“…Hey…”

“…Fang Long…”

Zhou Ya called her name a few times in a row, but she seemed to have had her soul spirited away by someone.

She sat with her head down, staring at the bowl, stirring the porridge round and round with her spoon, never actually eating it.

“Tch…” Zhou Ya frowned, irritated, and reached his arm out, rapping his two fingers twice against the table in front of her. “Hey. Wake up.”

Fang Long jumped, startled, and the porcelain spoon slipped from her hand.

She wasn’t quick enough to catch it — she watched, helpless, as the handle sank into the fragrant porridge.

“What?”

She lifted her eyes, glanced quickly at the man across the round table, then dropped her gaze again, bending to fish for the spoon.

“Are you not awake yet, or did you go deaf? I called your name that many times and you didn’t respond.”

Zhou Ya pointed his index finger through the air at her bowl. “Keep stirring like that and it’ll turn to water.”

He’d gone to the market that morning; the poultry stall had a fresh batch of free-range chickens in, good quality, so he’d picked out half a cage’s worth, planning to add a white-cut chicken dish to tonight’s menu at the food stall.

One of the chickens he’d brought home, cut into pieces, soaked with shiitake mushrooms, added preserved mustard greens, and simmered into a sweet, fragrant porridge.

It was overcast today, a chilly wind blowing — a bowl of hot porridge would be easy on the stomach.

“Right, right, right, I’m deaf…” Fang Long muttered, then went ahead and put the spoon handle straight into her mouth, sucking off the grains of rice clinging to it. “Those beers last night must’ve been fake — my head’s been throbbing on and off all morning…”

Zhou Ya’s eyelid twitched, and he clicked his tongue again, pulling a length of tissue from the box beside him and tossing it in front of her. “Why don’t you just die of laziness already? Use a tissue!”

Fang Long didn’t take it, didn’t say anything either — she just frowned slightly, watching Zhou Ya with a complicated look in her eyes.

She’d barely slept a wink the night before.

At one point she’d gone and showered after all — this time she’d made sure first that Zhou Ya’s room had the sound of snoring coming from it before hurrying into the bathroom.

It turned out the lock mechanism on the bathroom door had broken at some point — close the door, and within half a minute it would pop open on its own again; she’d had to prop a water bucket against it.

The shower floor had still been wet, the air still carrying the scent of soap that hadn’t quite dissipated.

—Zhou Ya lived simply; he didn’t use shampoo, body wash, or facial cleanser, just a single bar of soap for everything.

That soap had no particular scent — not fruity, not minty, just plain, ordinary soap.

But a scent with no distinct signature was, in its own way, still unmistakable.

Zhou Ya also showered in cold water; just thinking about it made Fang Long shiver, and she’d turned the hot water dial as far as it would go.

While showering, as if under some kind of spell, she’d kept replaying what Zhou Ya had been doing in the shower stall.

She’d looked down, watching the direction the water flowed.

A small, shallow whirlpool had formed over the silver-gray drain cover, and she’d simply stood there watching it spin.

Some wire must have crossed in her head, because in that moment what she’d actually thought was — had everything Zhou Ya produced gone down that same drain?

…

Zhou Ya’s heart skipped a couple of beats under her stare, and when he spoke again his voice came out oddly stammered: “Wh-what now?”

This girl really was acting strange today. Was it the hangover?

That didn’t add up, though — Fang Long’s tolerance was decent enough.

Not exactly a bottomless pit, but five beers shouldn’t have put her anywhere near drunk.

Fang Long’s brow twitched slightly.

Zhou Ya’s voice in daylight was somewhat different from the way he’d said her name in the bathroom last night, the tone entirely different too.

That made Fang Long doubt herself all over again — had she really heard right last night?

Had it truly been her name Zhou Ya said?

Or some other girl’s name, close enough to hers to be mistaken?

Fang Long genuinely wished now that what she’d drunk last night really had been fake alcohol — enough to give her five minutes of ringing ears.

That way she could pretend she simply hadn’t heard anything at all.

Ma Huimin came out of the kitchen carrying a clay pot. “What’s this, fighting again while you eat?”

“Not fighting.”

“Not fighting.”

The two siblings answered in unison, rare perfect harmony between them.

“Ha, honestly I think it’s good for the two of you to bicker a bit — makes the house feel lively.” Ma Huimin’s eyes crinkled with her smile as she set the pot down on the table. “There’s still half a bowl or so left — which of you wants it? I can’t manage any more, I’m too full.”

Zhou Ya tipped his chin toward Fang Long. “Give it to her. If she’s eating porridge, she needs a bowl and a half to feel full.”

Fang Long covered her bowl with her hand and shook her head. “No, no, I can’t eat any more either.”

Zhou Ya looked mildly surprised. “That little’s enough for you? Porridge doesn’t stick to your ribs — you’ll be hungry again after two trips to the bathroom.”

Fang Long rolled her eyes, more convinced than ever that she must have misheard last night.

This man never had a kind word for her — always going on about the crudest things.

