It was the most distinctively unconventional confession Lin Luxiao had ever heard.
From childhood onward, his understanding of girls had been that they were fussy and troublesome — difficult to get along with. His friend Da Liu had complained about this in his ear more times than he could count.
Da Liu’s typical speeches went something like: “Girls are all like this — they’re absolutely wild about you but their mouths say they hate you; they act like they don’t care about money, but take them to a shopping mall and they freeze up in front of every luxury boutique, and you physically cannot drag them away; ask her what she wants to eat, she says ‘whatever,’ so I say barbecue — she says it’s too heaty; I say Chinese food — she says she’s sick of it; by the time you’ve gone through every option, you might as well have just said ‘western food, steak with salad and wine’ from the start; and if she’s clearly upset, you ask what’s wrong, she says ‘nothing, go ahead with your business,’ and if you actually dare go ahead with your business, next thing you know she’s hurling a gas canister at you and saying it’s over; and if you bring up breaking up, she’ll spin twenty different stories that never repeat themselves and put a ‘scumbag’ label on your head.”
None of what Da Liu described resonated with Lin Luxiao personally.
Since the first stirrings of adolescence, most girls had been fairly reserved around him — none had ever made a point of pursuing him openly. Occasionally on a holiday, a pink envelope would appear inexplicably under his desk. He’d give it a quick glance and toss it in the bin. He still couldn’t recall the faces of those girls to this day.
While Da Liu was out chasing girls and playing around, Lin Luxiao was mostly shut in at home by Lin Qingyuan, studying military subjects — rifle models, tanks, aircraft — which later led to him being treated like a human military encyclopedia at military academy, where someone could spot tank tread marks in the mud and he’d identify the year, model, and which battles that tank had been deployed in.
His understanding of romance was limited. This had been a source of entertainment for Da Liu, Shen Mu, and a few others for over a decade now.
The joke had originated with a girl.
Back in high school, there had been a girl in their class — a top student headhunted from another county on a scholarship. She was outgoing and easygoing, not haughty or affected, sharp-minded and quick-tongued. The teacher had seated her next to Da Liu, hoping she could help bring along a student like him who lagged behind.
The girl agreed immediately and wholeheartedly.
Among all the boys in the group, Da Liu and Sun Mingyang were the worst academically — floating somewhere in the middle-to-bottom range. Every time exam results came out and they had to go home for their parents to sign off on the grade sheets, both of them despised Lin Luxiao and Shen Mu with a burning passion.
Those two spent their days wandering around with the rest of the group, yet their rankings on the results sheet were always down in the single digits.
Da Liu used to enjoy chasing after girls with Sun Mingyang back then. No girl had dared sit next to him.
This new girl was bold, though — joking around with Da Liu on ordinary days without being the least bit put off, often even managing to make him blush beet-red. One thing led to another, and Da Liu started treating her as one of his own.
The girl had one quirk — she loved to argue with Lin Luxiao. Whatever Lin Luxiao said, she was the first to disagree; she had to get a word in on everything, seemingly with the sole goal of aggravating him to death. Lin Luxiao, operating on a policy of not arguing with girls, largely ignored her. But as time went on, anyone with eyes could tell — this girl had feelings for Lin Luxiao.
She just refused to say so out loud.
No matter how Da Liu tried to probe her, she wouldn’t admit it. She even threw out a line: “I’d sooner fall for a dog than fall for him.”
One whiff of that tone, and Da Liu knew the truth.
She’s absolutely gone for him.
But what could anyone do? Lin Luxiao’s brain simply didn’t operate on that wavelength. If she actually confessed, she’d probably lose even the friendship they had — so she might as well maintain the current dynamic, arguing with him now and then.
The girl herself eventually thought it through: if she were actually expected to behave like a couple with Lin Luxiao, she’d find it somewhat strange too, not quite adapted to it. She suspected she might have a bit of a masochistic streak — she was inexplicably drawn to exactly that careless, sharp-edged, imperious manner of his.
Looking back over everything, Nan Chu was probably the first girl he had ever encountered who confessed this directly — and who kissed him as part of the confession.
Truly not even a trace of fussiness.
Compared to other girls, she seemed willing to throw everything on the table. And toward him, she was equally resolved to win.
Why so resolved?
There was usually only one answer to that.
No thought of the consequences.
No asking about the past, no prying into the future, no considering what lay ahead, no calculating the cost — just reaching for what she wanted, like drinking poison to quench a thirst.
It did fit her personality.
