Fang Zhuo kept Yan Lie company in the lobby for a while. Although a large potted plant by the entrance blocked the direct line of sight from the door, she still felt a little self-conscious. She tugged at Yan Lie’s sleeve to indicate she wanted to go back to the room.

For the short walk to the elevator, Yan Lie initially leaned most of his weight on her — then after two steps, seemed to grow a whole new skeleton, maneuvering with one foot quite nimbly.

Watching him hop around like a grasshopper, Fang Zhuo decided to lend him the crutch that Ye Yuncheng had left behind as a keepsake. It happened that she had no classes that afternoon, so she took the opportunity to go home, and while she was at it, stewed a pot of pig’s trotter soup for Yan Lie.

She told Yan Lie to stay in the hotel and not move around, worried that his restless nature would lead to a second injury, then took the bus alone to Ye Yuncheng’s small house.

At this hour, Ye Yuncheng was probably at the shop.

After the mall reopened, he had shifted his focus back to the physical store, since the food delivery platforms took a very high commission and left little profit, and he didn’t have the bandwidth to manage both.

Fang Zhuo bought groceries at the market downstairs and freed one hand to open the door.

Out of habit, she turned the key to the right — and was surprised to find the security door wasn’t double-locked today. Before she had time to register this, someone on the inside pulled the door open first.

The person was wearing a loose white short-sleeved shirt, black flip-flops, and fanning himself with a cheap advertisement fan the kind handed out by pharmacies — looking exactly like one of those retired elderly men who stroll out after dinner to aid digestion in the park. Disheveled and utterly relaxed.

Fang Zhuo came face to face with him and froze on the spot, staring.

He was looking at her too, and blinked.

Fang Zhuo stepped back one pace and held the door handle, not quite managing to close the door back up before the person gave it a light tap with the fan and said with amusement: “What are you doing?”

Fang Zhuo opened her mouth and asked haltingly: “Is this the person I think I know?”

Liu Qiaohong burst out laughing, stepped aside to make room, motioned her in, and muttered: “It’s your Uncle Liu. I’m helping your uncle edit footage. What — you don’t recognize me now?”

He had just gotten a haircut — the same style as Yan Lie, his previous fringe trimmed up two inches above his eyebrows. Combined with his naturally youthful, round face, the overall effect had taken years off him.

A hairstyle really did make an enormous difference to a person’s appearance. The only unfortunate thing was that his outfit was doing the neighborhood’s visual landscape no favors.

Fang Zhuo went to the kitchen first, set her things in the sink, then came back to the living room and stared at Liu Qiaohong a moment longer, observing thoughtfully: “So the bags under your eyes aren’t natural after all.”

Liu Qiaohong was simultaneously annoyed and amused, and hurled the fan into her arms with a glare.

Fang Zhuo pointed at his outfit: “Is this your preferred style now?”

Liu Qiaohong bent down to quickly clear off the clutter on the table, then pulled a small low stool from against the wall, patted it, and indicated she should sit: “It’s practical in this weather. And I didn’t know you’d be coming back. Doesn’t your school have class today?”

The stool was kindergarten-sized and not very comfortable to sit on — a good half a head shorter than Liu Qiaohong’s own seat.

Fang Zhuo wrapped her arms around her knees, sat down beside him, and told him the full heroic story of Yan Lie’s injury, craning her head up to look at him.

“Young people nowadays really should do more physical training,” Liu Qiaohong said with a sigh of genuine concern. “The elderly men and women in the village, sixty and seventy years old, can still go out to work the fields. But healthy university students in their prime start complaining they can’t manage a fifteen-hundred-meter run.”

Fang Zhuo asked: “So Liu — what are you doing here?”

Liu Qiaohong’s story was characteristically erratic, omitting whatever details he preferred not to share: “Things have been too hectic lately, so my supervisor gave me a couple of days off. Your old homeroom teacher was about to set me up on a blind date again, so I came to take refuge with your uncle.”

