After clearing customs, Miao Jing went to the Cambio to exchange currency. Chen Yi asked what she had been chatting about with customs, and Miao Jing said it was just simple entry inquiries and social etiquette. Chen Yi indirectly asked about their relationship status for entry, and Miao Jing brushed it off saying they were friends. He didn’t think much of it, his dark eyes bright and flowing, not exposing her serious face as he swayed along carrying the suitcase and following her out.

Colombian currency had large denominations—ten thousand yuan could be exchanged for several million pesos. The two instantly became millionaires. The staff kindly reminded them to “be careful,” as robberies of belongings happened frequently in public in Bogotá. Just recently, a tourist had their phone and wallet stolen at the airport. Chen Yi’s vigilant instincts surged, and relying on his intimidating height and build, he blocked Miao Jing’s waist, his strong arms encircling her as he half-carried half-embraced her out.

There weren’t many people at the airport in the dead of night, no need for such vigilance. Miao Jing stumbled against his shoulder, giving him a meaningful glance. Chen Yi raised his sharp brows, tugged at the corner of his mouth, and returned an equally meaningful smile.

The company-assigned driver was waiting at the exit holding a name card for Miao Jing. Miao Jing’s company had its South American business division and manufacturing center in Brazil, with a branch company set up in Colombia mainly involved in BRT electric vehicle projects. The company had about five or six Chinese employees. After Miao Jing connected with the driver, she received several calls in succession—besides the local company general manager’s courtesy greeting upon arrival, there were also concerned calls from Cen Ye and Lu Zhengsi, which made Chen Yi’s figure sway, putting on an extremely unnatural gloomy face.

The driver was a chocolate-skinned Colombian middle-aged man named Ramirez, whose fluent Spanish was interspersed with a few half-baked English phrases. His eyes lit up upon seeing Miao Jing, his enthusiasm almost unbearable. Chen Yi kept a cold face, smelled the cigarette scent on Ramirez, went up to make a smoking gesture, and finally rescued Miao Jing.

The two men leaned against the car smoking. South American cigarettes were strong, with a rough taste and wild afterkick. Chen Yi had held back for who knows how many hours—the first puff unexpectedly choked him, but with the second puff came a drunken feeling. His tired, heavy expression relaxed. The two men patted each other’s shoulders, gesturing and chattering, somehow managing to stammer through a conversation despite the language barrier.

They talked about local cigarettes—how much, where from—smuggled cigarettes were rampant here, mostly from the Caribbean coast, cheap with a heavy taste. They also produced cigars. Then they discussed Chinese cigarettes—this topic somehow never got cold.

Miao Jing stole glances at Chen Yi. Even with the most awkward English, he used it with an effortless air. Individual Chinese-accented words bounced from his lips, somehow carrying a strange rugged feeling.

Bogotá’s deep night was vastly different from Teng City. The Andes plateau at 2,600 meters made the sky seem thin. The near-equatorial air was crisp and cool, the not-so-thick night complemented by stretching street lights, and messy and gorgeous low buildings extending into the distance. With gentle Spanish music playing in the car, Miao Jing leaned in Chen Yi’s arm, both pairs of eyes unconsciously watching the scenery outside the window.

She also heard his steady, certain heartbeat—thump thump thump, thump thump thump—rhythmically beating. In this foreign land, past events slowly faded away, and the emerging emotions made both feel somewhat unfamiliar and novel.

The company had arranged foreign employee dormitories, renting an entire floor of a five-story apartment building. They assigned a room to Miao Jing. The two looked at the bare mattress, looking at each other somewhat awkwardly uncertain until finally, Chen Yi went to shower while Miao Jing slept fully clothed.

In her dream, the mattress slightly sank, her back nestled into a warm embrace, arms tightened, bodies pressed close, his chin nuzzling her hair several times. They slept embraced like conjoined twins, heartbeats connected, like that summer vacation at eighteen—innocent yet intimate.

Bogotá’s life began upon opening their eyes.

