Fang Long opened the door and, without saying a word, just grinned at Zhou Ya standing outside: “What? Finished washing the clothes already?”

Zhou Ya let out a cold snort, cupped his hand over her face, and pushed her head as he steered her inside.

The moment the door closed, Fang Long immediately pried his hand off and opened her mouth to bite the fleshy part between his thumb and index finger.

Zhou Ya didn’t hold back either—bending at the waist, curling his arm, he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder in one motion.

Fang Long sucked in a breath, and in the same moment, released her bite.

—Every time this happened, she felt like a sack of rice, something Zhou Ya could carry wherever he pleased.

Zhou Ya tossed her onto the bed, knelt on it with one knee, and leaned down to kiss her.

Fang Long deliberately didn’t cooperate, turning her face away to keep him from her mouth.

Zhou Ya didn’t mind—other places would do just as well.

Her cheek, her jaw, the corner of her eye, and finally the side of her ear.

His tongue curled, taking her earlobe between his lips to nibble and kiss.

The hot breath, the sound of sucking—all of it was a sudden, overwhelming stimulation for Fang Long. She couldn’t bear it, gasping as she tried to push at Zhou Ya’s shoulder.

Zhou Ya grabbed both her wrists with his hands, raising them above her head and pressing them firmly onto the not-yet-folded raschel blanket beside them.

“…From now on, wash your own underwear.” He said this against her ear as he kissed it.

“No… you wash it for me.”

“Am I your nanny?”

Fang Long’s hands were pinned and couldn’t move, but her legs were still free for the moment.

She arched her back, lifted her hips, and wrapped her legs around the man’s sturdy waist.

Her lips pressed messy kisses along the side of his neck, her voice soft and clinging: “You’re my brother, you know…”

Zhou Ya sucked in a sharp breath.

These days, he found he could barely stand hearing that word.

The sweatpants he’d put on after his shower were soft fabric, and Fang Long quickly felt his all-too-obvious reaction against her.

She was secretly startled, her heart thudding wildly.

Having lived together for so many years, seeing each other morning and night, Fang Long had occasionally glimpsed things by accident.

She knew Zhou Ya was well-built, tall and broad, that the clothes hanging on the balcony were always a size too large—but she’d never felt it this directly before.

Like a blade left to heat over a fire, scalding and hard.

Fierce and undeniable, impossible to ignore.

Fang Long felt a vague fear of the unknown, but her mouth still tried to sound experienced: “How long has it been since you’ve done it? Just a light touch and you’re already like this…?”

Zhou Ya lifted his head to give her a sidelong glare, warning her in a slow voice: “Fang Long, besides provoking people and picking fights, what else is that mouth of yours good for?”

“Hmph, you have no idea.” Fang Long shamelessly leaned her face in, pressing an intimate kiss to his slightly stubbled jaw, murmuring like a cat, “It’s also good for eating the egg fried rice you make…”

She didn’t know whether Zhou Ya remembered, but she herself had never forgotten that plate of egg fried rice from her childhood.

Back then, her parents had been obsessed with gambling as if possessed, rarely home at all—sometimes they’d swing by while Fang Long was at school, so that by the time she got home, the house was still an empty shell.

Cold leftover rice and a few eggs seemed to be the greatest charity her parents ever showed her.

That particular night, Fang Long had planned to just fill her stomach with a stolen bag of instant noodle crisps, saving the rice and eggs for the next day.

She was halfway through her homework when the doorbell rang, startling her.

In those days, strangers often came to the door—though usually they didn’t ring the bell, just pounded on the security door, shouting her parents’ names.

Loud, thunderous banging, mixed with crude curses.

Her parents had warned her in advance: no matter how the people outside yelled and cursed, never open the door.

So whenever someone came, she would hide in her room.

After hiding in her room for a while, Fang Long noticed this time was different.

The person outside didn’t grow impatient or angry when no one answered—instead, they were quite patient, pressing the doorbell every few seconds.

She stood on her toes to look through the peephole. It was an older boy.

Something about him seemed a little familiar, but Fang Long couldn’t place where she’d seen him.

She opened the door, because she’d also spotted the bag of fruit in his hand, along with a tin of Blue Can cookies.

Blue Can cookies—she couldn’t even remember how long it had been since she’d had those.

