A house without people feels too empty — a kind of coldness that warmth cannot reach.
Zhou Jin seemed tangled in darkness, hugging her knees and curled up in the corner, sleeping as though she might never wake.
She saw Zhou Chuan again.
On the snowy street of Zhizi Lane, a lamppost cast a small pool of light while snowflakes drifted down with a soft hiss.
They stood together within that circle of light and shadow.
Zhou Chuan was dressed neatly in his military uniform, kneeling on one knee before her. He pulled off his warm gloves and slipped them onto Zhou Jin’s small hands, then cupped her frost-reddened cheeks and rubbed them gently.
“Cold, isn’t it,” Zhou Chuan said.
She shook her head, then asked in a small voice, “Brother, can you not go?”
He was leaving for the military, or perhaps for somewhere very far away. For as long as she could remember, Zhou Chuan had never left Zhou Jin’s side — she didn’t want him to leave.
“I can’t stay by your side forever,” Zhou Chuan said. “Be good at home. If anyone dares to bully you, go find Jiang Cheng.”
Jiang Cheng was standing not far behind her. Hearing Zhou Chuan call his name, he walked over — hands shoved in his pockets, young as he was, already wearing the expression of someone who didn’t think much of anyone.
Zhou Chuan looked at him and couldn’t help but laugh. He opened his arms and pulled both children into his embrace at once.
He ruffled Jiang Cheng’s head and said, “You’re the man of the house now. Look after your little sister, you hear me?”
“Like you even needed to say it.”
Jiang Cheng found the sentimentality irritating and quickly pulled himself out of the hug.
He looked at Zhou Chuan. After a pause, Jiang Cheng exhaled a puff of white breath into the cold air and said quietly, “Brother, come back soon.”
The corner of Zhou Chuan’s lips curved into a smile.
Beside them, Zhou Jin pressed her lips together. Determined not to make Zhou Chuan worry, she said with resolve, “I won’t cry.”
On that snowy night, Jiang Cheng took Zhou Jin’s hand, and together they watched Zhou Chuan — dressed in his military uniform — turn and walk away.
Zhou Chuan walked slowly, but he never looked back. He disappeared at last into the vast, white darkness of the snowstorm.
On the way home, Zhou Jin kept her head down, watching her boots crunch and press into the snow with each step.
Jiang Cheng led her along until halfway home, then said, “You can cry now.”
Zhou Jin didn’t look up. Instead, she gripped Jiang Cheng’s fingers tighter and shook her head again. “I’m not going to cry…”
But the moment she said it, her tears fell.
She kept walking, wiping her eyes as she went, and said stubbornly, “I’m not crying.”
Not long after, she heard Jiang Cheng let out a helpless sigh. “Xiao Wu, what am I supposed to do with you?”
When Zhou Jin came back to her senses, she suddenly realized that the hand she’d been clutching — Jiang Cheng’s hand — was empty. Somehow, at some point, Jiang Cheng had moved far ahead of her.
A flicker of fear ran through her. She stumbled after him.
The streetlights seemed to have gone out. The road was pitch dark. Behind her, the direction Zhou Chuan had walked away held no light. Ahead was the same — but she didn’t dare look back. She could only squeeze her eyes shut and run forward.
Her foot caught hard on something. Her body lurched helplessly toward the ground — and then, in that split second, the expected pain never came. An arm reached out and caught her firmly.
She was pulled into someone’s embrace in a single motion, crashing against his solid, warm chest.
He smelled very good.
Zhou Jin looked up in surprise and saw a man with a pair of beautiful almond-shaped eyes, his thin lips curved in a gentle smile as he called her name: “Zhou Jin.”
The window had been left open. A breeze stirred the sheer curtains, and the damp, cold air quickly filled the entire room.
Zhou Jin shuddered — and woke that easily, opening her eyes into darkness. The person who had called her name vanished before her. After a long moment, she finally realized she had fallen asleep in the entryway, her back soaked through with cold sweat.
Her phone was ringing — over and over, relentless.
She closed her eyes, brushed aside the damp strands of hair clinging to her face, then mustered the energy to answer the call.
Yan Bin’s booming voice hit her directly from the other end. “Xiao Wu, are you trying to die?! Why do you keep not answering your phone?!”
Zhou Jin frowned, pushing down the irritation rising in her chest. “What is it?”
Yan Bin said, “Just wanted to ask for the boss’s phone number. I can’t reach him.”
“I don’t know it either.”
Zhou Jin endured the sharp pain in her feet and swayed upright, turned on the light, and saw the clock reading seven in the evening.
From the other end, Yan Bin was still going. “You didn’t ask him? Does he even have a working phone right now?”
Zhou Jin said, “…I didn’t think about it that much. I just bought the necessary things for him. Once the case is done, he’ll sort it out himself — you’ll find out then.”
Yan Bin could tell she was a little out of it, and didn’t press any further. “Alright then. Help out where you can.” Then, after some hesitation, Yan Bin asked, “That guy at your place — he hasn’t been giving you trouble, has he?”
“What do you mean?”
“I could see he was still pretty bothered by you and the boss having dated before. When I met him that time, I could already tell he wasn’t someone to mess with. I’d hate for him to be making things difficult for you over that.”
Zhou Jin: “…”
“If he treats you badly, tell Third Brother — or failing that, there’s still the boss. You two may have… but business aside, there’s still loyalty. He wouldn’t just leave you hanging.” Yan Bin left it there and didn’t push further. “If you’re overwhelmed, just call me.”
“Got it.”