlier years. Back at the crossroads of Hengstreet Third Hutong, Lin Luxiao and his friends had enjoyed their fair share of idle wandering — and though their parents kept strict watch, they were resilient kids, causing small disasters here and there, getting beaten for it, forgetting the sting within days, and going right back to causing trouble.

A little older, they moved on to shooting pool, hanging around the arcade, and gunning engines in the streets.

A little older still, they understood they couldn’t keep carrying on like that. Some sense of duty arrived from somewhere. One by one, the whole group went their separate ways — military academy, overseas study programs, the armed forces.

And just like that, a decade had gone by.

At his core, Lin Luxiao hadn’t really changed. That stubborn streak of his — the hard-headedness, the refusal to yield — was still exactly the same.

……

The next morning.

Nan Chu was still somewhere between sleep and waking, eyes bleary, mind adrift in a half-dream, when Shen Guanzong hauled her upright out of bed. She had a ferocious bad mood first thing in the morning — ferocious enough that even Xi Gu, standing nearby, didn’t dare look at her.

Nan Chu’s method of dealing with things was cold silence. A habit carved into her from years of growing up without much communication — she rarely exploded, but she’d simply stop engaging with you.

Rather like Lin Luxiao, who had just been relegated to the cold palace yesterday.

Her morning temper worked the same way — she didn’t go into a rampage. No matter what conditions she’d been woken under, she always wore the same expression of absolute indifference, an expression so cold that if her eyes were blades, Shen Guanzong would by now be riddled with them.

Shen Guanzong, evidently, was completely unbothered.

In the narrow window of time it took her to sit up against the headboard and gather her wits, he shoved the phone directly at her.

“Didn’t I tell you to sneak past those reporters?! And if you couldn’t manage that, couldn’t you have borrowed a black plastic bag from the officers and pulled it over your head?!”

Nan Chu’s mind still hadn’t fully come online. She leaned against the headboard, dug a finger in her ear, and said: “Are your vocal cords already warmed up this early?”

Then she picked up the phone.

She looked down at it.

It wasn’t some major gossip outlet, and the repost count and comment count were both modest. But the large, bold headline was enough to make her mildly irritated —

F&D second heir Jiang Ge spotted street racing with unknown girl at night — and the girl is none other than the daughter of once-celebrated actress Nan Yueru.

The write-up thoroughly trashed both her and Jiang Ge, reducing her to an eighteen-tier small-time nobody model and fabricating a sordid romantic history between them.

Nan Chu scrolled down. There were no photos from outside the police station, which meant the paparazzi staking out the entrance hadn’t recognized her. The images provided were a series of street shots: her and Jiang Ge’s cars in pursuit of each other, and a shot of her being cornered and blocked by his vehicle.

She opened her own Weibo. Her private messages had multiplied enormously. There was no need to even look — they’d be abuse, all of it.

Nan Chu leaned against the headboard and lit a cigarette.

She’d hesitated for a moment before lighting it. But then Lin Luxiao’s infuriating face rose to mind, and she went ahead and lit it with full conviction.

In the ordinary run of things, marketing accounts planning to break a story would contact Nan Chu’s team first. And knowing Han Beiyao’s temperament, he’d never have let those photos go out. But this marketing account had gotten the tip-off in the small hours and had posted immediately, without doing any of the usual preparatory work — which Shen Guanzong found most suspicious. Clearly, whoever was behind it had deliberately wanted this news out in the open.

Either it was aimed at Nan Chu — or at Jiang Ge.

Given the difference in their respective profiles, it was far more likely that Nan Chu had been dragged into someone else’s battle for the Jiang family’s empire.

……

The top floor of Jiahe.

It was Xi Gu’s first time in the big boss’s office, and she trailed behind Nan Chu and Shen Guanzong, trembling slightly, head down, like a timid little rabbit.

Out of the elevator, the doors opened onto the first sight of a beautiful secretary, who nodded in greeting. “Mr. Han has been waiting.”

The light was dazzling; the secretary’s smile more so. The feeling was inescapable — they were three small lambs about to be slaughtered.