Although the logic was missing a critical link, Fang Zhuo caught the thread with characteristic sharpness and pressed: “When is the blind date? Today? Where?”

The corners of Liu Qiaohong’s mouth pulled down, wearing an expression that clearly said “this child is a nuisance.”

Fang Zhuo wasn’t trying to tease him — she genuinely couldn’t quite understand. She pointed at his flip-flops and asked: “You’re going dressed like this?”

Liu Qiaohong said: “I brought a dress shirt with me. I just haven’t changed yet. It’s hot — why get the shirt dirty before I need to?”

That did make sense. Liu Qiaohong was careful in what he did, and even if he wasn’t particularly enthusiastic, he would still respect his blind date.

Fang Zhuo asked with interest: “Can I see her photo?”

Liu Qiaohong felt a bit awkward and tried to put on a stern face to intimidate her. But as usual, he had no real air of authority and broke into a grin before she did, deflecting: “Ah, nothing worth looking at. She may not even fancy me.”

Fang Zhuo didn’t press. She offered consolation: “Don’t say that. Find a better barber, and you’re actually quite good-looking.”

Liu Qiaohong felt the invisible sting of that remark without entirely understanding why, and grabbed at his hair, saying: “Go and stew your soup.”

Fang Zhuo went back to the kitchen to clean the pig’s trotters.

She poured water into the pot, and while it came to temperature, cut a plate of watermelon.

Liu Qiaohong was at the computer, tapped his fingers on the keyboard, then closed the software and looked up: “Thank you.”

He couldn’t help adding: “I’ve been promoted.”

“Congratulations — isn’t that a good thing?” Fang Zhuo had never before seen someone react to a promotion with this kind of energy. Her impulse to celebrate on his behalf faltered somewhat, and she asked, puzzled: “The past couple of years must have been extremely busy with township work during the epidemic. Does the new position mean you get to work from an office?”

Liu Qiaohong said quietly: “Yes — it’s just that I suddenly don’t quite know what to do with myself. After being so busy for so long, now I have time on my hands and I don’t know how to fill it…”

As he spoke his voice faded, and his eyes took on a slightly lost look, drifting toward the window and losing focus.

Grassroots work often required running without pause.

When there weren’t enough people, it didn’t matter which department you were from — everyone got called in. And poverty alleviation was among the most grueling of all: day after day of hard work with little recognition, which was why many young people avoided the position.

Over the years, he had been cursed at, struck at. He had explained national policies over and over to groups of people who had no interest in listening, coaxed them to relocate from unsafe housing, argued with them over the conditions for receiving assistance, witnessed all manner of heartbreaking human change, and observed the highs and lows of this world from the sidelines.

When he was so busy he couldn’t sleep, he also felt that this kind of life was colorless and purposeless running. Looking back on it, he felt that all the hardship amounted to very little — something that could be summed up in a single line.

When he watched the official ceremony announcing the full elimination of poverty nationwide, he was genuinely happy. When his supervisor told him he’d been promoted, he was genuinely happy too.

And yet now that he had actually moved forward, the rhythms of life he had formed over years were making him feel a strange and inexplicable guilt about all this free time.

Fang Zhuo pulled a paper towel to wipe her hands, crouched by the rubbish bin eating watermelon, and said: “Liu, you’re a University A graduate — even you can feel like there’s nothing left for you to do?”

Liu Qiaohong shifted his eyes, let out a long breath, pressed both hands on his thighs, straightened his spine, and rallied himself: “You’re right. I should keep learning.”

“I think you’re just too wound tight — you don’t understand the joy of wasting time occasionally.” Fang Zhuo asked: “What time is your blind date? Will you be eating lunch here?”

Liu Qiaohong said: “I made plans to have lunch with her. Twelve thirty.”

Fang Zhuo tossed the rind into the bin, wiped her mouth, and said: “All right.”

Fang Zhuo went back to the kitchen. The water on the stove had come to a boil.

