Liu Xiahan had been running faster than everyone else. He’d known perfectly well that taking Nan Chu’s sandbags would be noticed by Lin Luxiao, and he’d been prepared for the penalty. He hadn’t thought anything improper about it — this was a disciplined unit, not a place where people could do whatever they felt like. He didn’t regret the decision for a moment. Any man who saw it would have been compelled to help shoulder some of it. Regardless of what the program would broadcast afterward, how people would interpret it. In fact, just moments before, Liu Xiahan had noticed Shao Yijiu also wanting to help Nan Chu but apparently holding back — likely because of the instructor’s presence.

Shao Yijiu understood Lin Luxiao’s disposition well enough.

Sure enough: when Nan Chu crossed the finish line, gasping, Lin Luxiao looked at her — raised one brow — and said evenly: “Three extra laps.”

Was swearing allowed?

Nan Chu stopped and stared at him a moment.

“What are you stopping for?” Lin Luxiao’s eyes deepened.

That expression seemed to say —

This is the price for taunting me.

Nan Chu rolled her eyes, opened her stride, and headed back out. Her slight figure lurched and stumbled. The air in her lungs felt like it had been pumped out entirely; her nerves throbbed with each step.

So be it. Let it be.

One day you’ll fall into my hands.

Everyone else had finished. Only Nan Chu and Liu Xiahan remained.

Liu Xiahan caught up with Nan Chu on the straightaway — his last lap, her last two laps.

The two ran side by side.

Liu Xiahan said, with some genuine remorse: “I’m really sorry. I think I made things worse.”

Nan Chu glanced back at him, unbothered. “Not your fault. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to run those extra laps either.”

Liu Xiahan smiled at her: “You’re not like what the news says.”

“How so?” Nan Chu regulated her breathing and asked calmly.

Liu Xiahan matched her slower pace: “Cold, rebellious — actually you’re just a kid, a little stubborn.”

Nan Chu gave a brief, wry laugh. “You read gossip articles?”

“The production team gave us the names a few days before we came. I looked everyone up — partly to make the process of fitting in and looking out for each other easier afterward. Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am?”

Nan Chu had only heard a general summary from Shen Guanzong and hadn’t looked into any of them specifically. As for Liu Xiahan’s work — she genuinely couldn’t name a single title. Fortunately, Liu Xiahan had no intention of asking, and instead just patted her shoulder in encouragement before running ahead.

It was a peculiar feeling — just for that moment, Nan Chu suddenly felt she had a friend.

The afternoon sun hung in the sky like a burning ball of heat, baking the earth below. The air itself shimmered. Everyone was lightheaded from the sun.

Then Lin Luxiao’s low, even voice: “Fall out.”

A slender figure shot from the formation and ran to the shade of a tree, bent double with both hands on the trunk, and started retching.

Shao Yijiu moved to go over, but Lin Luxiao held him back: “Take the new recruits to eat. I’ll walk her to the military medical room.”

Shao Yijiu hesitated, glanced back two or three times, and led the others away.

The day’s training hadn’t been heavy. The camera crew and operators, after baking in the sun since morning, had retreated behind the drill field to eat at not quite eleven. Just the two of them were left.

Lin Luxiao stood where he was for a moment, glanced toward the tree, then waited until the figures beyond the iron mesh had moved completely out of sight before stepping over.

Nan Chu had barely eaten breakfast. She’d been retching for a while with nothing coming up — just a bitter taste at the back of her throat. By the time her stomach was completely empty, she wiped her mouth, and started to stand.

She turned, and in the corner of her vision, caught a shadow.

Lin Luxiao stood leaning against the tree, arms crossed, cap in his hand — as though he’d been there quite a while.

He straightened, pushed his hair back, replaced his cap, and said quietly: “Come with me to the medical room.”

Nan Chu looked at him for a moment, then turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Lin Luxiao watched her retreating figure, pressed one hand to his hip, narrowed his eyes, and touched his tongue briefly to the inside of his lower lip.

Nan Chu couldn’t walk quickly; her body was too weak.