Even the corridor was opulently appointed, radiating a golden warmth. But compared to the CEO’s office beyond, the corridor was utterly unremarkable. The office was immense. Han Beiyao was reclined in the plush leather of his chairman’s chair, legs crossed, polishing his sunglasses. Floor-to-ceiling glass stretched across the entire back wall, offering an unbroken sightline to the rooftops across the way. Anyone who worked daily in surroundings like these was bound to develop a habit of looking down their nose at the world.

The motion of Han Beiyao’s hands had the quality of a blade being whetted.

Swish, swish, swish.

Xi Gu stared, stunned.

The three of them stood in a line before his desk.

The beautiful demon opened his mouth: “Did you see the overnight news?”

Nan Chu nodded. “I did.”

“What are your thoughts?”

“The label of small-time nobody model isn’t particularly accurate — a little personal opinion seems to have crept in there.”

“……”

Han Beiyao lurched forward to strangle her, held back by Shen Guanzong. “This girl doesn’t know how to speak properly — it’s not your first time knowing that.”

Han Beiyao smoothed his irritation. “Do you know who Jiang Ge is?”

Nan Chu: “I do now.”

Han Beiyao undid a shirt button, settled back in his chair. “How did you meet?”

Nan Chu told him truthfully.

Nan Chu had previously been with another management team, but due to poor management and her own talent for attracting controversy, the contract had ended late last year. She’d only signed with Han Beiyao’s Jiahe Company at the start of this year.

Han Beiyao nearly choked. He could hardly believe his own ears.

“You tied Jiang Ge up, drew several hundred turtles all over him, took photos, and uploaded them to his personal Instagram?”

“So it was you who caused that brief dip in F&D’s stock price a while back?”

She didn’t exactly want to acknowledge it, but there had been some indirect connection.

The entire world went still for three seconds.

Not a single person in the office spoke.

Xi Gu was shaking so hard her legs were going sore.

Han Beiyao slapped the desk and pointed a finger at Nan Chu, turning to Shen Guanzong. “Go. Get her a termination contract.”

Shen Guanzong stared at Han Beiyao. “Do you actually want me to get one?!”

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

Then he pointed at Xi Gu, still shrinking in the background. “What are you cowering there for?! Come here.”

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

Han Beiyao erupted again. “Can you not keep stopping mid-sentence?!”

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

Han Beiyao: “Why am I yelling at her? I’m about to fire her too! Just this past stretch — how many messes has she helped create for me?!”

Nan Chu: “You dare?”

Han Beiyao had been a law unto himself since childhood — afraid of nothing and no one. From the very first moment he’d encountered Nan Chu, he’d seen that the stubbornness running through her bones, if cultivated properly, could make her a star. It was exactly that quality that had made him sign her on without hesitation. Men are always, at first, easily drawn in by a woman’s appearance — and Nan Chu happened to be precisely the type that sparked in him a desire to conquer.

In the beginning he’d genuinely harbored some feelings for her. But he later came to realize this girl was a glacier — no amount of warmth could melt her — and after that, not even a trace of that feeling remained. Just thinking of that perpetually detached expression of hers, he concluded she probably wouldn’t be a warm presence in certain other respects either.

But occasionally, when she talked back to him, there was a part of him that enjoyed it. At least in all his life, no one had ever dared to talk back to him like that. Over time, he’d simply gotten used to it.

Han Beiyao glanced at Xi Gu, the threat plain in his voice: “You want to see whether I dare?!”

Just as the two were in a standoff, a soft, slightly hesitant voice broke through: “I’ll resign — you don’t have to fire me. I’ll submit my own notice. Besides, I’m still in probation — I’ll have the report on your desk tomorrow.”

Hm, no stammer now?

“……”

“……”

“……”

Shen Guanzong and Nan Chu both turned to look at Han Beiyao. He cleared his throat. “What are you all staring at me for?!”

He gave a broad wave of his hand. “Fine, resign then!”

When the three of them emerged from the office, Nan Chu looked over at Xi Gu and pinched her soft little cheek. “You’re really resigning?”

Xi Gu dropped her head, and pressed out a small, quiet sound of affirmation.

Nan Chu sighed, reached up, and ruffled her hair. In a rare soft tone — soft enough to make even Xi Gu go a little weak — she said: “Think about it again.”