She quickly stir-fried the blanched pig’s trotters, transferred them to a small clay pot, and set them to simmer over a low flame. Then she found a bag of noodles from the fresh compartment of the refrigerator, thinking she’d drop them into the broth a little later.

She was halfway through the preparations when there was a knock at the security door.

Liu Qiaohong went to open it and found Yan Lie hopping in on one injured leg.

Liu Qiaohong hurried to steady him and scolded: “You really can’t stay still. Hopping around everywhere with a bum leg.”

“It’s not broken — just twisted.” Yan Lie pushed him off and looked around with curiosity, teasing: “Liu, that’s quite a vintage look you’ve got going.”

Liu Qiaohong was too worn down to argue and waved him off dismissively: “Go find somewhere to sit.”

Fang Zhuo came out and asked: “What are you doing here?”

Yan Lie had his reasons, as always: “I came to check on my missing girlfriend. You weren’t answering my calls.”

He fished the crutch out from beside the wall and tried taking a few steps, only to find that his hands and feet couldn’t coordinate at all, and that he was actually better off with his one-legged stance.

Liu Qiaohong checked the time and felt the moment was approaching. He hurried back to his room to change.

His personality was gentle, his eyes clear, his face without any sharp or intimidating edge. With a pressed dress shirt, he looked not like a corporate success story but rather like a literary-minded youth with quiet dignity.

At last — no longer resembling an elderly man out for a stroll, but a frank and likable young man.

Under the gaze of both of them, Liu Qiaohong tugged at his collar, put on his leather shoes, and said nervously: “I’m off.”

“Safe travels,” Fang Zhuo said. “Keep a calm mind.”

Liu Qiaohong was rendered speechless by her tone of someone speaking from experience. He turned, closed the door behind him, and made a small, hurried escape.

Fang Zhuo’s pig’s trotter soup finished cooking. She carried it to the dining table and called Yan Lie over.

Though his legs were less than cooperative, Yan Lie insisted on washing the dishes himself after eating.

Fang Zhuo, worried he might break her family’s bowls, leaned against the refrigerator door to watch, and helped wipe away water droplets in between.

Halfway through washing, Yan Lie asked: “Do you have class tonight?”

Fang Zhuo asked back: “Do you have something on tonight?”

Yan Lie hesitated, then said: “I’ve rented an apartment near the school.”

Fang Zhuo’s wiping motion stopped. She looked at him with surprise: “What did you rent an apartment for?”

“My dormitory is on the sixth floor, and there’s no elevator!” Yan Lie pointed at his own leg, sending a few drops of water splashing onto Fang Zhuo’s hand, looking even more agitated than she did. “And I don’t like communal living — especially with a group of guys! You have no idea. There’s a roommate who won’t wash his socks. He stuffs them under the bed every day, and in summer the stuffiness turns them rancid — it’s suffocating. And there’s another one who likes to look over your shoulder at your computer screen and has absolutely no respect for my privacy. I’ve decided to move out!”

He’d lived with them for over three years and managed fine.

Yan Lie shamelessly shifted the blame with a burst of righteous indignation, then, riding that wave, summoned the courage to ask: “Would you want to —”

Fang Zhuo raised an eyebrow.

Yan Lie swallowed. “— help me move some things?”

Fang Zhuo put the clean dish back in the cabinet and stood for a moment with her head down in silence. Only after Yan Lie cleared his throat did she ask: “You’ve paid the rent?”

Yan Lie said quickly: “Paid in full. I also hired hourly workers to clean it. We can probably move in this afternoon.”

Fang Zhuo said: “You need to apply through the school for this, don’t you?”

Yan Lie had covered all the angles: “I mentioned it to the resident tutor. The dormitories don’t do room checks anyway. I’ll move in first and sort out the paperwork with him tomorrow.”

Yan Lie’s scheming intentions might as well have been transparent — his movements were genuinely fast.

Fang Zhuo thought it over for a long while, finished the household tasks at hand, then said lightly: “Fine then.”

