In the vast, quiet living room, Pei Shuyi lowered her head to look at the substance in her palm.
She frowned, studying it for a moment. “Jiang Congli, why is it white?”
Jiang Congli was still leaning against her shoulder, his breathing not yet fully steady. Hearing her words, his body visibly stiffened.
He lifted his head, his eyes still red, and watched Pei Shuyi’s earnest, inquisitive expression.
“Didn’t you take biology class?”
“I did, but the textbook didn’t cover things in such detail.”
Jiang Congli looked at her expression of “I’m just curious” and gently patted her bottom.
“Don’t provoke me,” he said, his voice hoarse beyond recognition.
Pei Shuyi glared at him, covering the spot he had just patted.
Jiang Congli took a deep breath as he watched her wide-eyed glare. He took her hand in his palm and wiped it clean with a wet wipe.
After tossing the wipe aside, he pulled her back into his embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.
His heartbeat was still fast, thudding through the fabric of his clothes.
Pei Shuyi leaned against his chest, listening as the frantic rhythm gradually slowed and steadied.
After a long while, when both of them had calmed down, Jiang Congli’s voice drifted down from above her head. “Shall I carry you upstairs?”
Pei Shuyi nodded, feeling a bit tired herself. Her voice, muffled against his chest, carried a hint of weariness. “Mm.”
Jiang Congli scooped her up from the sofa, and Pei Shuyi naturally wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his neck.
He carried her up the stairs, each step steady and sure.
The bedside lamp in the second-floor bedroom was still on, casting a warm, orange glow across the room.
Jiang Congli laid her on the bed, and Pei Shuyi sank into the soft bedding, her long hair splayed across the pillow, the collar of her clothes still slightly askew.
Compared to an hour earlier, the fair, delicate skin now bore several red marks of varying sizes.
She looked as if her vitality had been restored, appearing even more charming and alluring.
“Shu Yi, let’s take a bath first.”
Jiang Congli spoke softly.
Perhaps because their relationship had just taken a step forward, Pei Shuyi now showed a rare hint of dependence in front of Jiang Congli.
“No…”
Pei Shuyi clung to his embrace, shaking her head.
Jiang Congli knew she was likely too exhausted to move, but he didn’t indulge her desire to stay nestled in his arms.
“Not allowed, Shu Yi.”
“You’ll catch a cold.”
Pei Shuyi spoke with a hint of coquettishness. “It’s all your fault.”
“Yes, it’s all my fault.”
But even after Jiang Congli leaned against the headboard and coaxed her for several minutes, Pei Shuyi still didn’t want to get up. Couldn’t she just change her pants if they were wet? Yet Jiang Congli remained firm.
Finally, seeing that Pei Shuyi truly intended to stay in bed, Jiang Congli’s deep voice fell slowly. “Shu Yi, if you really don’t want to do it yourself, I can help you bathe.”
Earlier, aside from the final step, they had already seen and touched everything there was to see and touch.
One more time wouldn’t make a difference.
Hearing this, Pei Shuyi’s half-closed eyelids snapped open. Without further negotiation, she scrambled up and decisively headed into the bathroom.
The door closed, and the sound of running water filled the air.
Jiang Congli stood in the bedroom, listening to the water from the bathroom, and glanced down at himself.
If Pei Shuyi hadn’t moved quickly enough, he truly would have carried her into the bathroom to bathe together.
And by then, it likely wouldn’t have been just a simple bath.
Pei Shuyi’s bath this time felt perfunctory, as if she were just going through the motions. After a hasty rinse, she emerged.
The whole process probably took less than ten minutes.
When she came out of the bathroom, Jiang Congli was still standing by the window.
Pei Shuyi, wearing his bathrobe, climbed directly into bed. “Jiang Congli, I’m done.”
Jiang Congli turned around, looked at her with only her face peeking out from under the covers, walked over, and pulled the blanket down a little.
“Don’t sleep with your face covered.”
“Got it,” Pei Shuyi replied, her voice already drifting off.
Jiang Congli watched as her eyelids began to droop, leaned down, and kissed her forehead. “Sleep.”
Only when Pei Shuyi’s breathing gradually slowed did he turn and walk into the bathroom.
Closing the door, he turned on the faucet, and cold water rushed out.
He leaned against the sink for a moment, his eyes red in the mirror.
Although Pei Shuyi had just helped him once, once wasn’t enough.
But Jiang Congli didn’t want to scare her at a time like this…
An hour later, Jiang Congli emerged from the bathroom, wearing a bathrobe identical to Pei Shuyi’s.
Pei Shuyi was already sound asleep. Perhaps the bedroom heating was too high, the blanket had been kicked aside, revealing one slender, well-proportioned leg.
Jiang Congli walked over, pulled the blanket back over her, and stood by the bed watching her for a while.
She looked different when she slept compared to during the day. During the day, she was always distant, as if veiled in mist.
Asleep, she looked peaceful, her eyelashes lowered, breathing softly.
But what left a deeper impression on Jiang Congli was earlier in the living room downstairs. At that moment, Pei Shuyi had been excited, direct, and vocal about every sensation—something Jiang Congli hadn’t expected but found utterly captivating.
Jiang Congli lowered his gaze, gathering the stray strand of hair by her ear between his fingers and slowly tucking it behind her ear.
As his fingertips brushed her earlobe, she trembled slightly but didn’t wake.
The corner of his thin lips lifted slightly, but he made no sound, turning and walking back into the bathroom.
The few pieces of intimate clothing in the laundry basket were neatly folded.
When he bent down to pick them up, his fingertips paused on the fabric for a moment.
Not daring to dwell on it, he took them to the sink and turned on the cold water.
Hot water wasn’t suitable for washing intimate clothing.
The cold water of December flowed over his knuckles, stinging like fine needles.
Jiang Congli had never touched women’s clothing in his life, let alone such intimate pieces.
He rinsed them three or four times with clear water until no foam remained. Only then did his long, straight fingers fully wrap around the two small garments in his palm, wringing them dry.
As he wrung them, water droplets trickled down the veins on the back of his hand.
The dryer was in the adjacent laundry room. For the forty minutes it ran, he stood beside it, his gaze fixed on the tumbling clothes through the small window, a cigarette pinched between his fingers but resisting the urge to light it.
…
After drying and hanging the clothes, Jiang Congli returned to the bedroom.
The nightlight by the bed was still on, casting a warm yellow glow on Pei Shuyi’s face.
She was completely asleep now, breathing evenly, her eyelashes unmoving.
He stood by the bed for a moment, then leaned down to tuck the hand she had left outside the blanket back in. His thumb rested on the inside of her wrist for two seconds—her pulse was steady.
Then Jiang Congli turned off the light.
In the darkness, his presence loomed over her, his sharply defined face just a fist’s distance away.
He didn’t disturb her, just watched like this for a long time, so long that his breathing fell into sync with hers.
Only when he had looked his fill did he reach under the blanket, wrap an arm around her waist, and pull her a little closer to him.
Pei Shuyi hummed in her sleep, turned over, buried her face in his chest, and rested her hand on his waist.
He lowered his head, his lips pressed against the crown of her hair.
The two embraced as they slept, their two vibrant, beating hearts seeming to fit together perfectly, pulsing in sync.
The next day.
An urgent phone call woke Jiang Congli. Worried it might disturb Pei Shuyi, he hung up immediately.
Only after getting out of bed and walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window a little farther away did he call back.