Lin Luxiao pressed her against the car door and slowly kissed his way down the curve of her neck.

The young woman’s body carried a delicate fragrance that, little by little, made him want to crush her completely, to take her apart piece by piece. His kiss was still domineering and forceful — his tongue pressed into her mouth and stirred fiercely, his eyes a deep, blood-tinged red as he stared at her.

Nan Chu had gone soft all over from his kisses, the clear pupils of her eyes glistening with moisture, seductive enough to drive a person mad.

Impossible to look at. The more he looked, the less he wanted to leave.

He closed his eyes, bit down, then drifted to her ear, lightly licking it.

She was impossibly sensitive there.

Nan Chu trembled all over, letting out low, breathless sounds near his ear, her voice so soft it was almost unreal. She hooked her arms around his neck, slipped a small hand inside the back of his shirt, and lightly dragged her nails across his skin. “Should we go up?”

Lin Luxiao lowered his head and gave a low laugh, then simply pulled off her knitted top, baring her smooth, fragrant shoulders. He lowered his head and closed his lips around them, murmuring in a low voice, “No time.”

“What time is the train?” she asked, dazed.

Lin Luxiao kept kissing her, answering carelessly, “Nine o’clock.”

Nan Chu glanced at the time on the dashboard. Eight ten.

Really no time. She gave him a sudden shove. “Then hurry up and go — don’t miss your train, or you’ll be late for work tomorrow.”

The warmth between them vanished abruptly. Clarity returned to his mind. He leaned back against his seat and looked at her sideways.

The young woman’s clothes had been half pulled off; she leaned dishevelled against the car door, her full, pale chest swaying slightly. Lin Luxiao narrowed his eyes, turned his head away, gave a short laugh, refastened his buttons, and settled back into the seat. “I’m going.”

And then he truly left.

In a wake of exhaust fumes, he was heading back to his world.

Nan Chu went upstairs, switched on the light. The glare was harsh, the surrounding quiet, and in the vast apartment only she remained. She walked dejectedly to the sofa and sank into it, tilting her head back, one arm draped over her eyes to block out the blinding light in front of her.

She lay like that until nine o’clock.

Nan Chu glanced at the wall clock and reached for her phone.

Lin Luxiao had just found his seat when the phone in his coat pocket buzzed. “Are you on the train?”

He typed back quickly: “Yeah.”

After sending it, he turned to look out the window. The locomotive’s whistle sounded long and low —

The same rumbling green-painted train as always, packed with a chaotic mix of passengers, loud and bustling like a market. Lin Luxiao sat in the carriage looking somewhat out of place, head tipped back against the seat.

His mind was full of those explicit, fleeting images from the car — and of Nan Chu’s soft, warm body.

He had been single so long, and now that he’d suddenly found himself a wife, he hadn’t even spent their wedding night together. He had to rush back to the unit in the middle of the night.

Seated across from him was a young couple who looked like students — about seventeen or eighteen years old. They were sharing a cup of instant noodles, taking turns feeding each other bites, utterly absorbed in each other, occasionally stealing a kiss, their sweet clinginess on full display without any self-consciousness.

Lin Luxiao watched them for a moment, then looked away, a faint, sardonic smile on his lips.

It occurred to him that kids these days were growing up fast.

At eighteen, he hadn’t understood any of this — he was still at the age of running wild everywhere with Da Liu and the others, obsessing over rockets, planes, tanks, and all kinds of military weapons. Back then, women were practically an alien species in his mind.

Then a thought came to him.

When he was eighteen, Nan Chu was ten — just a little kid.

He probably wouldn’t have fallen for her back then.

His phone buzzed again.

Nan Chu: “Aren’t you bored on the train?”

“Not really.”

Back and forth — it was actually rather pleasant.

“What are you doing?”

He curved the corner of his mouth, not overthinking it, and typed casually: “Thinking about what you looked like when you were ten.”

Nan Chu was lying on the sofa, feet in the air, phone in hand as she texted back: “Me at ten?”

“Yeah.”

Nan Chu: “I have photos — do you want to see?”

“Sure.”

“That’s so unenthusiastic?”

A few seconds passed, and his tone shifted: “I want to see.”

Nan Chu jumped off the sofa and went to rummage through the photo albums at the bottom of a chest. She had the most pictures from ages six to eight; from nine onward she was rarely photographed. The only one she still had was a group photo taken at a school arts performance — four girls dressed as little swans.

They’d taken a backstage group shot back then.

She photographed it with her phone and sent it over.

Four girls, identical hairstyles, identical white swan costumes, nearly identical builds.

