Light smoke, sparse rain—Fu Xiling had his arm around Shi Zhi’s shoulder as they walked off. He hooked her neck, tilted his head, nudged the cap on her head crooked, and planted a quick kiss on her.

The fruity scent of his lollipop lingered by her nose.

This kind of no-tongue, touch-and-go kiss? Total kid stuff for them.

Shi Zhi didn’t make much of it, just pressed the cap’s brim down and warned, “You’re overacting a bit.”

Fu Xiling muffled a laugh: “Am I?”

At the apartment building’s entrance, he casually tossed out, “That guy back there—been chasing you a while?”

Yeah, he’d been bugging Shi Zhi for some time. Nothing too wild—just noisy.

Shi Zhi had her own angle, steering the convo on purpose: “How long you staying this time?”

Talking to Fu Xiling was a breeze.

He was too sharp—moves smooth, no hesitation. Pulled out his phone, checked his calendar, and said he was swamped—could push it to five days tops before heading back.

The next few days, Fu Xiling stuck to her like glue, just as she’d hoped.

While she worked, he camped out with his laptop at the café downstairs. After, they’d grab food, then head to the hotel to mess around.

No clue how Fu Xiling’s social web was this wide, but while she was at work, he’d already hit up a friend, dug into Dick, and even met the guy.

Night before he left, Fu Xiling handed Shi Zhi a handwritten apology from Dick.

“He won’t bug you anymore.”

Shi Zhi, straw in her juice, looked up, seriously doubting his methods: “Did you threaten him or throw hands?”

“No way.”

Fu Xiling shot her an amused glance, plopped down beside her all casual, arm slung over the couch back: “Told him you’re my fiancée—engaged and all. Said not to be a homewrecker.”

“…”

Fu Xiling flicked the letter in her hand: “Your suitor’s got a weird name, but he’s decent. Heard you’re ‘engaged,’ felt bad, wrote this.”

In this rainy weather, the hotel room was way toastier than Shi Zhi’s apartment—almost too warm.

They were on the couch. Shi Zhi read the apology, balled it up, and chucked it in the trash.

“Thanks.”

“Just a verbal ‘thanks’?”

“What else you want?”

“Easy.”

Fu Xiling undid two shirt buttons, pushing it: “Grab me an ice cream?”

Shi Zhi was grateful— for about ten seconds.

Once he dared order her around, that gratitude vanished. She “fought” him in the hotel room.

Blame Fu Xiling.

He just had to poke her, even suggested rock-paper-scissors—best of three, loser fetches.

Shi Zhi wasn’t about that “let’s negotiate” vibe. She’d decided she wasn’t going, just stared him down.

“Fine, I’ll get it…”

Fu Xiling got up like he’d accepted his fate—then ambushed her. Before grabbing the ice cream, he snatched her wrist, bit the straw, and slurped down her juice.

Since coming abroad, Shi Zhi loved this one brand’s juice—drank it all the time.

No one ever dared steal her food!

“Fu Xiling, you’re done.” She shot up, all fired up. They tussled from the couch to the bed.

Got even hotter.

The empty juice box hit the floor by the couch, sweat mixing together.

Post-shower, Fu Xiling got a call from back home.

Sounded like a friend.

He was almost done washing, held the phone, rinsing off shower gel suds while listening. Glanced at Shi Zhi, nodded toward the bathroom door, threw on a robe, and stepped out.

Shi Zhi blow-dried her hair, came out—no one in the room. She changed and headed downstairs.

Dead of night—Fu Xiling sat on the hotel steps, cig in his mouth, staring at the empty street, lost in thought.

Looked like he was in a funk.

Shi Zhi walked over. He didn’t turn: “Go sleep. Smoke’s strong—no need to stick around.”

She didn’t budge: “What’s up?”

Fu Xiling seemed surprised, looked at her: “Some family stuff.”

Through a friend, he’d heard his deadbeat cousin Fu Xifeng had flown to Macau three times in half a month.

Rumor was, he’d blown a chunk of cash—even quietly sold off the car he always drove.

Shi Zhi asked, “Gambling?”

“Yeah.”

Fu Xiling exhaled smoke: “Business losses? Fine, you take what comes—luck’s a gamble, do your best, leave the rest. But gambling’s off-limits. Elders made that clear.”

“You gonna tell your family?”

That’s the tough part.

Fu Xiling said his uncle’s health sucked—Fu Xifeng had landed him in the hospital once before.

Tell them, and his uncle might flip out. Don’t, and no one could rein Fu Xifeng in.

“Better say it. Gambling can ruin everything.”

Fu Xiling sighed: “Fu Xifeng’s lost it.”

Shi Zhi wasn’t the sweet-talker type, but she didn’t head back to sleep. Went across to the convenience store, grabbed two juices, and sat with him on the curb for a while.

