Yan Lie, soaked through by the rain, was clearly far more pitiable than the downtrodden Bald Rooster had ever been.

Fang Zhuo saw that he hadn’t brought anything with him, so she went to the wardrobe and found him a towel, then dug out two sets of clean clothes that Ye Yuncheng had worn before, and set them all outside the bathroom door. After that, she boiled a kettle of hot water to dissolve some cold medicine.

This person was truly a handful.

Fang Zhuo picked up her phone to check the weather forecast. After nightfall, the temperature had dropped sharply — it was now only a little over ten degrees. The damp air carried a biting wind that cut right through the skin. And Yan Lie had come out wearing only one layer.

Fang Zhuo retrieved the medicine kit from Ye Yuncheng’s bedroom, and by the time she came back to the room with the cold medicine, Yan Lie had already finished his shower.

Having stepped out after a hot shower, Yan Lie was back to his insufferably cocky self, with no trace of the shivering, helpless look from earlier.

He slid into his slippers and strode in through the doorway.

No shirt. A pair of oversized short pajama pants. Perfectly breezy.

Fang Zhuo paused. Her gaze fell on his bare skin — from the line of his shoulders all the way down to his waist and abdomen, the taut, clean lines of his muscles fully on display, no less brazen than their owner.

Fang Zhuo held the medicine box and asked, “Where are your clothes?”

Yan Lie replied without batting an eye: “I told you, I don’t like wearing pajamas.”

“Aren’t you cold?” Fang Zhuo said seriously. “Go put something on. If you catch a worse cold, I’m not taking care of you.”

“Don’t you know that men naturally run at a higher body temperature than women?” Yan Lie rubbed his hair carelessly with the towel, letting his gaze drift sideways to take her in. The words came out with no real conviction, but he said them loudly enough to drown out his own sheepishness.

Yan Lie added, “Give me a hug and you’ll see.”

Fang Zhuo bent over to dissolve the medicine, hesitated for a moment, and when she passed him the cup, said: “Yan Lie, I’m fairly certain it’s not my imagination — your thoughts are a little impure.”

Yan Lie looked puzzled, his gaze wandering but unyielding: “What are you talking about? It’s not like I’m asking for some kind of physical… spiritual romance.” His voice dropped considerably at the end.

He drank the medicine, still felt a bit cold, and once the warmth had faded, obediently went back to find something to put on.

A large, loose white short-sleeved shirt, the collar sagging open — not exactly useful for keeping out the chill.

Back in the room, there was no second chair, so Yan Lie simply stretched out on the made-up bed.

He tilted his head back and watched the person at the desk, who sat with quiet composure, head bowed over a book, completely unbothered by his existence. The more he thought about it, the funnier it seemed.

He had so shamelessly come to sell his looks, and Fang Zhuo had told him to put on another layer.

Yan Lie laughed for a while, then gradually felt a vague unease creep in.

The cold was starting to reach his skin, and the towel beneath his damp hair was turning cool and clammy.

Fang Zhuo really seemed to have stopped paying attention to him.

Yan Lie held out for less than two minutes before calling out in petulant protest: “Fang Zhuo!”

Fang Zhuo pressed her finger to the page and turned it, answering flatly: “What?”

Yan Lie complained: “How can you be like this?!”

Fang Zhuo’s voice was completely level: “Like what?”

Yan Lie hesitated, then softened his approach and asked: “Am I not good-looking?”

“Very good-looking.”

Yan Lie asked again: “Is my figure not good?”

“Very good.”

Yan Lie said: “You’re just saying that to brush me off.”

Fang Zhuo’s thinking was clear, her answers steady, without a single moment’s hesitation: “No, I’m not.”

“You’re lying.” Yan Lie sat up and waved her over. “Come here.”

Fang Zhuo turned her head, gave him a cool glance, and got up and walked out.

Yan Lie was so frustrated his chest felt tight. He climbed off the bed and followed her.

Halfway down the hall, he saw Fang Zhuo turn back around, carrying a hair dryer.

