Winter days grew dark quickly; across the way, the residential building lit up window by window.

Zhou Ya was on the balcony smoking his fourth cigarette. The distance between the buildings wasn’t far, and he could clearly see the living room of the household across the way.

Some families had already finished dinner early, the whole family—young and old—sitting in the living room eating fruit and watching TV, all warm and cheerful; while other families, like him and Ma Huimin, had a table full of dishes that hadn’t been touched, anxiously waiting for today’s protagonist to come home.

He exhaled a puff of smoke, grabbed his overheated phone, and hit dial. Soon the automated female voice came through: “The number you have dialed is switched off—”

His left eyelid kept twitching, twitching enough to unsettle Zhou Ya, and no matter what, he couldn’t focus his attention—many images flashed through his mind.

There was still half a cigarette left unsmoked, but Zhou Ya wasn’t in the mood to wait. He stubbed it out directly, grabbed his phone, and walked back inside.

He went to the kitchen and took out the dishes that had been kept warm in the steamer, then scooped a bowl of plain congee for Ma Huimin. Ma Huimin hurried over, asking with delight, “Is Long-long coming home?”

Zhou Ya set down the porcelain bowl and walked toward the entryway. “Not yet, still no answer on the phone. Mom, I’ll go check the place where she works, you don’t need to wait, go ahead and eat.”

Ma Huimin’s shoulders drooped at once. “She clearly said she was off work, that she’d be home in about ten minutes… it’s already dark now, she’s still not back, and I can’t reach her by phone, could it be… something happened?”

A black leather jacket hung on the wall hook; Zhou Ya took it down and put it on. Because he’d clenched his back teeth, his jawline was pulled tight.

When he turned back around, he made his expression as relaxed as he could, comforting his mother: “It shouldn’t be anything. If something had really happened, someone would have already contacted the family by now—”

Ma Huimin gasped and hastily waved her hand to cut him off: “Pei pei pei, don’t say such nonsense! Say it again properly!”

Zhou Ya smacked the back of his own head twice. “Right, I was talking nonsense. Anyway, you go eat first, don’t wait for me. Once I find her, I’ll call home.”

Ma Huimin had no choice but to nod. “Then be careful on your way…”

Zhou Ya had already run through the route he was about to take in his head—he planned to go to the boutique first, then check a few spots Fang Long frequented, like fast food places, milk tea shops, KTV…

He hadn’t expected that as soon as he went downstairs, Fang Long would push open the stairwell door and walk in.

Both of them froze, rooted in place.

Fang Long spoke first: “You… you’re heading out?”

His heart had been hanging in the air all evening like the moon, and yet it didn’t settle back down now that the sun had been found. Zhou Ya, holding back a knot of frustration in his chest, suppressed his emotions and asked, “Where did you go? Did you know your phone was off? Auntie thought something happened to you, she almost called Ren Jianbai.”

His tone wasn’t great; usually if he spoke to her like this, Fang Long would have jumped up like a lit firecracker, but tonight she only gave a soft “ah” and fumbled in her bag, pulling out her phone.

“My phone got dropped just now, it fell apart, and I don’t know where the battery ended up, so…” Fang Long’s voice was very quiet, her head lowered, fingers picking at the empty shell of the phone, “It won’t turn on.”

The stairwell corridor light had only one bulb left, like a rotten pear, its dim glow unclear. Once Zhou Ya’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he got a clear look at the somewhat disheveled girl.

She’d left home that morning wearing a brown hooded sweatshirt, with a thin fleece vest over it, and on her lower half, a short skirt and pantyhose.

—Ma Huimin always nagged that she wore too little, telling her not to take advantage of being young to dress carelessly, that her knees would ache once she got older, but Fang Long said that when working, the staff all had to wear the shop’s display clothes, often dresses, so dressing this way ahead of time made it convenient to change once she got to the shop.

Looking at her now, though.

The sweatshirt hood was carelessly stuffed behind her back, the vest bunched up in a lump at the shoulders; the drawstrings of the collar hung, one dangling in front of her chest, the other fallen inside the collar; she wasn’t wearing the pantyhose, bare-legged in the dead of winter, and just now when Fang Long had pulled out her phone, her crossbody bag hadn’t closed properly—by the dim light, Zhou Ya could see a wad of socks stuffed messily inside; she had bare feet in canvas shoes, both shoelaces loose and undone…

Zhou Ya’s heart sank. He put his hands on his hips and leaned down to look at the girl with her head lowered, his manner unconsciously softening: “What happened?”

Her hair swayed at the side of her face; Zhou Ya watched her purse her lips and stuff the phone back into her bag.

Fang Long lifted her head, calling him by his full name: “Zhou Ya, I think I’ve messed things up again.”

When she wasn’t in a temper, the shape of her eyebrows was very gentle, lying lightly against her brow bone, her pupils very dark, making her irises look even larger.

But not very bright.

Like a deep well that didn’t want to be disturbed—the corridor light was too weak to reach into her eyes.

