Being alive really is great.

You can always tough it out till the day the nightmare starts to fade.

Shi Zhi turned, leaning against the windowsill. The balance in her bank app put her in a good mood, enough to perk up and suggest, “Wanna grab Chinese for lunch?”

Fu Xiling had no objections, naturally.

He’d gotten used to the back-and-forth flights—no jet lag needed. Walked in, cracked a beer with Shi Zhi, then tangled with her on the bed.

After the romp and a shower, it was just about lunchtime.

Shi Zhi loved spicy stuff, so they hit a Sichuan-Chongqing spot. The moment they stepped in, the air hit with a bold, fiery aroma.

They ordered the menu’s top picks—mao xue wang and a bubbling chuan chuan xiang pot came up. Fu Xiling gave it a quiet glance, flagged the waiter, and added two mineral waters.

Lounging in his chair, he tossed out casually, “They opened a chuan chuan xiang joint by B University too.”

Just as hot as that crayfish spot—the B University kids had practically worn out the doorstep.

“Got plans to head back anytime soon? I’ll take you to try it.”

“Nope, not trying.”

“Been out here this long—really don’t miss going back?”

Since studying abroad, Shi Zhi hadn’t gone back once.

She was busy, hated the hassle, and saw it as a waste of cash and time. Biggest reason? No one back home she cared about.

Half a year till graduation—she’d head back eventually.

No urgent need to bounce back and forth midstream. Cost-benefit didn’t add up—she’d just wait till the end.

“Nothing worth the trouble.”

She said it, took a couple bites of mao xue wang, then slowly caught on.

Shi Zhi looked up at Fu Xiling, asking how he knew so much about new spots around B University.

“Got a friend there.”

Shi Zhi remembered—before she graduated undergrad, Fu Xiling was always swinging by B University.

Always to see that “one friend” he mentioned.

She absently grabbed a slice of ham, guessing vaguely, “That grad school friend of yours—still not done?”

Fu Xiling, finding it too spicy, dipped a red-oil-coated tripe slice in warm tea, grinning back, “He started his PhD in September. Pretty badass.”

Shi Zhi shot him a look: “That badass—why not use her as your shield? She’s in the country full-time. Way more convenient than me.”

Fu Xiling choked on the spice, turned his head, coughing and laughing, ears going red.

Shi Zhi wasn’t thrilled, frowning: “What’s so funny?”

His phone cut the convo short—a string of digits popping up on the screen.

He glanced at it, still smirking, picked up all bright and breezy, but two seconds in, his face tightened: “How’s Uncle doing?”

Shi Zhi caught that, set her chopsticks down.

Fu Xiling’s uncle was in the hospital.

After hanging up, he booked the next flight back, finished the meal, said bye to Shi Zhi, and hopped a cab to the airport in a rush.

Next day, at the hospital, he called her.

She’d pulled an all-nighter on her thesis till past three, barely asleep. Still early here, dawn light creeping in, half-dazed, she cleared her throat: “How’s your uncle?”

“In for observation.”

“Emergency?”

“Yeah. Fu Xifeng borrowed cash—debt collectors showed up at Uncle’s place, pissed him off bad.”

Shi Zhi thought of Lin Xiaoping—sleepiness gone: “Your cousin still gambling?”

After all this time, she knew a bit about Fu Xiling’s family.

That gambling mess with his cousin? Fu Xiling and his little uncle had handled it.

Kept it hush-hush, didn’t tell his big uncle.

Word was, when they cleared his last gambling debt, the cousin bawled, snot and tears, swearing he’d turn over a new leaf.

And he did chill out for a bit.

Fu Xiling’s tone was helpless: “This time, he snuck off to Macau during a ‘business trip.’”

Shi Zhi knew he was tight with his family—stuff like this had to suck.

Outsider here—not much she could say.

For a few days, he hung at the hospital with his uncle when he could, rarely called.

Then one night, mid-thesis, Shi Zhi made a snap call.

She’d typed a line in English, lost interest, deleted it word by word, saved the file, shut the laptop.

Night was pitch-black, moon tucked behind high-rises.