Even Shen Guanzong, whose usual mode was venomous, couldn’t help offering a word of persuasion, though his delivery left something to be desired. “You younger generation, honestly — one by one, so impulsive. Someone says two words and you’re handing in resignations. Think jobs grow on trees? The big boss was just saying it. He can’t actually let you go — you’re a small girl with no backbone whatsoever.”

Then he turned to Nan Chu: “And you — eight times out of ten this whole business is aimed at Jiang Ge. The Jiang family patriarch was hospitalized a little while ago, and the battle for the family inheritance has only just begun. Jiang Ge is a wild-tempered young man — doesn’t hold much stock, but he’s the one the patriarch loves most. If the old man decides on a whim to leave a will handing F&D over to Jiang Ge, that’ll be the opening drama of next year. Everyone is already waiting for that show. He’s got too much on his hands right now to spare a thought for a small player like you. Keep away from him for a while!”

Shen Guanzong finished his lecture, then handed her a schedule stuffed full of appearances.

That same day, he came to the set with yet another project, finding Nan Chu with her head bent over a book — a Buddhist scripture, well-thumbed and worn — barely paying him any attention as he said: “This one’s different. We’re not taking a drama this time. It’s a large-scale outdoor experience program.”

“What?”

“Think life-experience combined with a survival game format — each episode has a different theme, each episode is tentatively set for half a month. For the duration, you’re in total lockdown — no phones, no internet. Three episodes total. First episode: airport ground crew operations. Second: firefighting. Third: jungle survival.”

Nan Chu kept her eyes on her book. After a brief pause, she said: “Can I say no?”

“No, you can’t. Mr. Han already agreed. It’s one of Jiang Ge’s conditions for a settlement.”

“Is his head broken?”

“Whether Jiang Ge’s head is broken I can’t say, but Mr. Han’s certainly isn’t.”

……

On the other end of things, Lin Luxiao had just returned from training in Nanshan when the instructor came running over, snapped a salute, and caught his breath long enough to say: “Don’t bother changing — come with me upstairs right now. Several leaders from the brigade are here.”

Lin Luxiao parked the car and followed the instructor into the Political Education Building.

In the meeting room sat a row of officers, all expressionless and sharply uniformed.

Lin Luxiao straightened his uniform, placed his cap on the edge of the table, and said under his breath: “Give me the short version — who’s getting criticized today?”

The instructor stared at him, then gave him a sharp kick under the table and said through gritted teeth: “What are you saying?”

“How you handle me is your business. If you really have the ability, go ahead and send them all packing — I don’t mind. And if that happens, at worst the program cancels this episode, and we put out a fire safety awareness reel at year end — that’ll be enough to cover it. But I have two requirements.” The senior officer smiled knowingly and held up two fingers. “First — training can be as rigorous as you like, but their safety must be guaranteed. Second — show them what the special rescue unit’s military discipline and conduct actually looks like.”

Lin Luxiao was quiet for a moment. “Yes, sir.”

Afterward, the year-end work schedule was briefly reviewed, and when the meeting concluded, the instructor suggested the canteen prepare a special meal. He was waved off by the senior officer: “No need for special treatment — whatever you eat normally, that’s what we’ll have.”

The instructor looked to Lin Luxiao, silently deferring to him.

Lin Luxiao swept his hair back, put on his cap, and said: “Do as the leadership says.”

The unit had around fifty personnel — about twenty more than a typical frontline unit. The canteen was on the second floor. At this hour, the soldiers were still in training. When the review was complete, the instructor led the officers upstairs to eat. Lin Luxiao smoked two cigarettes outside the canteen entrance before going in to get his tray.

He’d barely sat down when a senior officer pointed a pair of chopsticks in his direction and struck up a casual conversation: “How is the reading coming along?”

Lin Luxiao picked up his bowl, used his chopsticks to lift a piece of meat, chewed it for a moment, and said: “About halfway.”

The truth was he’d barely had any time for it. He’d been away training new recruits the whole stretch and had only just set foot back in the unit — only to be handed this program business the moment he walked through the door.

The instructor covered for him: “He’s very diligent about it. I saw him going back and forth to Nanshan for training with a few books in the car. When our Captain Lin sets his mind to something, nobody else can really compare.”

Lin Luxiao glanced at him, pulled his lips sideways slightly, and went back to his rice. He’d always eaten fast — half a bowl of rice was gone in a few quick mouthfuls.

