Halfway through, Da Liu caught a kick in the side.
Lin Luxiao, seated between them, was flicking ash off his cigarette. He looked at him and said with dry mockery: “If you’ve got that much energy to go around telling stories, why not take up performance storytelling instead?”
Da Liu was unimpressed. “I’m keeping the little sister-in-law company! Look at you — just sitting there puffing away, not paying any attention to her, and then you tell me to go do performance storytelling? I ask you — with emotional intelligence that low, how did you ever manage to find a girlfriend?”
Then a sudden thought struck him. His eyes went wide, and he turned to look at Lin Luxiao. “Hey — wait, are you jealous?”
Lin Luxiao simply rolled his eyes. “Get lost.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll get lost, I’ll get lost. Don’t want to disturb you two.”
And Da Liu really did remove himself — over to find Sun Mingyang for a round of finger-guessing drinking games. Sun Mingyang was clearly less than thrilled to have him, slapping him on the head and telling him to get lost too. Da Liu pivoted and went to complain to Shen Mu, who was sitting off to the side, quietly smoking, sipping occasionally at a glass of red wine, his attention entirely on his phone. “Brother Mu, tell me — why are these two soldiers both so rough? Telling someone to get lost at the drop of a hat.”
Shen Mu didn’t look up. “Get lost.”
“……”
Da Liu was quiet for a moment. “Don’t you believe in Buddhism? Isn’t there a rule about no swearing?”
……
After Da Liu migrated away, there was suddenly much more room on the couch. Lin Luxiao shifted slightly to the side.
Nan Chu looked at the small gap that had opened between them and asked: “Why didn’t you explain?”
Lin Luxiao turned to look at her. “Explain what?”
“Explain that I’m not your girlfriend.”
He had known these younger brothers since childhood — their personalities were an open book to him. The more you tried to explain, the more suspicious they’d think you were, and he had never been the type to explain himself anyway. In time they’d understand on their own.
Besides, at the time, he had already decided — this would be the last time he saw Nan Chu. He would drive her home, make things clear, tell her not to come looking for him again. Da Liu and the others would never see her after that, and they’d naturally realize it had all been a misunderstanding. Why waste a cigarette’s worth of time on an explanation?
He had an unlit cigarette between his lips, and he smiled a little, without answering.
He leaned forward, reaching for the lighter on the coffee table — and found that sharp-eyed Nan Chu had gotten there first.
The black metal lighter was held between the young woman’s soft, pale fingers. Nan Chu gave it a casual spin, adjusted the angle, and with slender fingertips gave it a light flick — the lid snapped open. Her thumb turned the wheel.
A flame leapt to life.
A dancing tongue of fire.
Lin Luxiao’s hand was still suspended in midair. He leaned slightly toward her, the cigarette still tucked between his lips.
The room lights were on, and yet somehow this small flame felt brighter.
“Hurry up, it’s burning my hand.” Nan Chu said softly.
Lin Luxiao looked down and gave a low laugh, then leaned in and caught the flame, letting the cigarette catch. He leaned back against the couch, releasing a slow drift of smoke, and glanced sideways at the young woman beside him.
Clear eyes, bright teeth, delicate and heart-stirring.
Without knowing why, the memory came to him — the day he had passed his examinations and left Heng Street.
The old man standing at the entrance of the third alley, and what he had said.
“This child of yours has a proud spine, and a spirit of blood and steel. In time, you’ll be a hero.”
A pause. And then the old man had sighed.
He himself hadn’t put much stock in that sort of thing, but he found it amusing — so he’d asked: “What are you sighing about?”
The old man said: “Since ancient times, heroes have always had a weakness for beautiful women.”
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