Yan Lie’s indignation evaporated at once. As she approached, he backed up in small steps, retreating into the room, and said quietly: “I thought you’d run off.”

Fang Zhuo gave him another meaningful look and reached back to close the bedroom door.

The old house didn’t have many outlets. Besides the ones by the desk and the television, the only remaining one was at the head of the bed.

Yan Lie sat on the edge of the bed and waited while Fang Zhuo plugged in the hair dryer. He draped the towel around his neck and waited for her to come over.

Fang Zhuo figured there was no way he was going to manage on his own tonight, so she pressed the switch and gently ran her fingers through his hair as she blew it dry.

Yan Lie reached up and rested a hand on her waist, drawing her forward. Fang Zhuo steadied herself and didn’t move.

Yan Lie tried again with a bit more insistence, stubbornly trying to pull her closer.

Fang Zhuo gave in. He tugged her sideways until she was sitting on his lap, and then he held on tight.

It was an awkward position. But thinking of what he’d been through that evening, Fang Zhuo briefly tolerated his willfulness.

Yan Lie’s short hair dried quickly — not even five minutes, and it was completely dry.

The noise stopped. The world fell suddenly quiet. The sound of rain pattering against the eaves tapped steadily outside the window, inexplicably making one’s nerves feel taut.

Fang Zhuo wound up the dryer cord and set it aside, then made to stand — but Yan Lie held her too tightly for her to move.

Yan Lie’s ears and the back of his neck had gone a bit red, and his hair still carried the lingering warmth from the dryer’s heat.

Just as he’d claimed, his skin was hot to the touch — fevered and almost smoldering — and his breathing had grown slightly heavier.

Fang Zhuo gave him a light push on the shoulder, and received another utterly unreasonable protest.

“I told you — no pushing me.”

“Your hair is dry,” Fang Zhuo said. “It’s late. Go make up the bed yourself. Are you sleeping in my uncle’s room tonight?”

Yan Lie raised his head and said in a muffled voice: “No.”

Fang Zhuo said: “Then what do you want? Are you sleeping on the floor?”

Yan Lie’s answer came slowly. But by the time Fang Zhuo registered what was happening, he’d already pulled her with him as they tumbled onto the bed.

He propped himself up on one arm, his face turned away from the light, his gaze deep and intent as he studied her. His other hand moved slowly along the side of her face and came to rest on her lips — an ambiguous, tender gesture, laced with a careful, tentative quality.

Fang Zhuo thought: sometimes the impulses that come over a person feel entirely natural.

She could smell the same body wash on Yan Lie as on herself. Her body temperature began to slip out of her control with each pressing kiss. Even her heart, somewhere inside her chest, fell into the same scattered rhythm as the rain outside the window.

There are moments when a person becomes incapable of thought — even the fastest-running system is subject to the restraint of an off switch.

A flash of lightning blazed outside the window, splitting open the dark curtain of rain.

Yan Lie let out a long, slow breath and stopped. He simply held her tightly and said quietly: “I can’t. I didn’t bring anything.”

Fang Zhuo’s eyelids fluttered. The whole evening felt wrong somehow. By the time her pulse had settled back to something steady, her hands and feet were still a little uncooperative.

The closeness between them left her feeling slightly at a loss — situations like this didn’t fall within what she knew how to handle. She reached out and pushed gently again; this time Yan Lie listened and released her, then vaulted off the bed and left the room without looking back.

The sound of the other person’s breathing disappeared. The space around her became strangely hollow.

Fang Zhuo assumed Yan Lie must have left for good. She sat there dazedly for a moment, then pulled the blanket in the corner straight and put the hair dryer back in the cabinet.

She stood listlessly in the open space for a few minutes, then retrieved her exercise book from the desk and tried to use studying as a way to calm down.

The various mathematical symbols refused to find any purchase in her spinning mind. Fang Zhuo persisted for two minutes without managing to work through a single simple formula, then gave up entirely and reached for her phone again.

