Nan Chu was still chattering away, and from the delight in her voice you could tell she was genuinely happy. Lin Luxiao shifted position and sat at the foot of the bed, hands propped behind him, head tilted back, contentedly watching his wife.

“This drawer is for your underwear — mine is in the one beside it.”

Two drawers side by side, pulled open: men’s and women’s underwear neatly arranged inside.

“These are all new — I bought them for you. Try them on and see if they fit. If not, we’ll go pick some together next time.”

Lin Luxiao didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Nan Chu was warming to her subject and paid him no attention, rattling on. “Do you get cold easily?”

He shook his head.

“Do you overheat easily?”

Shook his head.

Nan Chu noted all of this down, murmuring to herself — doesn’t get cold, doesn’t overheat, clearly someone who came out of the military. Then she asked: “Do you like tomatoes?”

He paused. That question felt oddly difficult to answer. Apart from fish, which he didn’t eat, he had no real likes or dislikes when it came to food. Sometimes in the unit they’d just cook whatever was available — if you didn’t eat, you went hungry.

“They’re fine.”

Nan Chu eagerly pressed on: “What do you usually watch on TV?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what do you do for fun in the unit?”

He crossed his arms, half-smiling. “Think of you.”

Nan Chu flung herself at him, hooked her arms around his neck, and pushed him down onto the bed. “Full marks for that answer. You’ve earned a kiss.” She kissed him on the lips, and Lin Luxiao immediately caught the back of her head and bit back hard.

Nan Chu wrestled against him. “Come on — let me show you the balcony.”

Lin Luxiao ignored her and flipped her over, pressing her down into the bed and kissing his way down the pale line of her neck.

Nan Chu caught his lower lip in her teeth. “Let’s go!”

Lin Luxiao gave up with a sigh and let her haul him up off the bed and drag him to the balcony.

“Ta-da —”

The young woman spread her hands with triumphant pride. “Look — every one of these I grew myself.”

The balcony was absolutely packed, a riot of reds and greens and every vivid color in between. These were flowers she had grown during her floral design studies in America, and she had gone to considerable trouble to ship them back by air.

Then gone to considerable trouble again having them hauled up to this balcony.

Men were generally insensitive to flowers, but if the young woman loved them, letting her fill a whole room with them was fine by him. He leaned with his arms crossed against the sliding balcony door, the last light of the setting sun falling across him, and curved the corner of his mouth. “You really do love flowers?”

Nan Chu nodded. “I do! So much.”

Lin Luxiao’s mind went briefly to the car full of roses that rich second-generation had once sent her. He licked the corner of his mouth, feeling a faint, inexplicable twinge of irritation.

Nan Chu noticed nothing unusual. She was tending to the plants and glanced back to find him staring at her. She smiled. “What?”

He shook his head, bowing his head at his own childishness with a small laugh.

Still carrying a grudge about something that had happened so long ago.

Nan Chu ignored him and pointed to a cluster of five-petaled blue flowers in front of her. “Guess what these are called?”

He had no idea. Beyond roses and chrysanthemums, everything else was simply “a flower” to him.

Seeing his lack of interest, Nan Chu said quietly, “Never mind — even if I told you, you wouldn’t know.”

Lin Luxiao pulled her over and wrapped his arms around her. “Are these hard to grow?”

Nan Chu nestled against him. “Yeah, very. Even the soil I had specially sourced.”

He bent down to kiss her, talking between kisses. “Then you take good care of them.”

“…” Nan Chu dug her fingers fiercely into his chest. “And what about you!”

He looked at her with a grin. “I have to take care of you.”

Then, as an afterthought, he added: “You’re far harder to keep than any of these plants.”

Nan Chu lunged to bite him. Lin Luxiao caught her hands behind her back, scooped her up sideways, carried her back to the bedroom, hooked the door shut with his foot, and dropped her onto the bed, leaning over her.

The young woman played along and wailed dramatically, “Beast!”

Lin Luxiao undid his belt, grabbed her slender ankles without ceremony and pulled her toward him, dragging her down beneath him. His hand slipped under the hem of her skirt. “Mm? What was that?”

The young woman, wickedness fully engaged, let her acting soar — performing helpless panic with total commitment.

Lin Luxiao propped himself up and watched her put on the entire solo performance with a helpless mix of amusement and exasperation. Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he lowered his head and sealed her lips. “Stop fooling around.”

Nan Chu was still calling him “beast.”

Gradually, the mood in the room shifted. Sounds became soft and low, breathy and lilting. After three or four days without each other, the atmosphere ignited like a flame touching dry tinder.

(On and on and on, yes yes oh oh, on and on, approximately eighty thousand words omitted.)

…

Seven thirty in the evening.

Lin Luxiao came out of the shower, pulled on his trousers, then grabbed a t-shirt from the wardrobe and pulled it on. He picked up his jacket from the sofa and glanced over at Nan Chu on the bed.