The sunlight ahead seemed to be blinking. Each step felt lighter and less reliable than the last.

In two or three strides Lin Luxiao caught up, seized her by the shoulder with one hand, and pulled her sharply back. Nan Chu had no guard up and no strength left. She pitched straight back into the man behind her, face-first into his chest. Lin Luxiao hadn’t expected her to be so light — he’d barely used a fraction of his strength, and she’d landed squarely against him. His first instinct was that she was at her tricks again.

But when he pulled the soft, warm weight away from his chest for a look, the girl’s lips were cracked and pale, completely drained of color — and he felt a genuine stab of unease.

Even now, Nan Chu mustered whatever remained of her strength to push at him, to fight him. Lin Luxiao caught this slight figure and kept her in place, watching the feeble movement of her arms with something between amusement and exasperation.

A mayfly trying to topple a great tree.

Nan Chu pushed and pushed, found the figure in front of her like a stone wall that refused to move, and herself pinned securely against him. She gave up on pushing and tried pinching his chest muscle.

Which, she discovered, was so hard it could not be pinched at all.

She balled her hand into a fist in frustration and hammered at his chest. “What the hell — are you made of rock?”

Three seconds. It bounced back.

She sucked in a breath. She’d hurt her own hand.

This armor-plated physique was genuinely remarkable.

Lin Luxiao looked down at her, curved the corner of his mouth: “Your physical condition is poor.”

Nan Chu’s gaze traveled naturally downward to his waist and abdomen, and a sweep of her eyes left her with a vague, rising warmth.

If she weren’t feeling terrible today, she’d have made sure to ruffle him in some way before letting him go.

When Nan Chu was thinking up mischief, there was a particular tilt to her brow and a particular lift at the outer corners of her eyes — sharp, like scissors.

Lin Luxiao, having lived twenty-nine years, was perfectly capable of reading that expression. He promptly extracted her from his chest, steered her toward the medical room: “You’ve pinched me, you’ve gotten it out of your system, now you can come with me.”

The difference in their strength was such that Nan Chu didn’t bother resisting. She let herself be led.

The military medical room was on the first floor. Lin Luxiao pushed the door open and deposited her on the bed without ceremony. Nan Chu hit the mattress and her head bounced three times; she sat up and glared at him.

The special tactical unit had just the one medical room — responsible for the daily training injuries and recovery of the firefighters.

On duty that day was senior department member Shao Rong, military physician — mother of the squad leader, Shao Yijiu.

Dr. Shao came out from behind the curtain, saw the way Lin Luxiao had treated the girl, and frowned: “Was that really necessary?”

The latter spread his hands, expression of pure innocence.

Dr. Shao asked Nan Chu warmly: “Where do you feel unwell?”

Before Nan Chu could answer, Lin Luxiao settled himself on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, looked at Nan Chu, and said: “Probably heatstroke. Dr. Shao — while you’re at it, check her head. Something not quite right up there.”

“…”

Dr. Shao had spent good years in the unit and knew Lin Luxiao’s character well. She let out a quiet laugh and turned to Nan Chu: “Don’t mind him. Open your mouth.”

“I don’t mind,” Nan Chu said, and opened her mouth.

Dr. Shao checked her tongue, then glanced at Lin Luxiao while she did, and scolded him: “Terrible temper. No wonder he can’t get a girlfriend.”

Then she turned to the medicine cabinet, retrieved a small bottle of Huoxiang Zhengqi tonic water, snipped it open and offered it to Nan Chu: “Drink this. It’ll help. Your constitution is weak — be careful during training, or you’ll be prone to heatstroke.”

The small black bottle had a sharp, pungent smell. Nan Chu caught the scent and felt like retching again. She held a hand over her nose. “What is this?”

Lin Luxiao, somewhat surprised: “You’ve never had it before?”

Nan Chu shook her head.

Lin Luxiao gave a short scoff. “A true pampered princess.”

Dr. Shao smiled: “Have you never had heatstroke before? With your constitution, it’s worth keeping a bottle of this in your bag in summer. You’ll be glad you have it.”

