Even looking back on it later, Situ Jue could never quite figure out how she and Yao Qiyun had managed to carry on their secret affair right under the adults’ noses, growing closer and closer, without ever once being caught — even fooling her razor-sharp mother completely. Keeping their relationship hidden until after college graduation had been a decision they’d made together. For Qiyun, his one dream was that once he finally had the ability and the standing to bear the weight of this relationship, he could walk hand in hand with A’Jue, openly, in front of Uncle and Aunt Situ, and see relief and happiness in their eyes — but that time was still far off, and all he could do was hold himself back and wait for that day to come. From Situ Jue’s perspective, agreeing to this “underground romance” was partly out of consideration for Qiyun’s feelings, and partly to keep her parents’ uncertain reactions out of the equation until their relationship had solidified — to steal a little more sweetness while they still could.

They were dead set on keeping it secret, and yet the scent of young love seemed to radiate from every pore of their bodies — how could something like that possibly stay hidden so easily? Sometimes even they themselves grew nervous, wondering if Xue Shaoping had already seen through them and was simply keeping her own counsel, holding back for reasons of her own. But as a string of later events would prove, even though quite a few people around them had come to a silent understanding, it was precisely their parents — the two people closest to them — who remained genuinely, completely in the dark. Whether that counted as some kind of joke, no one could really say.

If you traced it all back carefully, the credit couldn’t really go to how skillfully the two of them had disguised things — the biggest factor was simply how busy Situ Jiu’an and his wife had been. During that stretch of time, Jiu’antang was first occupied with obtaining OTC certification, then went on to acquire several struggling small pharmaceutical factories in the surrounding area one after another. Situ Jiu’an and Xue Shaoping poured their full attention into the company’s affairs, keeping a much looser eye on their two nearly-grown children than they had in childhood. On top of that, Yao Qiyun’s long track record of good behavior had gradually worn down Xue Shaoping’s guard, and she’d come to genuinely believe he harbored no untoward feelings toward her daughter, that nothing ambiguous could possibly grow between the two of them. Add to that the fact that Situ Jue held some leverage over Aunt Yao, who was instinctively protective of her nephew and reluctantly covered for them in daily life whenever she could — and all these factors together made this particular arrangement possible. Looking back, perhaps even they themselves couldn’t say for certain whether that had been fortunate or not.

But if you’d asked Yao Qiyun and Situ Jue at the time, of course it was exactly what they wanted — no words needed, really; the barely-suppressed smile at the corner of their mouths and the joy in the corner of their eyes said it all. Often, they’d be sitting properly beside their parents watching TV, discussing current events or household chitchat, and moments later, in some unlit corner where no one could see, the two of them would be tangled together, starved for each other.

Deep down, Qiyun remained cautious and level-headed. Though this sudden sweetness had thrown his life’s careful order into disarray, leaving him no longer able to stick to his old, disciplined ways, he could never quite forget something his biological father had once told him as a child: a person’s lifetime of happiness is like water held in a cup — however deep it is, that’s all there ever is; every sip you take is one sip less. He genuinely feared that if his heart grew too eager, his thirst too great, he might drain the cup dry without realizing it, using up all his remaining good fortune too soon. And so, like a child clutching a cup of water, unwilling to go without a sip yet always hoping to save some for later, he could only sip carefully, cautiously, one small mouthful at a time, constantly reminding himself not to let go completely.

Situ Jue cared about none of that. Compared to Yao Qiyun, she’d grown up with her back to an endless river — no need to look behind her, confident there’d always be more clear water flowing whenever she wanted it. But it wasn’t water she wanted — it was feeling as fierce and blazing as fire. Except in front of her parents, where she still held herself somewhat in check, she was reckless everywhere else. She seemed like some kind of natural nemesis fated for Yao Qiyun — the more he held back, the more she wanted to drive him wild.

