Chapter 27

Shang Mingbao didn’t have time to discern the meaning behind his words before she was confused by his follow-up question.

He looked into her eyes and asked, “Is it okay?”

There was no need to clarify what was being asked, nor did she need to vocalize an answer. Her frightened and timid but unflinching gaze, the heat rising in her breath, and her step that seemed about to falter but landed perfectly on his sneaker all answered for her.

The pink suede basketball shoes, soft and disheveled, stumbled back a few more steps until the heel banged loudly against the door—

Along with its owner.

Shang Mingbao was pressed against the door, feeling that Xiang Feiran’s kiss was fierce today.

Both of her hands were also pinned down by him. His slender, powerful hands, which had just been playing with smoke, were now firmly gripping her fingers, with veins bulging prominently on his arms.

Shang Mingbao offered no resistance, closing her eyes and awkwardly kissing him. It was chaotic and unstructured. But there was little space for her to respond, as Xiang Feiran, sensing her response, kissed her even more fiercely, sucking on her lower lip and brushing over her teeth.

After a moment’s hesitation that only he knew about, his tongue probed in, intertwining with Shang Mingbao’s.

The delicate touch of their tongues, like the softest duster, gently swept over Xiang Feiran’s soul.

The rumbling of the elevator, going up and down, seemed like someone might walk out of that door at any moment.

“There’s…someone…someone…” Shang Mingbao mumbled, evading his kiss and gasping for breath.

Xiang Feiran’s eyes were devoid of light, his Adam’s apple rolling heavily with his breaths. Without thinking, he resumed kissing her, while deftly removing the keychain from her fingers, closing his eyes and precisely inserting it into the keyhole.

With a click, the lock opened. The door, propelled by inertia, slammed against the wall, only to be firmly pressed back into place by Shang Mingbao and her weight.

Shang Mingbao, like a cat, pushed Xiang Feiran: “…#&%!”

What was the difference from being outside!

“Close…uh…close, close the door…”

With another thunderous bang, the door finally closed—slammed shut by Xiang Feiran’s backhand.

Shang Mingbao’s canvas bag, phone, and coat had all fallen to the ground. Though the room was well-heated, she shivered violently in just her close-fitting knit top, unable to control it even when held tightly in Xiang Feiran’s arms.

The quiet, deserted room was filled with heat and breaths.

Xiang Feiran unexpectedly stopped, one hand cupping Shang Mingbao’s face, his thumb rubbing her lower lip. His face was almost expressionless, showing no emotion, only his eyes revealing the guilt within.

Shang Mingbao’s eyes, cheeks, and the tip of her nose were all flushed, her lips visibly swollen from his kisses. In her amber eyes, there was a misty, confused, and reproachful look.

She said seriously, “There’s no one like you. For half a month, you didn’t think of me, and now when you find me… it’s like this.”

Xiang Feiran’s palm pressed against the back of her head, “Shang Mingbao, the average person has 70,000 thoughts a day, which makes 1,050,000 in half a month. Every one of those 1,050,000 thoughts was about you.”

Shang Mingbao’s face was burning and her heart racing: “Xiang Feiran, don’t think that just because you’re a PhD, you can talk nonsense…”

Xiang Feiran closed his eyes, feeling helpless: “Whether it’s nonsense or not, I know it clearly myself.”

No one knew better than he did how he had spent these past two weeks.

He had tried to command himself to discard this liking, to calm down from this fiery reunion, and to try to convince himself that “you don’t actually like her that much.”

Since their chance encounter in the attic, his mind had been in a highly charged state, which was a kind of illness. Every crack in his life was filled with thoughts of her. He was extremely active on social media, his heart raced at the thought of meeting her, and his subconscious was always looking for reasons to contact her, but he suffocated himself for lack of a reason.

This pathological state might stem from the fact that he hadn’t completely forgotten her over the past three years, and their unexpected reunion in a foreign land was so surprising. He transferred all his loneliness from studying abroad, his natural yearning for kinship, to Shang Mingbao, intertwining it with the emotions from three years ago, quickly filling all his emotional space.