When Nan Chu was small and had her one summer of heatstroke, Nan Yueru was usually away; there was nobody to look after her, so she took herself to the local wellness clinic every summer for cupping therapy. That kept her through the heat each year.

Lin Luxiao pointed his chin at the little bottle: “Drink it.”

“This smells so terrible. How is anyone supposed to drink this?” Nan Chu sat on the edge of the bed, hand over her mouth.

Lin Luxiao leaned against the bed’s edge, hands in pockets, glanced down at her, raised one brow, and asked unexpectedly: “Want me to feed it to you?”

“Is it too much trouble?”

Lin Luxiao, smile that didn’t reach his eyes: “No trouble.”

Nan Chu arched one brow: “Well, thank you in advance?”

He made a dismissive sound: “Don’t mention it.”

Then he turned and took the small bottle from Dr. Shao’s hand and said to her: “Dr. Shao, please do go about your business.”

Dr. Shao caught the cue and nodded, heading toward the medicine room: “Don’t be too rough with her. She’s young.”

Then she smiled at Nan Chu as she went.

Nan Chu smiled back.

She wanted to say — actually, not that young.

Lin Luxiao stood holding the little bottle, looking down at her, and indicated: “Open your mouth.”

Nan Chu tipped her head back, lips parting slightly.

Lin Luxiao tilted the bottle toward her mouth — just as two drops were beginning to drip, his thumb applied pressure in a single firm motion, and the entire contents surged in at once. The force of it was startling — a flood of black liquid rushing into her mouth, the sharp, stinging smell punching through her throat and straight up into her skull.

Truly vile.

Her eyes welled up.

Nan Chu coughed in rapid succession.

This had to be revenge.

Nan Chu’s face was still pallid, but now there were two clean tear-tracks on it, and she looked quite wretched.

When she opened her eyes, Lin Luxiao was smiling — eyes, and lips. He looked at her and said: “Good?”

That smile was absolutely malicious.

“Not bad.”

Eyes rolling.

Lin Luxiao’s smile faded. He turned to check the medicine room — Dr. Shao was occupied, not paying attention — then leaned forward, met her eyes directly, the black of his gaze like a hook drawing something up from deep water. He tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed forward at the window, and said near her ear, his voice low but unmistakably clear: “Outside of here, whatever you get up to is your business. But in this place — if you try what you just did again, you’ll find out what happens.”

Then he slowly straightened and gave her a measured look.

Lin Luxiao went outside to smoke.

Left Nan Chu sitting on the bed alone to think it over. Dr. Shao came back out after organizing the medicines, glanced at the girl on the bed, and said: “Better after the medicine?”

Nan Chu was watching the smoke rising from the window outside, her mind elsewhere: “Much better.”

Dr. Shao, not wanting the girl to be bored, fell into light conversation with her: “Filming a show must be hard work too. I can see they’ve added more training time for you all lately.”

“It’s all right.”

“Is the squad captain very hard on you?”

Nan Chu rested both hands on the edge of the bed, legs swinging: “You get used to it.”

Sharp mouth, soft heart — there is no softer man on earth.

Dr. Shao smiled: “True. That’s just his nature. Once you know him you’ll understand — Luxiao has a harsh mouth but a good heart. He’s straightforward and can’t bring himself to flatter superiors. That’s part of why he spent those years posted to the outer county.”

“Is that so?”

Dr. Shao let out a gentle sigh: “Their work is unique — completely unlike anything else. Everything lands on them: earthquakes, floods, landslides at the top; catching snakes or dislodging wasp nests at the bottom. People see a snake and the first call they make is to the fire station. And honestly, these young men often have no idea how to catch snakes either — they go in on nerve alone. And every year, the unit loses a few people. Two years ago, there was a young man here — twenty-four years old, was going to be married at the year’s end. He went out on a call and didn’t come back. His fiancée fainted at home when she heard. It’s shaken the others enough that they hesitate to find girlfriends now.”

Nan Chu asked out of quiet curiosity: “What does your son do?”