The first time the two of them tasted forbidden fruit, only a thin door had separated them from Xue Shaoping passing by outside — terrifying enough to leave Yao Qiyun badly shaken. But from then on, Situ Jue seemed to become almost addicted to that secretive, high-stakes thrill, never willing to settle for anywhere safe. She’d pick the empty stairwell on the lab building’s top floor at night, or a deserted restroom in some shopping mall, or her own small bedroom on a Sunday afternoon while Aunt Yao bustled around cleaning just outside the door. Once, right before an important exam, the two of them sat together at his desk doing one last round of review — Yao Qiyun knew how competitive Situ Jue always was, never willing to fall behind on any exam, big or small, so he dutifully played the role of “quizzer,” question after question flowing smoothly, her answers coming back flawless — until somehow, her breath was right there against his ear…

There’d been close calls too, plenty of them. The most dangerous had been the time the two of them, deep in the middle of things in Qiyun’s room, heard the sound of Situ Jiu’an and Xue Shaoping’s car pulling in unexpectedly early. Xue Shaoping, knowing Qiyun had no class that afternoon and was home, called out for him to come try the fresh fruit a client had sent up from the north the moment she walked in the door. The two of them scrambled to put themselves back together in a cold sweat — and in the end, it was the little “escape route” Situ Jue had rigged up through her window years ago that saved them. She seized the moment and slipped out, wandered around outside for a good while, then made a show of coming home “alone,” walking in to find the family already seated in the living room. Her mother chided her mildly for coming home so late, while her father turned to Yao Qiyun and asked, “Situ Jue’s hardly ever home these days — you two go to the same school, keep an eye on her for me, would you? She hasn’t been up to anything reckless lately, has she?”

Situ Jue cut in indignantly, “Does reading at the library count as ‘up to something’? I swear, nobody in the world is more well-behaved than your precious little Qiyun.”

Yao Qiyun could only bow his head and busy himself peeling fruit to hide the embarrassment in his eyes. He told Uncle and Aunt Situ, “She’s fine.” And yet how could he possibly pretend to forget that the very moment Uncle and Aunt Situ had been so worried about, when Situ Jue was at her most “reckless,” had happened not long before, right there in his arms.

Situ Jue teased him about this many times afterward, and faced with her defiant, deliberately provocative streak, Yao Qiyun repeatedly warned her — and, more than anything, reminded himself — always saying, “Don’t do that again next time.” She’d nod, but next time, and the time after that, his moments of clarity always came too late, only after the fact.

He genuinely came to know the constant, gnawing anxiety of a thief. And yet, when the day finally came that she left and never looked back, he found he’d forgiven his own recklessness back then. That stretch of time was the only truly wild, unrestrained happiness he’d known in this half of his life — why shouldn’t he have had it, why shouldn’t he have been allowed it? He’d been drawn precisely to that precarious, tightrope-walking kind of joy, dangling in midair — even knowing how dangerous that happiness was, at least back then, she’d still been by his side.

Not many people at school knew about their relationship — only a handful of classmates from both their circles had pieced together the family connection between them from occasionally seeing them come and go together, though plenty of others held their own suspicions. And of course, Situ Jue was something of a campus celebrity, a favorite topic whenever the boys gathered. Yao Qiyun often heard secondhand that some doctoral student from a neighboring school had taken quite a liking to her, or that some so-called genius from another department had boldly declared he’d win her over within the year.

The strangest rumors of all reached him even in the lab, where unfamiliar girls would be quietly gossiping about her supposed “scandalous exploits” — that she’d been seen sneaking into some middle-aged man’s fancy car, no wonder everything she wore and used was never cheap; or that just a few days ago, someone had spotted her lingering late at night near some well-known nightclub, and so on.

Yao Qiyun, of course, knew perfectly well that the middle-aged man with the nice car was simply Uncle Situ, picking up his daughter on his way home. And he knew even better that although Situ Jue was outgoing and loved socializing and a good crowd, badminton, movies, big group karaoke nights — sure, she loved all that — but getting drunk at some club was basically impossible for her. Setting aside her upbringing, the bigger issue was that her alcohol tolerance was terrible; a single bowl of sweet egg wine could turn her whole face red, so there was no way she could be tearing up nightclubs the way the rumors claimed.

