After Fu Xiling got back from abroad, he’d been crashing at a villa hotel out in the suburbs.

When he landed, he called home.

First thing out of his mouth: “Mom, I’m in a crap mood. Is Fu Xifeng still living at the house?”

His uncle had just gotten better, but every meet-up with his own son ended in a shouting match. The family was scared it’d rile the old man up, so Fu Xiling’s parents took Fu Xifeng in.

Partly to keep an eye on him for his uncle and aunt—make sure he didn’t sneak off to Macau to gamble again.

Partly to look after Fu Xifeng’s feelings, worried he couldn’t handle the business shake-up and would spiral if left alone.

A mother knows her kid best. With just that one line, Fu Xiling’s mom got it—she knew he didn’t want to deal with Fu Xifeng, and he wasn’t keen on heading back to his own place either. “Yesterday, your Uncle He came by. Said Fancheng and the crew went to the suburban villa for a few days. Why don’t you head over too? Clear your head.”

This resort project—last time Fu Xiling was here, he’d come with Shi Zhi to mess with Shen Jia.

Back then, it wasn’t even officially open yet, just a soft launch with big names in the industry to drum up hype.

He’d played along with Shi Zhi here, even heard her calmly roast Shen Jia to his face.

She’d said he was better-looking than Shen Jia, smarter than Shen Jia, richer than Shen Jia.

And the result?

Nearly three years later, Shi Zhi still liked Shen Jia’s type.

A dozen or so friends were in the living room, crowded around a table, drinking and playing cards.

Someone was yelling, “Goddamn, you’re playing a pair of threes? We’re screwed!” “How was I supposed to know he had two cards left?” “He was holding them up! Two! Can’t you count?!”

These past couple days, Fu Xiling hadn’t had the heart to join in on the fun.

Tonight was no different. He shut the balcony door, plopped solo onto the deck chair out on the terrace, and closed his eyes to chill.

The night breeze was cool, but he barely felt it.

The balcony door got tapped a few times, then someone slid it open with a whoosh.

Yao Yao poked her head out, tossing his phone over. “Fu Xiling, your phone’s fully charged.”

He cracked an eye open, caught it. “Thanks.”

“Someone called earlier. He Fancheng accidentally picked up, but no one spoke on the other end. Check it—could be urgent work stuff.”

Fu Xiling swiped his phone open.

One glance, then a long, heavy silence staring at the eleven-digit number in his call log.

So long that Yao Yao, still at the balcony door, started rubbing her sleeves against the chill. Only then did he speak. “After it connected, you said something?”

“Yeah, I asked if they were looking for you. They hung up…”

Watching Fu Xiling’s face for a few seconds, Yao Yao caught a hint. “It’s not Shi Zhi, is it?”

He didn’t answer, just flipped his phone face-down. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe call back and check…”

Fu Xiling stayed quiet.

He claimed the terrace like a moody king, radiating a “keep out” vibe that practically built a wall around him.

They’d been at the villa two days. Yao Yao had just rolled in.

Gossip travels fast—she’d barely arrived and already had the scoop.

“Just heard you and Shi Zhi hit a rough patch. Need me to chat you through it?”

Fu Xiling flicked his eyes up at her. “Nah. When I’m down, I don’t talk to girls. Especially ones who’ve got a thing for me—too flirty, messy ending.”

Blunt as hell.

After twenty-plus years of knowing each other, Yao Yao didn’t expect that attitude. She froze, swallowing her temper. “Fine, I’ll just talk about my stuff and bounce.”

“Go for it. Leave the door open.”

Yao Yao plopped down by the balcony door, glancing back at the living room. The gang was still deep in their card game, too loud to care about this corner.

“My parents keep pushing me to get closer to the Qi family’s youngest son. You hear about that?”

“Not yet.”

“I don’t wanna date or marry someone I don’t like.”

“Makes sense.”

“Fu Xiling, if—and I mean if—you and Shi Zhi are done for good, no chance left, would you think about marrying me?”

“What, we filming a soap opera?”

“Just answer. Would you or not?”

“Nope. If there’s no shot with Shi Zhi, I’m not marrying anyone.”

“Why?”