Under her apartment desk, two juice cartons—Fu Xiling’s haul from his last-but-one visit.

She kicked the box, grabbed a juice, poked in the straw, sipped slow, and decided.

She was going back.

In her year and a half abroad, Shi Zhi barely took a day off, pushing herself hard.

Even her boss had checked in, telling her to ease up, enjoy life a bit.

When she asked An for leave, An thought it was a family emergency—approved it quick.

An said Fu Qian had been in touch too.

Fu Qian wanted to swing by during the New Year’s Eve break, chat with Shi Zhi about next year’s job handover back home.

With the year-end closing in, Shi Zhi could meet Fu Qian herself, stay through New Year’s Eve, then head back.

Leave went smooth. After sorting it, she booked a ticket home.

No luggage—just a chain-strap bag slung over her shoulder to the airport.

Landed at 9 p.m., cabbed straight to the hospital. Grabbed coffee and cigs nearby, then called Fu Xiling.

She’d heard from him—his aunt wasn’t well, stayed two days at the hospital, got dragged home by his parents to rest.

A nurse was on duty, but no one felt easy.

His cousin was locked up at home to “reflect”—no one dared let him near Uncle. Days, the elders rotated watch. Nights, Fu Xiling usually pulled the graveyard shift after work.

He picked up, voice tired, assuming she wouldn’t call without a reason: “What’s up?”

“What floor’s the inpatient ward?”

“Not there—International Wing.”

Cold out, air dry. Shi Zhi lugged the coffee through a windy gap between buildings, squinting: “Ordered you coffee delivery—should be close. Can you grab it?”

Fu Xiling paused, maybe thrown, then said, “Yeah, I’ll head down.”

She hung up, asked a passerby, switched directions toward the International Wing.

Hardly anyone there—spotted Fu Xiling right off, phone in hand, standing downstairs.

Tall as hell, total eye-magnet.

Freezing weather, no coat—his usual layered look: work shirt over a knit hoodie.

He coughed twice, white breath puffing out.

Shi Zhi called again. He answered: “Already downstairs waiting.”

“Then look up.”

The second he did, Shi Zhi hung up a few meters off, walking toward him.

Fu Xiling—sharp as he was—blanked out, half a minute of no words, no moves.

Till she got up close, tapped his shoulder with her phone, “Coffee’s here.” He snapped back, threw his arms around her tight.

“Let’s head in—cold out.”

Shi Zhi hadn’t been to this fancy hospital wing. Walked the hall with Fu Xiling.

Looked around—felt like a hotel.

To not bug other patients, he kept his voice low: “Came back special to check on me?”

She paused two beats: “Fu Qian needed me, and I’m sick of the thesis. Back for a few days.”

“Didn’t you just say a few days ago nothing’s worth the hassle?”

Shi Zhi snatched the coffee from his hand, yanked it back: “Wanna hit that new chuan chuan xiang by B University—can’t I?”

Fu Xiling laughed: “Sure.”

That laugh turned into a few coughs.

She shoved the coffee back: “Smoking too much?”

“Nah, caught a chill.”

Top floor of the International Wing—private room. His uncle was out cold, nurse on a cot nearby.

Shi Zhi peeked through the door glass—his uncle’s face still looked rough.

“How long’s he in for?”

“At least ten more days.”

She sat with Fu Xiling a bit. He said, “Flight’s tiring—don’t stay up with me. Code’s the same—go rest at my place.”

“Where you sleeping?”

He nodded toward the room: “Couch in there. Gotta crash—hotel meeting tomorrow morning.”

Shi Zhi took a few steps, turned, caught his burning stare.

She tossed him the cigs she’d bought, said nothing, cabbed to his place.

Fu Xiling was stuck bouncing between hotel and hospital—barely free. Dropped off breakfast, ate a couple bites with her, then bolted.

Afternoon, she met Fu Qian, talked work, grabbed dinner together.

Back at his place, past 9 p.m.

She shed her coat and sweater, in a sports bra and jeans, digging through his closet for a short-sleeve tee to use as a nightshirt. Heard the keypad beep.

Shi Zhi, tee in hand, hit the living room—watched Fu Xiling walk in.

