The moon was white and the breeze was still.

The hospital room was quiet for one suspended moment, filled only with the faint sound of breathing.

Nan Chu wondered at first if she had misheard. She looked up to search his eyes for the smallest trace of a joke — but Lin Luxiao’s expression was exactly as it always was, still as a pool of clear water, not a ripple anywhere.

No awkwardness. No jest. It was as casual as asking whether she’d eaten yet.

The one who spoke it made it sound effortless. The one who heard it was entirely overwhelmed. Things had turned so quickly — Nan Chu paused.

Lin Luxiao caught the hesitation on her face. The corners of his eyes curved upward slightly, a brow arching. “Too afraid?”

Nan Chu smiled a little, her gaze clear as a mirror.

What was there she wouldn’t dare to do for him?

“Of course not,” she said, tilting her head back, her voice ringing out bright and clean.

The one suspended breath finally settled. And then Lin Luxiao felt a sharp, biting pain radiate through his back — probably from straining the wound when he got out of bed to reach for her.

All the mental tension had lifted at once, and with it came a wave of dizziness. He felt himself losing purchase, and he sank against Nan Chu.

The full weight of him pressing onto her — and in that instant, she realized something was wrong.

His neck was damp where it met her skin, his breath coming in short, urgent draws. Nan Chu reached up to press the back of her hand to his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

Lin Luxiao bore the pain in silence. “I pulled the wound.”

Nan Chu tried to move his head so she could look. A sharp intake of breath. “What do we do?!”

Shen Mu and Big Liu had just reached the doorway. They heard the sound, and Shen Mu kicked the door open without hesitation.

A loud crash. The door flew inward.

Then, immediately after, two voices: “Luxiao——!!”

The two people inside turned at the sound. Lin Luxiao’s brow furrowed further than before — and yet he was still half-collapsed against Nan Chu, and his voice was composed enough when he said quietly to the woman in his arms: “It’s fine.”

Shen Mu and Big Liu looked at each other.

What on earth is happening here?

A nurse came by to change his dressing. When Nan Chu came back from the bathroom, she found the nurse smiling at Lin Luxiao with her most radiant expression as she worked. His shirt was off, and she was saying cheerfully: “With the old scar layered under the new one, healing is going to take a while. Even once it’s better, you’ll need to be careful. Another episode like this and it won’t be so simple — Dr. Zhang has made it very clear you’re not leaving until you’re properly recovered.”

Lin Luxiao was lying face-down on the bed. The moment he saw her come out, his gaze locked onto her and didn’t move.

Nan Chu glared at him.

The two of them were carrying on a wordless conversation through the air above the nurse’s head. The nurse, entirely oblivious to the atmosphere she was standing in, kept talking as she worked: “Last time your fire brigade came here for a surprise inspection, Dr. Zhang was saying you’d been in — honestly, you people put your lives on the line at work, and then on your days off, instead of resting, you’re out there apprehending rioters. What are you trying to prove?”

Lin Luxiao hadn’t responded to anything she said — or perhaps hadn’t even heard her.

The nurse, losing interest, finished the dressing, wheeled her cart away, and left.

Lin Luxiao put his shirt back on, sat up, and tilted his chin at Nan Chu, indicating the stool by his bed. “Come sit.”

Shen Mu and Big Liu had disappeared somewhere.

Nan Chu obediently came and sat down.

The moment she settled, her phone went into a frenzy — she looked down and saw a long string of unknown numbers.

She guessed it was probably Zou Miao. Since blocking his number a while back, he’d been calling from alternating lines.

She pressed end.

Lin Luxiao watched her, raising an eyebrow. “Why not pick up?”

Nan Chu: “Not important.”

The phone rang again. She ended the call again. This went on three times. Lin Luxiao seemed to realize something, and said casually: “Answer it. They might actually need something.”

Nan Chu turned the phone off with conviction and tossed it onto the sofa nearby.

Lin Luxiao watched the arc it made as it landed. Once it was still, he tilted the corner of his mouth upward and gave a low laugh.

“Are you really going to marry me?”

Nan Chu nodded.

Something amused him — that trace of roguishness appeared at his brow again. “All right. I’ll get you a ring when all this is over.”

Nan Chu looked at him with quiet concern. “Whatever you like.”

Lin Luxiao smiled. “What’s the matter — worried I can’t afford it?”

Nan Chu shook her head. “Being with you is enough.”

The hand resting at Lin Luxiao’s side slowly closed. Something seemed to scratch at the inside of his chest. He turned his head for a second, then turned back, expression already composed, and looked at the girl in front of him. “I have to go back to Lushan next week. Let’s get the certificate before I leave.”

“All right.” Nan Chu nodded.

Afterward they’d each be busy again. Better to have the paperwork done — at least it would feel settled.

“I have two vehicles and one apartment. Not much in savings, but enough to marry you. I’ll get you a set of keys before I leave. As for the wedding banquet…”

Nan Chu quickly said: “Let’s hold off on the banquet for now — I still have a few things to sort out on my end. Once that’s done, we can talk about it, or we can discuss the banquet when you come back from Lushan.”