The new life came unexpectedly. Bogotá was a highly representative Latin American city—a pleasant climate, and passionate atmosphere, plus the historical colonial and civil war influences made the city’s cultural collision complex and chaotic. English wasn’t widely used here, let alone East Asian culture and faces—it was a completely unfamiliar third world. Miao Jing had a strong personality; after settling in, she busied herself with starting work and taking over new responsibilities. On the first day, she was already having dinner and working overtime with company colleagues, leaving Chen Yi to fend for himself in the apartment.

Besides Miao Jing, the company had another Chinese girl working as a translator. The other few domestic colleagues were either in sales or after-sales. They knew Miao Jing was coming but didn’t know she brought along a tall, handsome young man, which made everyone very curious.

When introducing Chen Yi, Miao Jing’s tone hesitated, still uncertain how to position their relationship. But Chen Yi was perfectly at ease, taking the initiative to shake hands and introduce himself as Miao Jing’s boyfriend, saying he came abroad with her for development, asking everyone for their guidance, and so on.

Perhaps because they had already shared the most intimate physical contact, or because they fundamentally didn’t have such a strong formal sense of worldly relationships, whether family, brother, friend, boyfriend or even husband… they both accepted these terms well.

In social situations, Chen Yi contained himself well—humble in speech and frank in attitude. Combined with his looks, everyone had a good impression of him. Seeing him smilingly rest his hand on Miao Jing’s shoulder while she lowered her eyes with a slight smile, their relationship seemed natural and harmonious. A delicate, beautiful girl and a reassuring guy—one with a cold, distant temperament, one with a bit of wild spirit—walking on Bogotá’s richly colored streets, they were surprisingly well-matched.

The kitchen and living room in the apartment were shared. Also, since it was employee housing, it wasn’t convenient for Chen Yi to stay long-term. He planned to rent a place—Bogotá had a low cost of living, buildings were generally low-rise with few skyscrapers, and the north and west had better security. Chen Yi had already roughly understood Bogotá, coming and going with Ramirez using phone translation software, starting to look at houses and rent in Bogotá, purchasing home furnishings, and getting started with life.

They quickly found a place—the top floor of a three-story building just dozens of meters from the apartment building. The landlord was French, the old red brick building had a vibrantly maintained garden below, and though the top floor wasn’t large, it had a beautiful big terrace for viewing scenery and eating brunch. Chen Yi had also learned the word “brunch” on his phone—nothing more than sleeping in late and eating later, but imagining that scene somehow felt quite nice. They signed the contract, bought furniture, cleaned up, and successfully settled in.

Miao Jing mainly handled the technical aspects of connecting with domestic projects. Due to the time difference between regions, she was busy with overtime work right after starting. Chen Yi first learned to adapt to local customs, figured out the surrounding living environment, and then familiarized himself with Bogotá’s landmarks and Miao Jing’s commute route. Every day traversing Bogotá’s streets and alleys, hearing incomprehensible Spanish, even when passing through the not-so-peaceful old town, locals saw his composed face, tense muscles, and tall figure—even with an Asian face, they didn’t dare look down on him.

Every day after work, Miao Jing would come to help arrange the new home. Seeing some newly added stylish antique furniture in the room, she learned he had gone to the flea market.

“It’s only been a few days… how did you know where the flea market was?”

“I give Ramirez’s eldest son ten thousand pesos every day to show me around Bogotá—which restaurants are best, where to buy things cheaply. Oh, and today I saw a Chinese supermarket. If you want to buy anything, make me a list.”

How could he not have life skills? He had grown up wild since childhood, then stayed in the Golden Triangle for over two years. What did it matter if he couldn’t communicate? Relying on appearance, temperament, expressions, gestures, keen observation, and a bit of cleverness, he was at ease anywhere. He didn’t need Miao Jing to help him explore a new life—he had already started discovering the new world himself.

Miao Jing felt very reassured.