He stormed in, radiating edge. She froze a sec, didn’t speak.

Blank-faced, he touched his lip.

Lower lip busted—blood crusted at the edge, smeared dry on his jaw.

Shi Zhi frowned: “You fight?”

He finally saw her.

His scowl softened, vibe mellowing fast, voice gentling: “Nah, Fu Xifeng went nuts at home. Stopped him—didn’t want him stressing Aunt out.”

Shi Zhi grabbed a disinfectant wipe, walked over, softly wiped the blood off his jaw, teasing, “So he clocked you?”

“Not quite.”

Fu Xiling ditched his coat, head down, letting her wipe his skin, recounting the chaos at his uncle’s—

Yesterday, his uncle decided to pull some business Fu Xifeng ran.

After the secretary announced the shuffle, Fu Xifeng lost it—yelled at his mom at home.

Said some ugly stuff—claimed he was suffocating, worse off than an orphan. Cut his aunt deep.

Fu Xiling’s parents and little uncle were there, tried scolding him—didn’t work.

Elders around, Fu Xiling wasn’t gonna step in.

But when Fu Xifeng shoved his mom without a care, Fu Xiling had enough—landed a punch to cool him off.

Several elders held them back. Fu Xiling was busy helping his aunt—no one saw Fu Xifeng charge, fighting like a rabid animal, headbutting him.

“Got me like this—total mad bull.”

Talking kept reopening the cut—blood trickled again.

His pale, cool-toned skin made even a little blood pop hard.

Shi Zhi smacked his arm: “Stop talking—where’s the med kit?”

Following his point, she went for it to patch him up.

Then the keypad beeped again—door flung open, banging the entry wall.

Fu Xifeng stormed in, froze seeing Shi Zhi, but still wild, jabbing a finger at Fu Xiling from afar—

“Fu Xiling, was it you?!”

“I trusted you before—did you snitch to my dad about Macau?”

“Since we were kids, they’ve all favored you—Dad, Third Uncle, Little Uncle, Aunt—every one of them…”

“It’s like this, and you still want more? Gotta snatch all my business to be happy, huh?”

Fu Xifeng’s left cheek sported a bruise—probably from Fu Xiling earlier.

Too bad it didn’t knock sense into him.

His phone kept ringing—“Little Uncle” flashing. He ignored it, ranting worse.

“I knew it’d be like this—I knew!”

“Everything, you’ve gotta outdo me—even freaking violin lessons…”

“I said I sucked, so you had to join contests, ace exams! So amazing, huh!”

“Fu Xiling, you’re secretly thrilled I lost money, right?”

Fu Xiling stayed quiet, listening, thoughtful.

His phone rang. He picked up—older male voice, loud, urgent: “Xiling, Xifeng’s at your place, yeah? Listen to Little Uncle—don’t fight him. Me and your dad are on the way…”

Fu Xifeng heard, yelled back, “Quit playing nice—you’re in on it with Fu Xiling! Just wanna steal my business, right?”

“Got it, Little Uncle.”

Fu Xiling hung, faced Fu Xifeng, calm: “Fu Xifeng, you’re twenty-nine, not nine. Think your words make sense?”

Talking reopened the cut—blood dripped down his jaw, hit the floor.

Shi Zhi was done—fury boiling.

The second that drop fell, she moved—fast. Strode over, kicked an unprepared Fu Xifeng out the door.

Slammed it shut, locked it hard.

Peace restored.

Still pissed, she whipped around, pointed at Fu Xiling: “You—shut up!”

Outside yammered a bit, quieted after ten-plus minutes.

Fu Xiling got a voice note—clicked it. Little Uncle said they’d dragged Fu Xifeng off.

Shi Zhi tuned out the world, shoved Fu Xiling onto the couch, squatted between his legs, yanked his collar, swabbed iodine on a cotton bud, cleaned the blood around his cut.

Her fingertips brushed his lip: “Hurt?”

“Numb.”

“Mess like this—gonna mess up kissing?”

Fu Xiling locked eyes with her, suddenly reached out, arm under her hips, hoisted her onto his lap: “Try it and find out.”