Calm down.

First, it’s just transference.

Second, it’s impossible to have a thousand days of longing for someone one has only spent a few days with.

Third, he has no reason to like her this much.

But.

First, does he really have the loneliness from studying abroad? Even if Freud himself came to interpret his dreams, the answer would be no.

Second, does he have a natural craving for closeness with compatriots? Clearly, he does not.

But then again, he has one last point—he has no reason to like her this much, even though she is beautiful, charming, innocent, pure, romantic, kind, slightly teasing, with a personality that’s a bit exasperating, some clumsiness that’s hard to ignore, natural naivety, unworldliness, a bit of vulnerability and perfectly matched strength, a healed heart that instinctively wants to focus on her, and a pair of beautiful eyes that, when captured by pain, meet his gaze and make him forget all surrounding sounds.

Is a girl like her hard to find? Not really.

Xiang Feiran even considered whether that fevered kiss had contributed to the situation. He reviewed nearly ten years of high-impact literature to determine whether a fever might cause the secretion of some hormone that significantly increases the addictive quality of a kiss. After finding no relevant information, Dr. Xiang, in a rare move, walked over to the nearby office building and sought out a Ph.D. student in biomedical sciences, asking, “During a fever, is there any secretion or increase of a pheromone that could create a false addictive illusion in the brain?”

The Doctor on the Other Side: “…nope.”

In scientific research, the flexibility and adaptability of thought are very important.

After exhausting all options, Xiang Feiran realized another way to phrase this:

“Xiang Feiran liking Shang Mingbao is something that cannot be scientifically disproven.”

That day, in the sleepy afternoon haze, this sentence, like a distinct line of code, drilled into his mind as he rested with his eyes closed.

He opened his eyes, clear and cold, with tightly pursed lips, a look of indescribable, incredulous self-mockery on his face.

Why did he go to such lengths to find a legitimate reason for liking Shang Mingbao?

Is liking her harmful?

Xiang Feiran, you’ve really been publishing papers until your brain’s sulci are clogged.

Later, the only question left was whether he really wanted this slight affection.

He gave himself time, silently observing, continually introspecting, like a bitter ascetic practice, just to clear her from his conscious territory. If he had the endurance, this experiment would last longer, indicating that he could indeed let go.

But, it stops here.

He wants this slight affection.

—

Xiang Feiran gazed deeply at her for a while.

She was on the verge of tears, though she hadn’t actually cried, but her lower eyelashes were already wet—a physiological reaction she couldn’t control, caused by his kiss.

He let out a light chuckle through his nose, his hand on her waist causing a tingling sensation: “After kissing like this, it’s still just dating?”

Shang Mingbao blushed, raising her hand as if to slap him, but he caught it without hesitation: “What are you doing? Kissing and then not taking responsibility?”

Shang Mingbao lightly kicked him, only to be pulled into his arms, her chin resting on his bent shoulder.

She stopped moving, listening to the heartbeat in her ears, unable to tell if it was his or hers.

—

This apartment clearly wasn’t often lived in. Xiang Feiran saw through it but didn’t point it out, simply opening the balcony door to let some air circulate.

In the corner of the living room, a $60 Christmas tree had already accumulated a thin layer of dust.

Xiang Feiran pulled out a pack of cigarettes, sitting by the windowsill where he had kissed Shang Mingbao for the first time, and flipped his wrist to ask: “Is this okay?”

He had asked the same thing just before kissing her, and Shang Mingbao, still flushed from the heat, gave a hasty nod, not even daring to look at him: “Don’t ask next time…”

Xiang Feiran tucked the cigarette into the corner of his mouth and let out a muffled laugh: “Which one are you referring to?”

Shang Mingbao wished she could throw the clothes hanger in her hand at him.