Zhou Ya turned his face, briefly checking both sides of her cheeks, not asking what had happened, only asking, “Are you hurt?”

Fang Long paused, then after a moment shook her head. “No, I didn’t get into a fight today.”

The crease between Zhou Ya’s brows stayed knitted, unrelaxed, his gaze continuing downward.

She had a bit of a scarring predisposition; having been beaten as a child, a pair of slender legs that should have been like white porcelain bore some old scars, faint, like the petals of some flower.

But there were no new wounds—forget bruising, there wasn’t even any redness.

Zhou Ya asked to confirm: “No one bullied you?”

This time Fang Long paused even longer, but in the end still shook her head. “No, who could bully me?”

“Fine, you’re tough.” Zhou Ya reached directly around to the back of her neck and pulled out the sweatshirt hood that had been bunched up in a mess.

He even managed to lift the corner of his mouth in a smile, his tone somewhere between teasing and comforting: “So how bad could you have messed things up? As long as Old Bai isn’t calling me to bail you out, it’s not too bad in my book.”

The man was too tall, his shoulders broad, like a mountain, blocking off half the corridor light, fine dust tinted gold floating above his head.

Fang Long felt a bit lightheaded, her knees weak, her heart beating much faster than usual—she wasn’t sure if it was because she’d gone too long without eating, or because of what had happened earlier at the boutique.

She mumbled softly, “It’s really bad, actually. It might affect your many years of brotherly friendship with Old Bai.”

“Oh please, always worrying over nothing…” Zhou Ya stepped aside to make way. “Hurry up and go, your aunt’s waiting at home.”

“Hasn’t Auntie eaten yet?”

“I was just about to go out looking for you, I reheated the dishes and told her to eat first.”

“That’s good.”

Fang Long headed up, and had only gone up half a flight when Zhou Ya called out to stop her: “Tie your shoelaces, flopping around like that—step on them later and you’ll fall flat on your face.”

Fang Long turned back and glared at him irritably: “It’s my birthday today, can you please not say the words ‘shit, piss, fart’?”

Zhou Ya scratched the back of his head. “…Fine, I won’t say them for the rest of today.”

Fang Long walked up to the second floor, crouched down to simply tie her shoelaces, straightened her clothes, and then continued up.

Before opening the door, Fang Long took a deep breath and put on a smile.

She opened the door and walked in, greeting Ma Huimin, who was sitting on the living room sofa, her voice bright and cheerful: “Auntie! I’m home!”

Ma Huimin got up upon hearing her voice: “Long-long! You’re finally back! Why was your phone off?”

Fang Long, changing her shoes, told Ma Huimin about the missing phone battery: “It’s fine, I have a spare battery at home, I’ll put it in later and it’ll work.”

Ma Huimin said, “As long as you’re okay. Hurry and wash your hands, let’s eat!”

Zhou Ya glanced at the dining table—the congee he’d scooped for his mother earlier hadn’t been touched at all, the dish plates covered protectively with other plates flipped over on top.

He understood his mother had still wanted to wait for Fang Long to come home.

Zhou Ya took all the dishes back to reheat them once more. The steamed white pomfret was a bit of a shame, slightly overcooked from the extra time, but the other meat and seafood dishes were still fine. A round table was set full to the brim.

Fang Long came out having changed clothes, and seeing such a big table full of food, the hunger pangs in her stomach were provoked into growling. She bounced happily on the spot twice. “Can I drink tonight?”

Zhou Ya glanced at her and finally asked, “Which one?”

At home there was mulberry wine and green plum wine brewed in spring, and lychee wine and bayberry wine brewed in summer—jar after jar, stored in the glass cabinet against the wall, waiting to be opened.

Fang Long licked the corner of her mouth, her eyes lighting up again: “I want all of them!”

“Dream on… let go—” Zhou Ya stopped himself short; the rest of that sentence wasn’t a nice one, but since he’d just promised Fang Long, he only glared at her and went to get the wine glasses instead, saying, “Let’s open the lychee wine first.”

Fang Long grinned. “Okay!”

The three of them sat around the table. Ma Huimin had also wanted to have a bit of wine, but Zhou Ya wouldn’t let her, so she used tea in place of wine, raising her porcelain cup high, smiling: “Happy 20th birthday to our Long-long!”

Fang Long’s eyes misted over with moisture. She raised her wine glass and clinked it against Ma Huimin’s cup, smiling: “Thank you, Auntie.”

Zhou Ya lifted his glass slightly but didn’t clink it with theirs, only saying quietly, “Happy birthday.”

Just as he was about to withdraw his hand, his glass was struck by Fang Long’s cup as she leaned over, making a crisp clinking sound.

Fang Long pouted her lips, seeming somewhat reluctant: “Thanks to you too, I guess…”

The two of them looked at each other for a few seconds before Zhou Ya looked away first.

His heart seemed to have been lightly bumped by someone too.