Zhong Nian had only just returned to the country and lived alone. Naturally, there were no men’s clothes in her apartment.
She searched through the bathroom cabinet for a long time before finally finding a bathrobe—one that had come as a promotional gift when she bought two sleep robes.
She handed it to Liang Yifeng.
“How many bathrooms?” he asked.
“One.”
“You shower first.”
She thought for a moment and nodded. “Okay.”
Soon after she entered the bathroom, the faint sound of running water drifted out. Only two corridor lamps were lit in the living room. In that half-light, the atmosphere felt quietly intimate.
While she showered, Liang Yifeng walked to the entryway, crouched, and laid his suitcase flat. He opened it, took out a change of clothes, then closed it and returned it to its place—everything seamless, as if nothing had happened.
He went to the guest room.
The room matched the living room’s warm wood tones. The bedding was solid gray. Everything was immaculate—untouched, as though no one had ever stayed there.
He sat on the edge of the bed, satisfied.
Soon, an alarm on his phone rang—a reminder to take his medication.
Ever since he’d come here last time to deliver her dress and gotten caught in the rain, he’d been sick. Nearly half a month now. The cough would improve, then relapse. With outpatient duty at the hospital and constant exposure to flu patients, he’d caught influenza as well.
The medicine was likely still at the office.
He drank a cup of hot water and decided to leave it for tonight.
A while later, Zhong Nian finished showering and knocked gently on his door. Three knocks.
“I’m done.”
He opened the door just in time to see her retreating figure.
Before closing her own door, she glanced toward him.
Her damp hair fell to one side. Without makeup, her face looked soft and refined. When she lifted her eyes, they shimmered faintly.
Her hand paused on the door.
“Rest early,” she said.
He stood with one hand in his pocket, watching her quietly. A faint smile curved his lips.
“You too.”
Her door closed.
He stood there for a long moment before returning to his room and taking his clothes into the bathroom.
The bathroom still held residual warmth.
Mist clung to the window; droplets slid slowly down the glass. The air carried a faint scent of gardenia.
Warmer than outside by a few degrees. Heavy with moisture.
He undressed and stepped into the steam. It enveloped him like warm hands.
The bathtub filled and overflowed.
He stepped in and lay back.
Only after submerging completely did he open his eyes beneath the water.
Light refracted above him.
Liang Yifeng had always been rational. Precocious. From an early age, he knew he was different. Most things failed to interest him. Even in his teens, when watching adult films for the first time, though his body reacted, he felt nothing—no desire.
When he relieved himself, his mind was blank.
He lived like that for years.
Until he met Zhong Nian.
He never said it aloud.
Perhaps only he remembered—
Their first encounter had been accidental.
It was August, typhoon season. Rain lashed the city.
He exited a convenience store, umbrella raised, crossing the street.
And saw her.
She walked toward him, lost in thought.
White dress.
A strip of black cloth pinned at her shoulder—mourning attire. She had just come from a funeral.
Rain soaked her dress until it clung to her body, outlining her young, developing curves.
He stood on the curb, watching her back without expression.
Her undergarments were faintly outlined by rainwater.
Her shoulder-length hair stuck to her neck.
Wind lifted her skirt, revealing long, pale legs.
The rain had just stopped; light broke through clouds.
In the half-deserted dusk of a city washed clean, his gaze fixed on her straight back. Her shoulder blades—proud, beautiful—like a lover’s kiss.
The entire city seemed scented with flowers.
Under shattered golden twilight, love eternal lingered in every glance.
He followed her.
Like a pervert.
Through street after street.
Greedy. Humble. Watching her silhouette.
He thought he had gone mad.
But he could not stop.
She never once looked back at him.
Yet he was already lost.
That night, he smoked an entire pack beneath her building.
Smoke blurred reality.
Her shadow passed briefly across a lit window.
He inhaled deeply.
For the first time in years, the long, suffocating darkness of his life felt as though it might end.
It hadn’t ended.
When his lungs burned and his ears rang beneath bathwater, one thought echoed—
Not yet.
He rose from the tub.
Water streamed from his lashes.
His life looked polished, enviable. But after she left, every day had been mechanical repetition.
He should tell her.
That he loved her.
But his love—
Was distorted. Selfish.
He wanted all of her.
Her collarbones. Her slender back. Her waist. Even her casual glances.
All his.
“If you dare look at another man,” he murmured to the empty air, “I’ll kill him.”
This suffocating possessiveness—
Even he found it frightening.
How much more would she?
But without her—
Even death would not satisfy him.
After loving her—
He would never love anyone else.
The next morning, Zhong Nian woke early.
Having someone else in the house felt different.
She cooked porridge, went downstairs to buy steamed buns, fried dough sticks, pickled vegetables.
The guest room door remained shut.
She hesitated, then knocked three times.
No answer.
“Liang Yifeng?” she called softly.
She had work. And she wasn’t used to someone lingering in her private space.
Her hand rested on the handle.
“I’m coming in.”
The door opened.
The dark room filled gradually with light.
Liang Yifeng slept lightly. Any hint of brightness would wake him.
He stirred immediately.
Morning always worsened his cough. He pressed a fist to his lips, coughing until it seemed he couldn’t breathe.
She hurried forward with water.
Cold water eased his throat slightly.
“What time is it?” he rasped.
“Seven-thirty.”
She drew back the curtains. Sunlight spilled across the floor in fragments of gold.
He looked worse than yesterday.
“Yesterday didn’t seem this bad,” she murmured.
He adjusted his glasses. “Is there medicine at home?”
“No. There’s a pharmacy downstairs. What do you need?”
He listed several medications quickly.
Then paused.
“You’ll be late for work.”
She calculated the time while writing down the names.
She tore off the note.
“Then I won’t go.”
Her tasks were already done. She could organize her interview materials at home just as well.
She brought over hot water.
“If you’re sick, don’t drink cold water.”
He looked at the steam rising from the cup.
Then at her composed face.
“Got it.”
“I’ll buy the medicine. Sleep more.”
He answered through heavy nasal congestion.
After she left, he called his assistant and asked her to bring today’s contracts here.
He changed into the bathrobe Zhong Nian had given him.
Standing by the window, he looked down.
Early summer.
Green everywhere.
She walked across the courtyard below in a white shirt and high-waisted jeans. Her long hair moved when she turned.
This was the woman he had loved for so many years.
When Zhong Nian stepped out of the elevator, she saw a woman pacing in front of her door.
“Hello?”
The woman turned—polished makeup, professional attire, a practiced smile.
“Is President Liang here?”
“Yes.”
She opened the door.
“Oh—I won’t go in.” The assistant handed her a bag of documents. “These need his signature. Please pass them along.”
Zhong Nian accepted them.
Inside, Liang Yifeng was propped against the headboard, looking at his phone.
“You’re back.”
“Mm. The medicine’s here. Your assistant brought contracts.”
“Mm.”
Silence fell.
Then her phone rang.
He was holding capsules when he saw the caller ID.
—Sui Yu.
A faint, humorless smile touched his lips.
Without water—
He swallowed three capsules dry.