Midsummer afternoon. Heat rolled in wave after wave. Behind them blazed a high sun, filtering down through the canopy and scattering warm, dappled light — a great cedar behind which two figures were tangled together.

Lin Luxiao pressed Nan Chu against the wall, head dipped, kissing her. Their lips and tongues moved together. Nan Chu let out a few quiet gasps and pulled at her lips, trying to push him back. “I can’t breathe…”

Lin Luxiao laughed softly against her ear, a little breathless himself: “Your stamina… one kiss and you’re already gasping for air. You were all bravado before — what were you hoping to find, a death wish?”

Nan Chu pressed her face into his shoulder and gave a sharp pinch to his chest muscle. Lin Luxiao buried his face in her neck, let out a muffled sound, and nipped at her earlobe. “Could you be gentler?”

Nan Chu nestled against him and murmured: “Chief of Staff Xu has good stamina. Why not go find her?”

Lin Luxiao smiled against her ear and whispered something low.

Nan Chu heard it all. Her expression didn’t change — not a flicker of a blush. She smiled back at him, and her hand had already found its way to the military-style leather belt at his waist.

Lin Luxiao looked down, entirely unbothered. The corner of his eye curved upward with a grin. “Go ahead then — this is a military buckle. Last time you were the one who —”

A click. The belt went slack at his waist. The fatigues sagged loose, held up at the front by the hanging strap — like a snake with its tongue out, showing off right at him.

Lin Luxiao looked down: damn.

Nan Chu dusted off her palms and leaned back against the trunk. Her black eyes rolled around, bright and round. “I practised for ages. That military buckle really isn’t easy to —”

You rotten girl.

He was just gathering himself for a proper dressing-down when the sound of footsteps rustled from behind. Lin Luxiao glanced over — and in one motion grabbed Nan Chu, lifted her off the ground, and tossed her into the bushes behind them. He threw himself in after her, landing squarely on top of her.

The girl was pinned beneath him, motionless. She blinked up at him and mouthed silently: “Who?”

He hushed her. His fingers reached to brush the fringe away from in front of her face, clearing a view of her smooth, pale little face.

Nan Chu lay on her back in the grass, the sunlight above behind him — golden dots scattered down through the leaves, and in that light the man lying over her had an unusual softness about his edges. In that moment, it truly did strike her.

Nan Chu hooked her arms around his neck and kissed him first — soft lips coaxing and gently grazing, eyes closed, fully at ease. Lin Luxiao kept one ear on the footsteps while kissing her back, his hand already working its way beneath the hem of her shirt…

Nan Chu held in any sound.

Gradually, both of them were breathing harder…

She lost her hold on a quiet moan. Lin Luxiao went still. He propped himself up on both arms and smiled down at her — a smile with a particular edge of mischief.

Nan Chu aimed a foot at his groin. Lin Luxiao grabbed her ankle and pinned it down, then lowered his mouth straight to hers. The two of them wrestled and wrangled in the bushes; outside, the voices didn’t stop.

“We weren’t seen, were we?”

“Everyone’s resting. Nan Chu isn’t in the dorm — no idea where she went.”

It was Xu Ya and Mu Ze.

Mu Ze drew her along. “Come on — I know a spot. No one there.”

Xu Ya flushed, and followed.

It was just the half-slope behind the small woods, with some bushes for cover.

Before long, the unmistakable sounds of stifled whimpers and flustered breathing began — panting and soft moans…

Nan Chu looked at Lin Luxiao, eyes dark and deep. Something underneath them was pressing into her. Instinctively she tried to shift away. Lin Luxiao pressed her still, voice pitched low: “I’m not going to do anything to you. Don’t be afraid.”

“You’re hard.”

The man above her pressed his face down, swallowed once. She looked up at him — and in an instant she couldn’t think straight. She closed her eyes, tilted her head, and drew that protruding line of his throat gently between her lips, tongue lightly tracing over it.

The moment that delicate touch landed, it was as if someone had swept a feather straight across his nerves. Lin Luxiao was completely undone. In an instant his mind went blank with a flash of white. Both hands clamped down on Nan Chu’s shoulders and pinned her flat to the ground. He kept his voice to the barest thread: “You’re looking for trouble.”

Nan Chu lay in the grass, face smooth and pale, staring up at him with those perfectly round, utterly calm eyes. “Then do it.”

No matter how undisciplined Lin Luxiao was — no matter what kind of beast he might be — he could not do this here. This wasn’t the place.

“Not a chance!”

The girl looked up, eyes soft as water: “Right here. Do it. I want to.”

Lin Luxiao forced out two words: “Control yourself.”

