Just past twelve-thirty, some customers coming out of KTVs and bars began moving on to the food stall.

Though about half the ingredients had run out, the place got even livelier, orders for stir-fries coming in one after another.

Zhou Ya had to go back to the kitchen. He told Fang Long ahead of time to finish eating and call a cab home first, and also told A’Feng not to let her have any alcohol.

But Zhou Ya’s left eyelid started twitching again.

They said “left eye twitches for fortune, right eye twitches for disaster,” but somehow, every single time Zhou Ya’s left eyelid twitched, something happened with Fang Long — without fail.

Whether Fang Long counted as “fortune” or “disaster,” even now, Zhou Ya couldn’t say for sure.

After finally clearing all the stir-fry orders, Zhou Ya set down his spatula and stepped out of the kitchen.

Walking under the arcade, he turned his head and saw Fang Long drinking straight from a beer bottle.

Zhou Ya’s temple gave a violent throb; his eyes swept quickly over the empty beer bottles on the table and by her feet.

A rough count — including the one in her hand — there were already five.

A’Feng happened to be passing by just then. Zhou Ya, his head suddenly hot, grabbed him by the back collar, tone none too pleasant: “What’s going on here? Didn’t I say no alcohol for Fang Long?”

It took A’Feng a few seconds to realize his boss was referring to that little fairy-troublemaker; he cried out in protest, “It wasn’t me who gave it to her! I’ve been busy this whole time, couldn’t keep an eye on her — maybe the little troublemaker went and got it herself?”

There was no way to pin down “responsibility” now — she’d already drunk it.

Zhou Ya let go of A’Feng, walked over, and rapped his knuckles on Fang Long’s table, his voice muffled: “Quite the drinker, huh?”

Fang Long looked up, her small pretty face flushed pink, looking exactly like a freshly steamed little bun.

She licked her moist, pink lips, the corner of her mouth curling into a shameless grin: “I don’t have work tomorrow anyway — tonight I’m not going home till I’m drunk!”

“…Not going home, my ass.” Zhou Ya couldn’t quite meet her glistening eyes, lowered his head and took the beer bottle from her hand. “I’ll go get the keys, take you home.”

“Hey, I still want to drink.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Fang Long stuck her tongue out: “Stingy old man.”

Zhou Ya wasn’t in the mood to bicker with her further. He said a few words to the kitchen staff and to A’Feng, then went to the storage room to put his t-shirt back on.

There was still a jacket he hadn’t put on; he just carried it in his hand.

Leaving Fang Long to wait by the roadside, Zhou Ya went into the back alley to bring the motorcycle around.

The girl, having eaten and drunk her fill, was uncharacteristically well-behaved, standing quietly under the streetlamp, head lowered, whether counting ants on the ground or stars in the sky, who could say.

Zhou Ya pulled up in front of her: “Get on.”

“Okay.”

Fang Long, as always, stepped onto the rear foot peg and swung her leg over to sit on the back seat.

She still had enough energy to wave goodbye cheerfully to A’Feng and the others: “I’m off, bye-bye!”

Zhou Ya felt inexplicably irritable, his tone impatient: “Hold on tight, don’t fall off later.”

Fang Long let out a hiccup, muttering quietly under her breath: “Is he going through menopause or something? So irritable… whoa!!”

The motorcycle suddenly lurched forward. Fang Long, not quick enough to grab the rear rack, was thrown backward by the momentum, letting out a startled yell.

She grabbed wildly at whatever was in front of her, not caring what it was.

And once she’d grabbed hold, she gripped tight.

What Fang Long had grabbed was his waist on both sides.

Besides grabbing fistfuls of his clothes, she’d also pinched the flesh at his sides.

Zhou Ya’s shoulders jerked; a numbness shot from his tailbone straight up to the back of his skull, and he nearly slammed the brakes.

He wasn’t ticklish, but with Fang Long grabbing him like that, it felt like ants crawling all over him.

Swarming, relentless, burrowing deep into his bones.

He steadied the handlebars, gritted his back teeth, and turned his head to snap: “Fang Long, where the hell are you grabbing?!”

Fang Long knew Zhou Ya had done that on purpose. Once she’d steadied herself, she smacked his shoulders and back a few times without mercy, yelling just as loudly: “Zhou Ya, you bastard! Are you trying to kill me?!”

“Why would I want your life? To steam it or stir-fry it?” Zhou Ya scoffed. “You don’t have three ounces of meat on you, not even enough to pick out of my teeth.”

“…Damn old man!”

The two of them kept bickering and cursing, their voices trailing off along with the motorcycle’s engine noise, until the old street gradually fell quiet again.

