“What?” Lin Sangyu momentarily doubted her own ears, yet remained rooted to the spot.
“I said, come here.” Jiang Wenzhe changed his tone again; his voice grew deeper, tinged with a hint of authority that left one dare not resist.
He was like a wildfire blazing in the pitch-black night, while she was a moth long trapped in a cage, yearning for the roaring flames and the searing heat.
Jiang Wenzhe held out his hand.
It seemed like a ray of light.
Everything around them seemed to fall silent. Lin Sangyu took a few somewhat heavy steps and slowly walked toward him.
Each moment stretched out endlessly. She felt her body trembling, as if telling herself, “Don’t go over there. Don’t go over there.”
But her heart was now filled to the brim. Her vision blurred, and all she could see was that hand reaching out to her.
Her feet followed her heart; Lin Sangyu quickened her pace and reached out her hand.
Jiang Wenzhe took her hand, pulled her toward him, and embraced her, his broad, warm hand resting on her slender back.
“You’re shaking so much?” Jiang Wenzhe’s tone carried a hint of a smile.
Only when Jiang Wenzhe pointed it out did Lin Sangyu realize her body was trembling uncontrollably. She felt as if she had been cruelly torn in two—one half filled with passionate bliss, the other with the fear her soul foresaw.
Two forces clashed relentlessly within her body—despair and clarity, longing and dread, excitement and fear… All these emotions were twisted together, ramming wildly through her frail frame and squeezing out the last bit of oxygen from her chest.
She was like a fish sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean, on the verge of drowning.
Lin Sangyu remained silent, for she didn’t know what was wrong with her either; she simply cowered tremblingly in Jiang Wenzhe’s embrace like a quail, trying to escape that mental storm.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Jiang Wenzhe asked as his slender fingers ran through her soft, jet-black hair.
Lin Sangyu murmured gloomily, “I don’t know why, but I’m a little scared.”
“Scared of me?”
Jiang Wenzhe withdrew one hand, looking somewhat displeased. With a sharp “click,” he flipped the light switch on the hallway wall. The lights flared to life, and the sharp contours of his face were suddenly revealed.
The light cast faint shadows across his deep-set eyes and brows; his lips were tightly pursed, and he unconsciously tightened his embrace. After a long moment, he said again, “Can you tell me why you’re afraid of me?”
“I’m not afraid of you,” Lin Sangyu said, her words catching in her throat as she desperately wanted to change the subject. She lied to Jiang Wenzhe, saying, “I’m just afraid you’ll leave me.”
Jiang Wenzhe’s expression instantly softened. He patted her on the back and said gently, “I won’t leave you.”
How could I ever leave you?
“Okay, then let’s go to bed.”
Lin Sangyu reached out somewhat impatiently to take Jiang Wenzhe’s hand, desperate to get into bed and fall asleep so that her strange, fragmented emotions would fade away quickly.
Jiang Wenzhe thought she was leaning on him, and his tone softened: “All right, let’s go to bed now.”
Back in the room, Jiang Wenzhe asked Lin Sangyu to sit on the small beige sofa. He then fetched a basin of warm water and, amid the warm, moist white steam, dampened a towel to wipe the palms and knees Lin Sangyu had just scraped on the floor.
When he lifted her nightgown to take a closer look, he realized that Lin Sangyu’s fall had actually been quite hard. Though she hadn’t broken any skin, two conspicuous bruises stood out sharply against her fair knees.
Jiang Wenzhe touched the bruise with his fingertip, furrowed his brow, and asked, “Does it hurt a lot?”
Lin Sangyu bent her leg and pressed the bruise herself; she felt only a slight ache and tightness. “It doesn’t really hurt,” she admitted honestly. “It probably just looks a little scary.”
After wiping her down with warm water, Jiang Wenzhe sighed, his tone tinged with apology. “I’ll go get some ointment for you. Don’t move around.”
Lin Sangyu froze for two seconds. Just as Jiang Wenzhe turned to leave, a sudden wave of unease washed over her, and she reached out to stop him—but he moved too quickly; she only managed to grasp the breeze in his wake. In the end, she could only watch helplessly as his back receded into the distance, his footsteps growing fainter and fainter.
Left alone in the vast bedroom, she curled her legs up, placed her feet on the sofa, and buried her head completely between her knees, wrapping herself up entirely.
Cool moonlight streamed diagonally into the room, casting a pale, stark shadow over her and chilling her exposed ankles.
Jiang Wenzhe, holding the ointment, had just reached the bedroom door when he saw this scene.
Lin Sangyu’s portrayal came effortlessly, like a sharp blade swiftly slicing through skin, leaving a trail of blood.
Yet he seemed to tear her apart too quickly; just as a thin scab began to form over the wound, he ripped it out by the roots, tearing away the scab along with the unhealed flesh, ultimately leaving a wound that could never fully heal.
But so what?
Isn’t loving someone supposed to mean holding her tightly in the palm of your hand?
What had he done wrong?
As they slept, Jiang Wenzhe held Lin Sanyu very tightly.
So tightly that Lin Sanyu woke up groggily in her sleep and pushed him away: “Jiang Wenzhe, I can’t breathe.”
Jiang Wenzhe loosened his grip for a moment, only to unconsciously pull her close again.
Two beating hearts pressed tightly together, resonating in unison.