“……”

The people nearby were getting ready to leave. Lin Luxiao let out a breath, pushed himself up, and pulled her out of the bushes.

Nan Chu brushed grass and dust from her clothes. “Ten minutes and they were done.”

Lin Luxiao tilted his head with a faint, dismissive shake. “Not bad for them. Don’t set the bar too high with that build.”

Nan Chu looked at him with something meaningful behind her eyes. “And you?”

Lin Luxiao grinned — grabbed her and pulled her flush against him, one hand hooked at her waist, the other cupping her chin. He tilted it up and gave it a little shake — a warning with a smile behind it: “I’ll have you in tears. Believe me or not.”

Nan Chu made a dismissive sound, utterly unimpressed, and deliberately baited him: “Just don’t finish early, is all I ask. That hairline of yours is pretty telling.” She pushed him off and headed out of the woods.

Hairline = finishing early?

Lin Luxiao stood with his hands on his hips, bit down lightly on his lower lip, and watched her back. He dipped his head. Let out a quiet laugh.

Just you wait.

……

The filming was drawing to its close. Everything that had come before — all the training — had been building toward the final competition.

The competition format had come down from the division. Lin Luxiao was sitting in his chair, both legs propped up on the edge of the desk, leaning back and reading through the file. Xu Yun happened to walk in. Lin Luxiao glanced up briefly — a touch of awkwardness — scratched his brow, and put his feet down. He pointed to the chair in front of the desk. “Sit.”

Xu Yun sat without a word.

Lin Luxiao tapped the file. “You drafted this?”

Xu Yun nodded — and seemed to have no interest whatsoever in talking to him.

This made communication impossible. Lin Luxiao found it a headache. “At least say something.”

Xu Yun: “Yes. I wrote it.”

Lin Luxiao: “Change it. This won’t work. I won’t approve it.”

Xu Yun let out a sound and found it almost funny. “Why should I change it just because you say so? The division already approved it. You’re telling me to revise it?”

Lin Luxiao steadied his expression. “This is a discussion between colleagues — let’s not bring personal feelings into it. If you genuinely can’t stand me, go tell the higher-ups and request a transfer back. Sitting here like this just gets in the way of the work.”

However well she’d always understood that about Lin Luxiao — he said whatever was in front of him — Xu Yun still found herself stung a little. She had, after all, come down to this unit partly for him. And here he was, not only refusing her in front of everyone, but now finding fault with her work at every turn. At that, the moisture began to gather behind her eyes — and when she raised them again, they were brimming. “It’s not that I can’t stand you — you can’t stand me. If I’m that much of an eyesore, fine, I’ll request a transfer back to the brigade. The rest you can sort out with Director Meng yourself.”

“Xu Yun — have I misunderstood something?”

Xu Yun pursed her lips. “No misunderstanding. You just can’t stand me — and you take it out on my work. Is liking you something I did wrong? Did you have to be so cold about it — refusing me in front of everyone, making me look foolish — and then nit-picking everything I write on top of that?”

Lin Luxiao folded his arms, leaned back, and arched his brow. “Are those two things even related? My objection to your draft is genuinely just that — dissatisfaction with the draft. This competition format — is this your design? Sending three women into a simulated fire scenario? Do you think that’s realistic? They can barely even lift the water cannons.”

Xu Yun: “It wasn’t my idea — it’s what the production team insists on. They want to film it this way. What am I supposed to do about it? I’ve already calculated the maximum safety parameters — what risk could there possibly be? Director Meng approved it. If you have something to say, go say it to Director Meng. Oh — and Director Meng asked me to pass something along. If you won’t agree to Plan A, we go with Plan B.”

Lin Luxiao leaned back in his chair. “What’s Plan B?”

Xu Yun said: “An actual fire.”

Lin Luxiao: “You’re joking!”

Xu Yun: “Then Plan A is non-negotiable. What exactly are you worried about? It’s a simulated fire. What could go wrong?”

She said it calmly enough — but the simulation involved an oil tank fire. Nothing like an ordinary blaze. Oil tank fires carried the constant risk of explosion; even a simulation used real fire and real explosive force. The only difference was that the “casualties” inside were mannequins. Each person would need to retrieve three mannequins for the exercise to count as a success.

The night before the competition, each of the performers got their phones back and took calls from their agencies.

A unified message to all of them: “You have to succeed. If you fail, don’t bother coming back. Do well and this could be your turning point — maybe your shot at breaking into the first tier.”

Only Shen Guanzong said to Nan Chu: “Be safe. If it’s really not manageable, give up. We’ll have other chances. Don’t push yourself.”

