The winter water was ice-cold. Just as Ling’ai was about to plunge her hands into the basin to wash the cabbage, her wrist was caught.

“Don’t touch the water — there are slivers of ice in it. It’s freezing cold.” Zheng Yun moved her hands aside and crouched down to wash the cabbage himself, then the radish. Ling’ai watched as his hands turned red and chapped from the cold.

“When you’re washing vegetables, wouldn’t it be easier to add a little hot water?” Ling’ai crouched beside him and offered quietly.

“Men aren’t so delicate.” Zheng Yun lifted the radish from the water. “Girls need to be careful — my sister-in-law says women shouldn’t let themselves get chilled, otherwise it affects pregnancy.”

Ling’ai’s heart stirred, and she asked impulsively, “Zheng Yun, do you prefer boys or girls?”

Zheng Yun put on a look of serious contemplation, then finally smiled at her. “I like both.”

What he meant to say was: as long as they were our children, whether a boy or a girl, he would love them both. But considering that they had not yet married, saying this seemed rather presumptuous, and so he quietly swallowed the words.

Ling’ai lowered her head, staring at that green radish, and her eyes gradually misted over.

If it were possible, she truly wished to have his children — one boy and one girl, as long as he liked them.

“All right — go wait inside. I’ll go cook.” Zheng Yun carried the basin toward the kitchen. “There are books in the room. Pick one to pass the time.”

“I want to stay with you.” Ling’ai followed closely at his heels. “I want to be your assistant.”

Zheng Yun noticed that Ling’ai was unusually clingy with him today. Though he had some questions in his mind, he did not voice them.

Huicun’s strange behavior the last time, and Ling’ai’s manner now, both gave him an uneasy sense of foreboding. But as for what had actually happened, he had not yet been able to find out.

He knew he could not ask Ling’ai, because if he asked, she would not tell the truth.

Zheng Yun made braised cabbage with tofu and also tossed a dish of crisp radish. His culinary skill was not as refined as Shi Ting’s, but the few home-style dishes he made were hearty and well-prepared.

Ling’ai’s appetite opened up completely, and she ate a heaping full bowl of rice.

“Is your father very busy lately? I have some things regarding the wedding that I’d like to discuss with him.” After dinner, Zheng Yun probed carefully.

At the mention of Huicun, Ling’ai’s expression faltered for a moment — but she quickly said, “Oh, him — incredibly busy. I haven’t seen him in two days. He goes out in the morning and doesn’t come back until the middle of the night.”

She added with a shrug, “He’s been like this lately — so caught up in things that day and night blur together. If you want to find him, you’ll have to make a separate appointment.”

From her expression alone, Zheng Yun could tell she was lying.

“Ling’ai, are you hiding something from me?” Zheng Yun said with a serious look. “Is there anything between us that cannot be said?”

“What could there possibly be?” Ling’ai quickly waved her hand. “You and your occupational habit — you see trouble in everything, treat everyone like a suspect. I’m perfectly fine over here. What’s there to hide?”

“How are the preparations going on your end?”

Ling’ai knew Zheng Yun was asking about the wedding. Though Qing Pu was following Huicun’s instructions and helping her prepare for the wedding, she knew that in the end, this wedding was being arranged for someone else’s benefit.

“There’s Qing Pu looking after it — he’s Father’s most capable aide.” Ling’ai smiled lightly, pointing at the table. “I want a tangerine.”

Zheng Yun took a tangerine and peeled it, then placed it in Ling’ai’s hand. “You just finished eating — don’t eat too much fruit. It’s hard to digest.”

“I know.” Ling’ai peeled a segment of tangerine and held it up to his mouth.

Zheng Yun opened his mouth and ate it. The sweet sensation melted open in his heart.

“It’s getting late — I’ll walk you home.” Zheng Yun checked his watch. In winter, darkness fell faster and faster.

And besides, many places around here had no street lamps. Once night descended, the roads were pitch black.

“Can we take the tram? Please?” Ling’ai suggested.

Every time she left from here, Zheng Yun would hail a rickshaw to take her home, then he would take the tram back by himself.

“Are you not afraid of the cold?”

The trams were icy in every direction, especially in winter — even if there were seats, you would hesitate to sit.

“Not afraid.” Ling’ai looked at him with eyes full of longing. “I want to spend a little more time with you.”

“All right.” Zheng Yun’s heart softened. He took her hand in his. “If you want to take the tram, I’ll keep you company. For as long as you like.”

The tram stop was not far. After the two of them walked there on foot, it was not long before an old-fashioned tram came clattering along.

They boarded with the crowd, and Zheng Yun bought two tickets.

“Let’s sit here.”

At the very back of the car there happened to be two seats. Ling’ai quickly pulled Zheng Yun over and they sat down.

As the tram pulled away from the stop, Ling’ai could not help but crane her head out the window. From this position, she could just see Zheng Yun’s courtyard.

As the tram continued steadily forward, that courtyard grew more and more distant, until finally it disappeared entirely into the darkness, never to be seen again.

Ling’ai gazed into that dark expanse, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Hey.” Zheng Yun pulled her shoulder toward him. “Why are you sticking your head out the window — how dangerous.”

He closed the window as he spoke.