……
Lin Luxiao extracted his head from her hands, stepped up two stairs, lifted the girl up by her collar, carried her into the office, closed the door behind them, and set Nan Chu down by the entrance. He pinned her against the wall with his hands on her shoulders, then released her. As he walked further into the room and began undoing his jacket buttons, he spoke with his back to her: “Stand there. Don’t move.”
Nan Chu stood facing the wall and said, in a teasing tone: “Facing the wall to reflect on my wrongs? The price for kissing you?”
Lin Luxiao shed his upper garment — bare underneath, nothing on beneath, muscles taut, lines clean and smooth. He quickly pulled on a fresh, clean military undershirt. Without turning around, he glanced back to issue a warning: “Keep talking and I’ll make you run laps.”
She had seemed like she’d behave after that.
Then the girl’s voice floated back — reflecting off the wall: “How many laps.”
He lowered his head to do up the buttons on the undershirt, let out a quiet laugh, and said without turning around, in a casual tone: “Thirty at the very least.”
Silence.
Lin Luxiao finished changing his clothes, reached for the water bottle on the desk, cupped a small handful of water in his palm, and scrubbed at his face. His face was entirely gray with ash; the moment the water touched it, it turned dark. He splashed two or three more handfuls before he’d cleaned it well enough — a clear, handsome face finally emerged.
He glanced over toward her. Nan Chu was quietly doing her “wall reflection.” He curved his mouth slightly, twisted the cap back onto the water bottle, pulled a tissue to wipe his face, crumpled it up, and tossed it accurately into the wastebasket by the door. Then, hands in his pockets, he walked toward Nan Chu.
Probably hearing the footsteps behind her, Nan Chu decided he was done and turned around. Sure enough — he’d changed into a clean set of casual clothes, his face bright and white again, back to his usual appearance.
Those peach-blossom eyes — alluring, but empty of emotion.
Nan Chu tilted her head slightly to look at him. “You don’t have to rush to give me an answer. I’m not in a hurry — I just wanted to make my intentions known. Given your emotional intelligence, I suspect it might take some time to fully process.”
Lin Luxiao stood behind her, hands in his trouser pockets, blocking her in with his usual posture.
Nan Chu stepped forward, slid her arms through the space between his arms, pressed against his chest, and hugged him again.
Lin Luxiao stood perfectly straight, allowing her to hug him — neither pushing her away nor returning the embrace. His hands, still in his pockets, clenched slowly into fists, his eyes deepening in color. In the end, he didn’t move.
The girl stroked his back in a soothing way. “If you ever get the chance to bring me into a burning building someday, I’ll protect you.”
Lin Luxiao looked down at the person in his arms and found the claim somewhat absurd. A short puff of air escaped his nose. “Who would be protecting whom, exactly?”
Nan Chu pressed against his chest and insisted: “Me. Protecting you.”
He laughed again. After laughing for a moment, he looked down at this person who had made herself comfortable in his embrace and was clearly getting too used to it — and started ushering her out. “You can go now.”
Nan Chu tightened her arms. “A little longer.”
He’d issued a polite warning that went unheeded; now his patience was gone. He reached in and plucked her out of his embrace, gripped her shoulders, pressed her against the door, leaned down slightly to meet her eyes, and said: “Being with me — there’s genuinely no future in it. First, I have no money. Second, I might cease to exist at any moment. If you want something casual, I’m not a great option for that either — I’m not attentive, I have no time, and I’m not free to accompany you. So my advice is: think it over carefully.”
He felt he’d been quite clear. The girl should have understood.
Nan Chu: “That’s perfectly fine. I have money — I don’t need yours. If you die in the line of duty one day, I’ll go leave flowers at your grave. I absolutely will not shed a single tear. I’m flying all over the country on a regular basis anyway — it’s probably harder for you to see me than for me to see you. So I’d also advise you: think it over carefully. There’s no one more suitable for you than me.”
Lin Luxiao, leaning down with a hand on her shoulder, let the corner of his mouth twitch. This energy she had — there was simply no countering it.
He couldn’t argue her down, so he decided not to engage at all. He straightened up, opened the door, pushed her out. “I’m declining. Go back.”
The door closed.
The corridor stretched out — long, empty, and oddly unsettling. Not a single light on. Looking down it gave a person the chills.
Nan Chu didn’t leave. She pressed her ear against the door and listened.
Silence inside for a long time.