“Your mother?”

“Let’s get the certificate first. We can figure out the rest as we go.”

“Right. While I’m away, keep it quiet — there’s no one around to look after you in the meantime.”

“I’ll come see you whenever I get a free moment,” Nan Chu said.

Lin Luxiao smiled. “Sure.”

Getting the marriage certificate wasn’t as simple as just deciding to do it.

The marriage application he’d filed previously had been held up — after everything that happened, Meng Guohong had quietly set it aside without moving it forward. Lin Luxiao discharged himself from the hospital the next day and went by the old hutong. Lin Qingyuan had stepped back from active duties and was spending his days playing chess, sharing drinks with old friends, and practicing calligraphy — a comfortable, unhurried existence.

Lin Luxiao had just reached the door when one of Lin Qingyuan’s old friends spotted his tall figure approaching and called out: “Your son is back!”

Lin Qingyuan looked up and smiled.

Standing in the sunlight, Lin Qingyuan had aged — the hair at his temples had gone white. Seen from this distance, he looked like a kindly old man, and the sight of it made something ache in Lin Luxiao’s chest without warning. He stood in the doorway, turning his head slightly to one side.

That was how he showed he was moved.

“You little wretch! What are you standing out there for!” Lin Qingyuan’s voice carried easily.

And just like that, Lin Luxiao’s expression opened again. He walked over. “Dad.”

Lin Qingyuan gave a dismissive sound — like a mischievous old child. “You remembered the way home?”

No one had told Lin Qingyuan about the injury. Even Meng’s wife had deliberately kept it from him, afraid the old man would worry.

Lin Qingyuan’s old friend read the situation in an instant, stood up with practiced tact, and said, “Well — it looks like this young man has something to say to you. Old Lin, I’ll come back this afternoon for that chess game.”

He clapped Lin Luxiao on the shoulder as he passed.

Lin Luxiao responded with genuine respect: “Take care, Uncle Liu.”

Lin Qingyuan rose slowly, hands clasped behind his back, and made his way inside. “What is it?”

Lin Luxiao, never one for elaborate preambles, came straight out with it: “I’ve filed a marriage application.”

Lin Qingyuan stopped. He turned and looked at him. In the backlight, Lin Luxiao’s expression was entirely even. A quiet sound. “Are you here to notify me?”

“I’ve been going back and forth with her long enough. Whether you consent or not, I’m going through with this.”

Lin Luxiao had briefly considered telling him Nan Chu was pregnant — at thirty, the old man was certainly anxious for grandchildren — but in the end he couldn’t bring himself to lie about something like this.

Lin Qingyuan suddenly landed a light kick against his shin — no real force behind it. “You idiot, did I say I didn’t consent?”

A flood of relief.

Lin Qingyuan settled into his chair at the writing desk. “Secretary Zhang already told me a while ago. You brat, filing a marriage application without giving me a heads-up first. I already had him push the paperwork through. It should be approved by next week — before you go back to Lushan.”

When Secretary Zhang had called Lin Qingyuan, the old man hadn’t asked a single question — just: “Same girl?”

A yes came from the other end of the line, and Lin Qingyuan suddenly laughed. “Good. Rush the approval through. And remind old Liu and the others to move things along — that boy of mine is probably hoping to get the certificate before he heads back to Lushan.”

A father knows his son.

As Lin Luxiao was leaving, Lin Qingyuan said with a smile: “Oh, and Lin Qi gets out soon. Bring her home before you go — let’s all have dinner together. I only saw her once when she was small, and since then I’ve only seen her on television.”

Lin Luxiao’s jaw tightened. He nodded in silence. “All right.”

“Now that you’re starting a family, no more living like you don’t care about anything. For the wedding — don’t scrimp on what needs to be done. If you’re short on money, I have some here, and with that we could put together enough for another property on a loan.”

“I have enough — I’ve saved a bit.”

He was at the unit most of the time, with no extra expenses for food or daily necessities, and his pay had gone straight into his account untouched. Over these years, it had added up to a reasonable sum — more than enough to get married.

Lin Qingyuan nodded. It seemed there was nothing left to say. “All right, then.”

The night before returning to the unit.

Lin Luxiao had just been discharged. He stopped by the old hutong — all in black, hands in his pockets, leaning against the entrance to the alley waiting.

Under the streetlamp, shadows shifted and flickered. A girl came running toward him from ahead — Lin Qi, arriving breathless in front of him. She stopped, shoved a bag of tan-colored document files into his arms, and panted: “Here, brother. Fresh out, hot off the press.”

Lin Luxiao took it, tucked it under his arm, and smiled. “Thank you.”

Lin Qi stared at him in mock surprise. “‘Thank you’ — actually coming out of your mouth. First time in living memory. When do I get to meet my little sister-in-law?”

“In time,” he said, still smiling.

