Three-hour flight—Shi Zhi spent two and a half hours fuming.

The other half? Lost in a mess of thoughts, all about Fu Xiling.

She remembered back when she was grinding through her undergrad thesis. Fu Xiling, worried she’d go stir-crazy, dragged her out to unwind.

Usually with familiar crews.

Sometimes, though, it’d be one of those random bar run-ins—old faces popping up, two or three groups merging into one big party.

In those scenes, Fu Xiling would just casually drape his arm across the back of the sofa behind her.

Public spot, so nothing too touchy-feely—but it screamed “taken,” “family’s here,” “don’t even try it.”

Shi Zhi wasn’t dumb. A couple glances his way, and she’d catch the vibe.

Back then, she kinda enjoyed watching the show—same way Fu Xiling later got a kick out of seeing some dude confess to her on a street abroad.

She’d lean in close on purpose, just to mess with his chill, pointing out, “A few girls in here are checking you out.”

Shi Zhi’d say, “If I step away for a couple minutes, you’ll get a napkin with a phone number on it. Lipstick print included.”

Maybe ‘cause he’d burned out his brain at work all day, Fu Xiling always got lazy at night, eyes half-lidded and chill.

He’d glance at her, drawling, “Then you better not wander off. Bathroom, phone call—drag me along.”

Shi Zhi asked why, and he’d say, “Don’t give ‘em a chance to chat me up.”

Later, when she stepped out to take a call, Fu Xiling actually tagged along.

Midwinter, wind howling. Shi Zhi leaned against the terrace railing, tilting her head into the gusts, letting them whip her messy hair off her face.

Fu Xiling stood beside her, arm propped on the railing, quiet, just watching her sideways.

Those eyes of his—damn near lethal, all flirty. Red-rimmed from the cold, like some kinda tender trap.

He stared ‘til she squirmed. Mid-call, she reached out, shoving his cheek.

Fu Xiling didn’t fight it.

Just grinned faintly, rolling with her push, shifting his gaze to some random cigarette butt tossed outside the railing.

When he smiled, he had this stupid knack for making everything look like a love story.

You’d think he’d picked that cig butt to grow old with or something.

No wonder those girls were into him.

Call done, Shi Zhi fixed her hair, asking, “Plenty of pretty girls inside—why follow me out to freeze? Not even giving the hotties a shot?”

Fu Xiling smirked back, “You add every guy who chases you on WeChat? Miss ‘I’ll-block-even-teachers-without-blinking’—you’re one to talk.”

So…

Fu Xiling was just as allergic to hassle as she was. How the hell did some chick end up answering his phone?

Some chick answering his phone!

That rage burned hot in her chest—no amount of blocking him on WeChat could cool it.

Even when she got to his place, stormed into his bedroom, and saw him, she still wanted to grill him right then and there.

But before she could get a single question out, Fu Xiling yanked her over.

Like he was sleepwalking, he pinned her wrists above her head, kissing her deep…

She’d come armed with knives, ready to gut the enemy.

Then the enemy kissed her senseless.

Shi Zhi reacted on instinct, tangled up with him in the dim, quiet bed, trading hazy kisses.

Her hair got pinned, scalp stinging faintly, before she vaguely remembered—oh right, I’m supposed to be mad.

Fu Xiling kissed hard, but his grip on her wrists was light. She slipped her right hand free easy, only for him to suck so deep her fingertips went numb.

Bones turned to jelly—she pushed his shoulder, no dice.

Switched spots, pushed his forehead—her palm hit a wall of heat.

Shi Zhi froze, frowning. “You’re burning up?”

Fu Xiling frowned too, grunting, “Mm,” then flopped back beside her, still pulling her into his arms.

He’d clearly downed a ton of booze—shower gel and shampoo couldn’t mask the alcohol on him.

Dude wasn’t all there, looking sick and out of it.

“…You take any meds?”

Eyes shut, he lifted a hand, rubbing his temples with thumb and middle finger, muttering, “Dizzy.”

Forehead that hot—like a freaking furnace—of course he’s dizzy.

Shi Zhi flicked on the bedside lamp, soft yellow glow spilling out.

Fu Xiling was pressing his temples hard, the thin skin at the base of his hand flushed red from the fever.

Her anger fizzled out. She grabbed the first-aid kit, dug out an ear thermometer.

When she checked his temp, his phone rang.

She handed it to him. He barely glanced, shut his eyes again, exhausted. “You answer.”

