To ensure Wen Xing slept soundly, Fu Junxue had lit a rich, woody incense in the room, its scent light yet long-lasting.
Though it was a calming fragrance meant to aid sleep, it felt like a heavy intoxicant as it swirled around Wen Wanbing. She felt lightheaded. Fu Junxue’s words, though soft, landed clearly in her ears, yet she struggled to process them.
“What did you say?”
“I said,” Fu Junxue leaned forward until the tip of her nose brushed against Wen Wanbing’s, “do you really want to get to know me that badly?”
“Don’t they say the ‘top’ should take care of the ‘bottom’?” Wen Wanbing said earnestly. “Basic understanding should be necessary then.”
The romantic tension was instantly brought to an all-time low by her deadpan, serious answer.
Pale moonlight—or perhaps the hazy glow of a streetlamp—filtered through the gaps in the curtains. Fu Junxue’s gaze melted into the light, falling like a thin veil over Wen Wanbing’s moving lips. Fu Junxue suddenly thought back to the agreement they signed; specifically, the question regarding the “acceptability of intimacy.” Wen Wanbing’s answer had been unexpected.
“Hey, do you know how to kiss?”
The sweet scent of white peach spilled from between Fu Junxue’s teeth with every word, mixing with her warm, airy breath to settle against the cracks of Wen Wanbing’s lips. It was like a tiny flame licking closer; Wen Wanbing’s lashes trembled, and she felt herself ignite.
The sudden, erratic question flared upward. It was a heat that even the air conditioning couldn’t save her from. Instinctively, Wen Wanbing unfastened the top button of her pajamas.
“Why aren’t you talking, Miss Virgin Solo?” Fu Junxue’s gaze slid down following her movement. “Is it because you don’t know how?”
In the dim light, she could only see the rough outline of the collar: the elegant, slender neck, the collarbone like a butterfly about to take flight, the watery blue glimpsed beneath a damp shirt, and the hand peeling grapes. These images flashed through Fu Junxue’s mind like a slideshow before freezing on Wen Wanbing’s flushed profile.
Even if she couldn’t see clearly in the dark, Fu Junxue could imagine it. Right now, Wen Wanbing’s pale, aloof face had to be redder and more tender than a ripe peach, softening the cold detachment usually created by her high bridge and striking bone structure.
Wen Wanbing tried to act composed. “What if I do? What if I don’t?”
This woman wasn’t old, yet she loved to put up a front. True to her name, she always acted like a little block of ice, sealing away all desire, cold enough to be a step away from achieving immortality through asceticism. But the more she acted this way, the more it stirred a wicked impulse in Fu Junxue—a desire to peel away that hard shell and see her fall into love. She wanted to see that beauty of contrast bloom in her eyes.
“I want you to give me a goodnight kiss, and then I’ll tell you my birthday. So, if you know how, can you give me one?” Fu Junxue said. “And if you don’t, how about I teach you?”
The playful teasing in her voice made Wen Wanbing feel a bit uneasy. Because of He Xiuying and Wen Xing’s situation, Wen Wanbing was used to suppressing her needs with clear-headed logic, burying her preferences and desires deep. But after meeting Fu Junxue, certain thoughts kept breaking through the soil.
Since this “romance” began, Fu Junxue always seemed to be provoking her, whether intentionally or not. Perhaps it was just her free-spirited personality finding it fun to tease her, or perhaps it was a test. Whatever the reason, those emotions and desires grew like tangled vines, choking her heart.
Stirred by the provocation yet fighting to maintain her remaining logic, Wen Wanbing finally closed her eyes and gave Fu Junxue a restrained kiss on the forehead.
Fu Junxue froze. The enchanting, seductive words died in her throat.
Outside, the distant sounds of cicadas and frogs mingled with the nearby purring of the cat. The silence was heavy with a delicate, lingering emotion. Wen Wanbing’s mind unhelpfully replayed the scene from the living room: peeling the grapes and watching Fu Junxue snatch them away.
Next to them, Wen Xing must have been dreaming of something delicious. She let out a soft “Ah,” followed by several smacking sounds of her lips.
As if a switch had been flipped, Wen Wanbing suddenly snapped awake. She pulled away and rolled over in one smooth motion, hiding back in the shadows of the bed’s edge. Once she saw that Wen Xing hadn’t woken up, she finally relaxed enough to find her breath again, inhaling and exhaling deeply and silently.
But her heart couldn’t lie. Its drum-like rhythm was a palpitation she couldn’t suppress.
Behind her, Fu Junxue was still stunned, her fingertip tracing the spot where she had been kissed. What was that? Was it because she’d been single for too long? Or was Wen Wanbing’s innocence contagious? Or was it because Wen Wanbing’s soft touch was so different from what she had imagined?
Even though it was just a kiss on the forehead with no extra movement, her heart had skipped a beat the moment they touched.
Once her breathing steadied, Wen Wanbing pursed her lips and said, “Let’s sleep.” Her voice was faster than usual.
She felt Fu Junxue lean in, though not too close.
“That’s it?” Fu Junxue whispered. “A goodnight kiss? You call that a kiss?” It was pure mockery.
“A goodnight kiss should be a quiet kiss on the pineal gland to help with sleep,” Wen Wanbing said with her back turned. “Otherwise, it shouldn’t be called a ‘goodnight’ kiss.”
The complaint coming from such an innocent mouth had a unique flavor. Even though her tone was emotionless, it made Fu Junxue want to laugh.
Fu Junxue licked her lips and asked with interest, “Then what should it be called?”
Wen Wanbing stated flatly, “Lip exercise. It wakes up the brain.”