The senior officer nodded with approval. “A little while ago there was a city-level meeting and I ran into your father. I told him about this, and he was very supportive. It’s been a long time since you’ve been home, hasn’t it? Try to visit when you can — the old man’s getting on in years, and his health isn’t what it was. You two are just too much alike — neither one of you knows how to talk to the other. You, Luxiao, you’ve been closed off since you were a boy. Once you move up to the larger unit, that needs to change.”

Lin Luxiao set down his bowl, gave a brief, quiet sound of acknowledgment.

Meng Guohong was head of the brigade’s military affairs division and an old comrade of Lin Qingyuan — he’d watched Lin Luxiao grow up, and knew the Lin family’s story better than almost anyone. He understood Lin Luxiao’s nature.

“Bring out that same energy you had for the university entrance exam. This isn’t as straightforward as you might think. The spots are limited this time — competition is fierce — plenty of people are fighting tooth and nail to get in. You can’t afford to be complacent.”

Lin Luxiao fixed him with those dark eyes but said nothing.

The instructor offered: “Our Captain Lin has nothing much going for him except a little backbone.”

Meng Guohong: “I remember you were a fast reader when you were small — every time I brought you a few volumes of military theory, you’d finish them in days and then come over to my house asking for more. How is it that all this time has passed and you haven’t finished a single book?”

Boys that age tended to be drawn to things like guns and tanks — and Lin Luxiao had been especially fond of military theory. Every time Meng Guohong came to visit, he’d bring a few volumes along. He’d assumed the boy would flip through them and toss them aside. But at their next meeting, the kid could articulate everything in clear, organized detail — and it actually sounded like something. From then on, Meng Guohong had taken a particular liking to him.

Meng Guohong rapped the table. “Pay attention. The exam is next month.”

Lin Luxiao had finished eating. He set his empty bowl aside, sat back, folded his arms across his chest, and worked the toothpick between his teeth.

“Understood.”

……

Nan Chu had lately been inundated with private messages. Her Weibo reposts and follower count had climbed steadily — from an original base of only a hundred thousand or so, half of which Shen Guanzong had paid for, her count had now surged into the hundreds of thousands.

That day, Han Beiyao summoned Shen Guanzong to the office.

The young heir sat with one leg crossed over the other, leaning back in his chair. “Her Weibo followers — what happened? Did she buy them herself?”

Shen Guanzong: “She’d never do that. She barely even uses Weibo. That’s not her style at all.”

“Then why the sudden spike?”

Shen Guanzong had already analyzed this with his team. “Nothing good, in any case — it’s all people coming to abuse her.”

Han Beiyao: “……”

“That gossip account dug up her history with Ran Dongyang and Yan Dai. One faction has decided she was the reason those two broke up, so they followed her to keep tabs on her and abuse her more easily. Another faction is Jiang Ge’s devoted admirers, who followed for the same reason. And then there’s the last group — basically just men who think she’s some third-rate model and have come to make crude remarks.”

Han Beiyao stared. “Are these people unhinged?”

“All I can say is — thank goodness it’s Nan Chu. That girl has armor plating. If it were someone with a more fragile temperament, like Yan Dai, she’d probably have thrown herself off a building by now.”

Han Beiyao fell into thought. “How’s the recording going for her program?”

Shen Guanzong was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I finally understand why Jiang Ge picked her for this.”

Han Beiyao: “Mmhm?”

“Did you know, from the beginning, what kind of show it actually was?”

Han Beiyao said nothing.

Shen Guanzong had been with Han Beiyao for many years. His silence said everything.

“I thought you must have had at least a little fondness for her.”

“Even setting fondness aside — she’s my artist.” Han Beiyao gave a sardonic smile. “Do you really think I’m the sort of person who’d push her into a fire?”

Shen Guanzong went quiet.

Han Beiyao let out a rare sigh. “To put it plainly — Jiang Ge’s program is designed to make entertainers embarrass themselves and suffer a bit, give the audience a laugh, show everyone that celebrities aren’t so different from ordinary people. Everyone else has gone along with it — why should she be any different? That girl’s edge needs grinding down.”

Truthfully, it was payback — she’d talked back to him, and he wanted to take her down a notch.