“My son — you should know him. He’s your squad leader. Shao Yijiu.”

“…Squad leader Shao is very capable.”

Dr. Shao waved it off: “There’s nothing to be done — the boy wouldn’t study no matter how much I pressed him and insisted on enlisting. But now that he’s in, I’m at peace about it. At least he’s a person who does something meaningful.”

“Squad leader Shao is remarkable.”

Just as she said it, Lin Luxiao pushed the door open and came back in. He looked at her: “Recovered?”

Nan Chu nodded.

Lin Luxiao: “Then let’s go.”

Nan Chu slid off the bed. Her wide military trousers and camouflage short-sleeves settled around her. Her energy had genuinely returned somewhat; color was gradually coming back into her face.

Dr. Shao handed her two boxes of medicine: “Take these with you. Drink one bottle before training every day — it’ll help.”

Nan Chu took her cue from Lin Luxiao and bent slightly at the waist: “Thank you, Dr. Shao.”

“Good. Call me Dr. Shao from now on — it feels warmer. Off you go, back with the squad captain.”

Nan Chu held the two boxes and followed Lin Luxiao out.

She caught up and walked alongside him, tilting her head up to look at him sideways: “Squad Captain Lin, where are we going?”

Lin Luxiao glanced down at her: “Cafeteria.”

“I’m not going. I can’t eat anything. I’m going back to the dormitory to rest.” She said it, turned, and started walking.

She was caught by the back of her collar, pulled firmly back.

“Eat first. Then dormitory.”

“But I really —”

His voice left no room for discussion: “Not negotiable.”

“Then I —”

“No.”

Would you let a person finish speaking for once!

Nan Chu: “I want a cigarette.”

Lin Luxiao stopped, looked at her: “Didn’t you quit?”

Nan Chu gave him a withering look. “You got me so worked up a while back I started again.”

“…”

Two seconds.

Lin Luxiao ran a brief recall through his memory — a while back.

He arrived eventually at the fragment from the hospital. Her unfastening his belt. Him saying she was easy. That occasion?

Then he took hold of her again and steered her toward the cafeteria: “Right. The upset has passed — you can resume quitting.”

My four great-uncle.

Nan Chu hadn’t smoked even one cigarette since entering the unit. She’d suppressed the craving for all these days. Just now, catching a whiff of tobacco in the medical room, the craving had surfaced.

“One cigarette. Then I’ll go eat, I’ll finish everything in the bowl.”

Lin Luxiao stopped, looked at her with an almost-smile: “Oh? Not worried about looking heavy on camera anymore?”

“You said I’d look better with more weight on me. Or — are you like the other men? Just smooth talk when you want to flatter a woman?”

“Who else said that?”

“Is there a man who thinks I’m not attractive?”

She did have that much confidence, at least.

Lin Luxiao stared at her for a moment, then abruptly grabbed her and changed direction.

Up to the fourth floor of the political education building. Lin Luxiao opened the door, pushed Nan Chu inside, closed it behind them, switched on the light, and removed his cap. He set it on the desk in that small habit of his — no matter when, the cap was always arranged with its insignia facing toward him. Then he turned to look at Nan Chu: “No cameras in here. Smoke here.”

Nan Chu looked around: “Where is this?”

Lin Luxiao walked to the desk, pulled out the chair, and sat: “My office.”

“Not a bad office.”

She looked around casually.

Lin Luxiao leaned back in the chair, studying her with an almost-amused expression, mouth curved: “Are you smoking or not?”

“Smoking.”

Nan Chu took the cigarette pack and lighter from the desk, sat down in the chair across from him, and in practiced movements, tucked a cigarette between her lips. With one hand cupped loosely around the lighter and one hand striking the flame, she tilted her head to light the tip, exhaled the smoke out, and pushed the pack and lighter back to him.

This kind of setting felt right to Nan Chu — exactly right for a heart-to-heart conversation with him.

“Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Lin Luxiao lit his own, watching the girl across from him raise an eyebrow in that question, and curved the corner of his mouth and shook his head — said nothing.

“Is there someone you like?”