“Guess which one is me?”

Lin Luxiao glanced at it, gave a low chuckle, and answered, “Third from the left.”

Nan Chu: “[cupping-face emoji] Even my mom couldn’t guess — how did you figure it out? My mom stared at it for ages and pointed to the one at the far edge.”

“Instinct.”

What was he supposed to say — that at a glance, only the third from the left had drawn his eye?

In the end, after Nan Chu pressed him, she got that answer: drawn to her.

The young woman wrote back with delight: “So — if we’d met when I was ten, you would have liked me?”

“No.”

“What if I’d chased you?”

“Goodness — you already knew how to do that at ten?”

Nan Chu cuddled her phone and made things up: “Of course — I had a crush on a boy in my class when I was six. Tall and sunny. At eight I liked the neighbor’s older brother next door; he had the warmest smile when he laughed.”

Lin Luxiao stared at that text and gave a cold, flat laugh.

Six years old? Tall and sunny? A giant baby, was he?

“Well, at eighteen I was still the type who played in the mud.”

Nan Chu lay on the sofa and laughed at that line for a long time. When she finally caught herself, she looked at her own reflection in the glass of the window — the upturned corners of her mouth, the curve of her smile — and realized it was genuine. He had actually made her laugh.

And then it struck her.

Somehow, talking like this felt freer and more relaxed than talking face to face.

Lin Luxiao felt the same way.

He had just set his phone down when it buzzed again.

The young woman wrote: “Let’s text each other more often when there’s nothing going on.”

“Alright. It’s ten o’clock — time for you to sleep.”

Lin Luxiao didn’t get many opportunities to check his phone; he could only steal a glance when training was over. Regulations at his station were stricter than in other counties and districts, because Lushan had become a high-risk area that year and all personnel in training were required to keep their communication devices switched off except in special circumstances.

Special circumstances included: the death of a family member, a spouse giving birth, and so on.

When he switched his phone on, there would occasionally be a message or two waiting — always from Nan Chu.

Then one day he saw a message that didn’t look quite right.

“Ha — I’ve dug up your high school romantic history!”

The message was sent a week ago. Since then, she hadn’t sent him anything at all.

Lin Luxiao’s knuckles went white. Zhao Guo, seeing the usually steady Lin Luxiao like this, assumed something had happened at home. “What’s wrong? Something going on at home?”

Lin Luxiao stood up. “I’m going to step out and make a call.”

He walked to the washroom, one hand gripping the phone, the other pressed to his waist. After a few rings —

A bright, clear voice on the other end: “Captain?”

Lin Luxiao leaned against the wall. “Yeah.”

“You’re back?”

Nan Chu assumed he had returned to Beixun and grew a little anxious — she was still away filming.

“No.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and then, inexplicably, a deflated: “Oh.”

Lin Luxiao suddenly laughed. “What romantic history of mine did you dig up?”

“You’re calling me about that?”

“Not entirely.”

Nan Chu: “Da Liu said you might have had a crush on a girl in high school.”

Da Liu.

“…” Lin Luxiao’s instinct was a sharp throb at the temple. “You believe him? Da Liu’s not right in the head — keep your distance from him.”

“Does that mean you feel guilty?”

Lin Luxiao gave a dismissive snort. “Nonsense — he’s just jealous that he can’t find a wife and I have one. He’s deliberately stirring up trouble for me.”

Someone called out to Nan Chu in the background. She answered briefly, then spoke into the phone: “I have to go get my makeup done — let’s talk another time. Hanging up.”

Lin Luxiao curved the corner of his mouth at the phone.

…

Nan Chu stayed at the film set for one week.

In the second week, someone came to visit — carrying a large bouquet of roses, leaning rakishly against his flashy red sports car. She turned and walked away before he’d even finished showing off.

Zou Miao jogged over and grabbed her arm. “I’ve come all this way to see you — at least give me two seconds before you leave.”

Nan Chu shook him off. “What exactly do you want?”

Zou Miao grinned cheekily. “To pursue you.”

Like a complete lunatic.

She had dealt with difficult people before, but she was beginning to realize that with Zou Miao it wasn’t a question of difficult or not — he just wanted to provoke her. The more irritated she got, the happier he was. If you ignored him and stayed cool, he would probably get bored within two days.

Nan Chu turned around suddenly, eyes blinking, with an expression that was appealing but not self-demeaning. “What would it take for you to stop bothering me?”

Zou Miao fixed his gaze on her and grinned, though his mouth said, “You make it sound like I have bad intentions.”

