Jiang Hansheng refused to go to the hospital and insisted on going home. Seeing how pale his face had gone, Zhou Jin didn’t return to the Major Crimes Unit either, and accompanied him back to the apartment.
She switched on the entryway light, fetched Jiang Hansheng’s slippers for him, and asked softly: “Is your arm still hurting? Let me put some medicine on it.”
Jiang Hansheng’s throat moved as he swallowed. He nodded and walked straight toward the bathroom.
Zhou Jin caught his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To shower.”
Zhou Jin frowned. “Your arm is in this state and you still want to shower?”
“My body…” Jiang Hansheng found the smell clinging to his clothes difficult to endure. “I feel dirty.”
“…”
Zhou Jin rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers and couldn’t help but laugh. “How can you have so many particular habits?”
Her tone held no reproach in it, which left Jiang Hansheng uncertain of her mood. He lowered his head and cautiously studied her curved, smiling eyes.
Zhou Jin suggested: “Skip it for tonight — I’ll wipe you down instead. Would that work?”
She said it so plainly that it was hard to read anything into it — yet the moment Jiang Hansheng fell silent, the atmosphere between them gradually began to shift into something warmer and more charged.
Zhou Jin caught the subtle awkwardness quickly and rushed to clarify: “No — don’t get the wrong idea, I don’t mean anything by it.”
Her face was hot. She lowered her head and avoided looking at Jiang Hansheng, using both hands to push at his back, urging him to go sit down on the bed.
After being nudged a step or two, Jiang Hansheng stubbornly turned back to look at her. There was a faint trace of amusement in his voice. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t mind.”
Zhou Jin looked up and met Jiang Hansheng’s beautiful, ink-dark eyes. She had rarely seen him smile — she hadn’t expected that when he did, it would be so brilliantly, openly bright.
“…”
Jiang Hansheng raised an eyebrow slightly, as though he had witnessed something remarkable. “Zhou Jin, your face is red.”
Zhou Jin gritted her teeth. “Shut up.”
Jiang Hansheng complied, letting her do as she liked.
Zhou Jin found the medicine box following his directions, then knelt on one knee in front of him, and carefully rolled up his sleeve.
A bruise — red and purple — lay across his arm, vivid and ugly against his fair skin.
She let out a quiet breath. “That must hurt.”
Jiang Hansheng shook his head.
As Zhou Jin applied the bruise-dispersing ointment, she asked him offhandedly: “It was dangerous, Jiang Hansheng. Don’t do something like that again. When exactly did you follow me there?”
Jiang Hansheng’s whole body stiffened slightly.
Zhou Jin seemed to realize something too. Her hand paused in its work. She furrowed her brow and looked at him with a questioning expression.
He averted his eyes, evading her watchful gaze.
Both of them fell into silence. The easy atmosphere they had only just begun to rebuild slowly dissolved in the lengthening stillness between them.
Jiang Hansheng finally couldn’t hold back any longer. “I’ll admit it — I saw you with Jiang Cheng.”
He hadn’t actually seen Jiang Cheng with his own eyes, yet that person’s voice and manner of speaking were not something Jiang Hansheng would ever forget.
Before he had known Jiang Cheng existed, he hadn’t known it was possible for a person to feel something so intensely. It was Jiang Cheng who had taught him what jealousy was.
Jiang Hansheng said: “I don’t mind.”
His expression was impassive. Zhou Jin had never been able to read anything at all from his face.
Zhou Jin said: “Even if you don’t mind, I’m telling you anyway — don’t bring him up again. I married you. Whether Jiang Cheng comes back or not, that doesn’t change.”
Her face had gone a little rigid. She stopped acknowledging Jiang Hansheng and focused on wrapping the bandage around his injured arm.
The room’s cool, pale light fell over Zhou Jin. She raised her hand to brush away the loose strands of hair that had fallen against her ear, revealing her delicate cheek.
His reason told him he should not look. Yet his gaze slid down against his will — to her neck and shoulders, her collarbones, and the expanse of fair skin showing at her chest.
“Prove it to me.” Jiang Hansheng’s eyes darkened.
Zhou Jin looked up in confusion. “What?”
Jiang Hansheng finally lost the last of his restraint. He raised his hand, pressed it to the back of her neck, and his lips came down in a sudden, deep kiss.
His kiss still held the same inexperience as before — yet it carried with it a desperation that had never been there until now, as though he meant to lay everything bare, and so it tangled deep and fierce and unrelenting.
Zhou Jin’s breath came apart. Only when a faint, involuntary murmur slipped between their lips and teeth did the long, consuming kiss show any sign of drawing to a close — slowly, slowly coming to rest.
The hand at the back of her neck did not pull away.
Jiang Hansheng had very bright eyes. He pressed his nose to hers, and made his appeal to her in a quiet voice: “Prove it to me, Zhou Jin.”