The first day the shop reopened after the New Year, there was a lot to be done.

After slaughtering the chicken for the ritual offering to the gods, Zhou Ya handed out New Year red envelopes to his staff.

Because of what had happened before the New Year, everyone was a little uneasy, unsure whether someone would come make trouble again tonight.

What’s more, the incident had already spread a bit around town.

Words easily got twisted as they passed from mouth to mouth—though they were the victims, somewhere along the way, people started thinking that anyone who ate at their stall must be some shady, disreputable type, that the place had a bad air about it.

A’Feng fumed: “If they come again, I’ll fight them myself, whatever happens—worst case I go back inside for another stretch!”

Zhou Ya smacked him on the back of the head: “Talking nonsense again?”

“Ow, ow, ow… don’t hit the head…”

“Your brain’s all water anyway, I’m just knocking some of it out.”

Seeing their boss so calm and composed, everyone else relaxed too, and went back to their own tasks.

Zhang Xiuqin had barely spoken all day, her eyes flickering whenever she looked at Zhou Ya.

Around three in the afternoon, when crates of beer arrived, Zhou Ya went out to help sort the drinks. Zhang Xiuqin found a moment when no one else was nearby and spoke to him: “Zhou Ya…”

Zhou Ya made a sound of acknowledgment, signaling her to go on.

Zhang Xiuqin hesitated a little: “Why didn’t Fang Long come today?”

Zhou Ya looked up: “She didn’t sleep enough last night, so I told her to sleep in this afternoon and come by in the evening.”

If this had been said before, the sentence would have sounded perfectly ordinary—like deep sibling affection.

But today, Zhang Xiuqin heard something different in it.

She’d never been the soft, motherly type, especially in her younger years—her temperament had actually been quite similar to Fang Long’s.

But whenever she was around Zhou Ya, she always found herself unconsciously softening, lowering herself, speaking and acting less assertively.

—Zhou Ya’s ex-girlfriend had been the gentle, demure type, while Zhou Ya himself, just standing there, radiated toughness. Zhang Xiuqin had assumed he liked the small-bird-dependent type of girlfriend.

Turns out that wasn’t true.

Zhang Xiuqin sighed and decided to stop pretending.

She got straight to the point: “Zhou Ya, you really like Fang Long, don’t you?”

Zhou Ya paused, the heavy red beer crate making a clinking sound against the glass bottles as he set it down.

He straightened up and looked at Zhang Xiuqin, and after a moment, admitted boldly: “Yes.”

Zhang Xiuqin understood immediately: “…Not the family kind of liking, right?”

Zhou Ya answered even faster this time: “Right.”

Zhang Xiuqin smiled faintly, extinguishing the last spark in her heart, and said slowly: “I was at ’88’ last night too.”

Zhou Ya suddenly understood why Zhang Xiuqin had come to talk to him.

Zhang Xiuqin kept her head down, not looking at him, continuing: “I was waiting in the lobby for a table, and I saw you and Fang Long walking out from inside. I wanted to say hello to you two, but…”

But she’d seen Fang Long holding Zhou Ya’s hand.

And Zhou Ya letting her hold it obediently, following along behind her.

Zhang Xiuqin had never seen Zhou Ya like that before—all his armor stripped away, gentle and reserved, worlds apart from the tough exterior he usually showed people.

It wasn’t that siblings could never hold hands—there was no rule against it in this world.

But in that moment, Zhang Xiuqin felt that in the world the two of them shared, at that instant, there was only room for each other—no space for anyone else.

Finally setting down the heavy weight in her heart, Zhang Xiuqin let out a long breath and looked at Zhou Ya: “So the two of you—are you still brother and sister?”

Zhou Ya showed no impatience at all; instead, he answered earnestly: “We’re siblings, and we’re also not siblings anymore.”

Zhang Xiuqin had already guessed as much: “So are you planning to make it public?”

“We won’t make a deliberate announcement.” Zhou Ya braced one hand on the drinks cabinet, thought for a moment, and said, “It’ll come down to what Fang Long wants first. If she doesn’t want to draw attention, I’ll go along with that.”