Before hanging up, Xi Gu’s voice came screaming from somewhere behind: “Let me say something! Let me say something!”

Shen Guanzong wouldn’t pass the phone over. They bickered noisily. Nan Chu pressed her fingers to her forehead. “Let the little one say something.”

Shen Guanzong tossed the phone to Xi Gu.

Xi Gu grabbed it, voice jumping with excitement: “Nan Chu! Nan Chu!”

Nan Chu stood in the corridor on her phone, her back against the wall. It was deep into the night — nothing outside but the sweep of stars. She held the phone and said softly: “Missed me?”

Xi Gu flushed, though of course Nan Chu couldn’t see it. She had — it was nearly a full month away from each other now. They’d said it would be wrapped in two weeks, but it had dragged on. The girl’s voice was still soft and young: “Come home soon! I know Gong Ge acts like you’re a nuisance when you’re there, but when you’re away he talks about you all the time. Are you okay out there? You’re not suffering? Did you get hurt? I heard you got into a fight with Yan Dai — she didn’t beat you up, did she? Listen, if she goes for you again, hit back as hard as you can — no holding back. We’ve got Manager Han, she can absolutely deal with the fallout!”

Nan Chu laughed. Her voice, for once, softened. “Looks like you really did miss me. I’ll be back soon — don’t worry. All right, I have to go — lights out here soon. Goodnight.”

She hung up. Turned around.

A tall figure was leaning against the wall, eyes slanting toward her. A quiet, somewhat unsettling question: “Who were you on the phone with?”

Nan Chu looked quickly around her, grabbed him, and pulled him into the bathroom. “What are you doing?”

Lin Luxiao stood with his arms folded and gave a vaguely aggrieved sound: “You seem like you’ve been quite content these past few days.”

“Very content.” Nan Chu looked at him with a quiet smile. Something came back to her, and a cool distance settled into her expression. “Strange — I’m quite sure I saw you sitting with Chief of Staff Xu at dinner the other day.”

Lin Luxiao startled. “Don’t frame me for things I didn’t do!”

Nan Chu’s brow knitted, her expression even cooler. “I’m framing you?”

Lin Luxiao leaned against the wall, lowered his arms, and scratched his brow with a touch of embarrassment. He said: “I sat down first. She came and sat next to me afterward. Surely I couldn’t pick up my tray and shuffle sideways — did you not notice I finished my food in two minutes and left?”

In these past few days, outside of training they’d been training, and the two of them hadn’t said a single word to each other in passing.

Both were very good at keeping up appearances.

Lin Luxiao was like this — when he was being proper and serious about things, he was quite compelling. In front of others he was like this: once the uniform went on, the belt buckled, the whole bearing went taut with a contained restraint. No one would ever guess what he was like when he forgot himself.

What Nan Chu loved most was watching him at training — serious and fully himself. When a man’s blood was up, something in a woman’s core instinct responded.

In the odd rest break, a group of them would be sitting in the shade. The girl would sneak her hand over unnoticed and pinch his fingers — the man’s rough, warm hand would tighten briefly, eyes carrying a warning: don’t start something.

Nan Chu’s goal achieved, she’d raise a pleased eyebrow. No one noticed their small, private game.

Lin Luxiao would glance at her sideways, smile without a word, twist open a bottle of water, tip his head back and drink, then turn back to his conversation with Xiao Jiu’er and the others. They talked about military matters, operations, places all over the world. Men’s worlds were full of heat and ambition. Nan Chu noticed Lin Luxiao knew a great many things. His horizons seemed to reach well beyond the present moment — he spoke of places he seemed to have been, of ways of life and local customs from near and far. Even Liu Xiahan, who had been branded in the entertainment world as a hardman, said: “Team Leader Lin — you’re the most genuinely spirited man I’ve ever met.”

Lin Luxiao dipped his head and smiled without answering.

That spirit wasn’t a performance. It was bone-deep. A man’s true spirit isn’t measured in how fierce a fighter he is, or how brutal he can be.

He had his own code of honour and score to settle. He had his own sense of the bigger picture — purposeful, neither rushed nor slack. He had his unbreakable integrity. He understood philosophy, military strategy, theory, science. He had a deep respect for every force and presence in the world. And all of this was simply part of how he existed — an expression of his innate nature.

He had a streak of wildness at his core — but it was calibrated. He had a great capacity for love at his core — love for family, for the one he chose, for his brothers. He had a sense of responsibility at his core — to his country, to society, to the people.

This was Lin Luxiao.

Nan Chu felt certain: she would never find another like him. Just this one. And she could love him until the end of her life.

……