Fu Xiling answered slow, dead serious—

“Besides her, no matter who I marry, they won’t be in my heart. You all know who I like. Even He Fancheng’s three-and-a-half-year-old nephew—ask him my girlfriend’s name, he’ll say Shi Zhi.”

Yao Yao couldn’t hold back, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause you drilled it into him!”

“Yep, I did.”

Bribed the kid with a month’s worth of snacks to get it stuck in his head.

Fu Xiling kept going. “Marry someone else? If I smile at them, it’d only be ‘cause they did something that reminded me of Shi Zhi. If I’m cold to them, it’s ‘cause Shi Zhi was cold to me first.”

Yao Yao opened her mouth, but he shushed her with a gesture.

“If I’m married and Shi Zhi loses her mind one day, tells me to divorce or have an affair with her, I wouldn’t even blink—I’d do it. All the morals my family and school shoved down my throat for twenty years? I’d toss ‘em. What’s the point of a marriage like that?”

Yao Yao went quiet for a while, maybe stumped.

Finally, she said, “What if someone’s fine with you loving someone else? Zhang Ailing wrote every guy’s got a red rose and a white rose.”

“Not every guy. I’m not Shen Jia.”

Fu Xiling shot back fast. “My red rose and white rose are both Shi Zhi split in two.”

“…True. She’s pretty amazing.”

Seemed like any topic circling Shi Zhi kept him from getting too annoyed.

He even tossed out, “What’s so great about her?”

Yao Yao sighed. “You know better than me. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, crazy smart, seems tough inside, and her temper’s probably way better than mine.”

Fu Xiling cracked his first smile in days—faint, lips just curving. “Where’d you get that her temper’s way better than yours?”

“She’s always been patient with me. For a while, I kept bugging her to chat—didn’t have much to say, kinda forced it. She never got fed up…”

Fu Xiling said, “That’s with you. With me, her temper’s trash.”

Laid it all out like that—might as well give up.

Yao Yao didn’t push, standing up. “I’m heading in to play cards. Forget everything I just said. Won’t bring this stuff up again.”

As she stepped off the terrace, Fu Xiling piped up. “Don’t touch my phone or answer my calls from now on.”

Yao Yao whipped around. “You think I’d stoop that low?! I told you, He Fancheng picked up—handed it to me mid-call!”

Slammed the balcony door with a bang and stormed off.

Ten minutes later, He Fancheng wandered over, rubbing his nose.

He was Fu Xiling’s childhood buddy—tight since they were kids. Came in, shut the door, and sat next to him.

“So, uh…”

He Fancheng hesitated before spilling. “Yao Yao was mid-game, then bolted out crying. Everyone thought she was drunk. I remember I sent her out here with your phone—did you rip into her?”

Fu Xiling was chill, throwing back, “Clearing the air’s a bad thing?”

“It’s good—cuts off dumb hopes, saves her from bugging Shen Jia all the time. But…”

He Fancheng took a drag, looked for an ashtray, didn’t find one, and flicked ash into a beer can. “Fu, Yao Yao’s like our little sis—watched her grow up. I get you’re in a funk, but go easy on her. And that call really was me picking up by accident.”

“Got it. Things are messy right now—once it’s over, I’ll apologize.”

“Cool. Yao Yao’s not that dramatic—she’ll figure it out eventually. You? Feel better after unloading on her?”

Fu Xiling frowned. “Nah, worse. She brought up Shi Zhi.”

Normally, he’d have more patience with the younger crew.

Not today.

Especially with Yao Yao—he’d think too much. Shi Zhi once told him she kinda envied her.

He’d wondered what Yao Yao had that Shi Zhi envied.

Then it hit him—Yao Yao’s confidence came from family.

In her twenties, she could still throw tantrums at home, and as long as it wasn’t too much, her folks would cave, no questions asked.

Money, love—whatever she needed, it gave her the guts to be a brat.

Shi Zhi’s cool? That was numbness.

No family to lean on—she’d been burned too many times in her chaotic life, let down too often.

She got used to it, stopped hoping.

No hope, no hurt.

Yao Yao sheds a few tears, and even He Fancheng’s out here pleading her case—two, three years older, gotta look out for the “little sis.”

What about Shi Zhi?