Five minutes later, Lin Luxiao opened the door and came out — he’d even changed his trousers. He held his cap in one hand. He saw Nan Chu still standing in the doorway and paused, then pulled the door shut behind him. “Didn’t I tell you to go?”
Nan Chu produced a piece of candy from somewhere, popped it in her mouth, chewed twice: “I thought you were hiding in there crying and didn’t want me to hear.”
Lin Luxiao’s mouth twitched. He put on his cap without acknowledging her.
Truthfully, he was not a person who wore his emotions openly. In his entire life, he had only come close to crying once — during the earthquake in Pinglin County. Not quite crying — his eyes had grown wet, but he’d forced the tears back.
Over the years, squad members had been lost one by one. Whatever needed to be said and thought had been settled the day they enlisted. What he could do was ensure the state’s provisions and arrangements for the fallen were properly seen through.
Weeping and lamenting — that was not what a man did.
Nan Chu saw him all put together and asked: “Going out at this late hour?”
The two of them walked to the base of the administration building. Lin Luxiao said: “I’m going to the brigade headquarters. You go get some sleep.”
“Are people still at brigade headquarters this late?”
Lin Luxiao turned her in the direction of the dormitory building with a push. “Yes — I need to brief the leadership.”
“Female leadership?”
Lin Luxiao reached out and thumped her on the forehead. “Your head needs some working on?”
Nan Chu winced. “Just kidding. That’s rough — go on then. Are you driving?”
Lin Luxiao gave her a sidelong look. “Obviously.”
“Be careful then. You’re driving while exhausted — you’ve been over there for three days without rest, right? I could drive you over if you’d like.”
Lin Luxiao looked at her like he could see straight through her. “You’re bored stiff inside, aren’t you?”
“I’m worried about you.”
Her gaze was transparent.
He looked at her, equally transparent: “Worried about nothing.”
“……”
“Quit dawdling — either get up there or go run laps.”
“……”
Nan Chu figured she’d pushed it far enough, so she turned and walked away, feigning fright.
Lin Luxiao stood and watched her retreating figure for a moment before he turned and set off. He hadn’t gone two steps when he ran into the night patrol soldier.
The soldier snapped a salute in his direction: “Commander Lin!”
Lin Luxiao gave a short nod, coughed once, and gestured in the direction opposite to where Nan Chu had gone: “Have you checked over there yet?”
The patrol soldier was puzzled — why was the commander suddenly concerned about their patrol route?
“Not yet.”
“Go take a look.”
“……Yes, sir!”
……
When Nan Chu got back to the dormitory, she heard the news. The fallen firefighter had been very young — only twenty-three, with one year at the special operations unit. He had given his breathing apparatus to an injured person to ensure adequate oxygen supply, and had been struck by the shockwave from a secondary chemical explosion and blown into the fire. He died on the spot.
Shao Yijiu couldn’t hold back and broke down crying again as he told them.
Yan Dai and Xu Ya were silent too. All that could be heard was Shao Yijiu’s suppressed sobbing and sniffles. The room was completely still. Xu Ya quietly offered some words of comfort. He was a man, after all, and felt that crying like this in front of a group of girls wasn’t the most dignified thing. He wiped his nose and eyes. Nan Chu handed him a tissue at the right moment: “Here.”
Shao Yijiu thanked her, then pinched his nose and said: “All right — you all get some sleep. In a few days, there’ll be a memorial service. The brigade leadership will be attending, and you’ll all need to be there too. Review what you’ve practiced in training — you’ve been a bit too slack lately, and it won’t look good if leadership notices.”
All three nodded.
The dead cannot be brought back; all those who remained could do was rise, and let those at rest find peace.
Life and training had to continue.
But the atmosphere at the station was noticeably heavier. No one talked much. Whatever thoughts people had, they kept inside. The entire unit was subdued and quiet.
On the day of the memorial service, the fallen soldier was to be laid to rest in the Martyrs’ Cemetery.
Nan Chu and the others were up with the morning bugle, as had become the habit over these days — it seemed they’d grown somewhat accustomed to the station’s rhythm and schedule. They were washed and ready early, waiting on the training ground. Quite a few leaders had come from the brigade headquarters.
Shao Yijiu was leading training exercises. Several cars came through the gate, and Shao Yijiu instantly transformed — his voice several decibels louder than before, as if he’d been given an injection of pure energy.
The memorial service was held in the assembly hall at nine o’clock.
Lin Luxiao stood at the podium in his perfectly pressed uniform and read the memorial address. The soldiers offered a final salute to the remains. At ten o’clock, the remains were transported to the Martyrs’ Cemetery.