A customer at the stall finally asked Zhang Xiuqin: “When did your boss get himself such a girlfriend? Young and pretty, sure, but her temper doesn’t look too great. A’ya’s such a gentle, honest guy — won’t he end up under her thumb?”

Zhang Xiuqin, clearing the table for the customer, said: “You’ve got it wrong! That’s A’ya’s younger cousin! Not his girlfriend at all…”

“Oh, my mistake, my mistake!”

The smile on Zhang Xiuqin’s lips turned a little stiff.

She hadn’t paid it much mind before, but tonight she’d noticed — Zhou Ya seemed like a completely different person in front of Fang Long.

Normally you could go a whole evening without hearing Zhou Ya say more than a few words, his face always wearing the same expression; even entertaining customers, his manner stayed unhurried, even-tempered.

But around Fang Long, Zhou Ya’s expressions came alive.

Even when the two of them bickered and argued, Zhou Ya still kept a stern face — but compared to usual, there was some subtle difference in it.

Zhang Xiuqin moved the dirty plates into the bin nearby, then suddenly turned to look down the street.

The motorcycle’s taillight had already vanished into the night, leaving her with nothing but a faint sense of loss.

The motorcycle headed north toward town, a strong beam of light lighting the road ahead.

The little troublemaker in the back had been quiet for a while now; Zhou Ya didn’t bother trying to make conversation either.

It had been a long time since he’d given Fang Long a ride like this — she had her own motorcycle, and her exes had motorcycles too, so it never fell to him to pick her up or drop her off.

Going further back in time, it would have been during the years Fang Long was attending vocational school.

For a stretch of time, a serial rapist had been active, drifting between the surrounding towns and villages, with the number of victims climbing steadily. An Town hadn’t seen any victims yet, but everyone was on edge.

Fang Long’s vocational school was in the south of town. Ma Huimin, worried about her safety, had Zhou Ya take on the job of picking her up and dropping her off from school.

Back then Fang Long had been even harder to deal with than now — the two siblings could go a whole day without saying more than a few words to each other.

Zhou Ya would smoke and drive, not saying a word. Fang Long would sit in back, reading or listening to music, not saying a word either.

Fang Long’s schoolbag sat between them.

It wasn’t until that beast was finally caught that Zhou Ya’s “bodyguard” duty came to an end.

Tonight, Zhou Ya felt a bit distracted, his hands hot, faintly sweating.

He and Fang Long were pressed close together now, close enough that he could feel her breathing, one breath after another, brushing against the back of his neck, against his ear.

The night wind blowing at him from the front was cold and sharp, but behind him was an irritating spring warmth; caught between the cold and the heat, Zhou Ya found it hard to bear.

Finally, they reached the bridge near home.

Nighttime looked entirely different from morning — no people, no cars on the bridge, none of the vendor stalls, the bridge deck looking considerably wider without them.

The river below still flowed on quietly, moonlight scattered across it like silver floss.

As the motorcycle reached the middle of the bridge, Zhou Ya suddenly felt a weight settle against his back.

He took a deep breath, one hand steadying the speed and slowly braking, the other reaching back, loosely hooking around Fang Long’s arm.

Planting his long legs on the ground, Zhou Ya turned to look back.

Fang Long had fallen asleep, her face turned to the side, head tilted, resting against his back.

The reversed, awkward posture of shielding her like that was a bit uncomfortable, but Zhou Ya held it for a while before slowly withdrawing his hand.

He didn’t rush to start driving again, taking his time to smoke a cigarette first.

To let Fang Long sleep more comfortably, he leaned forward slightly and relaxed his muscles.

By the time he finished the cigarette, Fang Long showed no sign of waking — instead she’d started grinding her teeth and talking in her sleep.

His spine became a conduit, carrying the girl’s murmured sleep-talk, mumbled between her lips and teeth, straight to Zhou Ya’s ears.

“New Year’s almost here…”

“Work… hard to find…”

“Need to give… a red packet to Auntie…”

Zhou Ya listened quietly, not even daring to breathe too heavily, afraid of waking her.

After a moment, he unfolded the jacket that had been draped over the fuel tank, flung it back, and draped it over Fang Long’s back.

Then he grabbed both sleeves, threaded them under both their arms, brought the cuffs back around to his own chest, and tied them into a knot.

The image was a bit strange, but this way he could keep Fang Long steady enough that she wouldn’t slide off to either side.

Zhou Ya shifted gears and drove home at a very slow speed.

His voice, hoarse and rough, came out even softer than usual, light as a wisp of cloud: “Can’t find work, then don’t. I’ll support you.”