When the new home was completely settled, Chen Yi casually asked if she wanted to move in. Miao Jing was facing away from him organizing cabinets, also casually responded with a “mm,” and that day returned to the company dormitory to pack her luggage and move into Chen Yi’s newly rented house.

This hastily built home had no trace of the old home in Teng City but somehow felt similar. There was only one large bedroom; thick curtains blocked the lush green trees outside the arched window. A gorgeous knit carpet lay beside the old European four-poster canopy bed, flickering candlelight on exquisite candlesticks gave off Mexican orange blossom and fig fragrance, clothes silently slipping off the bed end and swaying thin curtains faintly suggesting infinite tenderness.

Their first time after going abroad—the atmosphere was unbelievably good. Where skin touched seemed to completely melt, turning into a pool of soft jade water. Whether rain ripples or huge waves reaching the sky, it was the ultimate sensation. From the hospital bed in China to a strange country half a globe away, after many days, everything finally settled.

He suddenly paused in the fierce storm, sweating as he lowered his head to kiss her soft, moist lips, calling her name, a muffled phrase transmitted through trembling lips.

Miao Jing, completely lost in the passionate trance, softly responded: “Mm?”

He stared at her steadily, caressing her temples and cheeks, leaving burning kisses, murmuring in a barely audible tone in the dim candlelight, like soundless dream talk: “Miao Jing.”

“I’ve never told anyone… I never cared, was never certain…” he plundered the sweet breath from her mouth, “but I still want to say…”

“Want to say what?”

Her misty eyes reflected his handsome face, still deep in the sensory quagmire.

Chen Yi’s gaze burned intensely, his lips parting: “When I was little and got beaten for being wild, you secretly watched from the corner. When I lay half-dead on the living room bed, you fed me in the middle of the night. When I ruled the school like a tyrant, you covered for me and worried about me. When I stopped you from going to the train station, you stayed with me, washed my clothes, and cooked for me. We grew up together, we’ve done everything together…”

His fingers slid across her fine brows: “You’re the most special person in my life, I wish for your happiness more than anyone else… Miao Jing, if being the most special, most cherished, most unforgettable can be called love… then I love you too…”

From her confession on the train until now, he finally spoke up.

Miao Jing’s eyes rippled with emotion as she hugged his fuzzy head, asking softly: “If you hadn’t become an informant, if you were just Chen Yi the ordinary small-time thug, and I left for university, what would you have done?”

“My self-raised little sister—smart, beautiful, capable, and stubborn, she had me completely under control, she gave me everything, she seemed born for me. I would’ve earned money desperately, let her go out and see the world, and let her date some bookworm boyfriend, though of course none would compare to me. When she graduated from university, I’d be at her school gates wearing a gold watch and driving a luxury car, looking dashingly handsome, asking if she’d come with me, sleep with me, and be my wife. I’d only support one person in my life, I know her, I can support her.”

“When you came back from the Golden Triangle, didn’t you have even the slightest thought of seeing me, contacting me?”

“I did look, did search. You were playing ball on the court then, bright as the sun. I had taken a thirty-some hour truck ride, dirty and smelly.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “People’s thoughts change. The more you experience, living on the edge of death, constantly on edge… I felt… you could live better without me. I wasn’t much myself, not worth mentioning, had gone down the wrong path from the start.”

“When you returned to Teng City, it felt like a dream. I wanted to drive you away, yet wanted you to stay. But actually, as long as you need me… staying by your side, not letting you be alone, I’m willing to chase you to the ends of the earth.”

Miao Jing brought her kiss over, tenderly capturing his lips.

Their love was the same—just imagining how they had once walked hand in hand under a lonely lamp in their youth, still feeling their hearts move at the memory years later, meant they had never truly parted.

In Chen Yi’s barren life, there had indeed been few chances to speak of love. Even during those years with Miao Jing, it was completely driven by emotional instinct, rarely having tender moments. He had never told anyone he loved them, and she didn’t necessarily need him to say it out loud—she just needed his actions to prove it, needed them to be together, needed his gaze to forever watch over her.