Streetlights cast their shadows on the empty road. Before heading in, Fu Xiling snapped a pic of the pair—

Him, one hand in his pocket; Shi Zhi, long hair loose beside him, slim wrist holding an empty juice bottle.

Their shadows were close—looked tight, cozy.

Months later, Shi Zhi noticed that pic was his phone’s lock screen.

She asked why.

Fu Xiling said it was a shield—proof he was “taken,” keeping the pests off.

By then, Shi Zhi had been abroad a year, done with credits, onto electives and thesis topics.

Time was tight. She got how rotten it felt having suitors hound you when you weren’t in the mood, so she told Fu Xiling: “Send me the pic.”

“For what?”

“Lock screen.”

Fu Xiling lounged on the couch, laughing: “What, another guy bugging you?”

“It’s An—wants to set me up.”

He sent it: “Mutual defense.”

Honestly, when Shi Zhi first got here, she thought they’d fizzle out fast.

But weirdly, they still met up once or twice a month.

Clicked pretty smooth too.

One time, Fu Xiling came during her period.

She teased him for bad timing. The nutcase whipped up a plan in ten minutes—dragged her out at night to a B&B two hours away.

Grilled meat, mushrooms, and marshmallows under the stars.

They fought too.

One meetup went south quick—Fu Xiling bought her a pricey bag without asking. Before, he’d gift little things, claim they were “blessed,” and if the price wasn’t nuts, she’d take it no fuss.

This bag? Wan Ran posted it—same league as the bracelet. Shi Zhi wouldn’t take it. Work was already sucking, and in the heat of it, she snapped something harsh.

Asked if rich kids like him always tossed gifts at girls after sleeping with them.

That pissed Fu Xiling off. He shot back, “That’s what you think?”

Then bolted back home.

After he left, Shi Zhi remembered her birthday was coming. Felt she’d gone too far.

But she wasn’t the “sorry first” type— just checked her phone more, even looked up his flight.

He landed, didn’t message—nearly got blocked. She held off.

Next day, he called: “Don’t like the bag? Gave it to my cousin. Don’t forget the steaks in the fridge.”

Fridge door swung open—steaks stuffed in like doomsday prep.

Shi Zhi asked when he got them. Fu Xiling said, “When you almost pissed me off to death.”

A month after that fight, he came back—her move this time.

She started it too.

Fu Xiling grinned, calling her out: “Feeling guilty now?”

She flipped, bit him hard, told him to shut it.

So they kept meeting like that, off and on.

Before she knew it, over half her study-abroad time had passed.

Fu Xiling texted—flight landing morning.

Shi Zhi booked a hotel, got there early, leaned by the window, looking out.

Another winter outside.

No snow, wind biting, people hustling down the street.

She zoned out, flashing through old versions of herself—

Hiding under the bed, hand clamped over her mouth, dodging Lin Xiaoping’s fists.

Living at her uncle’s, burning with fever, stifling coughs at night.

Visiting Shi Mei at the “Mental Health Center,” mocked by classmates for her “crazy mom.”

Breaking up with Shen Jia—disappointed she’d trusted, but never stopping her stride.

Every phase, she’d been tough enough, right?

Fu Xiling rolled in as she cracked a beer, took a few sips.

He walked in, cold air clinging, hugged her, tasted the beer on her lips, then scanned the room, mildly shocked.

His eyes landed on the can by the window: “Morning already, and you’re drinking?”

“Yeah.”

Fu Xiling, sharp as hell, didn’t ask why—just shed his coat, hung it, grabbed a beer, clinked hers, and said, “Congrats.”

“…Congrats for what?”

“Promotion or raise?”

Shi Zhi finally cracked a smile, raised her can: “Both.”

After syncing with An and Fu Qian that morning, she opened up to Fu Xiling for once.

She rarely drank—there was a reason.

First time was when she got into B University. Went solo, downed beers, heart racing the more she drank.

Being good at holding liquor freaked her out.

Reminded her of booze-hound Lin Xiaoping—made her realize no matter how much she hated him, she couldn’t ditch their blood tie.

“Scared I’d turn into someone like my dad.”

She glanced at her phone—last night’s transfer to savings had cleared: “But looks like his genes can’t control me.”

Shi Zhi pushed open the window behind her.

Wind messed up her loose hair. She leaned there, picked up Fu Xiling’s cig pack, eyed it: “Smoking’s pretty bad. Neighbor back home—an old chain-smoker—died of lung cancer.”

She was in a good mood, didn’t even clock she was caring. Said it, then closed her eyes, savoring the winter breeze.

Fu Xiling watched her.

The sharp air from the window carried her shampoo scent.

She was a bit thinner than her first year here, but freer.

Self-reliance gave her a high she’d never had—vibrant, glowing.

She said, “Fu Xiling, being alive is pretty great.”