“Thank you for your help,” Yan Lie bowed to her with exaggerated gratitude. “As a token of appreciation, if you ever wish to, my apartment is open to you for overnight stays at any time.”

Fang Zhuo was curious about how Liu Qiaohong’s blind date had gone, so she decided to wait at home for a while.

Around half past two, Liu came back.

His expression was neutral, revealing nothing of his mood.

Fang Zhuo asked how it went. Liu Qiaohong said plainly: “So-so. We ate for a while, chatted for a while, then went our separate ways.”

Fang Zhuo asked: “You didn’t go see a film or something?”

Liu Qiaohong said: “She said she had something on in the afternoon and left first.”

Fang Zhuo thought to herself: well, that’s that — doesn’t sound like there’s much going on there.

Liu Qiaohong dropped into the low seat, and asked Yan Lie to press the stiffness out of his shoulders.

He was now in a state of complete detachment from worldly concerns — as if he had just returned from some form of meditation retreat, with no earthly desire aroused by anything at all.

Stretching out his limbs, Liu Qiaohong unexpectedly brightened and said cheerfully: “The restaurant where we had lunch was offering a raffle when you spent over a certain amount. I had great luck and drew a fifty-percent-off discount. The whole meal only ended up costing over a hundred yuan!”

Fang Zhuo: “…”

Liu Qiaohong said with great profundity: “I think fate is a bit like a restaurant discount. Of course you’re happy when you get one — but it’s also fine if you don’t. You just earn more money and pay full price.”

Fang Zhuo tried to absorb the wisdom, and was dismayed to find it somehow made a lot of sense.

Liu Qiaohong entertained himself for a while, then took out his phone to compose a message.

Fang Zhuo was getting ready to leave — he didn’t look up. Only when he finished typing did he explain to Fang Zhuo: “I’m asking her to go back to that restaurant with me. The raffle runs until the day after tomorrow. There’s still an item in the box for a free meal — I want to try my luck.”

Fang Zhuo was thoroughly at a loss: “Ah… ?”

Liu Qiaohong’s phone buzzed. He looked down, then looked up with delight: “She said yes.”

Fang Zhuo was so astonished by this series of maneuvers that she could only stare at him, wondering to herself: was this really how ordinary people went about getting to know someone?

Even after leaving the complex, she still couldn’t quite make sense of it. She asked Yan Lie: “For a complete stranger — is using a raffle as your reason for inviting someone to dinner a clever approach?”

“Why do you care?” Yan Lie gave her a dangerous sideways look. “You won’t be practicing it.”

Fang Zhuo fell silent.

Yan Lie’s personal belongings were considerable, and Fang Zhuo couldn’t go directly into the male dormitory. Fortunately, he had three strong roommates.

The three roommates he had complained about so freely turned out to be tremendously enthusiastic. Upon hearing Yan Lie was moving out, they voluntarily packed up all his luggage, sprinted down from the sixth floor, and deposited everything beside the flower bed.

They also pooled together to give him ten clothes hangers as a farewell gift.

The three of them stood in a sweat-soaked row, brimming with moral authority, and made solemn entreaties to Fang Zhuo: “Classmate, we’re entrusting our brother to you. He occasionally has his peculiarities, but in general he’s pretty reasonable to deal with. If he makes any mistakes, feel free to hit him, scold him, no need to hold back — his skin is particularly thick. And if you really can’t vent your frustrations, find us. We elder fathers are happy to do it for you!”

Yan Lie, stuck on one good leg, was taken complete advantage of by these rascals, and could only glare at them from behind Fang Zhuo with furrowed brows.

Fang Zhuo bought three bottles of water for them. The good brothers waved her off: “Don’t bother! Don’t mind us! It’s getting late and time is precious — we’ll help get everything moved over first!”

The apartment Yan Lie had rented was in the complex directly across from the east gate — less than two hundred meters from the school entrance.

