As it happened, the moment Lin Luxiao pulled the hospital room door open, two people were standing on the other side.

He blanked for a second, then said with obvious reluctance: “What brought you here, sir?”

Secretary Zhang, tucked behind the other man, shot him a frantic warning look. Lin Qingyuan had his customary air of authority, brows drawn together, and said in that unhurried, matter-of-fact tone of his: “Shall we step outside?”

Lin Luxiao glanced back at Shen Mu, scratched the corner of his brow, and gave a sheepish low sound of acknowledgment.

Lin Qingyuan was nothing if not sharp — he took one look at his son, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked inside. His voice was measured: “The wound on your back healed up?”

“More or less.”

Lin Luxiao rolled his shoulders to demonstrate he was doing all right.

Lin Qingyuan gave a short, dry laugh, then turned to Secretary Zhang: “Fine. Go talk to Dr. Zhang and get the discharge paperwork sorted.”

Lin Luxiao planted a hand on his hip and scowled at the old man in front of him — so this midnight visit had been nothing more than a chance to needle him?

Secretary Zhang hesitated: “It’s only been a few days, sir. The wound hasn’t even scabbed over yet — there’s still blood on the bandage.”

Lin Qingyuan: “He looks perfectly lively to me. In fact, wasn’t he just trying to head out the door?”

Lin Luxiao understood now — the old man was displeased with him. He turned his head away, just about to say something, when Shen Mu caught him by the arm from behind and shot him a look — be civil. Then Shen Mu turned respectfully to Lin Qingyuan: “Uncle Lin, Luxiao just had a bit of cabin fever — he was only stepping out for a short walk. If you’re worried, I’ll go with him and bring him right back.”

As the saying goes, other people’s children always look better than your own. Of the group of them, Lin Qingyuan had always had a soft spot for Shen Mu from the time they were small — this one seemed dependable, composed and well-mannered, nothing like his own son with that irreverent streak of his.

Things had improved after he joined the military. The years before that, there’d been no managing him at all.

Lin Qingyuan waved a broad hand. “Fine, go on then. Shen Mu, don’t you let me down — this boy has a talent for causing trouble.”

Shen Mu grinned. “Luxiao has changed a lot these past few years. Don’t worry.”

With that one exchange the whole situation was settled, and right up until they passed through the hospital exit, Lin Luxiao still couldn’t quite believe it — how in the world had Shen Mu talked that stubborn old man around.

The two of them walked to the car. Shen Mu patted the roof and looked at him. “I’ll drive you. You can’t exactly drive yourself right now, can you?”

Lin Luxiao gave a nod, pulled on his black windbreaker and zipped it all the way up, covering the military undershirt beneath it and half his face besides. The night wind was cold; it poured in at the collar. He hunched his neck, got into the passenger seat, shoved his hands into his pockets, and glanced sideways at Shen Mu as he got in, his tone flat: “You’re my dad’s actual son, aren’t you.”

Shen Mu reached over to turn on the CD player and gave him a sidelong look. He found the whole thing mildly amusing. “You’re remarkably petty for a grown man.”

“Please.” Lin Luxiao looked out the window and gave a short, scoffing laugh. “He thinks everything about everyone else is fine and dandy — I’m the only one he can’t stand the sight of.”

“Your dad holds you to a higher standard because he cares about you. If he didn’t, do you think he would have intervened the way he did back then? Changed your university application on his own? After he and your mom divorced, you think he went and found someone else? He was in his forties. He could have started over, had another kid, and where would that have left you? But he didn’t do any of that. And back when he gave up custody of your brother — Lin Qi still holds it against him to this day. Right now you’re the only son he has. How could he not care? The two of you just both have too much pride to show it — a complete family trait, obviously you’re blood.”

It was true. Lin Luxiao had been looked down on by Lin Qingyuan for as long as he could remember, and the man had never been one to give praise. Even on the rare occasion Lin Luxiao had done something that put people at ease, he’d almost never received a word of approval from his father. The day Lin Qingyuan actually praised him would genuinely be a first.

Shen Mu steered out onto the road, one hand on the wheel, and glanced at him. The topic shifted: “How did you two get together anyway — you and that girl?”