The kiss turned burning again, trembles transmitting from lips and tongues to throat and chest, then winding downward. The white bed curtains floated up from the movement, then slowly fell back, covering a pair of hands tightly clasped at the bed’s edge.

After that night’s confession, life didn’t seem much different.

Their relationship had no clear definition—regardless of boyfriend and girlfriend, siblings and family, or marriage and children and plans. Simple social definitions couldn’t encompass their feelings, but life was everything—as long as they were together, anything was possible.

Latin Americans are naturally optimistic, passionate people who love smoking, drinking, dancing, and music. Their expression of love is especially uninhibited—lovers kissing in the streets and various incredible love gossip are common sights. In such a passionate and romantic country, the two rarely expressed love to each other, and rarely said “I love you.” The Chinese word for “love” always felt too formal, and saying it too much might seem frivolous. Chen Yi had never been sweet-talking, and the few times he did express it were always during intimate moments in bed.

Colombia was a country of flowers and fruits. Various flowers competed in beauty, and prices were low. Chen Yi would buy a bouquet at roadside flower shops every day—their home first achieved flower freedom. Of course, he bought roses most often. Local rose varieties were overwhelming in number. Miao Jing received different varieties of roses for two consecutive months, each day beautiful enough to intoxicate heart and spirit.

Chen Yi adapted to local life faster than Miao Jing and learned Spanish earlier. Miao Jing’s company organized weekly Spanish lessons for employees, but Chen Yi learned pronunciation and vocabulary from Spanish textbooks, and then directly conversed with people on the streets. He became proficient in using swear words and slang, so much so that whenever Miao Jing went out with him, English was useless, her Spanish still lagged, and she relied entirely on Chen Yi to handle things.

Sometimes they would chat in Spanish. When Miao Jing was cooking in the kitchen and encountered local ingredients, Chen Yi would come to teach her the words and pronunciation—”pepino dulce,” “aguacate choque”—pronouncing them perfectly. If asked, he’d say locals taught him the pronunciation, from playing children on the street to eighty-year-old grandmothers, he could chat with anyone.

Miao Jing glanced at him sideways: “Was it the fruit stand owner downstairs who taught you? She’s quite sexy and saves the best fruit for you every day. You’re quite popular, hm?”

He had mixed with Ramirez for a while and found himself a job—security patrol in the wealthy district. Every day he wore a bulletproof vest, holding a real gun while standing at the building entrance. During downtime, he could hang out with companions at local bars, showing just how integrated he had become.

Chen Yi grinned, encircling her slender waist, pecking kisses on her cheek: “What are you thinking? The owner has a husband and three children.”

Miao Jing let out a light snort.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, his tone deep and sensual: “Te quiero.”

Te quiero—the colloquial Spanish “I love you.” You could hear this word spoken between relatives and old friends all over the streets, hear it in confessions of love, natural and flowing, light and unburdened.

He had also picked up some South American habits, occasionally spouting Spanish pickup lines while holding her, all flirting techniques learned from other men. Sometimes Miao Jing didn’t understand, sometimes she could understand two words, and he wouldn’t explain. He’d wait for Miao Jing to have her moment of realization later, showing a slightly embarrassed or suppressed laughing expression. During intimacy, he liked to say “Te amo” against her ear—passionate and deep love. Foreign languages always carried a hint of freedom and casualness, without the solemn declaration feeling of the Chinese “I love you.” It could be spoken anytime, anywhere, without hesitation, in any situation.

Besides “I love you,” the phrase Chen Yi said most often was: “Tu eres mi media naranja.”

You are my other half orange.

Miao Jing liked this metaphor.

It was a familiar feeling—peeling open the bright yellow fragrant orange peel, slightly sticky sour juice splashing on fingertips, patiently clearing away white pulp or just biting straight in, the following taste known only to lips and tongue, sweet or bitter-sour spreading in the chest. No two oranges in the world are exactly alike, but one orange contains an entire world. Split in half, there will always be your unique other half.