She especially loved the ones with raisins in them.

Just those two things alone were enough to feed her for several days.

The older boy was very tall—Fang Long had to tilt her head back to look at him—but he crouched down to meet her eyes and asked if she remembered him.

The moment he spoke, it clicked for her.

It was the “little mute” that her big aunt’s family had taken in and raised.

That hoarse voice, occasionally mixed with breathy sounds—Fang Long had never heard anyone else speak like that, so even though she’d only met “Little Mute” a handful of times before, she’d remembered him.

Afterward, Zhou Ya fried her a bowl of egg fried rice.

Fang Long couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a proper meal, and she wolfed it down like a starving ghost had possessed her.

So good.

Her whole mind was filled with just one thought—this egg fried rice was so delicious.

For nearly a month after that, she survived on Zhou Ya’s “relief efforts.”

She’d tried making egg fried rice herself, but what came out was always sticky and clumped together, never achieving that same distinct, separate-grain texture Zhou Ya managed.

Later, no matter what feast Zhou Ya made for her—chicken, duck, goose, fish, shrimp, crab—it was all delicious, and she loved eating it, but she still couldn’t stop thinking about that one bowl of fried rice.

…

“Egg fried rice? Want some tomorrow? I’ll fry you some at noon.”

Zhou Ya asked out of habit, then felt foolish the moment it left his mouth.

Who talks about tomorrow’s lunch in the middle of a moment like this, wrapped up in each other?

This was also the first time Fang Long had ever been asked “do you want egg fried rice” in this kind of atmosphere.

She laughed, giggling, and obediently said “okay.”

Zhou Ya wanted to kiss her lips, following the sound of her laughter as he leaned in: “This mouth—great at cursing people out, and great at eating too.”

“Oh, I can eat other things too…”

Fang Long’s hand grew mischievous, sneaking down to grope at Zhou Ya’s waist.

But quickly, she blinked and corrected herself: “Mm… though maybe I won’t be able to finish it.”

Zhou Ya felt his scalp go numb, a strange ache spreading through his lower back.

He leaned in and bit her lip: “…Enough. Don’t talk anymore.”

Perhaps because it was steeped in tenderness now, his voice sounded like wind coming down from a mountain valley.

Deep. Distant.

Carrying an unknown danger.

This time Fang Long didn’t dodge—she met his tongue, tangling with his.

Her chest, empty for so long, was filled by this kiss, the air pressed entirely out of her; Fang Long was kissed so thoroughly that mist kept gathering in her eyes, involuntary sounds slipping out between her lips and teeth.

When the deep kiss ended, their foreheads rested against each other, their chests rising and falling.

Neither spoke, both breathing hard, staring straight into each other’s eyes.

In both their eyes, there were flames dancing.

Fang Long reached out and touched him.

Zhou Ya shook his head: “Not tonight.”

He explained: “There’s nothing prepared at home.”

“That…” Fang Long pursed her lips, offering, “I’m in my safe period, you know.”

Zhou Ya’s brow furrowed abruptly.

He considered himself a rough, simple man, not someone who understood women all that deeply, but he’d lived long enough to know the things one ought to know.

He knew that in every pharmacy in this small town, emergency contraceptive pills sold briskly.

He also knew that on every streetlamp post, there were advertisements plastered for third-rate gynecology clinics.

Zhou Ya was nearing thirty, and there were a few things he still regretted to this day—one of them being that during the most crucial years of Fang Long’s adolescence, no one had properly guided her toward a healthy view of relationships.

Her birth mother couldn’t do it; there was always a layer of distance between her and Ma Huimin; and Zhou Ya himself had never known how to bring it up.

He gently stroked the side of Fang Long’s hair and sighed: “Fang Long, don’t take those messy pills anymore, going forward.”

It took Fang Long a moment to understand what Zhou Ya meant.

Then it took another moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in.

A strong, unfamiliar emotion kept surging up from somewhere deep inside her, instantly filling her chest to the brim.

No one had ever said something like this to her before.

“I won’t let you take that stuff either.”

Zhou Ya bent a finger to wipe away the wetness gathering at the corner of her eye, his gaze tender and lingering, but his tone firm. “Did you hear me? Don’t you dare pretend to be deaf.”

Fang Long hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him down.

She whispered against his ear: “I heard you.”