He walked over and sat on the edge. Jacket in hand, he looked down at the young woman sleeping soundly — her dark hair spread across the pillow, the corners of her mouth gently curved upward — and he couldn’t help bowing his head with a quiet smile.

Dreaming of him?

Lin Luxiao leaned down close, pressed a light kiss to her lips. Worried she might wake and come looking for him, he thought about it, then lowered himself again and kissed her properly awake.

Nan Chu came up grumpy, hand raised to swat at whoever was interrupting her sleep — then caught sight of who it was and forcibly swallowed the urge. She wanted to snap at him but couldn’t quite bring herself to, not at him. Her small face went red with the effort of holding it in.

Lin Luxiao saw all of this and pressed his hand gently to her cheek. “I’m heading out for a bit — won’t be long. I’ve ordered food delivery for you. If you get hungry, eat something before you go back to sleep. Yeah?”

Nan Chu asked, still half-asleep. “Where are you going?”

Lin Luxiao glossed over it lightly: “I’m being transferred back in a couple of days. Going to see Shen Mu and the others.”

Nan Chu: “Oh. Next time — when will you be back?”

Lin Luxiao soothed her with a pat on the head. “I don’t know — I’ll try my best. You get some sleep. I’m heading out.”

He was genuinely no good at this — at comforting people. When he was younger, he went wherever he felt like going, came and went as he pleased, had never once bothered to tell Lin Qingyuan his plans, let alone think to explain himself to a woman.

But now — there was only this one woman in the world who could make him willing to try.

Nan Chu had always been acutely sensitive — the slightest ripple could shift her mood, especially when it came to things she cared about. She could pretend not to care. She could pretend not to be hurt. But he couldn’t pretend not to see her hurt.

Back in Lushan, when Nan Chu had come to find him, there had been several moments when he’d nearly broken — when he’d almost told her: let’s make up.

Several times he had bitten it down and held on.

That last night, she had truly made him furious — but then he’d turned around and thought about how he had been trying to hold her with chains, and he’d felt pathetic for it. The anger in his chest that night had been like something with claws, tearing at him, making his heart pound as though it would burst through his ribs.

Looking back now — he had been a bastard too.

A real bastard.

He couldn’t help himself. He bowed his head and pressed his forehead gently to Nan Chu’s, calling her name in a low, rough voice, as though cradling something precious: “Nan Chu…”

Nan Chu hooked her arms around his neck and drew him close, patting his back as though she understood everything, soothing him.

Lin Luxiao sniffled. To Nan Chu’s ears, it almost sounded as though this great eight-foot man was actually crying into her arms — startled, she quickly went to tilt his face up. “You’re crying.”

Lin Luxiao pinched her cheek. “What would a thirty-one-year-old man have to cry about.”

Nan Chu gave a hum. “I’ve heard that a man who cries at least twice for a woman — that’s when you know it’s real love.”

Lin Luxiao gave a derisive snort. “What on earth kind of theory is that.”

“It’s true — a famous director said so.”

“Which famous director.”

Nan Chu blinked. “Director Er.”

What kind of director was that supposed to be.

…

The restaurant had been booked by Lin Qingyuan. Apparently it was a French private kitchen that Nan Yueru made a point of visiting every time she returned from abroad.

At ten past eight, Nan Yueru had not yet appeared.

Lin Luxiao sat by the window, perfectly patient, slowly taking in the neon-lit street scene outside.

Eight thirty. Still no Nan Yueru.

A few of the shops outside had gone dark. The night lamps hung high, casting yellow haloes, and beneath the haloes a few moths flew in tireless circles.

At eight forty-five, a waiter came over, bowed to Lin Luxiao, and said politely: “Madam Nan says something came up unexpectedly this evening. She’ll arrange another time with you.”

Lin Luxiao glanced at him. Politely: “Understood. Thank you.”

But he didn’t leave. He sat there, gaze still turned toward the window, as though he were genuinely absorbed in the street scene outside.

Until the hands of the clock reached nine.

Then Lin Luxiao stood, walked to the entrance. Outside, a light rain had begun to fall — fine and long, like a transparent curtain of beads strung between heaven and earth. He couldn’t resist reaching a hand out to brush through it.

Lin Luxiao pulled up the hood of his jacket and prepared to step out into the rain.

His foot had barely come down on the first step when a high-end black car pulled up in front of him. He drew his foot back, narrowed his gaze, and slowly let his focus lengthen through the night. The rear window descended — and there was Nan Yueru, her makeup immaculate, not looking a day near fifty.

She asked him with a calm smile: “Would you like to go back inside?”

The restaurant, which had already closed up for the night, reopened the kitchen for her. Even the owner came out to welcome her, smiling as he greeted Nan Yueru: “You made it? This young man’s been waiting for you for over an hour.”

“Has he?” Nan Yueru said to the owner: “A restaurant this fine — of course you should expect to wait.”

The owner gave an awkward laugh, sensed the atmosphere was not quite right, and found an excuse to slip away.