For the entire day, the whole unit seemed to be wrapped in a layer of mist. No one dared speak freely.
After finishing lunch in the cafeteria, Nan Chu came out to see Lin Luxiao standing in a long covered pavilion on the right side of the gate, smoking. Beside him stood a young woman in uniform — she had come down from the front passenger seat of one of the leadership vehicles that morning. She had delicate features, a short ponytail just behind one ear, like a rabbit’s tail.
Lin Mei leaned against the wall and looked at Lin Luxiao. “How’s the reading going?”
Lin Luxiao glanced at her. “Director Meng didn’t give you a hard time today — you can’t be happy about that, can you?”
Lin Mei curled her lips. “Oh please — a windfall and you’re still pretending to be put upon. Several of the leaders have their eyes on you right now. At the last meeting at headquarters, Director Meng even let it slip — said something like ‘once Luxiao comes, we’ll have another formidable warrior in the unit.’ Uncle Meng has known you since you were a child. This time he’s set on pulling you into his unit. If you dare make any slip-ups at this critical moment, you’ve seen how Uncle Meng operates — he’ll make you regret it.”
Lin Luxiao took the cigarette from his lips and shook his head with a slight smile.
Lin Mei continued: “Did you see Uncle Meng’s son — Meng Chen? He’s doing some kind of e-sports thing now. Uncle Meng can’t stand him — he practically wishes he could take you as his own son.”
“Sounds more like it’s you who wants to be his daughter-in-law.”
Lin Mei flushed. “What nonsense are you talking about!”
Lin Luxiao called it at a glance, looked away with a smile — and suddenly caught sight of a figure standing not far away. He quickly brought his gaze back, and swiftly said to Lin Mei: “I won’t keep you company — I have a pile of things to deal with. When Director Meng and the others have finished eating, I’ll have someone send you all back.”
Then he stepped out of the pavilion and came walking in this direction.
Nan Chu stood her ground. Then someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind. She turned — Liu Xiahan was smiling at her. “What are you standing there daydreaming about?”
Nan Chu instinctively glanced over at Lin Luxiao. He walked right past her with his hands in his pockets, not a single glance in her direction.
Nan Chu: “Nothing. Let’s go.”
The two of them walked behind Lin Luxiao. Liu Xiahan chatted with her: “We have a collaboration in the next film.”
Nan Chu’s gaze was fixed squarely on Lin Luxiao’s retreating back as she half-listened to Liu Xiahan’s words. “What film?”
“Something called Siege, I think — I haven’t seen the script yet. My agent mentioned it a while back. You and I have quite a few scenes together apparently. You should go back and take a look. I’m playing the third male lead.”
Nan Chu answered absently: “Oh.”
Liu Xiahan said: “Your acting is solid — just a bit short on experience. The more you do, the better it’ll get. I’ll be in your care going forward.”
Nan Chu: “Sure.”
Liu Xiahan added: “By the way, I added you on WeChat — name’s Liu Xiahan. Once you have your phone back, please accept it. We can stay in touch.”
Nan Chu: “How do you have my WeChat?”
Liu Xiahan said: “The production crew gave it to me. I added everyone — easier for keeping in contact.”
Liu Xiahan was undeniably more mature, and handled things with a thoroughness that came with age. He’d have to admit he had some fondness for Nan Chu, which was why he’d been a bit more attentive toward her. But he didn’t want her to feel pressured, so he bundled his behavior under the umbrella of doing the same for everyone. Sometimes when you know it’s that kind of move and still can’t politely refuse it, refusing would only make you seem small-minded and petty.
Honestly, he was a genuinely positive person — always with a warm smile, almost never losing his temper. Compared to Commander Lin, who was the same age of twenty-nine, the temperament was worlds apart.
Nan Chu watched Lin Luxiao turn into the administration building, slowed her pace slightly, and in the end didn’t follow.
……
Three days passed. The atmosphere finally lifted, and everyone gradually emerged from the weight of grief.
That day, Lin Luxiao had just returned from a meeting at brigade headquarters, having missed the meal, and the cafeteria auntie had kept some food warm for him. She served it up and brought it out, and seeing that he was alone, couldn’t help but think back to the incident the other time. “That celebrity who was eating with you here last time — that girl was really down-to-earth.”
Lin Luxiao took a couple of bites and looked up. “Who?”
“The girl who was eating with you on the day of the explosion, when you rushed out. After you left, she ate every last bit of what was left in your bowl. Not a single grain.”