The warm breath Xi Shi exhaled against his ear was like a lit fuse, burning a trail from the shell of his ear all the way down his spine.
Lin Youhe tilted his head to dodge, silently carrying Xi Shi out of the kitchen and through the dining room, then bent down to set her into the spacious leather sofa.
Xi Shi kept her arms looped around his neck, pulling him down heavily with her.
The sofa let out a few faint creaks under the weight. For a moment, the distance between them closed until their breaths—tinged with the scent of alcohol—mingled inextricably.
The base notes of Xi Shi's oriental floral perfume, warmed by her body heat, were dangerously alluring. The faint, elusive fragrance slipped into his lungs and joined forces with the alcohol in his blood, silently shredding Lin Youhe's composure.
One hand braced beside Xi Shi's leg, the other pressed against the back of the sofa.
He lowered his lashes, his gaze passing calmly through the lenses of his frameless glasses—over her brows and eyes, the tip of her nose—before settling on her full, soft lips.
Xi Shi wore a strange, docile submission, closing her eyes with ill intent. Even the way she loosened her arms from around Lin Youhe's neck was a slow, deliberate tease.
Her cool fingertips traced an ambiguous path along the side of his neck and behind his ear before finally letting go. She had even instinctively learned to switch to breathing through her mouth at a moment like this.
She tilted her head back against the sofa, lips slightly parted, her breath as soft as orchid's fragrance.
The string of unexpected events had thrown Lin Youhe off balance. His reason was a haze, but his body responded honestly.
His breathing grew heavier, and he couldn't help but tilt his head, leaning closer to Xi Shi.
Then, Lin Youhe caught a glimpse of her expression—her face steeped in allure, curiosity, eager anticipation, a charm that wasn't meant to please, shrewd calculation, and very obvious excitement.
Like the suspended moment before a fuse ignites, Lin Youhe restrained himself and halted his movement.
The eroded rationality snapped back in an instant.
He knew exactly what Xi Shi was thinking—nothing more than "drink today, for tomorrow we die," "life is short, so seize the pleasure," "live in the moment"—those carefree, irresponsible creeds, along with the heartfelt anticipation and satisfaction of "the plan is starting to bear fruit."
Heartless and fickle.
The spark on the fuse was forcibly snuffed out. The veins on Lin Youhe's arm, braced against the sofa, bulged slightly as he suppressed his irritation and stared at Xi Shi, who still lay there with her eyes closed, utterly at ease.
A sly, triumphant smile still curved at the corners of her lips.
Lin Youhe was almost laughingly furious.
Frowning, he continued to lean closer to Xi Shi, and sure enough, saw her part her lips and tilt her chin up slightly, happily ready to meet him.
The originally tender, lingering intent had long since vanished. The breath that had betrayed his nature quickly settled back down.
Lin Youhe narrowed his eyes, left with nothing but a half-raised, half-lowered helplessness.
With eyes closed, the other senses grow remarkably sharp.
The sound from the television faded into background noise, unheard. The leather sofa gradually absorbed their body heat.
Through the subtle shifts in temperature and the creaking of the sofa's leather, Xi Shi sensed Lin Youhe's approach. She also felt him tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertip even brushing gently over the shell of her ear.
Xi Shi savored this unprecedented sensation, like being struck by an electric current, and looked forward to Lin Youhe losing his composure. But after waiting and waiting, all she got was a few low, heavy breaths near her ear and a concern delivered with surprising gentleness.
He said, "Miss Xi, are you feeling unwell? Let me go make you some hangover soup."
Then the shadow that had loomed before her rose and left without a second thought.
Xi Shi opened her eyes. Lin Youhe was already pushing up his glasses, walking past the dining table and chairs into the kitchen.
