Nan Chu sat there in a daze, staring at the half-eaten bowl of rice in front of her — the man was already gone, vanished like a gust of wind.

The cafeteria’s main doors stood wide open.

Then came another burst of urgent footsteps, and several figures sprinted past the entrance. In the sunlight, they were silhouettes charging forward without a backward glance, and Nan Chu thought she could see dust rising from beneath their feet.

……

The other squad members were on their midday break. Lin Luxiao was the first to reach the vehicle bay. He swiftly changed into his firefighting gear, an earpiece wire looped over one ear, simultaneously listening to the dispatcher relay the situation on the ground and glancing down at his watch. In under a minute, all personnel were assembled. He jumped into the truck and ordered the squad to move out.

The dispatcher’s voice continued through the earpiece:

“There has been an explosion at the Youming Chemical Plant in the north-suburban eastern district. The estimated number of trapped personnel is currently around two hundred — all workers from the plant’s production floor. The affected area is large, which will make search operations considerably difficult. There are also ongoing explosions from unidentified liquids. Stay safe out there. Teams Three and Five have already been dispatched to provide support.”

Lin Luxiao gazed out the window and adjusted his earpiece. “Copy that.”

Then he switched off.

The truck had barely reached the gate when the production crew blocked their path.

The director had just heard that this was a major explosion and came rushing over, desperately hoping to bring along the crew to capture some footage on-site.

Capture footage? People’s lives were at stake, and this man brushed it aside with those flippant two words. Not just Lin Luxiao — even the squad members felt a surge of indignant fury. Lin Luxiao’s temper was never good to begin with, and right now he had zero patience left. He had the window lowered and barked out at whoever stood outside: “Move.”

The director was inwardly displeased at being yelled at, but on someone else’s turf, he didn’t dare make it too obvious. He tried once more: “We had an agreement about filming live on-site.”

Lin Luxiao’s expression went completely cold. “We’ll arrange for on-site filming later. Today this is an explosion! I’m afraid you’ll go in with your lives and not come back out. Get out of the way now — otherwise I’ll immediately apply to have your filming permit revoked!”

He raised the window back up and told the driver: “Go. If he won’t move, run him over.”

His voice was utterly devoid of warmth.

After the truck drove away, the director slammed his notebook down in fury, spun around, and berated his assistant: “What the hell is he so smug about?! Smug about what?! He’s just a fire company commander — not even a major — what gives him the right to act so high and mighty?!”

The assistant stood with his head bowed, saying nothing.

The director smoothed his hair back, panting with anger, watching the fire truck’s retreating silhouette in the distance. “Say something!” he snapped.

“I heard his grandfather is a… a major… general.”

The middle-aged director exhaled sharply, blowing his own fringe out of his face. “You think I didn’t know that?! Do I need you to remind me?!”

……

In the cafeteria, Nan Chu kept her head down and worked through her bowl of rice until there wasn’t a single grain left.

The cafeteria auntie came out with a sigh, collected Lin Luxiao’s bowl, and tidied up as she spoke: “Always like this — when things get busy, a proper meal is out of the question.”

Nan Chu paused and looked up at her.

The cafeteria auntie smiled at her. “You eat more — if it’s not enough, I’ll serve you another portion, there’s still food inside. When Commander Lin gets back, I’ll make him a fresh plate.”

“Does this happen to them often?”

The auntie had seen this scene more times than she could count. “People calling in emergencies don’t stop to check whether it’s mealtime or nap time.”

That was true.

Most people confused the concept — firefighters, police officers, doctors, nurses, it was the same across every profession. The hardships were only understood by those who had lived them. When Nan Chu first arrived, she had heard Shao Yijiu tell her a story.

It had been only a few months earlier. They had received an emergency call from a villa district somewhere in Beixun City. An elderly lady’s cat had gotten stuck in a tree; her son had called the police, who redirected him to the fire department, who then received the call. It happened to be Shao Yijiu’s shift that day. He brought two teammates to help retrieve the cat from the tree.

The little cat had somehow injured its hind leg — it had a minor fracture — and it took a bit of effort to get the animal down safely.