In his mind, he repeated to himself over and over:
This is good enough, this is good enough, this is good enough, this is good enough, this is good enough…
He’s not wrong, he’s not wrong, he’s not wrong, he’s not wrong, he’s not wrong, he’s not wrong…
It was as if he were hypnotizing himself.
In the darkness, Lin Sangyu slowly opened her eyes.
She could clearly feel Jiang Wenzhe’s muscles—taut as a bowstring at its limit—trembling. She desperately wanted to say:
“Jiang Wenzhe, do you realize you’re scared?”
“Do you realize you look exactly the same as I did just a moment ago?”
But it was just a fleeting thought; in the end, she did nothing and said nothing.
She just smiled very gently.
*
It was Lin Sangyu’s first time on a plane. Whether it was the tremendous roar as the plane took off, the intense sensation of being pushed back into her seat, or the magnificent, boundless sea of clouds outside the window during the flight, everything kept her in a state of extreme excitement.
“Jiang Wenzhe, this is so beautiful! It’s like we’re walking on clouds.”
“Jiang Wenzhe, do you think I could fly faster than this plane?”
“Jiang Wenzhe, it’s going to be a long time before we get there.”
But human stamina is, after all, limited. As the long-haul flight entered its latter half, Lin Sangyu began to lose her energy; the view outside the window no longer held her fascination, and with her head resting on Jiang Wenzhe’s arm, she couldn’t help but drift into a deep sleep.
In a daze, she didn’t know how much time had passed when she felt Jiang Wenzhe pick her up, carry her off the plane, and settle her into the car.
Lin Sangyu yawned, blinked rapidly a few times, and asked, “Are we there yet?”
Jiang Wenzhe was holding a thick stack of documents and flipping through them with a serious expression. Upon hearing her voice, he turned his head and said, “Almost. We’re heading to the hotel now; it’ll take about ten minutes.”
Lin Sangyu leaned against the car window, gazing curiously at the scenery outside. Most of the buildings along the way were low-rise British-style houses. The morning sun cast its glow over the simple, elegant brick walls; the streets were quiet with few people around.
Lin Sangyu was somewhat mesmerized by the view and asked, “Why is it still daytime here? Shouldn’t it be nighttime by now?”
Jiang Wenzhe mimicked his middle school geography teacher’s teaching style, using one hand to represent the sun and the other to represent the Earth, and gave her a rough demonstration. He explained, “The Earth is constantly rotating from west to east. The sun can’t illuminate the entire Earth at the same time, so the eastern side sees the sun first, meaning it’s earlier there. Beijing is to the east, so it’s eight hours ahead of London.”
Lin Sangyu stood there dumbfounded for a full minute as the information raced through her brain without leaving a trace. Then, with a completely bewildered expression, she said confidently to Jiang Wenzhe, “I totally get it.”
Jiang Wenzhe teased, “Oh, really? Then you’re pretty impressive.”
“Oh my,” Lin Sangyu played along, taking his compliment and running with it. “I’m just average, I guess. After all, not everyone is like me.”
Jiang Wenzhe shot her a helpless glance, raised his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, and continued to pore over the partner company’s technical white paper.
The purpose of this trip was to finalize a collaboration with a leading British autonomous driving technology company on the joint development and implementation of an in-vehicle AI large model—a task that was both complex and demanding.
Upon arriving at the hotel, Jiang Wenzhe unpacked all of their luggage from the suitcases, arranged everything neatly, and after finishing, took a quick nap before setting off for an on-site visit and inspection of the partner company’s laboratory. Lin Sanyu stayed at the hotel to continue organizing her shooting equipment.
Once she was done, Lin Sanyu got ready to head out on her own to soak up the atmosphere and find some inspiration for her photos.
Overseas scenery usually generates a lot of buzz on its own, so she was determined to make the most of this opportunity.
The moment she pushed open the hotel room door, Lin Sangyu saw two burly white men in plain clothes standing at the doorway like two towering walls—their muscular builds so exaggerated it seemed as if their clothes might burst at the seams, and their imposing presence exuding an overwhelming aura.
When they saw her emerge, the two turned toward her in perfect unison, clearly intending to approach.
“Bang—” The door slammed shut so fast and forcefully that it caused the window to rattle violently.
Lin Sangyu was terrified by the scene before her; her hand acted before her brain could process it, and she shut the door without hesitation.
In the process, she seemed to have hit one of the men wearing black sunglasses with the door, because she faintly heard a piercing scream.
Leaning against the door, she panted heavily, her heart pounding wildly. Trembling, she pulled out her phone to send a message to Jiang Wenzhe:
[Jiang Wenze, there are two bad guys at the door—come save me quickly!!!]
[Crying jpg.]
[Upset jpg.]
Two minutes later, Jiang Wenze sent two voice messages in a row:
[They’re not bad guys—they’re bodyguards. I forgot to tell you. They’ll take you wherever you want to go, and they can even translate for you.]
[Stay safe.]
Lin Sangyu was going crazy inside and typed furiously: [Aaaah, why didn’t you say so sooner? I think I just beat up one of the bodyguards—he looks like he’s seriously injured.]
Jiang Wenzhe stared at that message for a long time, doubting its authenticity. Lin Sangyu would probably need to sprint a hundred meters just to manage a single blow that would even look decent to them.
He shrugged it off and typed: [It’s fine—they can take a beating.]