Nan Chu, without so much as blinking, made a generous suggestion: “What if I just stay here? Then you won’t need to take me anywhere — I’ll get up early in the morning and leave on my own.”
It was deep into the night. The main room light had been switched off, leaving only the small wall sconce in the entryway still burning — a warm yellow glow. Lin Luxiao was leaning against the wall, and in that light it was as though he’d been traced with a thin line of gold. Nan Chu would think back on his reaction from that night many times afterward.
Lin Luxiao had tilted the tip of his tongue briefly against the corner of his mouth, and let out a low, quiet laugh.
Nan Chu had thought to herself: that really is quite something. The attractive kind that’s different from ordinary attractive. The kind that must be what people mean when they say a man has presence.
“Come on then.”
After a moment of laughter, he said.
Lin Luxiao retrieved his car keys, and on his way tossed her a black jacket — clean and crisp, as though lifted fresh from the wardrobe. Nan Chu inspected it: it appeared to be one of his spring jackets.
“Put this on first.”
Nan Chu draped it over herself and looked down at her reflection in the window glass — a low-cut, form-fitting long dress, paired with an oversized men’s black jacket, wide and loose, falling just past where her thighs began. It created, quite inexplicably, a sense of being sheltered. She was amused by her own reflection.
“Does it look good?” she asked Lin Luxiao.
Lin Luxiao had the car door open. He glanced at her, then just as quickly looked elsewhere, ducking into the car. “Is looking good the whole point of getting dressed?”
Nan Chu rounded the hood, pulled open the passenger door, and settled into the seat. “If it doesn’t look good, I’d rather not bother.”
“……”
“I look better without anything on.”
“……”
He decided it was no use engaging. “Where do you live?”
“Xinghui.”
Lin Luxiao drove in silence. Same as always — not much for conversation. At red lights, he had the habit of resting one hand on the steering wheel, the other propped on the window frame, watching the city at night.
The car pulled up at the building entrance.
Before getting out, Nan Chu returned the jacket. Lin Luxiao took it and tossed it onto the back seat, then leaned back against the headrest, waiting for her to get out.
Nan Chu stepped outside, and rested her arms on the open window to look at him. “A week from now, let’s have dinner together. I’ll come find you, or you can give me a call.”
She was leaning forward, which provided a certain view — not completely exposed, just that elusive quality of something half-visible, half-concealed, particularly compelling.
Lin Luxiao was reclined in his seat, one hand draped over the window frame. He took her in at a leisurely pace. When he didn’t speak, his brow had a faint, serious set to it — unreadable, difficult to guess at. After a while, he reached into the center console compartment, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, tossed the lighter back into the compartment, and asked in an offhand tone: “What exactly do you want from me?”
But that was precisely the quality that had Nan Chu completely at a loss.
The night was deep and still. The trees stood in quiet darkness. The young woman’s eyes were bright and clear, more luminous than the moonlight. She turned the question back on him: “What is it you think you have that I could possibly want?”
Lin Luxiao gave a cold laugh. He took half a drag and exhaled it, reached his hand out the window, squinted slightly, and flicked off some ash. Then with sharp irony: “Fair point. You’ve never wanted for anything — didn’t you walk away just fine that time after tossing me that stack of cash?”
“Did you spend that money?”
“Spent it clean.”
“What on?”
In truth, when Nan Chu had handed him that money, it had sat uneasily with him — and the sight of that young woman, silent and composed as she left, had irritated him on top of it. He’d initially wanted to throw the money out, but a soldier couldn’t possibly throw away money with the Chairman’s face on it. He’d taken a few steps, thought better of it, turned around and picked it back up — and the next day, had Da Liu help him connect with a welfare home, to which it was donated.
There was simply no way he was keeping it.
“That’s my business,” Lin Luxiao said flatly, then spoke without any hint of softness: “And don’t bother coming to find me again. What happened back then — I would have done the same for anyone. It just so happened that I lived at the base, the apartment sat empty, and renting it out would’ve brought in extra income.”
Nan Chu looked at him calmly, eyes moving with quiet reflection. “You came back three times in between, though.”
Lin Luxiao started the car. “I hadn’t adjusted to it yet. I kept forgetting there was someone staying at my place.”
“The first time, you forgot. The second time, you forgot too? And the third?”
“……Oh come on — you don’t actually think I had some kind of feeling for you, some little kid, do you?”
Nan Chu shrugged with an expression that plainly said: how should I know what goes on in your head.
“……” Impossible to have a normal conversation with her.
A beat of silence. Lin Luxiao decided he was done letting this drag on. He told her to go upstairs.
“It’s late. Go on up.”
“So — dinner in a week?” Nan Chu still wasn’t letting this go.
Lin Luxiao looked at her for a long moment. He noticed this young woman truly was stubborn to a remarkable degree. He tried to brush her off: “Might not have any leave. We’ll see.”
Nan Chu held the expression of someone who was not going anywhere until he agreed.
Lin Luxiao frowned, impatience breaking through. “Fine, fine, fine.”
“Give me your phone.” Nan Chu held out her hand.
“Are you ever going to stop?”
“What if you run off again like last time — where am I supposed to find you?”
Lin Luxiao looked at her, fished his phone from his pocket, and held it out. Nan Chu caught it securely, called her own number from his, confirmed it had connected, and tossed it back with a satisfied smile. She gave a light wave, and said softly: “Captain Lin, good night!”
Lin Luxiao sat back in his seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other holding a cigarette suspended outside the window, half-burned. A thin curl of blue smoke drifted upward — and in the night breeze, the remaining ash was severed, scattered, and carried away into the dust.
He watched Nan Chu’s retreating figure.
The tip of his tongue touched the corner of his mouth, and he gave a quiet, almost soundless laugh.