The elderly lady’s son saw that the cat was injured and immediately pinned the blame on them, claiming they had handled things improperly and crippled the cat. His tone was absolutely vile. One of the teammates couldn’t take it and argued back, upon which the elderly lady’s son actually filed a complaint against them for having a poor attitude.

He really did go to the company commander to lodge the complaint, saying that the firefighters on duty that day had been unprofessional — and walked straight into Lin Luxiao’s line of fire. Lin Luxiao gave him a proper dressing-down: “Did you pay for their services? And you expect good ‘service’? They are public servants of the state. Respect is a two-way street — if you don’t see them as human beings, why should they see you as one? While they were out there working hard, you were curled up in bed fast asleep. When they lay down their lives for this country, you can’t even climb a tree to get a cat.”

Shao Yijiu had been deeply disheartened by the whole incident. He had thrown himself into this work with a full heart, willing to go through fire and water for this society, and this was the return he got. He had been sullen and downcast for quite a few days over it — until Lin Luxiao found him.

Shao Yijiu apologized to him. “I’m sorry.”

Lin Luxiao sat down beside him, lit a cigarette, and turned a lighter over and over in his hand. “Sorry for what?” he asked.

Shao Yijiu kept his head down, his voice low. “I shouldn’t have argued with that person. It damaged the image of a serviceman.”

Lin Luxiao pinched the lighter between his thumb and index finger, flicking it idly, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Good that you know.”

“I feel really disheartened.”

Lin Luxiao could tell the young man was carrying a small storm of emotions inside him. He said nothing, quietly listening as the boy spoke.

“It feels like what I’m doing has no meaning. My mother told me to study hard and I didn’t listen. Now I’m a soldier, and I finally had some sense of accomplishment — and then it’s like heaven gave me another slap. Not only do people not appreciate you, they think you’re lazy and unprofessional. So what does all our training amount to? What is it that we’re working so hard for?”

Lin Luxiao told him: “We don’t do this for people’s gratitude. We do it for this country.”

Shao Yijiu gave a cold laugh. He remembered the harshest thing the other man had said during the argument: “You’re nothing but a firefighter — the most useless branch of the military. If you were really something, you’d go join the peacekeeping forces or the special forces. Can’t cut it, but still acting so full of yourself.”

“People don’t take us seriously at all.”

Lin Luxiao took the cigarette from his lips, raised a hand, and gave him a light shove on the head. “That’s not the right way to think.”

“People say firefighters are the weakest — we don’t even have guns.”

Lin Luxiao curved the corner of his mouth and said, half-joking: “We have water cannons. Next time someone says that to you, blast them with the water cannon — I guarantee it’ll hit harder than an M82 anti-materiel rifle.”

Shao Yijiu burst out laughing despite himself. “It’s rare to hear you crack a joke.”

Lin Luxiao held the cigarette between his lips, raised an eyebrow, and said with complete seriousness: “I’m being serious.”

The young man’s mood had been mostly sorted out by then.

The two of them stood up. In the golden light of the sun, the lush green mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks draped in a gauzy layer of haze.

“Commander Lin — why did you join the fire brigade? With your qualifications, you could have gone to the special forces.”

Lin Luxiao stubbed out his cigarette and gazed at the expanse of green before him, the view wide and unobstructed. “It’s all the same, wherever you go. It’s all for this country. Think about it — the soldiers guarding the border protect the country’s territory, while we protect the country’s people and their belongings. So yes, there will always be a rotten element or two in this society. But we can’t let that make us forget our duty. As long as they’re citizens of this country for even one day, we have an obligation to protect them — even if you see that rotten person in a burning building, even if you despise him, you still have to go in and pull him out. You might even lose your own life doing it. But you still have to. That’s what it means to be a qualified firefighter. Understand?”

Shao Yijiu understood. How could he not understand? Even Nan Chu herself could understand the weight of the burden they carried. Each one of them was a young man barely in his twenties, yet the responsibility on their shoulders was no lighter than anyone else’s.

Nan Chu suddenly found that she understood how Lin Luxiao had become the man he was.

He was a normal man with all seven emotions and six desires, and he had people he disliked — but once he entered a burning building, no matter how much he looked down on someone, he still had to put his own life on the line to save them.