Shen Guanzong thought privately: No wonder he couldn’t find any top-tier talent. Scraped together a handful of seventh- and eighth-tier nobodies — who’s going to watch that?

The first two episodes weren’t so bad, honestly — no particular difficulty, just a taste of how grueling airport ground crew and firefighting work could be. The third episode, jungle survival, was the true centerpiece of the program — six entertainers thrown into a perilous jungle to see who could last the longest. Anyone could imagine the ordeal that awaited.

Han Beiyao himself was troubled. He still couldn’t decide whether what he’d done was right or wrong — but living inside a place like this made easy living nearly impossible, and Nan Chu understood that better than he did. Thinking it through, his mood lifted a little. He waved Shen Guanzong out, then looked up — and there on his desk sat a letter of resignation.

……

That day, Nan Chu came back from shooting the airport ground crew episode and headed home. Xi Gu was already at her apartment helping her sort things out. Nan Chu walked in, tossed her bag aside, and collapsed onto the bed, voice languid: “Little one — did you miss me?”

Xi Gu paused what she was doing and looked over. “Yes.”

Nan Chu sat up, perched against the headboard, and looked at her. “What’s the matter? Your voice sounds so miserable.”

Xi Gu could hold it in no longer. She flung herself into Nan Chu’s arms and burst into tears. “I handed in my resignation to Mr. Han, and Mr. Han said if I quit he’d blacklist me… make sure I can’t find work anywhere… Why does he hate me so much… I haven’t done anything wrong to him…”

The girl’s small, soft body pressed into her and cried with heart-wrenching, pitiful little sobs.

Nan Chu stroked her head gently. “Actually, that’s exactly what I was thinking too.”

Xi Gu was so startled she scrambled back. “You’re going to blacklist me too?!”

Nan Chu rolled her eyes. “We all want you to stay. Why resign just because of what Han Beiyao said? That man is just a bit immature — he doesn’t know how to express himself, and he doesn’t know how to speak properly. Watch him more closely and you’ll see — he’s actually quite endearing. His temper’s just a bit twisted.”

Xi Gu’s eyes blinked wide. “Really?”

“Since he’s already told you not to resign — give it a bit more time and see. Everyone at this company is like that. They’re not good with words. But they’re genuinely not bad people.”

At least compared to her previous team — all smiles on the surface, all of them privately hoping the others would drop dead.

Xi Gu nodded.

Nan Chu ruffled her hair. “Good girl. I’m exhausted — let me sleep.”

Only then did Xi Gu notice the cut near Nan Chu’s eyebrow. “What happened? How did you get hurt filming a show? Why doesn’t that show allow assistants?”

Nan Chu flipped over and lay flat on the bed like a dead fish, completely motionless. “Inhumane show. Jiang Ge really is a sick individual.”

She could already imagine the terror of the third episode — jungle survival.

Nan Chu looked genuinely exhausted. Xi Gu hadn’t the heart to disturb her further. She quietly removed her shoes, pulled a blanket over her, and stepped outside. The next day, the two of them returned to the company, only to find Yan Dai inside making an enormous scene at Han Beiyao’s office.

Among the program’s guest performers, Jiahe Company had two female entertainers — and Yan Dai was the other.

Shen Guanzong caught sight of Nan Chu and waved her over. “Do you have any thoughts on this?”

Nan Chu lifted an eyelid. “Thoughts on what?”

Shen Guanzong gave her a look that said: how dense can you be? “If you really don’t want to keep recording, go tell Mr. Han yourself — if you say it, he’ll agree. We find an excuse and pull out, and I’ll get you something else.”

Then his gaze landed on the deep red cut near Nan Chu’s eyebrow, and his expression shifted. “What happened there?”

Nan Chu touched the spot. “Got hurt on set.”

“You’re an entertainer! You can’t let your face get injured!”

“I know. I’ll be more careful next time.” Nan Chu said evenly.

Shen Guanzong glared. “Made up your mind? Are you recording or not?”

Nan Chu: “Recording. It’s actually quite fun.”

When the three of them walked in, Yan Dai was throwing notebooks around the room. Han Beiyao sat on the sofa, expression cold. When he saw them come in, he finally spoke: “When you took this project, I told you clearly — it’s nothing like those programs where everything’s staged for effect. And didn’t you say yourself it didn’t matter? That if Nan Chu was going, you were going? That’s what you told me. When you’ve finished making your scene, you can leave.”

