Da Liu regretted it terribly. Right now, all he wanted to do was chop his own hands off.

Serves you right, you shameless thing — if you wanted to drink, you should’ve called Sun Mingyang! Why drag him into this!

Lin Luxiao sat on a tall stool at the bar counter. In front of him sat a bottle of draft beer, half-finished. One foot hung loosely, the other planted on the floor. His dark trousers hugged his lean, well-built legs. That relaxed, almost provocative posture — yet above it sat a face that screamed keep your distance. Having been brothers for over a decade, Da Liu knew clearly: this man was in a bad mood.

The bar was called City Lights — a well-known pleasure den in Beixun City, open twenty-four hours. Not everyone could get in. A place of hollow glamour, it had become a haunt for wealthy young men and minor celebrities. A while back, Da Liu had been chasing a girl from a newly debuted girl group. He’d dragged a bunch of friends here and staked it out for two days — and sure enough, he’d spotted her. He shamelessly asked for a photo; the girl was good-natured and gracious about it, even gave him her WeChat. Da Liu was stunned, then overjoyed, and had been messaging her every day since — warm, attentive chit-chat. Things were going well.

The man beside him was drinking his sulk away. Da Liu asked awkwardly, “What’s wrong? Who are you sulking at?”

Lin Luxiao slanted him a look, expression scornful. “You wouldn’t get it.”

Da Liu hissed — that stung a little. “I wouldn’t get it? Let me tell you, I’m about to get un-single!”

Lin Luxiao tipped his head back and took a gulp, then gave him a mildly curious look, surprised. “Who’s that blind?”

Da Liu glared at him. “After all these years of knowing each other, can’t you wish me well just once?”

Lin Luxiao said nothing and took another swig.

Da Liu ignored him, pulled out his phone with conspiratorial glee, unlocked it, and swiped to the wallpaper — a bright-eyed, pretty young girl, straight bangs, delicate features, fresh and youthful. Lin Luxiao glanced over. “Is she even of age?”

“She’s twenty, all right?” Da Liu laughed and put away his phone, took a gulp of draft beer. “You don’t know her?”

Lin Luxiao found it funny. “The women I know, I can count on both hands.”

“Have you heard of Hey Girl?”

He gave a half-hearted frown. “No.”

Da Liu slammed the table. “Xu Zhiyi! Xu Zhiyi!”

Lin Luxiao was baffled. “High school classmate? Middle school? Elementary?”

Da Liu fell over.

“She’s in a girl group. Just debuted. Singer.”

That got something of a reaction out of Lin Luxiao — he finally gave the man a proper look. “Singer? In the entertainment industry?”

Da Liu nodded vigorously. He finally understood.

Talking to this guy was genuinely exhausting.

A sudden feeling of having found a kindred spirit.

Lin Luxiao reached out, hooked his arm around Da Liu’s neck, and pulled him close. Da Liu’s head came to rest on his shoulder, and from above came a voice: “Da Liu, after all these years — this is the first time I feel like we’re actually destined to be friends.”

Da Liu shoved him off. “What’s wrong with you! What are you saying!”

Lin Luxiao laughed. “So if she had to film a kissing scene, what would you do?”

“She’s a singer. Just sings — no acting, no kissing scenes. Besides, she’s part of an idol group. The company has guidelines about that stuff — it’s all written into the contract. Kissing scenes: stand-in angle or lips can touch at most. Bed scenes: lights out. Nude scenes: just the shoulders. Singing is the main thing.”

“Oh.”

He went back to drowning in beer.

Right. Still just him, sulking alone.

Da Liu, indifferent to Lin Luxiao’s gloom, lowered his head to scroll through photos of Xu Zhiyi on his phone, wanting to show Lin Luxiao so the man could offer a few words of praise. As he swiped upward, a photo shot past the edge of the screen. Lin Luxiao found himself looking twice. “Hold on.”

Da Liu stopped. The image froze on a semi-transparent swimming photo.

It looked uncannily familiar.

He remembered one day after work, he’d opened his phone and this exact style of photo had popped up. He’d almost thought he’d stumbled into an adult ad — but on closer look, it was something Nan Chu had posted.

This one was bolder than that.

Semi-transparent. A swimsuit photo. The girl’s wet hair was draped messily over her forehead. The strap had slipped down to her arm, leaving her smooth shoulder fully exposed. Her collarbone was beautiful — delicate and refined. And lower down, was a deep shadow—

“Where did you get this?”

That voice was so cold Da Liu’s spine went rigid and sweat began to bead. “Which one?”

Lin Luxiao’s hand reached over, tapped it open. The image enlarged; the girl’s face became clearer — you could even make out the individual droplets on her forehead.