Nan Yueru glanced at Lin Luxiao with an entirely unapologetic smile. “Something came up at the last minute — were you anxious waiting?”

He curved the corner of his mouth calmly. “Not anxious. I was just a little worried leaving Nan Chu on her own at home.”

In Lin Qingyuan’s words, Nan Yueru was a seasoned old fox. When Lin Luxiao had come, Lin Qingyuan had warned him clearly: no matter how she provokes you, don’t lose your temper. Nan Yueru loves nothing more than watching other people get angry — the more agitated you become, the calmer she’ll be.

Tonight she was going to make you feel thoroughly uncomfortable. And you just had to sit there and take it — because she was your wife’s mother.

Lin Qingyuan knew his son’s temperament. When it came to the big things, Lin Luxiao never wavered — but if he was genuinely provoked, once the temper came up, ten bulls couldn’t drag it back. That was the result of being indulged by all those uncles of his since childhood.

He’d been genuinely worried that with Nan Yueru’s personality and Lin Luxiao’s, the two of them meeting would be like lightning striking a spark.

The owner brought the food.

The restaurant was empty except for the two of them. Nan Yueru smiled at him, picked up her knife and fork. “Shall we eat? This is the finest French foie gras — I doubt you’ve had it before.”

Lin Luxiao smiled slightly and didn’t move.

Nan Yueru: “What’s the matter?” Then, as though it had just occurred to her: “Don’t know how to use a knife and fork? Not accustomed to French food? Shall I ask the owner to bring you a pair of chopsticks? This is where you and Nan Chu are different — she’s loved Western food since she was small. Haven’t you noticed she can’t hold chopsticks properly? That’s because she grew up using cutlery.”

Lin Luxiao bowed his head with a slight smile and picked up the knife and fork — his movements easy and natural, perfectly fluid.

He simply didn’t enjoy Western food. When he was small and his mother was still alive, she used to make steak — they’d even bought all the proper Western dining utensils. Lin Qi loved it, and their mother had never once asked whether he liked it: whatever Lin Qi wanted, steak was on the table every evening without fail.

After he’d been accepted into the military academy, he’d never eaten it again.

He genuinely didn’t like it.

Nan Yueru smiled. “I nearly forgot — your mother liked Western food.”

Lin Luxiao paused, cut a small piece of foie gras and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly. “You knew my mother?”

Nan Yueru smiled and said nothing.

After a moment, Nan Yueru suddenly called over the owner: “Turn the lights up.”

The previously dim lighting brightened considerably. Nan Yueru fixed him with a direct stare and said bluntly: “How much do you earn a month?”

Lin Luxiao didn’t conceal it. “Seven or eight thousand, at the moment.”

Nan Yueru tipped her chin toward the table in front of them. “Do you know how much this meal costs?”

Lin Luxiao didn’t answer.

“Three months of your salary.” She smiled. “Do you know how much Nan Chu makes per episode of a drama? Half a year of your salary. Do you know what her handbags cost? Three years of your salary. So tell me — what are you going to give her with a salary of seven or eight thousand? She might not know any better, but you’re thirty years old — don’t you? What good does it do her for you to keep her tied to you?”

Lin Luxiao said nothing.

“She told me yesterday that after she finishes this production, she’s going to leave the entertainment industry.” Nan Yueru’s eyes turned sharp as a blade in an instant, cutting into Lin Luxiao. “Do you know how many productions are fighting over her right now? She tells me she’s leaving the entertainment industry to open a flower shop. Tell me — is her head full of water, or have I gone deaf?”

She hadn’t discussed this with him. He suddenly thought of the flowers on her balcony.

Lin Luxiao was stunned — and yet something bittersweet rose in his chest. She expressed her love loudly and outwardly, said extravagant things with her mouth — but when she’d actually gone and done something, she hadn’t told him a word.

A sudden ache. A genuine, deep ache.

His heart clenched, again and again.

After a long pause, he spoke. His voice sounded as though it had been ground down: “All her life — did you ever once ask her what she loves most?”

Nan Yueru froze.

Lin Luxiao’s mouth curved in a bittersweet smile. His voice drifted through the quiet restaurant, emotions layered and complicated.

“You never did. And neither did I. I’ve never thought to ask her what she truly loves — I only cared whether she was by my side. You’ve been the same — operating out of what you thought was a mother’s love. Even one time — did you ever ask her: what do you like to do?”

He was including himself in this.

She had kissed other people on screen, filmed intimate scenes with others.

He had been jealous, angry, envious — had punished her in various ways — and had never once asked:

Do you enjoy being an actress?

“Whether she leaves the entertainment industry or not — I genuinely don’t care. If she loves acting, she can keep acting. If she likes making films, she can keep making them. If one day she’s tired, if she doesn’t want to do it anymore — I’ll be home waiting for her regardless. That’s what I can give her. Can you?”

“Once I joined the military, my life belonged to the nation. Maybe I can’t always choose where I go. But my heart is hers.”

“I hope you’ll understand. Unless I die — I will not let go.”