As for being spotted “lingering” near that nightclub one night — that part was actually true, though the real story behind it was rather convoluted, and honestly a bit embarrassing to admit. Behind closed doors, Yao Qiyun and Situ Jue were inseparable, practically glued together — but no matter how reckless they got, “safety first” was a principle neither of them ever forgot, which meant procuring a certain “necessity” was a task no one else could handle for them. Though they went together, both too shy to face it directly, they naturally chose a pharmacy as far from home and school as possible. But once they’d arrived at the pharmacy door, Situ Jue refused to go in with him, so she was left standing nearby on her own like a fool, waiting — and the spot where she happened to be waiting was, as it turned out, not far from that rumored nightclub.

This kind of absurd misunderstanding wasn’t the first time it had reached Yao Qiyun’s ears. He’d never been one to make a scene, and no matter how ridiculous a stranger’s remarks got, he never bothered arguing with anyone about it. Meeting Situ Jue, though, had finally taught him something: some people could stay far away from trouble their whole lives, and trouble would still refuse to stay away from them. It was strange enough hearing complete fabrications about someone he knew better than anyone else from other people’s mouths, but all he could really do was laugh it off. As for the acquaintances at school who tried to pry into their relationship, or fish for details about Situ Jue’s daily life from him, or hint at their own interest in her — he brushed all of it off with a smile, never saying much either way. He just found it funny. Sometimes when he exchanged a greeting with Tan Shaocheng and chatted a bit longer than usual, or when some underclassman from his department came to “ask for advice” a couple of times too many, half-genuinely, half not — the moment Situ Jue caught wind of it, she’d make an unrelenting fuss that left his head spinning. If he’d let himself get that petty in return, he doubted he’d ever find a moment’s peace again.

Of course, however carefully she disguised things in front of others, Situ Jue never bothered hiding anything from a friend like Wu Jiang. In fact, not long after things between Situ Jue and Yao Qiyun had grown more intimate, the two of them appeared in front of Wu Jiang together, and though neither of them said a word about it, that sharp kid somehow picked up on something from the way they looked at each other, the way they talked — and he’d smirk to himself, thoroughly amused. Luckily, around that same time, it seemed Wu Jiang’s persistent efforts with Qu Xiaowan, who’d always kept him at arm’s length, had finally started to pay off subtly, so he didn’t have much spare curiosity left to dig further into Situ Jue and Yao Qiyun’s little “affair.”

Around that time, Wu Jiang’s taste in books, music, even films underwent a dramatic “transformation.” Situ Jue discovered that the man who used to worship Stephen Chow comedies had started buying VCDs of obscure Russian art films to watch alone at home; where he used to fight her over the City Hunter comics, he was now reading Nietzsche and sonnets in their original language.

Situ Jue eyed Wu Jiang’s thoroughly science-brained skull with suspicion and asked, “You’re really into this, but tell me honestly — do you actually understand any of it?”

Wu Jiang smirked back. “Well, some things are better felt than explained.”

Watching this, Situ Jue could only sigh to Yao Qiyun, “That guy’s acting possessed. He’s picked up every ounce of pretentiousness there is.”

That was bad enough, but what Situ Jue really couldn’t stand was Wu Jiang, at karaoke, hogging the mic from start to finish belting out songs Qu Xiaowan liked that nobody else had ever heard of — and worse, always dragging Situ Jue along, insisting she judge, as an audience member, whether his “deeply emotional performance” had improved. Situ Jue would sit there listening, utterly exhausted by it, and as if that weren’t enough, he’d taken to humming those same tunes constantly in her ear during ordinary conversation too. On the verge of a breakdown, she finally ordered him to stop immediately — and he actually complied, switching right away to belting out some completely different tune instead. In the end, for the safety of everyone involved, Situ Jue had no choice but to resolve to keep her distance from Wu Jiang for a while.