Lin Luxiao leaned back in the chair, exhaled a slow ring of smoke, eyes not bothering to lift.

“…”

No conversation to be had then.

The cigarette finished, Nan Chu pressed it out and ground it into the ashtray, then stood: “Come on. Let’s go eat — you must be hungry.”

She turned, and from behind her came: “Hold on.”

Nan Chu looked back.

Lin Luxiao sat in the chair. Without her noticing when, a packet of candy had appeared in his hand. He tossed it to her.

“What’s this?”

Expressionlessly: “You can’t tell what candy is?”

Nan Chu held it in her arms, turning it this way and that: “Why are you giving me this?”

Lin Luxiao stood, picked up his cap, and replaced it. He said to her: “Quit-smoking candy. When you feel like smoking, have one of these.”

They walked out together: “Are you quitting?”

“Yes.”

Lin Luxiao closed the door.

“Quitting to get a girlfriend?” Nan Chu blinked at him.

Lin Luxiao glanced down, reached out, and gave her forehead a light tap with his fingers. Her head tilted back and swung forward again as he said: “Don’t do that.”

Then he turned and walked ahead, leaving her with a composed, upright retreating figure.

Nan Chu hurried to catch up: “…Why not?”

“Ugly.”

“Please. Admit it — I’ve knocked you off your feet.”

Lin Luxiao glanced down at her with a look of thorough disdain: “You insufferable girl.”

The long corridor was empty and still. The political education building didn’t see many people — patrol guards came through occasionally, but it was mostly quiet. Their two figures gradually faded toward the far end, their voices still echoing: “Who’s prettier — Xu Ya or me?”

“Xu Ya.”

“Who’s prettier — Yan Dai or me?”

“Yan Dai.”

Nan Chu took a swing at his shoulder: “One more chance to change your answers! Still standing by them?”

Lin Luxiao: “Yes.”

When the two of them entered the cafeteria, it was completely empty inside. The cafeteria aunties had set aside food for the two of them and reheated it, then put out an extra special dish for Lin Luxiao — a couple of large drumsticks.

Nan Chu noticed that everyone in this place doted on Lin Luxiao like he was their own son.

Lin Luxiao divided the food and pushed a plate toward her: “Eat. Quickly.”

Nan Chu picked up her chopsticks and glanced at the cafeteria aunties: “Do the cafeteria aunties have sons?”

Lin Luxiao looked up from his bowl, paused mid-chew, and nodded.

“Also here?”

Lin Luxiao was chewing and then seemed to stop. He nodded again, then said: “Hurry up and eat. No wasting, finish everything.”

Nan Chu looked at the full plate of food: “There’s no way I can finish this — if I do, my management company won’t recognize me when I go back.”

“What you can’t finish, leave for me.”

Nan Chu looked at him curiously: “How do you eat that much and not gain any weight?”

“I exercise a lot.”

“We should exercise together sometime.” Nan Chu raised an eyebrow.

The meaning behind those words — well, it spoke for itself.

Lin Luxiao set down his chopsticks and glared at her: “Feeling itchy again?”

Nan Chu: “You’re thinking indecently?”

“Eat.” Lin Luxiao was done engaging. He lowered his head and shoveled large mouthfuls in.

“…”

Halfway through the meal, Lin Luxiao looked up suddenly and said to her: “Last year, same time. During dinner, mid-meal — the emergency line went off. Her son dropped his bowl and ran. Major fire. He… didn’t come back.” He paused; his voice went quieter. “When we came back, that half-eaten bowl was still sitting there. The auntie sat there at this table for a full day and night. In the end, she swallowed her own son’s leftover half-bowl of rice herself. I’m not telling you not to waste — I’m telling you, whatever you put in your bowl, that’s what you eat. Don’t leave any.”

The words fell. Nan Chu was still absorbing them.

From outside came a sudden, sharp burst of whistling, followed by a cascade of deafening alarm sirens.

Nan Chu needed a long moment before she understood: that’s the sound of an emergency call.

She turned — the seat beside her was empty.

The man had already vaulted over his chair and was gone.