Shan Jiqiu and Lu Yun flagged down a taxi by the roadside and rode home. No sooner had they stepped inside than the skies opened, rain pouring down as if determined to punch holes into the earth.
Though Lu Yun’s fighting strength was off the charts, Yan Xu hadn’t held back—every strike was ruthless. His mouth, cheek, abdomen, and even the back of his hand bore injuries.
Worried that Shen Suyue might notice and press for answers, they decided not to tell the elder, sparing themselves a long lecture. So Shan Jiqiu casually lied that Lu Yun was busy and wouldn’t be coming for dinner.
Shen Suyue, used to Lu Yun’s frequent absences, didn’t press further. Instead, she told Shan Jiqiu to bring him some food afterward.
Now Lu Yun sat at the dining table, eating the warm dishes without a care for appearances. He tugged at his injured mouth by accident, wincing slightly.
“You’ve been back this long and still haven’t treated your wounds?” Shan Jiqiu asked.
“Just scratches. They’ll be fine tomorrow,” Lu Yun replied without looking up.
Shan Jiqiu pressed her lips together, stood, and walked toward the TV cabinet. “The medicine box hasn’t moved, right?”
Lu Yun tilted his head toward her back. “No need for medicine. It’s nothing.”
She ignored him, found the box, set it on the coffee table, and pulled out iodine and cotton swabs. Then she stepped to the table, watched him finish the last bite, and tapped her knuckles against the wood. “Come here. Time for medicine.”
Lu Yun eyed her stance. Was she planning to stay until he gave in? With a helpless rub of his brow, he stood and sat down on the sofa.
Shan Jiqiu opened the iodine, dipped a swab, and dabbed at the cut on his cheek.
“Hiss.” Lu Yun winced. “Be gentle.”
Shan Jiqiu shot him a glare. “Didn’t you say it was just a scratch? Afraid of pain now?”
Lu Yun clenched his teeth. “Hey, Qiu-baby, who do you think I got hurt for? A person ought to have a conscience.”
Shan Jiqiu said, “Sorry, my conscience’s been eaten by a dog.”
Lu Yun gave a short laugh. “Yeah, I can feel that.”
Methodically, Shan Jiqiu tossed away the used cotton swab, picked up a fresh one, and continued dabbing iodine onto another cut on his cheek.
Though her words were merciless, her hand had softened, gentler now.
“Oh, right.” Shan Jiqiu glanced at Lu Yun, her voice unconsciously softening along with her movements. “Weren’t you supposed to be writing a self-reflection? How did you know I’d fallen into Yan Xu’s trap?”
Lu Yun chuckled. “Could be that too many people hate Yan Xu, or maybe someone deliberately gossiped right under my window while I was writing. Or maybe they came just to tip me off. Either way, it was hard not to know.”
Shan Jiqiu frowned. “But my phone was—”
Lu Yun cut in: “Funny thing. I ran into a kid on the street holding your phone charm, so I just—”
Shan Jiqiu picked up: “You beat him up?”
Lu Yun clicked his tongue. “I’m not a brute. Why would I? I just threatened him a little. He got scared and spilled everything.”
Shan Jiqiu grew indignant. “You should’ve hit him! If he hadn’t stolen my phone and taunted me, I wouldn’t have fallen into Yan Xu’s trap. Kids these days are rotten—what’ll they be like when they grow up?” Her emotions rose without her noticing, and her hand pressed harder than intended.
Lu Yun’s brows knit, his whole body instinctively leaning back as he dodged. “Hey! I’m not Yan Xu, and I’m not that kid. I’m the one who saved you, and you’re treating me like you’re trying to silence a witness!”
Shan Jiqiu snapped back to herself, quickly pulling her hand away. She gave a sheepish smile. “That was an accident. An accident.”
Lu Yun sighed, half laughing, half helpless. “Qiu-baby, please take my flesh-and-blood suffering seriously.”
“Got it.” Shan Jiqiu nodded. She resumed carefully, her touch deliberate. She lifted her eyes to the boy’s lowered lashes, his features always relaxed, his eyelashes tangled with the shifting light. He sat there like a monk in meditation, calm as the deep sea—making her want to dive down and uncover the secrets hidden beneath. Inside her heart, a little voice suddenly leaped out, urging her to ask the questions she shouldn’t.
Why do you care about me so much?
Why do you get so tense over me?
Could it be that you like me, even just a little?