The reason Zhou Ya hadn’t dared reveal his feelings in front of Fang Long before was that he’d worried—if Fang Long felt nothing romantic toward him, the relationship between them would become awkward.

If, because of that, they couldn’t even keep what was called “siblings” anymore, then Zhou Ya would rather have gone on playing deaf and mute forever.

Second, there was too much gossip in a small town, and matters between men and women were especially “popular” topics.

Whoever’s husband got caught visiting a prostitute and beaten by his wife, whoever’s widow found a new lover—these became things everyone loved to discuss.

If word got out that he and Fang Long were together, within three days it would likely become everyone’s favorite topic of idle chatter over meals, even though they shared no blood relation.

Zhou Ya himself didn’t care, but he couldn’t stand the thought of people gossiping about Fang Long.

Not even once.

Just like last night at the KTV, when all he’d wanted was to rip apart Jiang Yao’s rotten mouth.

“Alright, I’ll keep your secret for you.” Zhang Xiuqin brushed back her wavy curls and suddenly smiled, bright and radiant. “Though I won’t have much chance to gossip about you two to anyone else anyway—I’m planning to leave Anzhen next month.”

Zhou Ya was mildly surprised: “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Remember I mentioned my cousin to you before? Turns out the girl’s got her own ambitions—she wants to try her luck in a big city, so I figured I’d go keep her company.”

“Where are you thinking of going?”

“Zhuhai or Dongguan, probably.” Zhang Xiuqin’s voice dropped, her meaning plain enough. “Besides, I’m not exactly young anymore. Since you already have someone you like, there’s no point in me lingering around here.”

Zhou Ya respected Zhang Xiuqin’s decision and didn’t try to keep her, just nodded: “Alright. Then I’ll wish you all the best in advance.”

Zhang Xiuqin smiled lightly: “Thanks.”

By evening, the food stall’s lights were already lit early.

Baskets of cooled fish rice were carried out one after another, arranged neatly under the lights alongside the raw marinated seafood dishes.

The kitchen was finishing up the last prep work, and Fang Long was busy wrapping plastic tablecloths around the tables under the arcade.

The wind was strong tonight, constantly billowing the tablecloths loose, and it took her considerable effort to secure just one.

Zhang Xiuqin walked over: “Let me help you.”

“Yay, thanks, sis.”

“No problem.”

Working together, they quickly finished wrapping the rest of the tables.

Zhang Xiuqin suddenly spoke: “Fang Long, I’m sorry.”

Fang Long blinked, utterly confused: “Why are you suddenly apologizing to me?”

Zhang Xiuqin said honestly: “That night before New Year’s Eve, when you were bringing drinks over to that group of people—I had a bad feeling something might happen, but I never went over to help you.”

She’d known Fang Long for a few years now too, and like everyone else at the food stall, they all treated her like a little sister—so when that incident happened that night, Zhang Xiuqin had never been able to shake the guilt.

Especially since, as someone who served alcohol herself, she was the one who feared customers like that the most.

She apologized to Fang Long again: “I’m sorry you had to go through something so awful.”

“God, you scared me! Being all serious like that, I thought it was something big.” Fang Long laughed. “I tossed that whole mess out of my mind ages ago, don’t worry about it.”

Zhang Xiuqin could understand why Zhou Ya liked Fang Long.

The image of the girl smashing a beer bottle to shield Zhou Ya was still vivid in her mind—in that moment, Zhang Xiuqin had known no one would ever find their way into Zhou Ya’s heart again.

That place inside him would always belong to Fang Long.

Adults tend to pause in countless moments, hesitating for a few seconds before acting.

People call that the maturity that comes with growing up.

Fang Long wasn’t mature enough—she could even be reckless and impulsive—but it was precisely because of that childlike quality that she possessed a courage many people had long since lost.

Zhang Xiuqin envied her that kind of “courage.”