That was his moral courage, and his great love.

Nan Chu quietly and quickly finished the remaining rice in her bowl, wiped her mouth, then reached her hand out toward the auntie. “Give me that bowl.”

The auntie was startled. “That’s Commander Lin’s bowl — if you’re still hungry, let me go get you some more from the kitchen.”

Nan Chu kept her hand extended, her eyes bright and clear. “It’s fine. The commander hates waste most of all.”

The auntie said: “You really want to eat it?”

Nan Chu nodded. “Just give it to me, that’ll do.”

The auntie handed her the bowl.

Nan Chu quickly finished every last bite, then patted her full belly.

I’ve eaten every grain.

You come back safe now.

……

When Nan Chu returned to the dormitory, the director and Yang Zhidao were discussing the next stages of the filming schedule.

Seeing her come back, Yang Zhenggang offered a few words of concern. Nan Chu shook her head to indicate she was fine. “Why didn’t you go?”

Yang Zhenggang said: “One of us going with Commander Lin is enough. He specifically reminded me to stay and keep an eye on all of you. Right now, aside from the injured personnel, everyone has gone out to the rescue — they even called back several soldiers who were on leave. The situation developed rapidly and is fairly serious. Filming for the show will be paused for the next few days. The commander is allowing you all to remain at the station.”

Yan Dai immediately asked: “So can I go home? I can come back once filming resumes.”

Yang Zhenggang thought it over. “Hold off for now. Your status at the moment is officially that of military personnel — leaving and returning to the unit both require approval from your superiors. That’s also what Commander Lin told me just before he got in the truck. The specifics will have to wait until he’s back for us to discuss further.”

Xu Ya, always the considerate one, said: “That’s fine, no worries — I don’t have a drama filming right now anyway. Yang Zhidao, please don’t mind us and go about your business.”

Yan Dai sat on the bench, holding in a simmering frustration.

Nan Chu was quiet for a moment, then asked Yang Zhenggang: “Will it be dangerous?”

Yang Zhenggang glanced at her, something shifting in his expression. When the emergency call had come in just now, every member of the production crew had crowded around asking about filming arrangements. The director had even tried to block the way to demand a live shoot. Even Xu Ya — who was friendly and pleasant on ordinary days — had, in that moment, only asked one question: about filming.

And yet here was this girl who seemed so carefree and oblivious the rest of the time, asking — unexpectedly — whether there would be any danger.

Yang Zhenggang felt a warmth in his chest, and also a pang. He shook his head. “Hard to say what the situation is like over there. From what I heard, it’s a chemical plant explosion — there are still unidentified liquids causing chain explosions as we speak, and that’s something we can’t control. Don’t worry too much. Commander Lin mentioned you had heat stroke — get some good rest in the dormitory.”

Nan Chu perked up. “Commander Lin told you about me?”

Yang Zhenggang nodded. “Just before he left, he called me — and specifically mentioned you.”

“What did he say about me?”

Yang Zhenggang thought back to that calm, steady voice on the phone. “He asked me to keep an eye on you. Not to let you get yourself into trouble.”

Nan Chu naturally interpreted “trouble” as getting heat stroke again.

Little did she know that Lin Luxiao’s exact words had been: — That girl has a screw loose. Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her take advantage of my absence to cause havoc.

……

Yang Zhenggang left. The dormitory was down to just the three female soldiers.

The production crew returned their phones, with a specific reminder not to take photographs.

Xu Ya, at a loose end, started a livestream and chatted with fans online, venting about how grueling the training was. Yan Dai was reading through a script — a film set to begin production in two months. Both Nan Chu and she had been cast in the film, both as supporting roles, though Nan Chu had slightly more screen time.

When it came to acting, Yan Dai genuinely put in more work than Nan Chu. Yan Dai was fighting for herself in every true sense of the word — her family background wasn’t particularly privileged, but she was fiercely determined. She knew what she wanted and would go to any lengths to get it. She wasn’t a naturally gifted actress, and while many directors found her calculating, she was genuinely professional.