Lu Yun noticed Shan Jiqiu’s hand paused too long. He lifted his lashes and met her bright, slightly dazed eyes. Their gazes locked—then he flicked a finger against her smooth forehead. “What are you thinking about?”
The snap jolted Shan Jiqiu out of her wandering thoughts, waking the timid soul inside her. “Nothing. Don’t move.” She feigned composure, turned back to the coffee table, pulled out another cotton swab, dipped it in iodine, and resumed treating his wounds. But her heartbeat surged to its peak again.
“This time should be a warning,” Lu Yun said, sitting upright obediently while his voice carried the weight of serious instruction. “Even if you know a bit of fighting, when you meet a real expert, you’re helpless. I can’t always be by your side—I can’t protect you forever. Money and things are external. Don’t risk yourself for them, understand?”
“Mm.” Shan Jiqiu nodded almost imperceptibly, her hands still moving, though her mind drifted into memories.
Back when Lu Yun had forced her to learn martial arts, he’d said something similar: ‘I promised to protect you, but I can’t always be there. You have to learn to protect yourself.’
Yes. How foolish of her to want to test him again, to ask questions whose answers she already knew. Why? Because of childhood promises, because of habits built over years. His kindness toward her was natural, but it carried no trace of romance. And hadn’t he said it himself? He couldn’t protect her forever. One day, another girl would enter his life—someone he’d want to protect with all his heart. And when that day came, would he and she still be like this? Probably not. Their bond would fade with time and caution, until it stopped where it was. Luckily, cowardice always saved her from the illness called *wishful thinking.*
When the wound on his cheek was finally treated, Shan Jiqiu sighed inwardly. That sudden wave of helplessness was like the rain outside—so heavy it suffocated.
“I’ll protect myself from now on.” Her voice dropped, unwilling to linger on the painful topic. “Don’t talk. Let me treat the cut on your mouth.”
“Oh.”
Shan Jiqiu steadied herself, leaned closer, and examined the wound at his lip—it was worse than the others. She pinched his chin to hold him still, making it easier to apply medicine.
Lu Yun sat there, chin held by her, eyes half-lowered. Before him was the girl’s focused expression, brows slightly furrowed, her luminous black eyes fixed on his mouth. Her long lashes cast shadows across the bridge of her nose. And below—her lips, strikingly red against pale skin, glistening softly, looking impossibly tender. The smell of iodine seemed to fade from his nose, while her fragrance grew stronger. The warmth of her fingertips lingered against his chin. Moisture hung in the air. Outside, raindrops struck the ground with clarity, and the wind howled loudly.
The sounds crashed and blew into their ears.
Yet in this noisy, rainy night, Lu Yun suddenly heard only the irregular pounding of his own heartbeat—deafening. It was something he had never noticed before, a strange, inexplicable feeling. And somehow, it seemed to come from the girl before him.
Shan Jiqiu saw Lu Yun’s brows knit, his expression thoughtful, and asked softly: “Does it hurt?”
Her voice was always pleasant, like a flowing spring. Now, lowered in tone, it was like a pebble tossed into still water, rippling outward—stirring the heart.
Lu Yun snapped back, meeting her questioning gaze. Clean, innocent. His heartbeat quickened uncontrollably. “What?” He averted his eyes almost imperceptibly, his voice low and husky.
“What do you mean, ‘what’.” Shan Jiqiu lifted his chin toward the light. “You were quick to cry out before. Now you won’t? Why hold it in? Your face is flushed red.”
Almost reflexively, Lu Yun knocked her hand away, jerking aside to put distance between them. “It’s done, right? Hurry back and finish your homework.”
Shan Jiqiu: “Not done. Your hand, your stomach—they still need medicine.”
Lu Yun shot to his feet, yanked her up, and pushed her toward the door. “I’ll handle the rest myself. You can go.”
Shan Jiqiu turned back. “The dishes aren’t cleared yet.”
Lu Yun: “I’ll wash them.”
Shan Jiqiu: “Your hand’s injured. Don’t touch water.”
Lu Yun opened the door. “I’ve still got one good hand.”
Shan Jiqiu was pushed outside. She turned to him. “Why are you suddenly—”
Before she could finish, the door slammed shut.
Inside, Lu Yun stood gripping the handle, staring at the door as if he could force a flower to bloom from it.
Psychology says that at night, especially rainy nights, people’s defenses weaken, emotions surge, and thoughts run wild. Psychology also says that when injured, people grow vulnerable, developing a special dependence on those who care for them. Yes, that must be it. He muttered to the door, self-assured: “Right. It’s all an illusion.”