That very night, Zhong Nian received her suitcase.
The black case returned to her looking as good as new. She opened it—everything was intact. She carefully unpacked and put each item away. After tidying up, she showered and went to bed.
It was destined to be a restless night.
She dreamed of many years ago, when she was sixteen, in her second year of high school.
She had been living at the Liang household for just over a month then. At first, she hadn’t adjusted well. Before she left home, her mother had reminded her repeatedly: Think three times before you speak when you’re outside. Zhong Nian kept that advice firmly in mind.
But after arriving, she discovered that Liang Yifeng’s parents were exceptionally easy to get along with.
It was said that Aunt Liang had always wanted a daughter. However, after giving birth to a son, her health declined, and she never tried again. Zhong Nian’s arrival fulfilled that long-held wish.
Uncle Liang doted on his wife—if she was happy, he was happy.
The only one who wasn’t easy to deal with—
Was Liang Yifeng.
The first time they met, he had cornered her on the balcony and, in a hoarse voice still deepening from adolescence, warned her to be careful. In the days that followed, he never once offered her a warm smile.
She thought he was hostile toward her.
After all, who would welcome someone who suddenly barged into their life?
So she tried to minimize her presence in the Liang household.
If Liang Yifeng was in the living room, she stayed upstairs. If he was in the study, she went to the yard. She avoided him whenever possible.
Except at school.
They sat in the backseat of the car every morning, half an hour of silence between them, an empty space separating them like a physical boundary.
The silence lasted all the way to school.
They were in the same class. At the arrangement of both families, Zhong Nian was seated beside him.
One side of her was the wall; the other was Liang Yifeng. With classmates in front and behind, she was firmly enclosed within his space.
Their interaction was strange. Though they sat so close, they rarely spoke.
She assumed he disliked her.
So even when she wanted to get water between classes, if he was quietly solving problems beside her, she would endure her restlessness and wait until he left for lunch.
The first time they truly spoke at school was because of a love letter.
Zhong Nian had never lacked admirers. She was cool in temperament, gentle and beautiful in appearance, academically excellent—the kind of girl who stirred the restless hearts of teenage boys.
Adolescent boys were contradictory creatures. They liked girls who chatted easily with them, yet coveted someone like Zhong Nian—the untouchable “high mountain flower.”
What couldn’t be obtained always provoked desire.
Because she had never been “won over,” their youthful sense of conquest grew stronger. Winning her seemed like a grand achievement.
The love letter that day came from the class monitor of the neighboring class—a bespectacled, refined boy many girls admired.
That afternoon, after gym class, Zhong Nian went to wash her hands. When she came out, she saw Liang Yifeng waiting outside.
He leaned against the railing opposite the restroom. At the sound of her footsteps, he slowly turned to look at her.
It was an autumn evening. Golden sunlight flooded half the sky. Bathed in warm orange light, his usually cold features softened slightly.
She stopped. After a moment of silence, she asked, “Were you waiting for me?”
He stood straight, one hand in his pocket. “Mm.”
“Something you need?”
“Zhong Nian.” He called her name.
She looked up at him.
He tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Where’s the love letter?”
“I threw it away.”
His mood seemed to improve slightly. “Do you know him?”
She guessed he meant the sender and shook her head. “No.”
“Then why accept it?”
“It just appeared on my desk.” She didn’t even know who left it.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Good.”
She didn’t understand why he suddenly asked about it.
“Liang Yifeng.”
“Mm.”
“Why are you asking me this?”
He seemed to find the question amusing. A faint smile appeared.
“You live in my house,” he said, stepping closer with each sentence.
“Your mother entrusted you to my parents.”
“At school—”
“I’m naturally the one responsible for you.”
He stopped half a meter in front of her, blocking much of the light. The orange sunset stretched behind him, casting a commanding shadow over her.
“Zhong Nian, shouldn’t I ask?”
His logic was flawless—yet something felt off.
