As Nan Chu’s hands moved, Lin Luxiao instinctively looked down.
She was quick about it. She straightened his collar and immediately withdrew her hand — her fair-skinned hand flashed past his eyes for just an instant, like a beam of light, trailing a faint scent of cherry blossoms. Lin Luxiao shifted his gaze away and pushed his hands into his pockets, looking elsewhere.
Just in time to catch the director and Sanbao coming over to thank them.
Sanbao, barely as tall as a sapling, came scampering over and launched himself at Lin Luxiao, small hands wrapping around his thigh. He was so little that his head barely cleared the man’s leg. He buried his face between Lin Luxiao’s thighs, made little cooing sounds, and said, “Thank you, Uncle Lin!”
Lin Luxiao looked down and ruffled the child’s hair, his gaze uncharacteristically soft.
Sanbao hugged him tight. He was so small that both his hands, reaching around, ended up right at the top of Lin Luxiao’s thigh. He tilted his head back with bright, chirping enthusiasm: “Uncle Lin, are you still hiring at your station? When I grow up I want to come work with you!”
Lin Luxiao gripped the leg of his trousers, crouched down, palmed the back of Sanbao’s head and gave it two rubs, and said with a low laugh, “Then you’d better study hard and pass the military academy exam. And no more sticking your head into places it shouldn’t go like you did today.”
Inexplicably gentle.
Nan Chu found herself wondering — what would his own children be like?
Sanbao said brightly, “Alright! Sorry for all the trouble again today!”
Lin Luxiao rubbed his head again. “With you being this mischievous, I’m definitely racking up the overtime.”
The director smiled and stepped up from behind. “Luxiao, won’t you stay for a meal?”
The institute’s director was an old comrade of Lin Luxiao’s grandfather from years gone by. When Lin Luxiao was young and used to get into arguments with adults — acting up and causing a scene — Lin Qingyuan had threatened to dump him at the welfare institute. The director was one of those who had more or less watched Lin Luxiao grow up.
Lin Luxiao stood. “I have to get back to the station. I’ll come see you again another time.”
The director nodded warmly, then looked at Nan Chu. “And you? Will you stay for a bite?”
Nan Chu replied, “I have an afternoon booking. My car’s waiting downstairs. I’ll go see Bao Shu in a bit and then I need to head out.”
The director nodded with a look of fond relief. “Bao Shu has been talking about you for a long time. Go on and visit him. I’ll take the children in for their meal.” With that, the director led the children away, and the hallway was left with just Nan Chu and Lin Luxiao. They exchanged a glance.
Lin Luxiao bent down to gather his things and asked in an even tone, “What are you doing here?”
Nan Chu shrugged, indifferent. “Charity work. Don’t all public figures love setting themselves up as philanthropists? The company made me.”
“Philanthropist?”
He didn’t really understand why a barely eighteenth-tier actress would bother building that kind of image, but going by Nan Chu’s expression in that moment, he couldn’t detect anything off about it. He gave a vague acknowledgment and went back to collecting his things.
Nan Chu gave a mischievous grin. “Alright, I’ll let you in on a secret — the charity is a front. I secretly had a child and I was afraid it would affect my reputation, so I left him here.”
That successfully got his attention.
Lin Luxiao stopped what he was doing and looked at her with a deep, measured gaze.
Nan Chu smiled. “Don’t let my youth fool you — I’m actually a mother.”
“……”
Lin Luxiao didn’t engage. He gave a sardonic little curl of his lips and bent back down to coil up the rope.
Nan Chu walked around behind him, leaned in slightly, and murmured close to his ear, “When do you have time?”
Lin Luxiao straightened up and looked down at her. “Being a mother already and still this free? Don’t you need to spend time with the kid?”
She laughed. “Got to find the kid a father, haven’t I.”
“……”
How she could say something like that so matter-of-factly was beyond him. And he had no idea what had come over him in that moment — he actually played along.
“Where’s the father?”
Nan Chu sighed. “Young and foolish. He ran off.”
“……”
Lin Luxiao: “You’re telling me something this significant — you’re not afraid I’ll expose you?”
Nan Chu: “I trust you — otherwise why would I have gone home with you at sixteen?”
Lin Luxiao tried not to misread that sentence, but the words that came out of his own mouth were biting: “So after leaving my place you went to some other man’s — and ended up with a kid?”
Nan Chu didn’t answer. She looked at him, smiling that victorious smile, those outer corners of her eyes long and fine, the curve of them soft, angled upward — a little bit dangerous.
Damn it.
Shen Mu had been right. The game-playing was definitely deep.
Lin Luxiao fell silent. He refused to engage further, turned his head, and went back to packing up his things.
Nan Chu watched him quietly for a moment. Apparently she was bored enough to fish a cigarette out of her clothes, put it between her lips, and light it. She took two steps back, leaned back against the railing — and then her shoulder suddenly dropped under a weight. She had barely looked down before, in her peripheral vision, a hand appeared out of nowhere. She had no time to react before she was grabbed by the arm and yanked to the side.
Lin Luxiao gripped her shoulder, tilted his chin at the section of railing below where she’d been leaning — one of the cut-out gaps. “Are you blind? Didn’t you see that was open?”
Nan Chu held her cigarette between her lips, looked at the railing, took a drag, tilted her head back and exhaled a breath. Her voice was a little husky with a lazy ease. “Are you worried about me?”
Lin Luxiao gave a cold laugh.
Behind him was the afternoon’s blazing sun, scorching hot, burning everything to impatience. Nan Chu held her cigarette and forgot to smoke it. The ash at the tip spiraled upward, cinders scattering in all directions — and she was pinned in place by the cold look in his eyes.
“What I’m worried about is lives.”
He paused, eyes fixed on hers, and spoke in measured syllables: “Every single one.”
With that, he finished cinching the rope, threw it over his shoulder, and walked away without sparing her another glance.