Anyone can just answer your phone now?!

Shi Zhi wanted to slug him—held back.

“Fu, you home yet?”

She recognized his buddy’s voice. “He Fancheng, it’s Shi Zhi…”

“Huh? Shi Zhi, you’re back? Awesome, awesome—you being here fixes everything. He’s been a mess these past few days. None of us thought he should head home this late, but he’s stubborn as hell, wouldn’t listen, insisted on going. Guess it’s ‘cause you’re back—now I’m chill knowing you’re with him, hahaha…”

No clue why He Fancheng was so pumped. Worried about Fu Xiling’s state, Shi Zhi got impatient, cutting off his “hahaha.” “Does Fu Xiling have any drug allergies?”

“Huh?”

He Fancheng was solid, though—snapped out of it in seconds, dropped the laughs. “Nope. What’s up, he sick?”

“Yeah, he’s got a fever.”

Shi Zhi glanced at the thermometer. “It’s at thirty-nine degrees.”

“Probably from sitting out on the terrace in the wind. No allergies, but he drank a lot tonight—watch the meds.”

“Got it.”

“Here, I’ll give you a number—his family doc. If it gets bad, call him over.”

After hanging up, Shi Zhi checked the time.

Few more hours and it’d be dawn—felt too late to bug a doctor.

She’d start with fever meds for Fu Xiling. If it didn’t drop by morning, she’d call.

He was out cold. Took her half a minute of nudging to wake him for water and pills.

Frowning, he opened his eyes, staring at her—didn’t blink. Swallowed the pill, then pulled her in for a kiss.

Sick as hell and still this pushy.

His hands were scorching, fingertips brushing her ear, then sliding to cradle her neck.

“Fu… Xiling…”

“Mm.”

“You need to rest!”

Not even an “mm” this time.

Drunk, sick, kissing like a zombie—zero sense, no reasoning with him.

She pushed—he switched from deep kisses to soft licks, brushing her lips slow and random.

AC hummed warm, his embrace hotter.

Shi Zhi broke a light sweat, kissed ‘til she didn’t have a scrap of fight left.

Good thing he was wiped—passed out after a bit more fussing.

Shi Zhi peeled off her sweat-soaked shirt, headed for the bathroom, took a few steps, stopped, turned back, and tucked him in.

That’s when she spotted the ring on his hand.

Middle finger.

Room dim, Fu Xiling frowning even in sleep, neck slick with sweat, Adam’s apple bobbing.

Staring at that ring, for one split second, her mind buzzed.

Wan Ran was right—turning a fling serious rarely ends well.

How’d she forget that?

They’d both been free agents in the love department. Who was around him? She had no idea.

Never did.

Shi Zhi gave him a complicated look.

But in the end, she couldn’t just ditch him. Hit the bathroom.

Soaked a towel in cold water, wrung it out, folded it, and—still pissed—slapped it onto his forehead with a wet thwack.

–

Sickness hits like a landslide.

Fu Xiling’s fever came on fierce—head splitting, every move dizzying, like a concussion relapse.

Sleep sucked too. Woke up three times.

First time, dawn was creeping in.

Mind a jumbled mess, piecing together flashes.

Felt like he’d slipped through a dream, snagged the sultry, club-makeup Shi Zhi locking lips with some dude, hauled her back, and kissed her forever.

So, she’d come back?

Fumbled for his phone by the bed, typed a few words to her on WeChat—

“You back?”

Second wake-up—phone ringing yanked him out.

Still clutched in his hand, blaring nonstop.

Someone moving nearby.

He turned—familiar figure, but not the one he wanted.

The family doc had rigged an IV drip to a hanger. Saw him stir. “Good timing. Arm out, fist up.”

Call was He Fancheng.

As the needle pricked his vein, He Fancheng asked how he was holding up.

“Not dying.”

Head ready to explode, Fu Xiling set the phone on speaker atop the blanket, shut his eyes. “Chen Shu’s here, just started the IV. Quit yapping—I’m sleeping more.”

“Alright, rest. Hit me up when you’re better.”

Phone went quiet. In his foggy brain, Shi Zhi popped up again.

He jolted up—doc yelled, “Hey, don’t move!”—and got shoved back down.

“Fine, Chen Shu. I won’t. Can you grab my phone?”

“You’re the one thrashing—dropped it.”

Fu Xiling took it, flipped to WeChat.

That 5 a.m. message to Shi Zhi had a red exclamation mark.