Xi Shi's thoughts seemed to split into many fragments from what had just happened:
Confusion and unwillingness at her plan falling through drifted through her mind;
But the sound of breathing—so eerily similar to her memory—pulled her back at that moment to the damp, dark alley after the rain when she was seventeen, reminding her of the self who had made the desperate decision to die, only to be unexpectedly saved by someone;
By the time she finally pulled herself out of the memory, she realized the ear he had touched was burning;
The desire stirring in her gut hadn't fully subsided, and it seemed to give birth to a hollow sense of regret.
From the kitchen drifted a faint sweet-and-sour aroma. Lin Youhe was indeed making the hangover soup.
Xi Shi rubbed her earlobe with a complicated expression, mulling over the way he had called out to her, the furrowed-brow worry on his face, and the trace of impulse he might have felt just now.
Her heart rate didn't drop—it rose instead.
Lin Youhe returned to the sofa carrying a pair of men's slippers. He crouched in front of Xi Shi, took her ankle, and helped her put them on: "Wear these for now. There might be broken glass in yours."
Xi Shi slipped her feet into the slippers, following his movements, and asked calmly, "What are you doing?"
Lin Youhe was even calmer than she was, answering with gentle deflection: "Making hangover soup."
He picked up the remote control they had knocked to the floor, then stood. "Miss Xi, please wait a moment. The soup will be ready soon."
As he spoke, Lin Youhe didn't look at Xi Shi—he was looking at the remote in his hand.
Just because of a little impulse, he's embarrassed?
He really has thin skin.
Under normal circumstances, Xi Shi would have teased Lin Youhe with all her charm—
Like, "Why aren't you calling me by my name anymore?"
Or, "Mr. Lin, you leaned in that close earlier—was it really just to whisper something in my ear?"
Or, "I like Mr. Lin's arm strength."
But Xi Shi didn't feel like saying anything right now.
Xi Shi's database was severely lacking in experience for handling a situation like this. It was the first time in her ruined life that she'd met someone who suited her taste, and she could only feel that her heartbeat wasn't quite normal.
She thought she'd be angry at failing to charm her target, but in fact… it didn't seem like she was?
Xi Shi couldn't quite explain what was going on with herself, so she could only respond with silence.
Lin Youhe asked seriously, "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"
Xi Shi shook her head.
This night that should have been filled with restless thoughts turned out to be so warm that Xi Shi was caught completely off guard.
Lin Youhe brewed a pot of sweet-and-sour hangover soup, and Xi Shi held the ceramic cup, taking small sips, while Lin Youhe sat right beside her, placing the trimmed Freud roses into a vase one by one.
The TV was playing a family-friendly drama, the screen crowded with actors making a lively racket about celebrating the New Year and making dumplings.
Lin Youhe set the vase on the coffee table and turned to ask her, "Feeling any better after the hangover soup?"
Xi Shi thought, Lin Youhe really is a gentle, honest, and self-restrained good person.
If it weren't for all those messy complications, maybe she would have been willing to be more patient in getting close to him.
Unfortunately, there was no such thing as "if" in this world.
After that brief moment of warmth, Xi Shi calmly refreshed her database:
Lin Youhe was indeed somewhat affected by alcohol.
Getting close to Lin Youhe might require a bit more heart.
So a few days later, on a weekend night, at nearly one in the morning, Lin Youhe called over, saying in a gentle voice that he'd just gotten back and saw Xi Shi's lights still on from downstairs, asking why she hadn't gone to sleep yet. Xi Shi told Lin Youhe without any hesitation that she was suffering from insomnia, thinking about matters concerning her family.
Lin Youhe said, "Want me to keep you company?"
Xi Shi softly hummed in agreement.
Xi Shi walked out of her security door holding her phone, and Lin Youhe had just entered the code to open his door. Seeing her, he hung up the phone and asked warmly, "Homesick?"
Xi Shi smiled and said, "I don't have a home."
Lin Youhe said nothing.
Xi Shi changed into slippers and walked into Lin Youhe's place. She turned back to look at Lin Youhe, who had just switched on the lights and seemed a little dazed, and laughed. "Why aren't you saying anything, Mr. Lin?"