Zhou Ya, getting no retort from her, didn’t seem to mind either; he pulled the pot over and ate straight from it with the porridge ladle.

Ma Huimin asked Fang Long, “Hey, Long Long, are you working the night shift again today?”

Fang Long didn’t want Ma Huimin worrying too much — she hadn’t yet told her about being let go, planning to wait until she’d found a new job before saying anything.

Lying came easily to her; she didn’t even need to think it through. “Yeah, I’ll head out once I’m done eating.”

Hearing that, Zhou Ya slid his eyes sideways to look at her.

Fang Long looked back and caught the teasing glint in his gaze.

Under the table, she lifted her foot and kicked toward his shin out of habit, a silent warning not to let anything slip in front of Ma Huimin.

Zhou Ya had half-expected it; he freed one hand and brought it down, landing a precise smack right on her ankle.

“Ow—” Fang Long sucked in a sharp breath and hurriedly pulled her leg back.

Ma Huimin, in the middle of taking her medicine with some water, turned at the sound. “What’s wrong, Long Long?”

Fang Long shook her head quickly. “Nothing.”

She put her head down and focused on her porridge.

Zhou Ya honestly hadn’t used much force at all, but her ankle stung and itched all the same.

Like being stung by a bee.

Fang Long wolfed down the rest of the porridge, then went back to her room to change into her supermarket uniform and jeans, ready to head out “to work.”

Ma Huimin hadn’t even finished saying “be careful out there” before Fang Long was already out the door.

“That girl, always in such a rush…” Ma Huimin yawned, drowsy after the meal. “Oh, right, A-Ya, the bathroom door’s broken — do you have time to fix it today?”

Zhou Ya had only discovered the problem with the bathroom door himself that morning; he nodded. “I picked up a new lock when I was out this morning. I’ll fix it once I’ve done the dishes.”

“Good, then I’m going to go lie down for a bit.”

“Oh, right, Mom.” Zhou Ya called out to stop her, hesitated a moment, then said, “I’m thinking of moving out after the New Year.”

Ma Huimin blinked. “Why the sudden idea to move out…”

Something occurred to her, and her eyes lit up. “Oh, I get it — have you got a girlfriend? Then move quick, move quick! Time for just the two of you matters more!”

On this particular subject, Ma Huimin always felt she owed Zhou Ya something.

Zhou Ya used to have a steady girlfriend, and things had reached the point of talking marriage — he’d even saved up enough for a down payment on a new place — but then the family had been hit by one misfortune after another.

First Zhou Ya’s father had died unexpectedly, then Ma Huimin had needed surgery and hospital stays one after another; Zhou Ya had emptied his entire savings, and the plans for the house and the proposal had quietly gone nowhere.

Not long after, Ma Huimin heard that Zhou Ya and that girl had broken up.

Ma Huimin understood, in her own way — the Zhou family’s circumstances really weren’t much to speak of, and it wasn’t unreasonable that the girl’s family had looked down on the match.

Over the past year, business at Zhou Ya’s food stall had grown steadily better, and he’d managed to save up again, eventually buying an apartment in the new development near the town government offices.

He’d offered to let Ma Huimin move in there, but she’d refused, telling him to keep it as his future wedding home instead.

But there had been no word of a new girlfriend from Zhou Ya since.

Zhou Ya paused, then shook his head. “It’s not that. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Ah… here I was hoping I’d get to drink some daughter-in-law tea soon.” Ma Huimin’s mouth turned down at the corners. “So why the sudden idea to move out, then?”

“Men and women should keep some distance, after all. With me living here, Fang Long might not feel entirely comfortable.” Zhou Ya stood and began clearing the bowls and chopsticks. “Or you and Fang Long could move to the new place, and I could stay here instead.”

“That’s true too — you’re both adults now, it’s about time you each had your own space.”

Ma Huimin didn’t dwell on it further; she glanced toward the black-and-white portrait sitting in the sunlit corner of the living room and said softly, “No need to move, though. I’m going to keep living here with your father. Once you and Long Long each have someone of your own, just bring the little ones back on weekends to have a meal with me.”

The gentle words carried something sharp buried in them, like an unseen awl driving straight into a bloody hollow in Zhou Ya’s chest.

“Mom, I—”

“Hm? What is it?”

“…Nothing.”

In his heart, Zhou Ya said sorry to Ma Huimin.

He knew what his mother wished for — that he would settle down soon, start a family, that she might get to hold a grandchild before too long.

Most people in the small town married and had children young; among his peers, some already had kids nearly old enough for elementary school — Ren Jianbai, for instance, was set to become a father next year.

But Zhou Ya knew he couldn’t do it.

He understood, clearly, that Fang Long would sooner or later find someone right for her — that she would marry, have children, build a life that belonged to her.

Perhaps by then, he thought, he might finally be able to let it go completely.

Until that day came, all he could do was keep his mouth shut, like a man who couldn’t speak at all.

He would take the fact that he was in love with his own cousin, lock it away in a box, and bury it deep in soil where no sunlight would ever reach.