For the sake of their brother’s happiness, the guys brought forth the potential of a lifetime. Carrying the heavy loads, they got everything moved into the rental unit in under five minutes.

Seeing the backs of their shirts completely drenched in sweat, Fang Zhuo invited them to stay for a round of milk tea. The group declined in unison and fled as though escaping a disaster.

By then it was evening. Only a gray layer of light remained at the edge of the sky.

Yan Lie ordered food delivery and sorted through the clothes in the boxes together with Fang Zhuo.

The apartment he had rented was a suite of over seventy square meters, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a living room.

The previous tenant apparently never used the kitchen — even the plastic packaging on the stovetop was still unsealed.

Yan Lie went over on his crutch, pressed one hand to the marble counter, and said ingratiatingly: “I’ll cook for you from now on.”

Fang Zhuo didn’t pick up on his underlying intent. She was busy sorting items by category and said absently: “The school canteen has pretty good food too.”

“Are you a heartless woman?” Yan Lie accused. “Always thinking about not coming home for meals.”

Fang Zhuo: “…”

Yan Lie walked into the bathroom to have a look, then came back out to report: “This bathroom doesn’t have a wet-dry separation. I see the water heater is shared with the kitchen — the water pressure might not be enough. Probably not ideal for showers.”

Fang Zhuo stopped what she was doing and looked up: “You rented this apartment on a whim and didn’t even check the basic specifications?”

Yan Lie said honestly: “It was too short notice to find a better one. Otherwise I’d have chosen a place with only one bedroom.”

Yan Lie’s true intentions were barely concealed.

He kept an eye on Fang Zhuo’s expression — worried about making it too obvious and frightening her off — then added in a manner that revealed rather than concealed: “The other room can be a study. Otherwise the layout isn’t complete.”

The delivery arrived just then. Fang Zhuo let it go for the moment, and the two of them gathered around the long table to eat dinner.

The overhead light in the dining area was a warm amber, not especially bright.

Yan Lie’s eyes were luminous. He arranged the chopsticks and bowl in front of Fang Zhuo and kept placing food into her bowl.

“You know,” Yan Lie said, “my parents left for Province B to start a business before I even finished primary school. Before I went to live with them, I lived with my grandmother. My grandmother spoiled me terribly — she was still spoon-feeding me when I was quite old.”

Yan Lie was in fact quite well-behaved when it came to eating. Aside from not being able to eat spicy food, he was not picky about anything else. When his grandmother spoon-fed him, he would sit up very properly on his little stool, mouth open, never getting food all over the place.

But his parents disapproved of this behavior, thinking it was overindulgence. To them, an overindulged boy had a near-fatal character flaw, and they firmly ordered him to feed himself.

Yan Lie used to defy them by refusing to eat sometimes.

But every time, he was the one who caved first — never managing to outlast his parents, always ending up crawling to the table on his own to eat cold leftover food. Over time, the habit of needing to be spoon-fed gradually faded away.

He rarely sat at a table to eat with his parents, and almost never experienced any warmth of family during meals.

Later, when he and Fang Zhuo were together, he felt for the first time in a long while a sense of closeness. He began to picture the kinds of family scenes described in books — warm-colored lamplight, steaming hot meals, endless acceptance, and someone waiting for him.

In practical terms, though, he couldn’t quite count as Fang Zhuo’s family.

He couldn’t greet her the moment the day broke. And once night came, they went their separate ways.

The warmth of time spent together couldn’t change the emptiness of coming home to a quiet place. Their longest conversations were confined to the messaging apps on their phones.

Fang Zhuo existed somewhere just beyond his reach — he had to check in every so often just to find a brief moment of reassurance.

Fang Zhuo listened quietly as he talked.

Some of the memories weren’t entirely continuous, because Yan Lie’s recollections weren’t entirely clear — things surfaced as they came, and he said them as they surfaced.

In this kind of atmosphere, many of the grievances he had buried deep inside, things that had almost been forgotten, came floating up to the surface. They didn’t bring him pain anymore, and yet he still wanted Fang Zhuo’s comfort.