Headache doubled.

Third wake-up, curtains drawn—couldn’t tell the time.

Barely conscious.

IV must’ve finished. Headache eased a bit, still wiped, sluggish.

Doc was in the room, keeping watch.

Saw him move, checked his temp with the ear gun. “Fever’s breaking.”

Half-dreaming, Fu Xiling swore he heard Shi Zhi.

She was on a call: “Don’t worry, once I wrap up here, I’ll head back. Can’t keep working remote—gotta show my face at school…”

Who’s got her explaining plans so patiently?

–

With the doc handling Fu Xiling, Shi Zhi had slipped out to see Fu Qian while he was out.

Back at his place, it was 2 p.m.

She punched in the code, walked in—surprised to find Fu Xiling in the living room.

Fresh from a shower, all crisp, no trace of being under the weather. Lounging on the sofa, eyes down, scrolling his phone.

He had to have heard her come in, but acted like he didn’t.

Not a sick kind of quiet, either.

She sat diagonal from him. Only then did he look up, slow, moody eyes locking on her.

Shi Zhi was in a rotten mood.

One look from him, and she almost wanted to throw hands.

Last time she felt like this? Maybe after Shi Mei died, when the relatives bickered over who’d foot the funeral bill…

Fu Xiling wasn’t exactly chipper either.

Still had a low fever—doc said rest up before leaving—but he figured he was fine.

What bugged him most? All signs pointed to Shi Zhi coming back to cut ties.

She was eyeing his bare middle finger, ring gone.

He was staring at her empty wrist.

The living room crackled with tension, thick enough to spark.

They both held it together.

Almost at the same time, they spoke—same vibe, different words.

One said, “Let’s talk.” The other, “We should chat.”

Then silence again.

Fu Xiling broke it first, voice rough. “Thanks. He Fancheng told me you took care of me last night, got the doc over.”

Shi Zhi didn’t respond.

So he asked, “I remember you were gonna hang out down south longer. Coming back sudden like this—you figure something out, wanna talk it over?”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead.”

“I had a ton of questions for you. Now? Not so necessary.”

Fu Xiling studied her, like he was piecing it out. “Why’s it not necessary?”

To keep her temper in check, Shi Zhi flashed back to the chaos after Shi Mei’s death.

She’d grabbed Shi Mei’s ashes while the relatives squabbled, took them to that rundown park across from the “Mental Health Center,” popped the lid under a tree, let the biting wind and snow carry her away…

Every problem that comes up gets solved eventually.

Shi Zhi took a deep breath, reining it in. “Some stuff still needs clearing up. You asked if I added Tang Wenting on WeChat ‘cause I wanted to date him. Here’s your answer: no.”

Fu Xiling looked up.

“Tang Wenting and Shen Jia—they’re the same type to me. Matched the partner standards I used to set for myself.”

Used to.

She’d clung to the idea that sticking with that type meant less risk.

Fu Xiling kept watching her. The cold in his eyes flickered, gaze sharp—damn good-looking, too.

Who knows if he pulled that same look when he let some girl answer his phone or slipped on that ring?

Shi Zhi’s fuse snapped.

She hurled her bag at him hard. “Fu Xiling, just listen—can you not stare? You’re pissing me off.”

“…Sure.”

He caught the bag, held it. “Not looking. Keep going.”

They’d talked about her type before.

He’d asked, “You sure that’s what you like? You’re not misreading yourself?”

Back then, she was all about job hunting, didn’t care, didn’t answer, didn’t think.

Now, she’d figured it out. “You were right—I was off about myself. My taste in guys shifted. Or maybe the type I reasoned out never was what I’d actually fall for.”

Fu Xiling zeroed in. “You met someone you like.”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

“None of your business!”

Bit of a tantrum there.

At midnight, she’d held off booking a flight back to school.

Now, even if they hadn’t fully hashed it out, she’d tried—burned through all her patience to get this far.

Whatever’s left? Screw it.

She wanted to bolt, grab her bag back, stepped up to him.

He wouldn’t let go—yanked her instead.

Fever that bad, and his strength still held. Her bad—got pulled into his lap.

That did it. Temper flared full-on.

Fu Xiling’s face darkened, voice low. “Shi Zhi, who the hell do you like?”

She spun, straddled his legs, grabbed his collar hard. “Fu Xiling, you’re drunk and feverish—not paralyzed—so why do you keep letting girls answer your damn phone?!”