Nan Chu was the opposite. She had talent, but she was carefree — or rather, she simply didn’t care about external fame or gain. She took on whatever roles the company brought to her, put in a reasonable performance, wrapped up, and moved on. She had no particular drive to hone her craft, no hunger to survive in the entertainment industry.

The two of them were polar opposites, and that was the source of Yan Dai’s disdain for her.

She saw Nan Chu as careless and aimless, with no ambition, completely indifferent to whatever criticism was hurled her way. She had heard the story of Nan Chu’s street racing incident recently, and combined with this show — it probably all came down to her connection with Jiang Ge.

Thinking of that, another layer of contempt settled in her chest.

Playing at being so above it all — and in the end, she still needs a man to get ahead.

Nan Chu called Shen Guanzong on her phone and then checked her Weibo. The hate-filled private messages had multiplied again. She skimmed through them briefly — the same recycled insults going around in circles. She paid them no mind at all.

Xu Ya grabbed her phone and called out in surprise: “It’s trending.”

Yan Dai: “What is?”

Xu Ya: “The explosion at the Youming Chemical Plant in the northern suburbs — there are even photos from the scene. Check Weibo, you two. This incident seems like a really big deal.”

Three hours had passed since the explosion. With some prominent accounts helping to spread the word, it had quickly climbed to the trending list.

A journalist was livestreaming and posting photos on-site. Nan Chu kept her eyes fixed on that journalist’s Weibo. By four in the afternoon, she scrolled to a photo showing Lin Luxiao’s profile.

In her memory, this man always appeared immaculate — his uniform crisp and upright, every line sharp and clean. Even on days off when he wore casual clothes, it was always a clean white tee and black trousers. She had never seen him covered in ash and soot.

Behind him blazed a wall of crimson fire. In his arms was a person he had just snatched back from death’s door.

The post had been shared by quite a few people. Someone commented underneath: “I know this isn’t the right moment to say this, but I just have to — this firefighter brother is really handsome.”

Even Xu Ya had found the post, scrolled through the comments, tossed her phone down, and declared: “Our commander is about to go viral.”

Yan Dai had been rehearsing her lines but the remark caught her attention. “Where, where?”

Xu Ya showed her the way: “My Weibo feed is flooded with him. I already reposted it.”

All three had followed each other on Weibo when they first joined the unit, as required by the production crew.

Nan Chu had just seen Xu Ya’s repost too. True to her usual little-princess style, the caption read: “My commander is absolutely the best!”

Underneath, a fan had replied: “With a commander this handsome, he must treat our little princess really well.”

Yan Dai also reposted with: “Sending heart emojis to the commander.”

Then she put down her phone and sighed: “Honestly, Commander Lin really does have a certain presence — handsome and manly all at once.”

Xu Ya nodded in agreement. “Right? Though he’s a bit too old for my taste.”

Yan Dai glanced at her, decided to abandon the script altogether, and had a perfectly earnest discussion with her: “He’s not that old — only twenty-nine. Older men know how to take care of you. If you date someone your own age, what would you two even do besides argue all day?”

Xu Ya waved a hand dismissively. “Between that and the other option, I prefer someone like Mu Ze — a young, fresh-faced guy.”

Yan Dai let out a soft snort. “That’s just because you’re young yourself. Mu Ze hasn’t even figured out his own life yet — you’d be counting on him to take care of you? Besides, Mu Ze has such a slight build. He’d be no fun to sleep with. Commander Lin, on the other hand — now that would be worthwhile.”

Yan Dai was refreshingly blunt. Xu Ya paused for a second, then smiled meaningfully.

“Yan Dai — do you have feelings for him?”

Yan Dai admitted it freely. “A little.”

Pure, physical attraction.

Nan Chu glanced over. Even having admitted to a little interest, Yan Dai’s expression remained that of a proud white swan.

Her eyes said it all:

The one I’ve set my sights on is nothing but a toad. A crook of my finger, and he’ll fall at my feet.

Nan Chu gave a quiet, amused huff and shook her head.