Lin Youhe sighed softly. "I'm not sure if what Miss Xi just said was serious, so I don't quite know what to say."
Xi Shi said, "I'm serious. I really don't have a home."
Xi Shi was only wearing a nightgown, so Lin Youhe went into the bedroom, found a soft knitted cardigan, and draped it over her shoulders. Then he sat down beside her with an extremely gentle expression. "Want to talk about it?"
Xi Shi smiled inwardly.
Of course she did.
Before Xi Shi turned seventeen, she had a home.
It was just that her family was a little different from others.
From the time Xi Shi could clearly remember things, it had only been her and her grandmother at home.
And every weekend, her grandmother had to go out, leaving Xi Shi locked inside the house alone after repeatedly telling her to be careful.
Her grandmother went out to look for Xi Shi's mother.
According to her grandmother, when her mother was pregnant, she had resolutely divorced her father against all advice. After that, her mother's mental state had never been quite right, until the year Xi Shi turned one, when she suddenly disappeared.
Because her mother was very beautiful and had been the one to file for divorce, many unkind rumors grew more and more intense:
They said the child in her mother's womb wasn't her father's; said that a woman who studied too much was never content to stay at home; said her father was just a pathetic pushover, and the divorce meant he didn't have to be the one to raise another man's child…
Even her mother's later disappearance was spun as her running off with some other man.
Her grandmother always told Xi Shi that none of that was true.
Although her mother had never personally told her grandmother anything, what mother doesn't understand her own child?
Her grandmother said that the one who didn't live right was Xi Shi's father;
Her grandmother said that man must have done something that made her daughter's heart turn cold, which was why her precious child had fallen into such despair and lost her mind.
Xi Shi was too young back then to have much emotional empathy for these things.
All she remembered was that after she started elementary school, she was forced to join the search for her mother.
Every weekend, she had to get up early with her grandmother and go out. They traveled to many cities around them, pasting missing person notices on utility poles along every street and alley.
Even Xi Shi couldn't fully understand her grandmother's persistence, and occasionally she'd complain inwardly because she couldn't enjoy her weekends and holidays like other kids.
But her grandmother still held on stubbornly, arguing with everyone who tried to spread nasty rumors about her mother with snide remarks, even cursing them out loud.
The house was covered in missing person notices printed with expensive colored ink. The woman in the photographs had jet-black hair and a pair of captivating eyes.
She was truly beautiful.
Later, Xi Shi came across the "Airs" section of the Book of Songs in an old book left behind by her mother. On page sixty-four, the poem "Valley Wind" bore wrinkled tear stains and Xi Shi's name—
"The Jing is muddied by the Wei, yet clear it stands upon its shoals."
By then, Xi Shi had already graduated from elementary school.
She had finally grown to an age where she could understand her mother's sorrow and her grandmother's loneliness.
And she finally understood why her grandmother, who spent every day in the mailroom of her workplace steeped in the scent of ink, would stand downstairs and hurl such harsh, vicious words.
Xi Shi rested her chin on the throw pillow in her arms and tilted her head to look into Lin Youhe's eyes. "That's a poem of bitter accusation against a husband. Grandmother was right."
Xi Shi knew that her own life story could be described as tragic, but she had long grown accustomed to it. She had never known sweetness, nor did she understand how bitter it all truly was. She simply picked out old memories that had the least bearing on her current plans to share.
Xi Shi's motives were impure—there was an abacus clicking away in her mind.
She appeared to be telling a story, but she had already calculated it all with swift, clattering beads: how much she should say to earn Lin Youhe's sympathy, how much to draw them closer.
She had been talking for just five or six minutes and was about to pause for a sip of water when Lin Youhe suddenly reached out and touched the back of her hand, looking as if she wanted to comfort her.
Xi Shi didn't need comfort at this late hour, but she still gracefully slipped her icy fingertips into Lin Youhe's warm palm, asking with delicate, gentle concern: "I forgot to ask—why are you back so late?"