After Ruan Chaoxi left, the atmosphere in the shooting club suddenly turned cold and quiet.
Jiang Yaoci looked at the empty shooting lanes and lounge area. The frustration and bitterness in his heart hadn’t dissipated; instead, they grew even clearer.
The earlier “show-off,” the crushing defeat, the video, the rejection… a series of events had left him restless and irritable. He no longer had any interest in continuing.
“Yaoci, still playing?” a friend asked, leaning over.
“No, it’s boring,” Jiang Yaoci waved his hand impatiently. “Let’s call it a day.”
The group hastily ended what was originally planned as a full-day activity.
On the way back, Jiang Yaoci leaned against the backseat, eyes closed, but Ruan Chaoxi’s image lingered in his mind.
He had originally thought she was just a somewhat special “poor country” international student who would require a bit of effort to pursue. Yet she rejected his gifts, ignored his attentiveness, crushed the “advantages” he tried to display, and showed disdain for his “high-class” world.
Especially the way she looked at him—so calm, even with a hint of evaluation and scrutiny, as if he were merely an interesting “exhibit.”
He had never experienced such intense attraction and frustration with any woman before!
Jiang Yaoci was never short of women around him. Those who threw themselves at him, those who played hard to get—he had seen plenty. Their ultimate intentions were always written in their eyes, and he was happy to enjoy this game of mutual benefit. Once the novelty wore off, it became dull.
But Ruan Chaoxi was different.
She was like a fog—the closer he got, the less clear she became, yet the more she stirred an itch in his heart that was hard to ignore.
Just thinking about earlier, how she had shown such a dependent, coquettish expression toward the man in the video—the one speaking a foreign language, far away in chaotic Southeast Asia…
It stung.
It stung so much that his chest felt tight and his throat dry.
…
After leaving the shooting club, Ruan Chaoxi felt a sense of relief. Free from that space filled with boring displays and childish competitions, even the air seemed fresher.
By the time she returned to her dorm, dusk had already settled.
Ruan Chaoxi washed away the faint smell of gunpowder and fatigue she had brought back from the club, changed into comfortable pajamas, and sat at her desk, staring at her somewhat dazed reflection in the screen of the encrypted phone.
The boredom from the shooting range during the day had faded. What truly occupied her thoughts now was her longing for Samia.
She missed him.
It wasn’t just the kind of longing one feels for family.
It was more intense, more clinging—an impulse to draw closer, to touch, even to possess him entirely.
This feeling grew clearer and clearer, yet it also left her increasingly confused.
At nine o’clock in the evening, the video call connected on time.
“Miya-gege,” she spoke first, her voice softer than usual.
“Mm,” Samia responded, his gaze carefully scanning her face, confirming she was safe and in good spirits.
“How was today? Aside from… being boring.”
He remembered her earlier assessment.
“Just so-so,” Ruan Chaoxi frowned slightly. “The guns weren’t good, the feel was off—nothing like when you taught me. And the people were quite dull, acting all proud just for playing with toys.”
She looked at him on the screen and suddenly said softly, “Miya-gege… I… missed you a little today!”
Samia’s breath hitched slightly.He looked into her clear eyes, where her undisguised dependence and longing were evident. All the gloom, unease, and anxiety that had arisen from her contact with that man were, in this moment, somewhat soothed.
“…Mm.”
He responded softly, a myriad of emotions churning within him, condensed into the simplest syllable and a tenderness that deepened instantly in his gaze.
“I missed you too, Xixi.”
The video call lasted a little longer than usual.
Before hanging up, Ruan Chaoxi gazed into Samia’s unfathomable eyes on the screen and said once more, “Miya brother, I really missed you.”
“I missed you too, Xixi,” Samia replied, watching her intently, his words clear and solemn. “Every day.”
After the video ended, the dormitory fell silent once more.
Ruan Chaoxi walked to the window, looking down at the soft yellow glow of the streetlights and the occasional passing students. Her experiences in China unfolded before her like a vibrant, colorful painting.
It had been almost a month since she arrived, and the novelty was still there. The experiences were fascinating.
Squeezing onto the subway, exploring night markets, eating in the cafeteria, attending lectures, visiting amusement parks, and even today’s “high-end” shooting club—all were experiences she had never had in her past eighteen years.
To be fair, the life of an ordinary person was truly enjoyable.
Lu Yao, as a friend, was simple and warm-hearted, making her feel cared for.
Jiang Yaoci was an interesting “specimen.” His various behaviors were like watching a carefully rehearsed yet always flawed comedy.
But… China also had many “rules,” not just laws but also those unspoken boundaries. Of course, it was safe, orderly, and brimming with vitality.
Unlike in Southeast Asia, where the Mo Family was the “rule.” Gunshots and bloodshed were hidden in alleyways untouched by neon lights.
Although she had adapted well, all of this was vastly different from the environment she grew up in. She couldn’t fully integrate, nor did she want to.
More importantly… Miya brother wasn’t here.
There was no trace of his ever-present protection, no sign of his focused gaze when he looked at her, no shadow of his silent presence, always preparing everything for her…
She wanted to go back.
She glanced at the calendar on the desk. Three months—seventy days left.
She had insisted on coming here herself. The goal of experiencing the life of an “ordinary person” hadn’t been fully achieved, and the novelty hadn’t worn off yet. Returning like this seemed like giving up halfway…
She sighed softly. She would persevere a little longer.
At the very least, she wanted to see the world of “ordinary people” a little more clearly.
Then… she would go back.
Back to where Miya brother was.
But that vague yet increasingly clear affection made the remaining seventy days suddenly feel exceptionally long.
On the other end of the screen, Samia remained in the posture of having just ended the video call for a long time. His fingertips lightly brushed the edge of the encrypted phone, as if he could still feel the warmth and vibration brought by her words, “I missed you.”
Seventy days left…
This love, fermented by time and distance, grew deeper and more obsessive, seeping into his very bones.