Da Liu looked down. “Oh — forgot. Old Sun sent it to me. Said he’d recently discovered a real stunner — incredible figure, great face…”

His voice faded. Da Liu caught Lin Luxiao’s skin-crawling expression and didn’t dare say more. In truth he rarely saved photos like this, and after getting to know Xu Zhiyi, he’d deleted all his old ones. He’d kept this one because he thought the girl looked somewhat like the woman he’d met at Lin Luxiao’s place that day — he’d meant to show Lin Luxiao to check, but then forgot about it.

In person, she was somewhat different from the retouched photo, which was why Da Liu and Sun Mingyang hadn’t recognized her. And even if they had, they wouldn’t have dared to think it — a model and a firefighter — how could those two ever end up together? They’d just assumed it was a resemblance.

And it hadn’t been just that one photo — Sun Mingyang had sent him a whole bundle that day.

All swimsuit series. Apparently from a very well-known Italian brand’s private commission. He swiped through a few more — all similar in nature. A few photos further, and there was one of her in a man’s button-up shirt that barely covered her thighs, the collar open to the second button, just enough to reveal a deep shadow—

Da Liu didn’t even have a chance to get a proper look before he heard a trembling voice ask: “Want them? I’ll send you the whole set.”

Lin Luxiao was genuinely furious. He pressed one palm flat on Da Liu’s forehead. “Get out of here.”

Da Liu was aggrieved. Why was he getting the brunt of this?

When Da Liu later found out that this was truly Xiao Ye’s girlfriend, he wanted to have Sun Mingyang dismembered on the spot. He couldn’t bear to think back on how he’d said the words “a real stunner” about Xiao Ye’s girlfriend right in front of the man himself — and only belatedly realized how thankful he should have been to that walking vinegar vat for not killing him out of years of brotherhood.

Lin Luxiao kicked his stool back as he left.

Da Liu snapped back to reality to find the stool behind him had crashed and toppled, lying at all angles across the floor.

Da Liu clutched his chest in fright, then sent Xu Zhiyi a message: “So scared.”

Xu Zhiyi was in the middle of a recording session but replied quickly: “What happened? Da Liu-ge.”

“Let me give you some brotherly advice — really good-looking guys can be really rough. Not everyone is like me: handsome and gentle.”

“…”

· · ·

Evening. The sunset was blazing — clouds stained as though soaked in blood, a vast expanse of red.

Lin Luxiao had parked outside the set. Car door open, he reclined against the driver’s seat, one long leg hanging casually outside, idly playing a very dull mobile game.

He’d just passed a level when a call came through.

He frowned, pressed it to his ear, squinted toward the distance, his voice lazy: “Dad.”

The voice on the other end was cool and composed. “Luxiao, it’s me.”

Lin Luxiao’s lightness faded. “Secretary Zhang?”

“Your father had a heart attack last night. He’s been admitted to the hospital. I heard from Commander Meng that you’re on leave these past few days — come by when you can. Lin Qi has already been.”

Lin Luxiao gripped the phone, pulled his foot back in, closed the door. “I’ll be there now.”

Secretary Zhang: “All right. Drive carefully.”

Lin Luxiao drove at nearly full speed. By the time he arrived at the hospital, Secretary Zhang was already standing outside in full uniform, waiting. The moment he stepped out, she walked toward him and led him briskly down the hallway. “You’ll stay with him tonight — I have to go back to the department. There’s a lot of paperwork to sort out. Your father’s blood pressure is high; there are things he can’t eat — I’ve written a list and put it by the bedside. Check on that.”

At the doorway, she still wasn’t satisfied and, hand on the door handle, added one more word of caution: “Whatever you do, don’t upset him. The doctor said he can’t have any excitement.”

Lin Luxiao sighed. “Can I even upset him?”

The door swung open. The sharp, heavy smell of antiseptic hit him in the face.

In the dim hospital room, curtains drawn, the narrow bed held a single figure lying still, eyes closed, expression tranquil — just a frail, ailing old man.

In normal times, Lin Qingyuan wore a stern face, cold as cast iron. In Lin Luxiao’s memory, he rarely smiled. The impression that stood out most was of the day Lin Qi was born — his father had held the baby at his mother’s bedside and smiled. Lin Luxiao had stood outside the doorway, not daring to enter, afraid of breaking that harmonious moment.

Secretary Zhang shushed him, lowering her voice. “He had a rough night of it — let him rest properly. There’s a cot over here when you need it. I’ve left you a book, Reconnaissance Techniques — your favorite. Night watch is tough going. If it gets to be too much, call me. I’ll come relieve you.”

Lin Luxiao’s voice darkened, a hint of sarcasm creeping in. “You still think I’m eight or nine years old?”

Secretary Zhang’s eyes snapped wide open. “What do you mean, not eight or nine? What else are you? How long has it been since you’ve come home? Your father doesn’t say it, but do you think you don’t know what’s on his mind? You go home and you’ll see.”