That said, even a homebody like Yao Qiyun, drawn along by Situ Jue, had gradually become a familiar face among her circle of friends. But while Wu Jiang seemed to have found his spring with Qu Xiaowan, she herself rarely joined his social circle — never showing up at any of the group gatherings, and even when Wu Jiang was hanging out with the rest of them, she’d typically call partway through and pull him away.

Situ Jue teased Wu Jiang for having absolutely no backbone when it came to love, and Wu Jiang, grinning, didn’t argue, only begging her to keep their relationship a secret. It was only then that Situ Jue realized she was one of the only few people who actually knew about the two of them. She and Yao Qiyun kept their relationship hidden for special reasons tied to their particular family situation — but why on earth Wu Jiang needed secrecy, Situ Jue simply couldn’t fathom. According to Wu Jiang, the reason wasn’t even something ridiculous like his mother’s fortune-teller warning about age gaps shortening lifespans — it was simply that Xiaowan had asked him to keep it quiet. As for why, she hadn’t said, and he didn’t feel it was his place to press her on it.

This kind of thing only ever seemed to happen to Wu Jiang. All Situ Jue could do was roll her eyes in speechless disbelief.

“I really don’t get it — is everyone dating in secret these days? Is that just a trend now?” It was another lovely weekend afternoon with both her parents out of the house; Situ Jue lay sprawled across Yao Qiyun’s bed, head resting on his lap, utterly baffled. After a moment’s thought, she shook him excitedly. “Hey, you know what — what if there’s actually nothing going on between Qu Xiaowan and Wu Jiang at all, and he’s just gone completely delusional, imagining the whole thing, which is why Xiaowan seems so mysterious about it? Oh no, that’s a serious condition. What do we even do about that?”

Yao Qiyun, still recovering from the wave of passion that had just swept over him, leaned against the headboard, drowsily flipping through a textbook without really reading it. Roused by her outburst, he laughed. “You. Stop making up nonsense theories about things you know nothing about.”

“That’s a perfectly reasonable deduction, backed by solid logic. Can you actually disprove it?” Situ Jue rolled over to lie sideways across him, propping her chin on her hand.

Yao Qiyun shifted his position, trying to make her more comfortable against him, then said quietly, “So tell me — is Situ Jue also something I imagined up?”

She giggled, then added, “Though honestly, knowing Qu Xiaowan’s personality, it’s not that strange she doesn’t want to hang around with us — she’s so aloof, wouldn’t want to mix with common people like us. What does she consider beneath her, though? Wu Jiang told me she’s basically written him off from head to toe as a walking cliché — even his dad’s promotion, she called tacky, being some privileged official’s kid. Ha, I can just picture Wu Jiang’s face, so meek about it, it’s hilarious. Though I do wonder whether her famous mentor, Professor Zou, counts as tacky in her eyes too.”

“That, I doubt. If her standards really were as strict as you say, she’d never let herself think ill of someone she actually respects enough to study under,” Yao Qiyun said. “By the way — don’t you like Professor Zhou’s classes?”

Situ Jue nodded. “Absolutely. He explains things so clearly, gets right to the point, and he’s easy on the eyes too — why wouldn’t I like him? I really can’t stand some of the older professors in our department, mumbling away up front, you can barely understand a word they’re saying. Though actually, Professor Zou Jin’s lectures draw a crowd from your department too — show up even a little late and you’re stuck in the back corner. And don’t be fooled by how easygoing he seems normally — when it comes to attendance he’s absolutely ruthless. Miss roll call twice and you lose your chance to even take the final. So many people fail his class every year, we all call him the department’s number-one killer.”

“Didn’t you get a high score in his microbiology class last semester?”

“That grade didn’t come easy — I nearly turned into a panda from studying so hard. He’s brutal, too — barely any of his so-called ‘key points’ actually showed up on the exam. If I weren’t the stubborn type who reads the whole textbook cover to cover, I never would’ve survived.”

“I heard Qu Xiaowan was one of the top students in your department during undergrad too.”

“Yeah — if Professor Zou still took on master’s students, I’d apply to study under him too, just so I could stay near school a few extra years with you. What do you think?”