Lin Luxiao had his arm resting along the window frame, watching the roadside passing by. Hearing this, he let out a short laugh. “Want the gossip?”

Shen Mu: “Can’t put it that way. Call it concern. Let me rephrase — who made the first move?”

He thought about it seriously for a moment: “Hard to say—”

“How can it be hard to say?!”

Lin Luxiao: “Because I can’t quite pin down when I started liking her.”

“When else would it be! Honestly, your emotional intelligence is alarming—”

Then Lin Luxiao frowned and said: “I think I might have liked her five years ago.”

Because even now, when he thought back to that scene of the girl throwing down a fistful of cash and walking away, he could still work himself into a fury — it felt exactly like being stood up, even though she’d genuinely done nothing of the kind.

And that night — he’d only accidentally ended up sitting on a soft, small girl buried in the covers, and he’d had this urgent impulse to go find himself a girlfriend just to prove something?

That wasn’t normal.

That was deeply not normal.

Shen Mu did the math carefully. Five years ago — that girl would have been sixteen years old.

“What the—”

Then, as an afterthought: “You absolute animal.” Said with the utmost moral conviction.

The shock was enough that Shen Mu couldn’t hold it back and let out a curse. His grip on the steering wheel slipped for a second. When had this one started carrying a torch in secret?! But he composed himself quickly, steadied the wheel, turned to Lin Luxiao, and gave him a firm thumbs-up: “Impressive. Next time anyone says you have low emotional intelligence, I’ll be the first to disagree.”

“Get lost.”

All those words, distilled into one cold, unhurried syllable.

……

Jiang Ge had put a great deal of thought into tonight’s party. Yet when the girl in that evening dress actually appeared before him, he felt, strangely, a flicker of hesitation.

From the time he was small, there had never been a single thing that had made him feel this restless and unsettled. Whatever he wanted, he’d always had it — he was Jiang’s youngest, and though the old man scolded him occasionally, he was thoroughly indulged, unable to bear the thought of this little grandson suffering even a trace of hardship. If the family had found out that the whole hotel incident with the turtles had been Nan Chu’s doing, the old man would certainly have had her blacklisted from the industry. He’d been furious at first — but the more he thought about it, the more he realized: if the old man actually found out, with his methods, Nan Chu would have to pay a real price. And he wasn’t willing to let that happen.

That program he’d originally arranged for Nan Chu had been a simple hazing exercise — the station wanted some public safety content about firefighting, and it was convenient to find a few celebrities willing to endure a bit of hardship.

But the jungle survival segment that came later was genuinely dangerous. And he couldn’t stand for that. So he’d got her into He Zhengping’s film instead, arranged for her to audition. The moment she’d put on that dark teal cheongsam, every gesture, every expression carried the bearing of Liu Yingying. Director He had leaned over and said approvingly right in his ear: “That’s her. That’s the Liu Yingying I had in mind.”

At the time, he’d had a cigarette dangling from his lip, watching that girl under the black backdrop — holding an oilpaper umbrella, in a short-sleeved, high-slit cheongsam, the lower half of one arm exposed and pale as white jade, loose strands of hair at her temples, eyes lowered, head turning — every line of her carrying the world-weary allure of a woman of the quarter, and yet threaded through with a kind of cool untouchability. From a distance, a vivid, full-bloomed flower. Up close, a small daisy.

He’d told Shen Mu he wanted to sleep with her.

That was when Nan Chu had been brushing him off and he’d been venting his frustration.

But later, when he’d seen her get hit, he’d gone half out of his mind in the car, kicking at the door, desperate to get out. And in that moment of fear, he’d finally understood — he wanted good things for her. He wanted to make her a star.

He didn’t want to see her buried by public opinion any longer. He’d read the things people said about her. Even he, a grown man, found it ugly. How much worse for a young woman. She didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

Some people thought he was rash — after all, he’d barely known her, and yet he seemed to think she was some celestial being.

Jiang Ge felt it himself, as though someone had slipped him something. But he couldn’t explain it and couldn’t reason his way out of it — he simply felt that every other woman in the world fell short of Nan Chu. And it kept happening: he’d see another woman somewhere and find himself making comparisons without meaning to.