It was as though Fang Zhuo’s comfort could pass through time — letting the Yan Lie of more than a decade ago learn to let things go as well.

Fang Zhuo asked: “Do you like stuffed animals?”

Yan Lie looked puzzled: “Why do you ask?”

Fang Zhuo thought for a moment, then said: “Because I do.”

She had never had a stuffed animal. When she ate with her grandmother, they sat in silence, looking at each other.

Her grandmother ate quickly, collected the chopsticks and bowl, and left the table directly — leaving Fang Zhuo alone, talking to whatever was around her.

Farmhouse walls in the countryside were often papered with old newspapers to keep out moisture. Fang Zhuo used to tear small strips from the paper and paste them back with rice as glue.

Then one day — she couldn’t quite remember how old she was anymore — someone from the village gave her a secondhand piece of clothing: a sweater with a little figure wearing braids sewn onto the front. Fang Zhuo loved it and wore it for many years. For some inexplicable reason, she felt less alone with it.

In middle school, Fang Zhuo heard from classmates about a marketing campaign at some restaurant chain — where servers would bring a large stuffed animal to sit with customers who were dining alone.

Everyone laughed and said it sounded mortifyingly awkward. Fang Zhuo, though, found herself unexpectedly moved — and even a little envious. It was the kind of envy she could not share with anyone.

Fang Zhuo said: “But later I stopped wanting one.”

Yan Lie asked instinctively: “Why?”

Both of them spoke at the same time:

“Because I made my peace with being alone.”

“Because you met me?”

Fang Zhuo paused, then changed her answer: “Right — because I met you.”

The muscles in Yan Lie’s face tightened, something passing visibly across his expression. He shifted to the seat beside Fang Zhuo and kissed her, very gently — his left arm circling around her shoulder, fingers stroking her ear.

Fang Zhuo took a sip of soup and swallowed hard, then said, barely audibly: “We’re covered in oil.”

“So will you stay?” Yan Lie spoke softly into her ear, offering terms that were difficult to refuse: “I can cook, I can do laundry, I can fix broken appliances, and what I can’t do I can learn. If you’re still not satisfied, I can work hard and earn money to hire someone. I just want you here with me.”

He said it beautifully, in that low, pleasant voice of his — and each sentence carried a pull to it.

“I am willing to compromise on anything for you. I just want to be the one beside you.”

His voice was warm, and Fang Zhuo’s ears began to feel warm too. Before she had even fully thought it through, she gave a soft “mm” in response.

Yan Lie laughed quietly, held her tightly for a moment, kissed her face, and then released her to finish eating.

After dinner, the two of them continued sorting out the luggage.

Yan Lie had moved in a hurry, and there were still many things to buy — dishes and utensils, bed sheets in the right size, and various other things.

Fang Zhuo also went back to the dormitory to pick up a few changes of clothes.

After coming back from the supermarket, they started loading things into cabinets and making a list of what was still missing to go back and buy the next day.

Yan Lie left half the space in each area empty, saying that was for Fang Zhuo to occupy — an open invitation for her to gradually move her things in.

“I want to buy a place,” Yan Lie said, his excitement growing harder to contain the more they sorted. He said with great ambition: “I’ll save a bit more and buy an apartment downtown. Then will you marry me?”

Fang Zhuo looked up, her voice perfectly even: “You’re tired. Sleep early. You can think more clearly tomorrow.”

Yan Lie didn’t mind being mocked at all, and smiled to himself all evening long.

When Fang Zhuo reached one particular box, Yan Lie immediately pressed his hand on top of it and said, alarmed: “You can’t look at that one.”

Fang Zhuo had no particular desire to, and handed it back to him. She watched him tuck it carefully under the bed.

By the time they had roughly finished tidying, it was nearly eleven at night.

Yan Lie’s foot had been accidentally knocked against the ground a few times during the moving, and he had barely noticed at first. Now that they had stopped, he realized it was slightly red and swollen.