“Pfft…” Fu Junxue hit her funny bone. Fearing she would wake Wen Xing, she buried her face against the back of Wen Wanbing’s shoulder. Her breath seeped through the pajamas.
Wen Wanbing’s hand curled into a fist against the sheet. Finally, Fu Junxue stopped laughing and whispered, “Fine. Sleep.”
She reached out and wrapped her arms around Wen Wanbing. Feeling her go stiff as a board, she laughed. “Not used to being held while you sleep?”
Actually, it was the opposite. Wen Wanbing was someone who should have been most used to being held; the security of nestling against someone helped her sleep soundly. Even after growing up, she would occasionally miss that feeling of reliance during lonely nights. But Fu Junxue’s embrace carried other emotions—a hint of danger. It wouldn’t be good to sink into it and form a dependency. This wasn’t a relationship built to last.
Wen Wanbing swallowed and forced out a lie: “Mm.”
“Couples sleep like this. it gives a sense of security,” Fu Junxue moved until she found a comfortable position. “You’ll get used to it after a few more times.”
Wen Wanbing slowed her breathing and remembered to ask, “You still haven’t told me your birthday.”
“December 7th,” Fu Junxue replied.
“Great Snow,” Wen Wanbing said, immediately connecting it to the solar term. No wonder her name had “Snow” in it.
“Yeah,” Fu Junxue smiled. “My sister’s birthday is ‘Great Heat.’ My mom always says we really picked our days—we’ve been like fire and water since the day we were born.”
Wen Wanbing smiled silently. “The heat of summer and the snow of winter are the most memorable days of their seasons. It’s not about being fire and water; it’s about complementing each other.”
“What a gentle interpretation,” Fu Junxue said softly. “Is it the same for you?”
“Hm?”
“You and your sister,” Fu Junxue said.
Wen Wanbing pulled the quilt up, her hand accidentally brushing Fu Junxue’s. She paused for a moment before speaking calmly. “In a way.”
Going to die and wanting to die. They were also two memorable days in their seasons.
The lack of emotion in those few words made Fu Junxue feel strangely uncomfortable. The smile faded from her lips, and she suddenly regretted asking.
“I’m tired,” Wen Wanbing lied, her voice nearly a murmur. “Goodnight.”
Fu Junxue opened her mouth but found nothing to say. “Goodnight, Wen Zhui-zhui.”
The conversation ended, and the room fell into a heavy silence. On the nightstand, the second hand of Fu Junxue’s watch ticked away. Time flowed quietly between the small diamonds of the watch face.
Wen Wanbing tried to ignore the rhythm of the breathing behind her, but the more she tried to ignore it, the more aware she became. After a long while, Fu Junxue finally fell asleep and loosened her grip. Instead of feeling relieved, Wen Wanbing felt a sense of emptiness, a sudden urge to turn around and find that embrace again.
But she only thought it. Depending on someone is easy, but pulling away is hard. She would be like a snail without its shell—longing for the past, ashamed of the present, and trembling at the future.
The air conditioner cycled back on. Wen Xing rolled over. Perhaps it was contagious, because Fu Junxue also turned and pressed closer again. Caught off guard, Wen Wanbing stiffened for a moment before slowly relaxing. It took a long time before she finally closed her eyes.
Perhaps because of the unfamiliar bed and incense, or because the pre-sleep conversation had touched on the past, she was dragged back into that cold, terrifying winter once she lost consciousness.
People often joked that Nanquan only had two seasons—summer and winter. The transition was always sudden. That year, winter came early. It had rained for days, and the air was damp and biting. A cold wind whistled through a gap in the balcony door, knocking something over inside with a sharp crash.
The sound made Wen Wanbing’s heart race. Fortunately, the door was shut again.
“Ugh, so cold. Change your scarf. This one is freshly knitted and long; wrap it twice to cover your face.”
Wen Wanbing lowered her gaze. The hands tying the scarf were beautiful in shape but rough from years of manual labor. No amount of lotion could fix them. The scarf was tossed back, and Wen Wanbing’s eyes fell on the web of the woman’s right hand. There was a circular burn scar there.
A ghost of pain reached her brain. Wen Wanbing curled her own hand and glanced at it; it was clean and pale, without even a mole.
“Remember to message me and Mom when you get to school, okay?”
Wen Wanbing nodded. “I will.”
“Tang Lang, are you ready?” the woman called into the house.
“Almost. You go down first,” a man’s voice called from the inner room. “Sister, can you take the trash by the door down for me?”
Polite, gentle, and hypocritical.
Wen Wanbing’s brow furrowed. She loathed that voice from the bottom of her heart and dreaded opening the door, yet her consciousness was detached from her body. She was a puppet controlled by memory, forced to act out the scene.
The door felt heavy, as if the wind were pushing against it. She pushed it open a crack, and the wind from the semi-enclosed balcony rushed in, carrying a hint of a metallic, bloody scent.
Inside, the woman’s puzzled voice drifted out: “Where did Xiaobai go? A big house is no good; I can’t even find the cat.”
Xiaobai had disappeared right after scratching that man.
Wen Wanbing lowered her head to look at the trash piled by the door. One bag was unsealed, its plastic edges fluttering wildly in the wind, catching and revealing glimpses of what lay inside.
White fur, stained and matted with blood.
Her hands trembled as she pushed the bag aside. The pungent, metallic scent of rust was forced into her nose and throat by the wind. The little white cat that had been rubbing against her, begging for a treat just days ago, now lay inside, devoid of life.
Her eyes widened, yet her vision grew increasingly blurred.
“Ah, so you saw it.” A voice, sounding like both a woman and a man, drifted eerily into her ears. “Ha. Serves it right.”