Not as pretty. Nose not as straight. Face not as fine. Skin not as good. Nothing measuring up.

The guests tonight were all people from the industry.

Truthfully, the party was mainly a way to send a message — this girl, she’s under my protection.

When Shen Guanzong texted that the car had left the company, Jiang Ge was already on his two hundred and fifty-eighth round of asking the assistant: “How does my hair look? Decent? And the outfit — is it too casual? Is it not formal enough?!”

The assistant answered without expression, as mechanically as a system response: “It looks fine, very good. You’re dressed formally enough to propose in.”

Jiang Ge snapped his fingers. “Great idea.”

The assistant: “Please don’t do anything rash.”

When the car pulled into the villa district, Shen Guanzong was first to step out. Then a pair of red high heels appeared from the back seat — pale, delicate ankles.

The door opened.

A slight figure in a figure-hugging little red dress stepped out of the car.

Nan Chu’s look tonight was genuinely striking — though not on Jiang Ge’s account. It was Shen Guanzong who’d said there would be many producers and directors in attendance tonight; she needed to make an impression, to secure more roles for next year.

The dress was the latest autumn piece from the Italian label under Han Beiyao’s own group.

Figure-hugging, not low-cut — the neckline sat just above the chest, the collarbones beneath it hollow enough to gather water. At the back ran a narrow opening, from the nape of the neck down to the small of the back, revealing a concave line of spine, the contours flowing smoothly, the curve of her rear high and defined, and below that, a pair of long, evenly proportioned legs.

Jiang Ge was standing at the second-floor window staring, and felt a sudden, unreasonable swell of irritation at himself.

……

The banquet hall was packed. People gathered in clusters of three and five, raising glasses to each other, all of them figures of some influence in this world — most of them here out of deference to the old patriarch of the Jiang family.

Nan Chu had been dragged around the room by Shen Guanzong for a round of toasts and came back with flushed cheeks, fanning herself with one hand as she sank into a sofa.

The seat had barely warmed beneath her.

A tall figure in a neatly pressed suit appeared in front of her.

Nan Chu looked up with a blink.

Composed features, refined and restrained. Handsome enough — just a bit cold, without much warmth in him.

She looked again. A string of black prayer beads on the wrist. Somehow familiar. In fact, before Shen Mu even spoke, she’d already pointed and said: “I remember you.”

Shen Mu smiled, tucked his hands into his pockets. “Good memory. My name is Shen Mu.”

Maybe it was the fact of running into her commander’s friend here, of all places, but she felt an inexplicable warmth — and in a rare moment of initiative, she tilted her head up and said: “What a coincidence. Want to get a drink?”

Shen Mu leaned slightly toward her, smiling. “There’s someone outside who wants to see you.”

The little girl’s eyes lit up at once.

Shen Mu said, deliberately: “Still want that drink?”

Nan Chu was on her feet before he’d finished, and she gave him a bright, easy smile: “Next time!”

……

The deep-autumn wind carried a bite of cold. The villa district Jiang Ge owned was flanked on all sides by avenues of white poplars; on the ground lay the silver wash of moonlight. Outside, there was almost nothing to hear but the rushing of wind and the soft, dry rustle of leaves and branches.

Lin Luxiao stood with his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the door of a champagne-coloured car.

The black windbreaker covered the lower half of his face, leaving a pair of eyes even darker than the night itself. His head was tilted slightly down; the toe of his shoe nudged idly at the ground — his habit when he was waiting for someone.

Not far away, footsteps approached.

He looked up.

And the girl had already launched herself into his arms — carrying the cold of the night with her, arms wrapping around his neck, hanging off him, breathing slightly hard: “Commander—”

By now it had been almost a week since they’d seen each other.

Nan Chu’s heart was still unsteady, fluttering with something almost frantic. In the last few steps of running over, she’d thought a hundred things —

What if it wasn’t him?

What if Shen Mu was pulling her leg?

But the moment she saw that familiar silhouette, her heart felt ready to fly out of her chest. She’d just wanted to run to him as fast as she could, hold him properly, tell him she’d missed him.