Lin Luxiao, unbothered: “When I get married someday, I still won’t be home every night — what, he’s going to tether me to him for life?”

Secretary Zhang tapped him on the head. “I’m not arguing with you. You’ve been talking your way out of things since you were little. Your father’s health isn’t what it was — come spend more time with him when you have a moment. Stop running around with Da Liu and that lot. That boy’s been chasing some internet celebrity lately, and now there’s talk of household registration paperwork involved — Commander Liu’s side is having a headache over it too. Don’t you go making your father’s life difficult on top of it all.”

“What? Da Liu and her haven’t even gotten together yet — and you’re already talking household registration?”

Besides, Da Liu had said she was a singer.

“How should I know? But Commander Liu has reportedly hidden the household registration booklet at his workplace, and they turned the whole house upside down looking for it.”

One thing after another, every last one of them a headache.

Secretary Zhang left. Lin Luxiao called Nan Chu twice — no answer.

He sat alone in the corridor, smoking a brooding cigarette.

Cigarette between his lips, he kept glancing down at the phone beside him.

The screen was quiet. No response.

He stared for a long while, then picked it up and called her number again.

“Sorry, the phone you have dialed is switched off.”

Damn.

He put down the phone, lowered his head, and lit another cigarette.

Someone inside coughed. Lin Luxiao stubbed out the cigarette, shoved the phone into his pocket, and pushed open the door. Lin Qingyuan saw him and was visibly startled — his expression remained flat, his voice weak and hoarse: “Why are you here?”

“Secretary Zhang went back to the department.”

Lin Qingyuan made a sound of acknowledgment, shifted his weight, and tried to prop himself up. Lin Luxiao paused for a moment, then said, “Stay lying down. Tell me what you need — I’ll get it.”

Lin Qingyuan’s nature was stubborn; he didn’t listen, and insisted on sitting up, leaning back against the headboard. He pointed a finger at the chair by the bed, gesturing for Lin Luxiao to come and sit.

Lin Luxiao didn’t walk over. Instead, he used his foot to hook the chair closer, then sat down.

The two were not close — even more distant than most fathers and sons. Lin Qingyuan felt he bore some responsibility for that, because he was not good at expressing himself, and rarely gave praise. He always assumed his son should simply do well as a matter of course. Though this kid occasionally stirred up trouble and pulled foolish stunts, he still knew his own son’s character well enough — no real discipline behind the surface, but not genuinely bad.

When this kid had said he wanted to attend military school, Lin Qingyuan had actually been against it. Having been a soldier himself for years, he knew how hard military life was — he didn’t want his son to suffer the same. But this kid stubbornly held him and Meng Guohong up as role models, and he also knew from an early age that Lin Luxiao loved guns, tanks, and planes. After he was accepted to military school, Lin Luxiao’s first choice had actually been the army’s special forces — and several commanding officers had felt the same way — but Lin Qingyuan had blocked it.

Special forces: years away from home, no identity if you die, nothing left but a military rank. Better to be a firefighter — at least he’d be within reach.

He’d never demanded anything of him. But that was the last selfish wish of a father — and instead, it had pushed his son even further away.

“When are you moving back home?”

“I’m fine living at the station.”

“Your Uncle Meng tells me you’ve also rented a place of your own. With that salary — is it enough?”

Lin Luxiao raised an eyebrow. “More than enough. Enough to support a wife.”

Lin Qingyuan made a disdainful sound. “Please — with that measly pay of yours, her handbags alone would cost more than your annual salary. What are you going to support her on?”

Normally, the two of them would be snapping at each other within a few sentences. This was already being civil.

Lin Luxiao stood and headed for the door.

Lin Qingyuan: “And where are you going now?”

Lin Luxiao lowered his head, scrolling through his contacts. He didn’t look back. “Going to call your daughter-in-law.”

Lin Qingyuan grabbed whatever was within reach — a pillow — and hurled it at him. “You little menace — did I agree to any of this?!”

Lin Luxiao backed against the door, pulled it shut, and walked away with the phone.

The phone still connected to the same switched-off message.

Lin Luxiao called Shen Mu. “I’ll give you an address. Help me find someone — I can’t get away from here.”

A low, drowsy voice came through. “What happened?”

Lin Luxiao sent the address over. “That girl from last time who was at my place — Nan Chu.”

“Nan Yueru the award-winning actress’s daughter — Nan Chu? Jiang Ge’s rumored girlfriend — Nan Chu?”

Lin Luxiao held back his temper. “Less talk — find her, fast!”

Shen Mu heard the edge in his voice, knew this man was urgent, and didn’t dare stall.

He was efficient — not long after the message went out, a stream of texts came back.

“Just looked into it — something’s happened to that girl.”

Lin Luxiao stood in the hospital corridor, one hand on his hip, phone to his ear. “What’s going on?”

“She got mugged on the way home from the set — got a bit hurt. She’s back home now.”