Her uncle and aunt, thirty years older, elders, treated her like free labor—used her up and ditched her.

Did they ever go easy on her?

Fu Xiling told He Fancheng seeing Yao Yao just made him ache for Shi Zhi more.

“But I don’t wanna ache for her right now.”

He Fancheng nodded. “Got it. I’ll keep Yao Yao with the group—out of your sight.”

What exactly went down between Fu Xiling and Shi Zhi—how they fought, what beef they had—He Fancheng had no clue. Just knew they might be done for good.

Could only nudge, “Why put yourself through this? If you can’t let her go, why’d you come back? Girls say ‘get lost’ or ‘leave me alone’—you didn’t buy that, did you?”

Fu Xiling didn’t answer.

“What? You did?”

“Nah. She never said it.”

Wish she’d just blow up at him—but Shi Zhi hadn’t said a word.

“Then why not stay abroad a few more days? Fight it out, might patch things up?”

Fu Xiling rubbed his brow with two fingers.

A ring glinted on his middle finger—shiny, new, catching the light.

“If I stayed, I’d lose it. But I’ve got no right to lose it at her right now.”

Next to his deck chair was a wooden table.

An iPad hooked to a speaker played music. He Fancheng spotted a pack of smokes near the edge.

Just smokes—no lighter.

The pack was unopened but worn, plastic seal peeling, like it’d been around a while.

Fu Xiling had quit smoking a bit back—hadn’t touched one since the new year.

This old pack he kept on him—who it tied back to was obvious as hell.

Love stuff? Outsiders can’t fix it.

He Fancheng downed a few beers with him, saw him clamming up more, patted his shoulder, sighed, and went back to cards.

Fu Xiling called Shi Zhi.

Phone off.

When her uncle’s shitty little bar shut down, she’d asked Fu Xiling to help find jobs for the three staffers.

He’d skimmed their résumés.

One was Wan Ran—used to sing there. Voice shot, couldn’t perform, switched to secondhand luxury trading, had a steady social media account.

Wan Ran had told him, “Thanks, Boss Fu, but I don’t need the job. I’m heading south. Got any spare luxury stuff, though? We could do business.”

He remembered her handle.

“Wan Da Ran Loves Records”—popped right up when he searched.

Wan Ran had been posting a lot lately—mostly luxury item showcases and prices.

Some life pics and videos too.

Didn’t even need to tap the nine-pic grids—Fu Xiling clocked Shi Zhi in one glance.

A LIVE photo.

Shi Zhi stood in a packed bar dance floor.

People around her shook their hair, hands up, bodies twisting;

A couple behind her hugged and made out;

That goofy girl from her uncle’s old bar was there too, big eyes darting around nervously.

Shi Zhi looked unfazed, slim waist swaying loose and easy. Caught the lens, gave it a lazy glance.

Gorgeous.

And damn tempting.

Fu Xiling scrolled through.

Mostly group shots—guys and girls hanging out, looking lively.

Shi Zhi sipping drinks sometimes, tilting her head to hear friends’ jokes others.

One pic—she must’ve found the club too loud, brow furrowed. Wan Ran had an arm around her shoulder, head tilted, eyes down, listening.

Soft long hair draped behind her ear, a few strands falling to her neck and collarbone.

Fu Xiling stared forever, looked away, chugged a whole beer, crushed the can, and chucked it in the trash.

Then glared at his phone, annoyed, swiping down without thinking.

The comments were wilder than the pics.

Folks asking about Shi Zhi—Wan Ran only answered the ones about luxury goods, business first.

Some dude with a soccer star avatar, though, replied to every Shi Zhi comment.

Tone sharp, all clapbacks—

“What’s her name got to do with you?” “Boyfriend or not, she wouldn’t pick you!” “You think you can hit on her?”

Gut said it was a guy.

Could even pin him to a face from those pics—some eager schmuck hovering around.

Great.

He’s over here moping, heart dead, waiting for her to sort herself out, while she’s living it up, nightlife on blast, with some dude playing guard dog.

Real great.

Fu Xiling’s chest twisted. Didn’t linger—backed out of the comments.

Wan Ran’s latest post had a video—

Club beats thumping hard.

Shi Zhi in makeup, eyes sharp and haughty, like she owned the place.