That night, business at the food stall was excellent, even livelier than before the New Year.

The tables were always full; before one group of customers could even finish paying and clearing out, the next group was already sitting down.

Tonight, Zhou Ya left the kitchen to the other cooks and took charge of the cold station himself, handling the marinated meats and raw preparations.

Fang Long kept sneaking glances at him.

In the dead of winter, he wore short sleeves and was still sweating.

Knife flashing up and down, silver light flickering, every motion clean and efficient.

He barely spoke, just a nod here, a wave there, and everyone else knew exactly where things needed to go.

Well… she had to admit, Zhou Ya working like this was actually pretty striking.

A little past nine, a table of customers arrived—Ren Jianbai bringing a group of colleagues for a late-night meal.

Zhou Ya was a bit surprised, asking Ren Jianbai: “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

Ren Jianbai threw an arm around his shoulder, acting like they were old buddies: “Ah, came to back up my good brother, no need to say more.”

“It’s hot as hell, get off, get off.”

Zhou Ya grumbled, but still pulled out the Moutai he’d been keeping stashed on the drinks cabinet and handed it to Ren Jianbai: “Take this and share it with your colleagues.”

Ren Jianbai feigned shock: “Boss Zhou, this won’t do—we’re the people’s good public servants, can’t accept gifts from the masses.”

Zhou Ya laughed and cursed: “Don’t want it? Fine, give it back.”

Qin Bole came by too, though not for the late-night food—he walked a few laps around the shop, picked out several spots, and said he’d send over a set of security cameras in a couple of days.

Without either Ren Jianbai or Qin Bole having to say much, Zhou Ya understood their intentions.

Including all the neighbors who’d come out to support the shop tonight—many were regulars bringing their whole families to eat, offering their silent support.

Many young people in small towns couldn’t wait to fly off the moment their wings grew feathers, but Zhou Ya was the exact opposite.

He had no lofty ideals, no grand ambitions—he just wanted to put down roots in this small town.

Roots. Deep roots, driven down and down.

As a child, some kids, knowing he was an abandoned baby, would ask him questions that irritated him.

Like, did he want to find his birth parents.

Like, if his birth parents came looking for him, would he go back home with them.

He’d chosen to stay silent back then, because he hadn’t yet been sure what was in his own heart.

Now, if anyone asked again, he would answer: no, he wouldn’t.

This place was his home.

Late into the night, the shop was still lively, the clink of glasses unceasing.

Zhou Ya stood under the arcade, smoking.

Gazing at the bustling scene before him, perhaps stung by the smoke, his eyes grew faintly damp.

Fang Long walked over and, making sure no one was watching them, bumped Zhou Ya’s arm with her head: “Hey, what’s wrong with you?”

Zhou Ya looked down at her, the emotion in his chest surging even more fiercely.

He flicked the half-finished cigarette between his fingers toward the storm drain cover, and without caring whether anyone might see, grabbed Fang Long’s wrist and pulled her toward the alley beside them.

The man’s steps were urgent; Fang Long had to nearly jog to keep up.

She frowned, keeping her voice low: “What’s going on?!”

Zhou Ya said nothing, just walked until they reached his motorcycle before letting go of her.

Before Fang Long could steady herself, Zhou Ya lifted her onto the motorcycle’s fuel tank, sitting her sideways.

The wall lamp above had never been fixed, flickering on and off, accompanied by a buzzing electrical hum.

Zhou Ya’s voice, too, seemed to carry an electric current: “Want to kiss you.”

Fang Long’s almond eyes went wide and round, a breath caught in her throat, and then the kiss was already falling.

Zhou Ya came on fiercely, and for a moment Fang Long couldn’t keep up—pushing at him, hitting him, none of it did any good.

After a while, she reached up and wrapped her arms around him instead, gently tugging at the back of his shirt.

From the mouth of the alley, they could even hear A’Feng’s booming laughter; the two of them hid in the dark lane, stealing three minutes of a kiss.

The night wind was cold, but both their hearts burned hotter and hotter.