Before Yao Qiyun could respond, another sound came from the firmly shut door — sounded like the mop Aunt Yao was cleaning with had bumped against it. All afternoon, ever since Situ Jue had come into the room, these little disturbances, big and small, had barely stopped for a moment.

Situ Jue pointed at the door and pulled a face; Yao Qiyun gave a knowing smile in return. He checked the time, then simply set his book aside and pulled her up off him. “Come on, no point sitting cooped up in here. Let’s go for a walk.”

“Really?” Situ Jue’s eyes lit up. It was worth noting that Yao Qiyun rarely went out just to wander around for no reason — him voluntarily suggesting they go “for a walk” together in broad daylight was practically unheard of. She hurriedly straightened her clothes and hair, and the two of them walked out together, right past Aunt Yao.

Just as Situ Jue reached the door, she heard Aunt Yao behind her say to Qiyun, with obvious concern, “You’re heading out? It’s getting late — her parents said they’d be home for dinner tonight.”

Yao Qiyun replied evenly, unhurried, “I know,” and left together with Situ Jue.

They caught a bus at the intersection, rode it more than ten stops, then got off and transferred. Once they’d left the streets and roads near home behind, they began holding hands. The bus heading toward the west side of the city wasn’t too crowded; Situ Jue pulled Yao Qiyun to the very back row. As the bus carried them further and further from the bustling center, the car grew emptier, the scenery outside the window more and more unfamiliar, yet Situ Jue never once asked where he was taking her — her only goal was to lean against him with no destination in mind at all.

As the sunset outside the window sank toward the opposite horizon, she began secretly kissing the corner of his mouth. At first he dodged gently, gripping her hand tightly and saying, “Stop that.” But by the time the evening clouds had shifted from orange-gold to crimson, the two of them were kissing without restraint in the nearly empty back row of the bus, utterly unconcerned with anyone else — until the bus pulled into the final stop and the driver gave a soft, pointed cough, at which point Yao Qiyun dragged Situ Jue quickly off the bus.

It was a newly developed district on the west side of the city, its long, empty streets under the deep autumn sunset looking like a painting washed in amber tones. Even Situ Jue, born and raised in this city, found it a little unfamiliar, and finally asked, “What are we doing all the way out here?”

“Like I said — just going for a walk.” Yao Qiyun’s answer stayed exactly the same.

Situ Jue kicked a small stone off the tactile paving, then looked up with a sudden idea. “How about I close my eyes, and you lead me — let’s see where you take me.”

She stopped walking, eyes shut tight as she said it. Yao Qiyun waved a hand in front of her face. “You’re not peeking, right? No cheating.”

“I won’t look, I won’t look.”

Situ Jue soon felt him take her hand again, and for some reason, without her sight to rely on, his hand felt even more steady and reassuring than usual. Guided by Yao Qiyun, they walked slowly through two intersections, finally stopping somewhere. He asked Situ Jue to wait there for a moment, and a few meters away, she heard him speaking quietly with a stranger. Unable to contain her curiosity, she secretly cracked one eye open just enough to follow the sound — it was an unremarkable, low building, a dusty sign propped in the corner reading “Jade for Sale, Custom Processing.” Yao Qiyun appeared to be handing money to someone inside the shop, who then passed something she couldn’t quite make out into his hand.

Situ Jue quickly shut her eyes again before he turned around. When he came back to her side, she asked, full of anticipation, “What were you just doing?”

Yao Qiyun answered quickly, “Nothing.”

“So what are we doing now?” she pressed on.

“Heading back.”

He really did just take her hand and start walking back a few steps, as if nothing had happened. Situ Jue wasn’t having it — she pulled her hand free and opened her eyes. “You’re lying, I clearly saw you make some kind of exchange with that person just now.”

“And here you said you wouldn’t peek.” Yao Qiyun laughed. “Oh, that exchange just now? I sold you off, and got a little something in return.”

Situ Jue drew out her own words in imitation of him. “Ohh, I see.” Then, suddenly, she lunged for the hand he’d tucked behind his back. “I should at least have the right to see what you got for selling me off.”