Yan Dai: “I thought airport ground crew meant airport security checks! I didn’t know it meant running out to meet passengers on the tarmac, help passengers find lost luggage, handle complaints, soothe passengers who’d missed their flights, bring them tea and water — and I nearly got physically assaulted for it! And on top of that, when things went wrong, the production team just stood there filming! When I said stop filming, they filmed my humiliation even harder! What’s the point of a program like this?!”

Han Beiyao: “Do you think making a show means sitting outside somewhere drinking coffee, sunbathing, going on a vacation to Hawaii? Do you think you deserve that kind of treatment?”

He wasn’t wrong.

This was a world where appearances determined everything and only the strong survived.

……

Despite all of that, on the day the firefighting episode began filming, Yan Dai showed up on time.

The six of them arrived at the entrance of the Northern Xun City Fire Emergency Rescue Brigade, pulling their luggage. An imposing stone monument was engraved with the name of the special rescue unit. Two sentries stood at the gates. Nan Chu stood gazing at them, lost in thought. Yan Dai walked over. “Hey, I think this place is even more frightening than the airport. How about the two of us make a run for it together?”

Nan Chu swept her a glance, then turned back. She answered something entirely different from what Yan Dai had asked: “Do you know how many firefighters lose their lives every year?”

Yan Dai paused.

“They protect us with their lives. Don’t you want to see that up close?” Nan Chu tilted her face upward, reading the large characters carved in small, precise brushwork on the stone wall.

— Discipline. Will. Loyalty. Soul.

Nan Chu lifted her face toward the sky, the sun behind her, eyes very bright. “I really want to see it.”

What is it that makes them into something as unbreakable as a fortress, yet capable of such boundless tenderness.

……

Instructor Yang Zhenggang came out from inside with one of the firefighters. “Fall in.”

The six of them shuffled into a rough line at a slow, dragging pace. Yang Zhenggang’s brow furrowed. This is a disaster — if the officer inside sees this, we’re in for another round of reprimands.

He decided to state the terms clearly from the start. “I am the instructor of the Northern Xun City Fire Emergency Rescue Brigade Special Unit — and your deputy training officer for this session. Behind me is your recruit squad leader. Now that you’re here, forget you’re entertainers. In this place, there is no distinction between men and women, between entertainers and civilians. You are all soldiers. Anyone who breaks discipline will be expelled from the unit.”

“Understood?”

“Yes!” came the response — scattered, half-hearted, five or six voices trailing each other.

Yang Zhenggang: “Go inside and put your things down. Five minutes — muster in the drill ground.”

……

The sun was merciless. Outdoor temperatures reached forty degrees Celsius. The summer heat in Northern Xun was no gentle thing. The performers had already been standing in the drill ground for roughly ten minutes and were beginning to wilt, the pervasive smell of synthetic flooring pressing in from all sides.

Yan Dai asked: “Instructor Yang, what are we doing now?”

Yang Zhenggang stood ramrod straight, sweating visibly, and glanced at her. “Waiting for the head instructor.”

Yan Dai: “Why hasn’t the head instructor come yet?”

Yang Zhenggang: “He’s in a meeting. He’ll be down shortly. And that’s enough out of you.”

“……”

Yan Dai had never encountered anyone who so thoroughly shut her down.

Before the words were fully out, a tall figure in military uniform appeared on the other side of the iron mesh fence. The shadow of his cap brim fell across half his face.

When he was nearly upon them, Lin Luxiao broke into a light jog and, in a clear, measured tone that carried unmistakable authority, said: “Fall in.”

Somehow, without knowing why — the moment the head instructor appeared, the whole group seemed to gather itself. Even the speed with which they fell into formation was noticeably faster than it had been at the gate.

Lin Luxiao’s gaze moved from face to face down the line. When it reached Nan Chu, it didn’t pause — it passed straight over her, as naturally as if this were the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her.

Good.

He stood perfectly straight and delivered a crisp salute. “I am the unit commander of the Northern Xun City Fire Emergency Rescue Brigade Special Unit — and the head instructor for this training. Lin Luxiao.”

Perfect.