The last few strides she’d put everything she had into the sprint. The momentum was too much to pull back — Lin Luxiao’s back hit the car door with a solid thud.

He gathered Nan Chu into his arms on impact, tilted his head back, and drew in a sharp breath of cold air through his teeth. He clenched his jaw. He was not going to let a sound out.

The little girl tucked herself against his waist, face buried in his chest. “Done with everything? Defuse the bomb?”

Lin Luxiao gave a low sound of confirmation, held her close, and rubbed the back of her neck with one hand. “Dressed this lightly — aren’t you cold?”

Nan Chu pressed herself tighter against him. “Wasn’t cold before. But now that you ask, I think I might be a little cold. Except — I feel like your arms are really warm.”

The burning pain in his back had begun to make itself known again. Lin Luxiao laughed, low and quiet, helplessly fond. “You little sweet-talker.”

Nan Chu lifted her face from his chest, eyes bright, and rubbed against him again. “Commander Lin, I’ve thought it over!”

Hearing that, Lin Luxiao lowered his head to look at her, a smile crossing his face that he couldn’t quite place, and raised his brow. “Tell me.”

Nan Chu said: “Let go of me first.”

Lin Luxiao’s gaze took on a pointed quality. Slowly, he loosened his arms.

The sky pressed down like a draped curtain; stars were few and sparse.

The night was still; behind them, nothing but the dry whisper of leaves. Each of them had only eyes for the other, the rest of the world shut out entirely.

Moonlight fell across them, lazy and unhurried.

Lin Luxiao’s hands had relaxed halfway — when Nan Chu suddenly grabbed them and pulled them back. She raised herself on her toes and threw her arms around him, pulling him in close.

Lin Luxiao was quiet for a moment. Then he heard her voice in his ear: “Why are you so obedient — the moment I say let go, you let go. When I say let go, you’re supposed to hold on tighter, like this. Haven’t you heard what they say online — when a woman tells you to get lost, she actually wants you to come over and hold her? I’ve always had this problem: my resolve isn’t strong enough. When I’m working toward something and I hit a rough patch, I give up too easily. I’ve never been in a relationship before, so I don’t know if I’ll have the same problem with love. But if I do — you have to remember what I’m teaching you right now. When I tell you to get lost, you absolutely cannot get lost. If you actually go, we’re done. Nobody can promise that we’ll always feel about each other the way we do now. Maybe one day I’ll get old and ugly and you’ll finally get tired of looking at me, and we’ll be fighting every day, and in the heat of an argument I’ll say we should break up — you have to hold on to me and absolutely refuse to break up. I’m actually very easy to coax. If we do have a fight, say two nice things to me and I’ll calm right down.”

That was a genuine thing to say.

No one could promise that love would always feel like the first day.

That long, earnest speech genuinely shook him.

Lin Luxiao held her, his palm at the back of her head. He bent down slightly and pressed his lips to the top of her hair, then moved lower, cradling her head in his hands, brushing his face gently against hers, his gaze tracing over her features as though searching for even the smallest flicker of uncertainty. But her eyes were steady, resolute — even the fine peaks of her brows seemed to hold a particular kind of insistence.

“You’ve thought it through? You’re decided — you’re with me? What if one day I’m gone? Could you bear it?” His voice dropped low.

Nan Chu said it simply, as if it were simply what she thought: “I could. If you die, I’ll find someone who treats me well and marry him. I absolutely won’t dwell on whatever we had—”

Lin Luxiao suddenly dipped down and bit her lip. He didn’t let up until he’d very nearly drawn blood, then released her and murmured against her ear, low and roguish: “The fortune-teller said I’ll live to ninety-nine. I’m not giving you that chance.”

Nan Chu kissed him back, urgently, her hands already reaching for his belt, slightly breathless: “The fortune-teller said I’ll only make it to seventy.”

“That’s fine. I’ll give you ten of mine. We’ll both make it to eighty or ninety. With the year left over, I’ll take care of all the arrangements for you.”

To live side by side. To die and leave neither one alone.

Lips and teeth tangled together in the darkness of the night.

Nan Chu kissed him and pushed him back toward the car, past all restraint: “Get in.”