He dodged, but let her catch it easily enough anyway. Situ Jue quickly tore open the flimsy packaging — inside was a jade bracelet.

Situ Jue’s grandfather had been an avid collector, especially fond of jade — even the character in her name, “jue,” meaning a jade ring with a break in it, had been chosen by him. As her grandfather used to say, having a daughter as fine as jade was the best blessing there could be, but the moon waxes only to wane again, and fine jade breaks easily — so he’d chosen a name with a flaw built in, a kind of compensation, much like how poor families in the old days would give their children humble names to help them survive, hoping it would grant her a smooth, untroubled life. With that kind of family background, Situ Jue did have a fairly discerning eye for jade. And one glance was all it took for her to see that the bracelet wasn’t just poor quality — it was practically the cheapest, most worthless imitation jade there was.

Holding back her surprise, she lifted the bracelet up against the last light of the sunset, studying it. “Something I was traded for must be an absolute treasure, fit for a queen — let me take a closer look.”

Yao Qiyun scoffed at that. “Situ Jue, oh Situ Jue. You really do think highly of yourself.”

As she spoke, Situ Jue had already managed, with some effort, to force the not-so-large bracelet onto her wrist. She shook it, satisfied. “Good enough fit, I suppose.”

Yao Qiyun grabbed the wrist wearing the bracelet, laughing in surprise. “A little presumptuous of you, don’t you think, just putting it on like that?”

“Obviously.” Situ Jue pulled her hand back, tilting her head. “Don’t tell me you had other plans for a bracelet bought with the proceeds of selling me off? Don’t tell me you were planning to pass it down as a Yao family heirloom to some future Mrs. Yao?”

Yao Qiyun said, with a half-smile, “Maybe I really did have plans like that. Since you’re so quick to catch on, why don’t you hand it back.”

“But this stone seems to have come from me in the first place, doesn’t it?”

“How would you know that?”

“Yao Qiyun, could you possibly have found jade any worse than this?”

“You’re the one who threw it out yourself. I picked it up, so naturally it’s mine now.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, watching her flounder for a comeback. Situ Jue paused, then resigned herself to fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist — but the thing was simply too small; getting it on had only taken a bit of gritted-teeth effort, but getting it back off was proving nowhere near as easy.

Yao Qiyun, seeing red marks already forming on her hand from the strain, quickly said, “Situ Jue, take it easy.”

Situ Jue held out her wrist, bracelet and all, toward him pitifully. “What do I do now, Yao Qiyun? I accidentally put your future Mrs. Yao’s bracelet on and now I can’t get it off. Your family can’t go without its heirloom — so what, you want to just cut my hand off instead?”

Yao Qiyun turned to look off at something else entirely, and after a long moment, waved a hand, a barely-contained smile in his voice. “Forget it. Since it won’t come off… then… then I guess it’s yours now.”

“You mean it?” Situ Jue bit her lip and grabbed onto him. For some reason, he looked away again, awkwardly, at the empty distance.

But this time she wasn’t about to let him off so easily. She chased him halfway around in a circle until she stood right in front of him, staring straight into his face, flushed crimson in the last light of the setting sun.

“You mean it, Yao Qiyun?” she asked again.

He looked down, said nothing for a while, then slowly nodded.

He’d never once said it: Situ Jue, I love you.

Deep down, A’Jue didn’t really hold it against him — but out loud, she’d complained about it plenty of times.

“Say you love me.” She’d tug at his hand, half bratty, half shameless, and say, “Yao Qiyun, hurry up and say you love me.”

He’d tried, many times. Those simple three words would rise to his lips and then refuse to come out. Sweet talk came easy enough with people who didn’t matter — but in front of her, in front of the one person he truly cared about, those words became impossibly, agonizingly hard to say, as if even language itself grew weak and powerless.

But now, none of that mattered. She’d taken his finest promise and locked it firmly around her wrist.

(Fortunately, dawn hadn’t come yet.)