The adrenaline had thrown off his perception of pain, and he paid it no mind — still as brazen as ever. He took a towel to the bathroom to shower, while Fang Zhuo waited in the living room.

After a whole evening of effort, Fang Zhuo was tired. She half-reclined against the armrest, her mind drifting into haze.

Something Yan Lie had said tonight must have touched a vulnerability that had been with Fang Zhuo for a very long time. She hadn’t shown any reaction at the time, but in the half-dreaming state, things that didn’t quite make sense began to surface.

Like a house that was her own.

She didn’t know whether everyone who lacked a sense of security developed a particular longing for a place of their own. Fang Zhuo used to want it desperately — fiercely — but after learning what property prices were like, she had given up on the dream entirely.

That kind of dream was too far away. She would wait until she was working before she let herself want it.

In her youth, Fang Zhuo had once made beautiful plans. A house alone might not be enough — she was greedy enough to also want family.

The breeze carried clear sunlight through the floor-length window, wrapping around them tightly.

Too beautiful to feel real.

Yan Lie came out of the shower to find Fang Zhuo lying on the sofa asleep, the living room window still open.

He hurried to close the glass window, then went to the bedroom to get a blanket, carefully draped it over Fang Zhuo, and sat down on the floor to watch her sleeping face.

In the stillness, his phone on the coffee table suddenly vibrated, sending a buzzing noise through the air.

Yan Lie was startled. He watched for Fang Zhuo’s reaction, then reached for his phone to check the message.

It was a WeChat message from Xia Lan.

Lan Lan: Junior, are you asleep? I’m truly sorry. If you’re still awake, please reply.

Lord Lie Name: 1

Lan Lan: I’m heading back to Province C tomorrow.

Lord Lie Name: Okay. Safe travels.

Lan Lan: Before I go, I want to ask you something.

Lan Lan: I’ll feel awful if I don’t know.

Lord Lie Name: [Scared face] Go ahead.

Lan Lan: Was I really hideous when I cried?

Lan Lan: I’m so angry I can’t accept it. That terrible man told me even my face when I cry looks like a mangy stray.

Lan Lan: I used to be young and bright and beautiful, okay? Why didn’t he think of himself as a mangy stray when he was chasing after me calling me his little sweetheart?

Lan Lan: So was it really that ugly?

Yan Lie looked down at Fang Zhuo’s profile.

He didn’t know what she was dreaming about, but a trace of moisture had gathered at the corner of her eye, leaking out.

Her brow was tightly furrowed — she looked a little sad, and as though she badly needed someone to protect her.

Yan Lie’s fingertip lightly grazed her eye corner. When it reached her eyelid, her lashes trembled, and her breathing deepened for just a moment.

Yan Lie froze, not daring to move again.

He thought of that year in their final year of high school, when Fang Zhuo had fainted during the classroom cleaning and caused a small panic around her. He had pushed through the crowd and carried her to the school infirmary on his back.

The late-afternoon light had been soft, and the warm sun fell on her face — luminous with a tangible warmth.

And yet Fang Zhuo lay on her side, tears flowing without stopping.

Yan Lie didn’t know what to do. No matter how he wiped at them, the tears on her face wouldn’t stop. And Fang Zhuo, once she was conscious again, didn’t want his comfort.

In those few motionless, frozen seconds, Yan Lie had a vague sense that the liquid on his fingertip burned at his heart, and that he was somehow touching the stubborn, unspoken grief that Fang Zhuo kept buried deep inside.

Yan Lie pulled his gaze back and typed a reply to Xia Lan.

Lord Lie Name: Don’t cry in front of someone you don’t like.

Lord Lie Name: They won’t be sad for you.

Xia Lan didn’t reply anymore.

Yan Lie put the phone down, placed his hand lightly on Fang Zhuo’s arm, and gave a gentle push: “Zhuozhuo. Darling. Wake up. Come and sleep properly in the bedroom?”