Lin Qi: “I nearly wore my legs down to stumps running around for your paperwork! How are you going to repay me?”

“Maybe I’ll hold Dad back from hitting you next time he tries.”

She snorted. “Why don’t you take the hit yourself?”

“Can’t do that. My wife would be upset. All right, I’m going.”

And he got in the car and left her in a cloud of exhaust.

Lin Qi stood there and thought: more than a decade ago, they were all children — playing and laughing in this same alley, carefree, shouting with joy, crying freely when something hurt. They were all just kids then, no great families behind them, but full of fire.

And now, in the blink of an eye, they were all nearly thirty, each with their own life. Lin Luxiao was even getting married.

Youth passes, and does not return — and now we each go our separate ways.

Back home, Lin Luxiao set down the document bag and the keys, fished out his phone, and called Nan Chu. “Free tomorrow morning?”

On the other end, Nan Chu was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at her household registration booklet and a set of keys. She answered in a daze: “Free in the morning.”

Lin Luxiao dropped onto the sofa and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He sounded tired. “Right. I’ll come pick you up.”

Nan Chu’s heart was hammering. “Are we going to the Civil Affairs Bureau?”

The person on the other end sounded very worn out. A single quiet syllable, from the nose. “Yeah.”

Nan Chu, finely attuned, caught it immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you tired?”

Lin Luxiao didn’t address that. “After we’re married — where are you planning to live?”

This was actually something she’d been wanting to bring up.

But she was afraid he might not like it. She was quiet for a moment. On his end: “Nan Chu?”

“Commander, let me tell you something first.”

“Go on.”

“My rental is about to expire. Since we’re getting married tomorrow — I was thinking of buying a place along the river. The view is quite nice. Can we live there going forward?”

Lin Luxiao’s studio apartment was small for two people, and on top of that, paparazzi had staked out its location before. Nan Chu also had a lot of belongings — there was no chance everything would fit. “How much?”

Nan Chu named a figure.

Lin Luxiao frowned slightly — it was genuinely not expensive. He did the math: if he sold his current place, combined it with what was in his account, and borrowed a bit from the old man in the short term, he could cover the remainder piece by piece over time. He couldn’t let her pay for the place.

“I’ll give you my pay card tomorrow.”

Everything he had, given to you.

“You don’t have to do that — it’s where we’re both living. Keep your money for when we have children. After this purchase, I won’t have much liquid cash left. Some of my money is tied up in investments and shares. What’s left — I’ll need you to support me.”

The girl’s voice was clear and soft.

“Fine.”

He didn’t need to think about it to understand — she was doing her best to accommodate the stubborn streak of pride that ran through him to the bone.

Neither of them spoke. The call didn’t disconnect. They sat in silence until Lin Luxiao glanced at the clock on the wall and said: “Sleep. It’s late.”

“Good night, Commander. See you tomorrow.”

Every word of it full of anticipation for what morning would bring.

“Good night. See you tomorrow.”

Then neither of them slept.

Lin Luxiao tossed and turned, got up in the middle of the night, sat on the balcony, and went through an entire pack of cigarettes. He watched the faint, scattered stars at the edge of the sky, growing more and more awake. He thought back over the past thirty years, and they played through his mind like a film.

Her at seven years old. At sixteen. At twenty-one.

Frame after frame, again and again — every face vivid: happy, angry, pouty, adoring. Always her at her very best.

Until the sky at the horizon grew faintly, pearly white — a pale crack of light opening up, the first of the day spilling through.

Lin Luxiao had been sitting on the balcony all night. He went inside, washed up and changed, picked up the document bag, and went downstairs to get the car.

Nan Chu gathered herself and came down.

Outside, there was a dark figure leaning against the car below. She smiled, and ran.

The moment their eyes met, both of them laughed.

They were both wearing matching dark circles under their eyes. Nan Chu laughed with her head down. Lin Luxiao’s curve of a smile was slight. “What are you so happy about?”

“You didn’t sleep either?”

He leaned over and buckled her seatbelt for her once she was in. “I slept a bit.”

At the Civil Affairs Bureau, they arrived early enough that it wasn’t crowded. A staff member brought them directly upstairs. Another staff member led them into a room.

Lin Qingyuan had clearly put in a word in advance.

When the registrar was going through Lin Luxiao’s file, Nan Chu’s heart was pounding so hard she was half-afraid the registrar might look up and say something was wrong — that they couldn’t get married. Then she told herself that was absurd, that the registrar couldn’t possibly care whom anyone married. But it wasn’t until the official stamp came down, and they were each holding a small red booklet in their hands, that her heart finally settled.

Nan Chu turned her little booklet over and over, looking at it from every angle, for a very long time. “Commander, when we get back, we should frame this. It’s so sacred.”

Lin Luxiao glanced down at it.

He didn’t feel any particular sense of the sacred, honestly — but when he flipped to the inside page and saw the two of them photographed side by side, heads nearly touching, something clicked into place.

A sense of belonging.

As if after all the winding detours, everything had at last come to rest.