Actually, she kind of wanted to smoke. Usually, it was hard enough hiding it from Sophie, and now she had to hide it from him too—she was going to be stifled to death. To avoid being caught, she smoked very thin, light women’s cigarettes, so she wasn’t really addicted, only smoking one occasionally when her research group discussions got annoying or when she felt drowsy during a break.

Subconsciously, she still felt that smoking and drinking were not good behaviors, and what Xiang Feiran probably liked was the obedient, delicate version of her from the past.

Hanging up her coat here casually gave her the illusion of living here with him.

Realizing this, Shang Mingbao didn’t bother to hang her clothes properly and just tossed them on the bed.

Because she was going to do some physical work at the villa in the eastern district today, she was dressed very snugly—a light gray, French-style square-neck long-sleeve knit top that made her shoulders and neck look long, her collarbones thin and straight, and her normally unnoticed feminine curves more prominent than ever.

It was as if Xiang Feiran was meeting her for the first time today; inexplicably, he choked on the smoke, shifting his gaze away discreetly.

After Shang Mingbao finished taking a long-distance call, Xiang Feiran extinguished his cigarette and suggested they go for a walk.

Two blocks away was Central Park.

In December, Central Park was bleak; the leaves had almost all fallen, leaving only the branches. Today, the sun was bright, turning those branches, which Shang Mingbao couldn’t name, silver under the light, like flames reaching for the blue sky. There had been fresh snow in the early morning, covering the dry lawns, resembling a kind of black-and-white landscape painting.

Despite the cold, someone was playing and singing on the street, but his self-composed tune was so strange, it was as if a cat had rolled across the staff, making it so unpleasant that the guitar case in front of him received pitifully few contributions.

Xiang Feiran pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his jacket pocket, bent down, and placed it in the musician’s guitar case, then said to him, “Ask the lady beside me, what is the relationship between a man and a woman after they’ve kissed three times?”

The guy turned to Shang Mingbao, strumming a few chords, and then sang in a strange folk tune, “Oh~ beautiful girl, tell the anxious me, what is the relationship between us after three kisses~”

Shang Mingbao: “…”

She glared at Xiang Feiran, then pulled out a twenty-dollar bill of her own. “Tell Dr. Xiang here that we’ve only had one date; it’s not that fast.”

The guy then turned to Xiang Feiran, “…Oh~ Doctor—”

Xiang Feiran raised his hand, stopping the musical pollution just in time, and placed another bill in the case. “Ask her who taught her to play games with people like this.”

The guy turned to Shang Mingbao, “…Oh~ beautiful—”

Shang Mingbao tossed in a hundred-dollar bill. “Ask him who taught him to kiss so well?”

The guy turned to Xiang Feiran, “…Oh—”

Xiang Feiran: “Tell her, that doesn’t count as good.”

The guy put down his guitar, didn’t even bother with the tune, and asked in plain words, “So what else are you good at?—Miss, is that what you wanted to ask?”

Shang Mingbao: “…”

Who wanted to ask that!

Fuming, she turned around and walked away.

Xiang Feiran pulled out the last twenty-dollar bill from his pocket, bent down, placed it in the case, and said, “Good question, impressive.”

Xiang Feiran easily caught up with Shang Mingbao, casually clarifying, “I’m not good at anything, including kissing. I’m surprised you think I am.”

Shang Mingbao’s earlobes, either from the cold or something else, turned a deep shade of red. “I wasn’t complimenting you…”

Xiang Feiran grasped her hand, holding it tightly.

They continued walking along the path for a long time, walking and walking, nearly reaching the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It had been a while since Shang Mingbao had walked such a long distance, except on a treadmill. The biting cold of the air etched a sharp memory within her lungs, within her body.

From then on, whenever she inhaled that same cold winter air, she would always think of this path called “Literary Walk” and the hand that held hers.

It wasn’t enough; after walking so far, making such a large loop, it still wasn’t enough.