There’s a saying that female friendships are built on gossip — and sure enough, Xu Ya’s gossip instincts had been ignited. She nudged Yan Dai: “Why don’t you make an effort before the show wraps up? Who knows, you might actually make it work. I think Commander Lin treats you pretty well — he’s always giving you special attention.”

Nan Chu unwrapped one of the pieces of candy Lin Luxiao had given her at lunch, popped it into her mouth, and said lightly: “You’re imagining things.”

Both of them looked over at her. She was sitting on the stool, her expression perfectly at ease.

Xu Ya pouted innocently. “Am I imagining it? I feel like Commander Lin gives Yan Dai special attention.”

“He’s the commander — of course he looks out for everyone,” Nan Chu said, leaning back in her chair and chewing her candy.

Yan Dai smiled and turned to Xu Ya: “Nan Chu is right. He’s the commander — he takes care of everyone. He wouldn’t single anyone out for special treatment.”

Xu Ya nodded, half-understanding.

This denial was too hollow to be believed. Some women are easily swept into a bout of inflated self-confidence under encouragement — Xu Ya’s remark had genuinely given Yan Dai ideas, and in Yan Dai’s eyes, Nan Chu’s words were nothing but jealousy.

Yan Dai’s animosity toward Nan Chu had its roots in the incident with Ran Dongyang. Though Yan Dai had eventually seen clearly that Ran Dongyang was a complete scoundrel, she couldn’t rid herself of the hostility she felt toward Nan Chu. What made it worse was that they were in the same company and were even of the same type — always being compared to each other — and in Han Beiyao’s estimation, Nan Chu had more commercial value, so Nan Chu’s resources were considerably better.

She genuinely couldn’t understand what it was about a woman mired in scandal that was worth Han Beiyao pouring money into and packaging — but that was probably the difference between how men and women saw things.

……

The fire truck didn’t return until the evening of the third day.

One by one, exhausted and covered in grime, the men climbed down from the vehicle. Nan Chu leaned against the railing on the dormitory corridor, chewing on a piece of candy, both hands resting on the railing, watching the figures descend from the truck from a distance.

They fell into formation. Stood at attention.

Lin Luxiao stood opposite them, snapped a sharp salute, then announced the dismissal. The truck drove into the vehicle bay; the squad members headed back to the dormitories to change. That lean, spare silhouette walked off in the opposite direction.

Nan Chu stayed on the corridor for a little while longer, then made her way down.

As she went down the stairs, squad members were making their way up in a steady stream. Leading them was Shao Yijiu, his eyes red, his dark face working hard to suppress a trembling that he was struggling to keep in check. Nan Chu knew — someone had been sacrificed. Yesterday while scrolling through Weibo, she had seen reports trickling in about firefighters who had died, though no list or announcement had been released identifying which unit.

Shao Yijiu, for once, had nothing to say even when he saw Nan Chu.

Nan Chu understood then. It must have been one of the station’s own.

……

Lin Luxiao hadn’t gone back to the dormitory — he had gone straight to his office. Nan Chu had seen him walking in the direction of the administration building and hurried after him.

Lin Luxiao climbed to the fourth floor. Someone was leaning against the railing at the top of the staircase — alone, with nothing behind them but open air and wind.

Nan Chu opened her arms to him, a soft smile on her face, her eyes bright — brighter than the moonlight at her back. Her voice dissolved into the night.

“Commander Lin — come here. Let me hug you.”

Lin Luxiao stopped on the third or fourth step from the bottom, head tilted up to look at her. His eyes were slightly red. His face and clothes were still filthy — covered in ash and soot — but his eyes were exceptionally deep. They were clear and bright eyes, with a beautiful upward tilt at the corners.

Before he could say anything, Nan Chu finished speaking and came down the steps toward him.

She stopped on the sixth step. Stood still.

The two of them were at almost the same height — Nan Chu was taller by about half a centimeter.

She reached out, cradled his head in her hands, both palms pressed gently against his ears, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his eyes.

“Don’t be sad.”

She was comforting him.

“Choose me. I’m not afraid of the difficulties that might come.”

Nan Chu held his head in her arms, gazing steadily into his deep, dark eyes, her voice soft.

Like a child whispering in a dream, asking for a piece of candy she wants.

Sincere and earnest.