Rare look for her—short skirt, swaying free in the dance floor glow.

Skin so pale it shone, wavy hair bouncing with her moves, still keeping an eye on timid Ling Ling, diamond-studded bracelet arm slung around her waist…

Camera swung to Wan Ran and the crew.

Fu Xiling dragged the progress bar back, over and over, just watching Shi Zhi.

Finished, locked his screen, flopped back in the chair, wrist over his eyes.

Back when Zhou Lang nagged him about love life updates, Fu Xiling always said, “No rush, I’ve got it figured.”

This was the most hopeless, helpless he’d ever felt.

And Shi Zhi’s out there clubbing.

Checked Wan Ran’s account again—two new posts.

A video, a screenshot.

Video—Shi Zhi caught by the camera, up on the big screen.

She shook her head, kinda done, then held up her WeChat QR code to the lens amid the pulsing beats.

Crowd went nuts, phones up, scanning like crazy.

Wan Ran’s screenshot showed her WeChat—friend requests so maxed out, “New Friends” just showed “…” instead of a number.

Caption: My friend’s face is too lethal.

Someone asked below, “Ran Jie, is your friend still selling that bracelet?”

Fu Xiling closed the app.

Fine. Selling the bracelet too.

What that meant, he didn’t dare guess.

Last time Shi Zhi flew back out of nowhere, strolling the hospital corridor, he’d asked why she came.

Her answer? “Wanted to eat the skewer place next to B University. That a crime?”

But the next few days, ‘til she went back to school, she never mentioned that skewer joint.

She’d rushed back, bought him coffee, bought him smokes.

He’d really thought…

Fu Xiling glanced at the ring on his hand, smirked bitterly.

Whatever.

Head pounding, he dozed off on the terrace. Woke up with a jacket over him.

Looked like He Fancheng’s.

Beer cans were cleared into the trash—some didn’t fit, rolling onto the floor.

Twenty years of friendship—He Fancheng got him. Knew he had his own way with feelings, didn’t pull that “next one’s better” crap.

As a bro, all he could do was worry, turn on the iPad speaker, and play some low-volume tunes.

Still throbbing. Fu Xiling cranked it up.

Glanced at the iPad—song scrolling:

Lalalalalalalalalala (Explicit) – Mikolas Josef.

No clue whose playlist. Lyrics were slick, a concrete-heart kind of cool.

Fu Xiling got up, arm on his knee, listened a bit, then grabbed He Fancheng’s jacket and headed inside.

The crew was pulling an all-nighter with cards. Saw him, paused to holler, “Xiling, join us for a round!” “Sleepy? Crash upstairs?”

He tossed the jacket to He Fancheng. “You guys keep going. I’m out.”

He Fancheng blinked. “Where you headed?”

“Home.”

“You drank, man. How you driving…”

Fu Xiling flashed a faint smile. “Rideshare’s here.”

The driver took his SUV back to the city. Chatted him up twice on the way, then said, “Kid, you sound stuffed up. Catch a cold out in the mountains?”

He had.

Around 2 a.m., it was just a headache. Now he felt like garbage—maybe a fever.

Car pulled up, he said bye to the driver. Waiting for the elevator, he had to lean on the wall to stand.

Worst part? Sick as hell, even that short nap in the car wasn’t peaceful.

Dreamed of Shi Zhi. In a club dance floor, making out wild with some rando.

Lipstick smeared—the shade he’d bought her. She wiped it off with the back of her hand, careless, then shot him a taunting look.

Pissed him off to death.

Home, no lights. His place, his rules—knew where everything was by feel.

Forced himself through a shower, collapsed into bed.

Heard someone punch in the code, unlock the door.

Family knew the passcode, but barging in at midnight? Only two options: the club queen down south or Fu Xifeng, that nutcase.

Fu Xiling cursed under his breath, hauled himself up.

Footsteps were light, though. Bedroom door pushed open—long hair, shadowed figure standing by his bed.

His cousin’s too messed up to send a chick to climb into his sheets.

What woman storms his place like this?

Then he grabbed her wrist—slim, too familiar. His head spun.

“Fu Xiling, you…”

Didn’t let Shi Zhi finish. Pulled her onto the bed, into his arms.