Suddenly, her chin tightened. He grasped it lightly between two fingers.
He leaned closer, voice low and breath warm.
“From now on, don’t let me see another love letter.”
“Or what?” she asked.
His eyes locked onto hers, calm and unwavering.
He smiled slightly, speaking slowly, word by word.
“I’ll beat up every single one of them. No mercy.”
For a moment, it felt as if an invisible hand gripped her throat. Her heart seemed to stop.
He left immediately after.
As she watched his thin figure walk away, a strange thought surfaced—
He’s so thin.
When Zhong Nian woke, dawn had barely broken.
She tossed and turned, his words echoing in her mind.
I’ll take care of you.
I’ll beat up every one of them.
Her parents had never interfered in her friendships or life. So when he said he would “take care” of her, she had been startled.
And that last sentence—it truly didn’t sound like something he would say.
From that day onward, their relationship shifted.
Not exactly closer—but she dared to speak to him. She knew he didn’t hate her. So she stopped avoiding him.
Two desks at school.
Two beds at home, separated by one wall.
Looking back, the person she interacted with most back then—
Was Liang Yifeng.
As she drifted back into sleep, her phone rang.
Half-awake, she answered, voice thick with sleep. “Hello, this is Zhong Nian.”
A pause.
“I’m outside your door.”
The voice entered her ears clearly, unguarded. For a moment she thought she was still dreaming.
She sat up abruptly, checked the screen, then pressed the phone back to her ear.
“Liang Yifeng?”
“Mm.”
“What did you say?”
“I’m outside your door. Open it.”
She threw on a robe and slippers and hurried to the door.
At seven in the morning, faint dawn light rested on his shoulders. Wind swept through the corridor, lifting the hem of her thin robe.
She held the door with one hand, phone in the other.
He ended the call when he saw her.
His clothes were damp, droplets clinging to his dark hair.
“Is it raining?” she asked.
“Mm.”
She stepped aside. “Come in.”
He entered.
She bent at the shoe cabinet to find him slippers.
He stood in the foyer, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her bend over.
The thin robe wrapped around her slim waist. Her spine was distinct; her shoulder blades faintly visible through silk. Her neck glowed under the hallway light. Her hair hung loose and messy.
Lower—slender legs, delicate ankles.
His Adam’s apple moved.
“Will these work?” she asked suddenly, straightening up with a new pair of black slippers.
He lowered his gaze, regaining composure.
“They’re new,” she explained quickly. “No one’s worn them.”
He accepted them calmly.
After changing, he asked, “May I use the restroom?”
“Of course.” She pointed.
He handed her a paper bag before walking in.
She took it instinctively. “What’s this?”
“Your dress for tomorrow. You forgot it.”
She blinked and checked—he was right.
Before she could thank him, the bathroom door shut with a firm sound.
Later, his phone rang.
She picked it up and walked to the bathroom door. “Your phone is ringing.”
“You answer.”
She hesitated.
“I’m not convenient. Answer it.”
She inhaled and did so.
“Doctor Liang, patient in bed 146—”
“Hello—”
Both voices overlapped.
Then silence.
“Liang Yifeng isn’t available right now. Is there something you’d like me to pass on?”
Still silence.
Then a trembling voice:
“Um… did I call at a bad time?”
She frowned slightly.
Then came the rest—
“Early morning… did I interrupt Doctor Liang’s… exercise? Is he in the bathroom right now…? Sister-in-law, I really didn’t mean to!”
“……”
Heat rushed to her face.
At that moment, the bathroom door opened.
The phone was taken from her hand. His fingers were cool—like the first drop of morning dew.
Standing beside her, his voice was calm.
“You talk too much. What is it?”
As he spoke, he glanced down at her lowered head.
Her ears were flushed red, small and delicate.
Embarrassed. Flustered.
Rare.
The corner of his lips lifted unconsciously, a faint smile forming.