The invention of electronics has made an enormous contribution to the diversion of human attention.

Fang Zhuo scrolled through her social feed and this time finally picked up a few pieces of actual, if not particularly useful, information.

Yu Qingjiang and two other roommates had gone to the mall for hot pot. Authentic Sichuan style — the kind of authentic that was more than they could handle. It was a shame Fang Zhuo wasn’t there; the spicy broth had gone to waste.

A package she’d ordered had finally arrived.

Professor Tian’s assignment was due tomorrow evening.

Ye Yuncheng had posted his first short video combining food content with educational tidbits, and the algorithm had inexplicably recommended it.

It seemed like everyone was in a good mood.

Fang Zhuo herself wasn’t in a bad mood either. She was just feeling a vague, elusive kind of confusion.

By the time she’d cleared two levels of a puzzle game, Yan Lie came back.

His previously dried hair had picked up traces of moisture again. He walked into the room without a word, clearly about to commandeer her bed.

Fang Zhuo said, puzzled: “Why are you back?”

Yan Lie froze in place and scrambled for an excuse. Seeing that Fang Zhuo didn’t seem particularly irritated, his eyes made a full circuit of the room, and he said with great drama: “Listen.”

Fang Zhuo said: “I’m not listening.”

Yan Lie broke into a grin and said shamelessly: “No, you have to. Do you have any idea how hard it was getting here tonight? I stepped into at least eighty-one potholes along the way. There were no streetlights, I nearly got lost, and all the shadows gave me serious psychological trauma. The windows in this place keep rattling — if I sleep alone I’ll have nightmares.”

Not giving Fang Zhuo any chance to refuse, he simply jumped onto the bed, pulled the blanket up, and tucked it over Fang Zhuo.

“I’m not going to do anything. I just want to hold you,” Yan Lie said. “Are you cold? This blanket looks pretty thin.”

He said helpfully: “Time to sleep — it’s already very late. We have to get up early to catch the bus tomorrow. Have you finished your assignment?”

Fang Zhuo: “……”

“Would you be willing to share your pillow with me?” Yan Lie put on a sweet, well-behaved expression. “Of course, if you’re not willing, I can also just lie here as-is.”

Fang Zhuo could not resist. As if guided by some invisible hand, she set down her phone and went to turn off the lights.

She made her way back to the bed in the dark. Yan Lie immediately took hold of her hand and said “Goodnight” happily into her ear.

—

The next morning, the rain had stopped. The air carried a faint trace of moisture. Fang Zhuo woke up in a drowsy haze, finding the blankets dry and warm — none of the dampness she usually woke to. Her gaze wandered across the ceiling, then drifted to the side. Her rational mind hovered somewhere between drowsiness and full consciousness.

Yan Lie asleep looked even less threatening than usual. His hair was a complete mess, but it did nothing to diminish how clean-featured he was. The only inexplicable thing was that he had absolutely no business being in this particular place.

A faint ripple of regret passed through Fang Zhuo. She couldn’t understand what she’d been thinking the night before. She tried to sit up, but her hair was pinned under his shoulder, and she pulled against it.

Yan Lie stirred awake too. His eyes still heavy with sleep, he lifted his hand, drew her hair free, then absent-mindedly patted her on the head and asked in a hoarse voice: “Does it hurt?”

Fang Zhuo stared at him steadily. Yan Lie noticed, opened his eyes fully, and asked quite naturally: “What’s wrong?”

There was no arguing with this person.

His methods were simply too good.

Fang Zhuo walked to the desk. Rain had seeped in through the window frame the night before and had soaked most of the desktop. Fortunately she’d pushed her homework to the far end — nothing lost.

She went to the bathroom for a cloth and wiped the surface clean. Throughout this entire time, Yan Lie stayed cross-legged on the bed, chin in his hand, watching her every move, as useful as a wooden post.

His silence made Fang Zhuo uneasy.

This person was definitely brewing some new outrageous idea.