Nan Chu rolled her eyes. “Get to the point — give me a clean ending.”

Zou Miao smirked. “How about we sleep together once? Maybe after one night I’ll lose interest and stop coming around.”

Nan Chu gave a cold laugh. “No. Sleep with you once and you’ll keep wanting more.”

“Nonsense.” He laughed. “I’ve never slept with a woman and wanted a second night.”

Nan Chu was getting impatient. She rolled up her sleeve, narrowed her eyes, and said coolly, “I have no desire to sleep with you. Give me a clean ending — be direct about it. If you want to sleep with me, fine — bring some sincerity and I’ll consider whether I’ll give in. Or is this just your idea of fun, winding me up? What exactly have I done to offend you?”

This woman was truly as stubborn and prickly as a stone in a cesspit.

When Jiang Ge had first shown him her photo, he had always thought that the coldness in this woman’s eyes was an act — but after actually meeting her, he realized she was a genuine block of ice. No matter what you did to please her, she received it with the same chilly indifference.

No wonder Jiang Ge had such a love-hate relationship with her.

In the circles they moved in, men’s pride was notorious.

When Jiang Ge said she was hard to pursue, he hadn’t really believed it — he didn’t think there was a woman in the world who didn’t care about money, fame, or luxury.

His father had mentioned the blind date that day.

He’d just wanted to try his luck, not because he was planning to get married — just to prove to Jiang Ge that there was no woman in the world who couldn’t be won over, only men whose conditions weren’t favorable enough.

Turned out there really was.

Zou Miao drove away in a huff.

Nan Chu figured he wouldn’t come looking for her again, and felt a wave of relief — she happily spent the next two days in good spirits.

The day after Zou Miao left, Nan Yueru arrived.

The film set had been unusually lively lately with the comings and goings of these two.

Nan Yueru called her back to the hotel.

Nan Chu went without even changing her clothes. The room was warm with the heating on full blast; the moment she pushed the door open, warmth hit her in the face. Nan Yueru had her back to her, just finishing taking off her coat, and when she heard movement, turned and glanced at her without a word.

“Mom.” Nan Chu called out.

Nan Yueru answered languidly, “How’s the filming going?”

Nan Chu nodded. “Fine.”

Nan Yueru changed into comfortable clothes, settled onto the sofa, reached for the cigarette pack on the coffee table, put one between her lips, lit it, and fixed Nan Chu with a sharp, ice-cold stare. “What’s happening with you and Zou Miao?”

Nan Chu had already half-guessed that Nan Yueru’s visit today had something to do with Zou Miao. “Nothing much.”

Nan Yueru looked at her with eyes like the edge of a blade, and said icily, “I heard from Zou Miao that things are going nowhere between you two?”

Nan Chu stopped dancing around it. “Yeah.”

“You’re back with that boy?”

Nan Chu lowered her head and said nothing. Lin Luxiao had told her to keep it quiet until he came back to handle things.

“I’m talking to you —!” Nan Yueru suddenly raised her voice.

Nan Chu still refused to answer.

“Shameless!”

Nan Yueru erupted completely. She snatched the ashtray nearby and hurled it at her. Nan Chu didn’t dodge it. A lump instantly swelled on her forehead — like a horn had sprouted there.

Her head throbbed with a sharp, pulsing ache. Nan Chu forced herself to endure it.

There was bitterness at the tip of her throat. She breathed in slowly, steadying the anger that had been lodged in her chest. “I’ve always found it strange — you never paid any attention to me. So why do you suddenly care who I’m dating?”

Nan Yueru said nothing, breathing hard, seeming to be battling her own fury.

Nan Chu asked again. “Why was it that when I was sick as a child you barely glanced at me, and when people attacked me you never once said a word in my defense, and yet now — just because I happen to like a fire captain — you’re this worked up?”

Nan Yueru held her cigarette, her fury intact, and if you looked closely, her fingertips were trembling slightly. “Who hasn’t been attacked? When I was your age, do you think I wasn’t? People even turned photos of your grandparents into black-and-white mourning portraits. Who didn’t suffer? The more people attack you, the more people actually like you — that much you should know. If you can’t even handle that, how will you survive in this entertainment industry? I thought you’d surprise me. You’re no different from the others — one man and you’re completely lost?”

A bead of sweat rolled down from her forehead. Nan Chu’s head was swimming. The tears finally broke free, sliding down to the corners of her mouth. She pressed her lips together — salty, and a little bitter.

She bowed her head suddenly, seeming to abandon everything — her pride included — and begged her mother in a posture she had never taken before: “Mom, I have no other wishes.”