Ling’ai took the opportunity to rub her eyes. “It was too cold — the cold brought out tears and a runny nose.”

Zheng Yun quickly pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over. “Wipe them.”

Ling’ai took it and dabbed carelessly at her eyes and nose, then shamelessly declared, “It’s dirty now — I’m not giving it back.”

Zheng Yun smiled. “It’s just a handkerchief — no need to return it.”

Ling’ai folded it neatly and put it in her pocket. When she turned her head, her eyes were still red at the rims.

There were not many people around them, and only then did Zheng Yun dare to place his hand over her eyes. “Is it really that cold?”

“If you don’t believe me, try it yourself.” Ling’ai pouted. “My nose nearly froze crooked.”

“It does look a bit crooked.” Zheng Yun tapped the tip of her nose with exaggerated surprise.

“Really? It’s crooked?” Ling’ai touched her own nose. “It’s really crooked?”

Zheng Yun laughed. “Silly girl.”

Of course Ling’ai knew he was teasing her — and she too was playing along, just to see his smile.

The light inside the car was dim, yet his features were clear to her eyes beyond all measure. That smile was like sunlight, illuminating the narrow cabin, and illuminating her world.

Yet that was ultimately the brief beauty of a flower that blooms only once. Her world was already sinking into darkness, and she would no longer possess that light.

The tram moved slowly along its tracks. Beside her, Zheng Yun’s voice remained as pleasing to the ear as ever. He spoke of the recent changes at the Military Police Bureau, and of his most admired person having become Young Marshal.

He spoke of some of his thoughts and plans for the wedding, asked whether the house needed to be redecorated, said that she liked peonies, and that he was thinking of buying more peony seeds — perhaps if they planted them now in early spring, by summer there would be a great expanse of vivid blossoms.

She listened with a smile to the sound of his voice, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on his face. She wanted to engrave all of this into her memory, imprint it deep in her heart, and commit it with all her strength to remembrance — so that neither this life nor the next would ever forget it.

Until the tram stopped and Ling’ai’s station arrived.

In a daze, Ling’ai had already been pulled by Zheng Yun’s hand and led down from the car.

The tram gradually receded before them, and the platform was now empty.

Zheng Yun asked, “Cold? Get home quickly.”

Seeing that there was no one around, he took her hand and they walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder. But Ling’ai pulled her hand free and instead turned it over to clasp his. His hand was much larger than hers; she could not fully hold it — only half of it — but even this half, she gripped with all her might.

The street had almost no pedestrians. The newly installed lampposts in this area cast a warm amber glow along the road.

The two of them walked beneath the lamplight, their shadows stretching long behind them, those two shadows intertwining tightly with each other, as though they would never be parted.

“I truly hope this road would never reach its end.” Ling’ai murmured. “To just keep walking like this, and keep walking on.”

Zheng Yun turned to look at her. The lamplight fell upon her fair face, making her brows and eyes seem all the softer — yet beneath this tenderness lay what seemed like a veil of desolation, a blemish upon this beautiful scene.

Unable to help himself, he raised a hand and gently smoothed the crease at her brow. “If you want to keep walking, I’ll keep you company. Until you say stop, until you say you’re tired.”

She knew that as long as she was willing, he would never let go of her hand. No matter how difficult or how far the road, he would walk it with her.

She had once envied Yan Qing for having the good fortune to meet Shi Ting. She had thought she could never be so lucky — yet heaven had not been unkind to her, and had ultimately let her meet Zheng Yun.

In her eyes, Zheng Yun had no flaws. Everything about him was perfect.

And yet she did not have the blessing. She could not walk this road to its end, hand in hand with him — even if he was willing, she was ultimately the one who would have to become the heartless one.

The road had its end, just as a life has its length. And at this moment, they stood before the front gate of Ling’ai’s home, a solitary lamp burning beside them.

“Zheng Yun.” Ling’ai suddenly turned around to face him, her eyes clear and bright as she looked steadily into his dark pupils. “Do you believe in past lives and future lives?”

Zheng Yun smiled. “Why do you ask?”

He was a materialist — he did not believe in past lives or karmic cycles or any of that. But faced with her question, he did not immediately deny her. He waited patiently for what she was about to say.

“Actually, I don’t believe in it either.” Ling’ai gave a small shake of her head. “But now I want to believe.”

She pressed her lips lightly together and looked at him with a smile. “If two people have no fate in this life, perhaps in the next life they will still have a chance to be together. And so…”

As she spoke, she suddenly took his hand and bit down hard on the back of it. She bit with great force — the bitten spot immediately seeped blood.

Yet Zheng Yun did not even furrow his brow, and instead looked at her with a measure of concern.

Ling’ai cradled the hand she had bitten, studying the two rows of bleeding tooth marks. “Will this leave a scar? If there is a next life, I must find the person whose left hand bears a scar of tooth marks — because that person might be you.”

She clasped his hand, rose onto her tiptoes, and her soft lips brushed lightly against his.

Zheng Yun’s body jolted as though struck by a sudden shock, and he looked at her in something of a daze.

Before he could even fully come back to himself from this butterfly-brief kiss, he heard her say: “Zheng Yun, let us break up.”