Back at the entrance where they had started, they strolled towards the subway station, where they would part ways. He, being a bit mischievous, pressed her at that moment: “If it’s really that difficult for you, you can refuse me. You don’t have to consider my feelings.”

The rush of people and traffic created a sense of urgency in Shang Mingbao’s heart.

She slowly realized that Xiang Feiran’s feelings for her were already something certain and irreversible.

She frowned, looking at him with a rare, faintly pleading gaze for the first time. “Brother Feiran, you don’t understand.”

She had never told him about her family background, which was far beyond what one might imagine, more than just a casual million-dollar thank-you. If she wanted, she could live a life of luxury, more opulent than 99.999% of the world’s population, simply lying on a sofa, supported by her trust fund. But no top family could protect itself by becoming an isolated island. This circle was more intertwined and complex than the roots of trees in a tropical rainforest. Since no contract was foolproof, the only way was to rely on the most primitive form of mutual reliance—where you have a part of me, and I have a part of you, where flesh is scraped from the bone, where lips meet teeth in mutual dependence.

Her parents had married for alliances, and although her elder brother and sister were still unmarried, their fates had long been quietly sealed in marriage alliances. Every potential match was either a top business figure or from a prestigious family. The only reason nothing was finalized was because the Shang family and her siblings had not yet decided on which field to strategically place themselves: sports events? Shipbuilding? Entertainment? Hotels? Luxury goods? Or perhaps a particular market on the map?

As the youngest daughter of such a family, she had little freedom of choice in marriage and love. This was the only shackle money placed on her absolute freedom.

She wasn’t blind to Wu Baiyan and Mrs. Wu’s attentions toward her. But the Wu family wasn’t quite up to the mark.

Yes, even the Wu family, who owned a mansion on the Upper East Side and had cultivated themselves in New York for three generations, wasn’t quite enough.

Xiang Feiran looked into her eyes for a long time, his lips curving slightly. “I understand.”

Shang Mingbao wanted to say something more, but Xiang Feiran raised his hand, gently touching her face. “You turned down that Jiang… what’s-his-name, so decisively and firmly. Why is it so difficult when it comes to me?”

That Jiang… his name had been forgotten by both of them. All they remembered was that after descending the mountain that day, he had confessed to Shang Mingbao, standing right beside the Rolls-Royce that had come to pick him up.

His confession had been direct and bold, with the raw fervor unique to high schoolers.

Fang Suining had been watching the scene from under the eaves. When she went to find Xiang Feiran, she realized he had quietly slipped away at some point.

He had left, but his hearing remained intact. He had been crouching in the corner, tending to the fronds of a maidenhair fern he had planted the week before, his fingers brushing the leaves as his gaze drifted.

Shang Mingbao had turned him down very straightforwardly, and when she spoke, she felt that it wasn’t just Jiang Shaokang awaiting her answer, but another pair of eyes, equally waiting for her response.

She had thought it was him, so much so that even though she was rejecting someone unimportant, her heart had started to race.

Only after the rejection did she dare to turn back casually, only to find that it was just Fang Suining watching her.

Shang Mingbao now brought up old accounts, “How did you know I rejected him so decisively? Didn’t you leave?”

Xiang Feiran chuckled, “I’m not deaf.”

“Did you care?” she asked as if playing a riddle.

“I cared.”

“Even back then?”

“Even back then.”

Shang Mingbao paused, her breath lightly catching, “You liked me even back then?”

Xiang Feiran’s lips curved upward, and he tapped her forehead with a finger. “Little sister, a little less narcissism.”

The approaching rush hour crowd swept them along.

Xiang Feiran gazed into her eyes, those eyes that were always so determined and sharp, seeing through everything. But under the bustling city lights, something complex and restrained swirled within them, something Shang Mingbao couldn’t decipher. Like an abyss under the night sky, yet when she tried to see clearly, everything had already vanished without a trace.

“Shang Mingbao, I understand,” Xiang Feiran quietly said again. “So, two points of affection are just right.”

But he was giving his all.