Nan Chu had assumed that after receiving Lin Luxiao’s “not free” text, it would be a long time before she saw him again. She hadn’t expected to run into him so soon.
That day, Nan Chu was at the administrative office of the Beixin City Welfare Institute when someone came rushing in from outside and told the director in a panic: “A child’s head is stuck in the railing on the eighth floor.”
Nan Chu followed the director and ran over to look. Up on the high red-brick wall, a round little head was wedged between two gaps in the eighth-floor railing. A cluster of children stood around him, crying.
By the time they got upstairs, the little boy was wailing at them.
Nan Chu remembered this little boy — round-headed and stocky, tiger-faced and plucky, normally very lively. His name was Sanbao. Right now, he was clearly frightened, his chubby little face gone completely white.
Nan Chu crouched down to look. The institute had been renovated a couple of years ago, but funding had run short and this particular building hadn’t been included — the railing was still the original stainless steel. She put her hand on it and gave it a test push. Sanbao wailed even louder, eyes brimming with tears as he looked up at her: “Sister, am I going to be stuck like this forever?”
Nan Chu looked down at him and deliberately said, “Maybe so.”
Sanbao cried even harder.
Nan Chu was just about to give him a lecture about not sticking his head into things he shouldn’t.
But before she could, something grabbed the back of her neck and hauled her sideways. A low, cool voice came from behind her: “Who told you to scare the kid?”
Nan Chu turned her head to look.
Lin Luxiao was in his dark green firefighting gear, a coil of rope slung over his shoulder, a pair of black eyes watching her without any particular expression.
What a coincidence.
Before Nan Chu could say anything, he hauled her sideways again. “Stand over there — don’t get in our way.”
With that, he ignored her entirely. Two more people came up behind him. Lin Luxiao moved forward with his team, crouched down, took a knee, confirmed that Sanbao had only scraped his head slightly, then turned to point at several spots on the railing and said to the team members behind him, “Get the tools. Cut these four bars — someone go outside to spot him from below, just in case.”
Nan Chu leaned quietly against the wall and watched him work with focused intent.
A man who is serious about what he does is genuinely captivating.
The team conferred for a while.
Lin Luxiao stood, repositioned the rope on his shoulder, braced both hands against the railing, and swung himself over to the outside of the wall. Feet planted on the exterior, he slowly descended along the rope, then kicked off the wall and braced himself — both hands cupping around Sanbao’s head to keep it from slipping outward.
Nan Chu noticed that he had thought to gently cover Sanbao’s eyes so the boy couldn’t look down. He even said quietly to him: “Good boy, stop crying.”
Sanbao stopped crying immediately. His little head nestled against the man’s hands.
“……”
“……”
“……”
“……”
Ten minutes later, once Sanbao was rescued, Lin Luxiao climbed back up the rope, flipped both hands over the railing, and landed on his feet. He had barely steadied himself when there was someone standing right in front of him.
He startled, instinctively stepped back, and looked down at her with a guarded expression. “What are you doing?”
The young woman curled her lips in a smile, her eyes curving into crescents, brows and eyes clean and pale — no makeup. She reached out and straightened his collar. “Captain, it’s crooked.”
“……”
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