“Do you want to kiss me?”
Li Xia decided to pick out a gift for Fang Zeqing.
Last night, as they strolled back to the hotel, he couldn’t stop reaching for her hand. At first, it was an enveloping grip—his hand broad and slender, slipping through her palm to wrap around it completely from behind. Perhaps out of nerves, he held on tight but insecurely, constantly adjusting with flexing fingers that carelessly rubbed against the back of her hand.
A rush of strength and tingling surged through her, making Li Xia’s scalp prickle.
Only when the bones in her palm began to ache did she suggest changing positions.
“How about this?”
Fang Zeqing half-released her hand, his strong knuckles inching slowly into the gaps between her fingers. Veins bulging, skin feverishly hot, they interlocked palm to palm, entwining and enclosing her completely.
With their fingers laced together, Li Xia couldn’t move.
She gazed at his profile and suddenly thought of a phrase—
Tender aggression.
It was just like his voice: “I do have some work tomorrow. I need to keep an eye on those guys to make sure they finish the project.”
Li Xia nodded. “No problem. Go ahead and get busy. I’ll just wander around nearby.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“?”
“I mean, come find me at the studio, okay?”
The night breeze should have cleared her head, but his tone was so soft that Li Xia was quickly enchanted.
She had long been curious about his work and his private world. This was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.
“Is Director Fang inviting me?”
“Mm, and welcoming you too,” he said. “I’ll send the address to your phone.”
Li Xia nodded contentedly, giving her head a little shake.
He added from across the way, “I won’t be able to keep you company during the day, so be careful if you go out. Of course, it’d be even better if you felt like sharing with me.”
“Got it.”
Li Xia grinned, tilting her head up with a playful glint. “You say you can’t keep me company during the day… does that mean you can at night?”
“…Mm.”
Fang Zeqing seemed a little unnatural. “After I’m done with work, my time is all yours.”
…
Entering Fang Zeqing’s new world filled Li Xia with a mix of anticipation and subtle tension beyond what she’d expected. This door led to the unknown, something fresh and exciting—drawing her closer to him, yet more perilous. She was a bit afraid, afraid of learning too much about him, of uncovering something she couldn’t accept that would shatter her fantasies.
But Li Xia knew one thing for sure: no matter what, she couldn’t bear for Fang Zeqing to forget her.
Passing a flower shop, amid the fresh-cut blooms, romantic bouquets, and pretty potted plants, she selected a cactus. It had soft white spines that didn’t prick, and with proper care, it would even flower.
She wanted him to remember her for more than just one season.
–
With their parting imminent, Li Xia had prepared a farewell gift ahead of time: a perfume she’d mixed herself at the shop. The clerk had told her to go by feel, and after much consideration, she’d chosen a minty top note with a soapy edge for the opening.
Just like Fang Zeqing himself.
That afternoon, as she left the perfume shop, Li Xia unexpectedly received a message from a friend asking why her family’s barbecue joint had been closed for two straight days—they’d shown up empty-handed twice now.
That stumped her.
The family shop wasn’t open?
There were no major events or holidays, and they had a full staff. Why close?
Strange.
She couldn’t get through to Li Dayong right away, so Li Xia called her little sister instead and asked about her injury while she was at it. Li Chun said she’d been busy with finals and hadn’t called home lately.
“My friend says the shop’s been closed for two days.”
“Oh, really? Mom and Dad must have something else going on.” Li Chun changed the subject. “Sis, how’s Nanlin treating you?”
“Not bad.”
Her mind was entirely on what Li Dayong and Zhao Xiaolan could be up to, so she didn’t mention Fang Zeqing. When she asked Grandma Qu Shuxin, she got the same diplomatic response. Worried, Li Xia called Chi Xin next; he said he was on vacation those days and knew nothing more.
Fine—one complication after another—and finally, she got Li Dayong on the line. He explained that he and Zhao Xiaolan were off on a two-day trip. Li Xia reminded them to stay safe. After hanging up, she had a vague sense that something was off, but she couldn’t pinpoint it. With only three days left in Nanlin, she decided to play detective back home.
At six o’clock, Li Xia followed the address to the office building. In the lobby directory, she spotted the name of his studio—
“15F Realization Film Studio”
Realization.
Li Xia murmured it to herself.
She recalled that line from a movie: “When you meet a beauty like a rainbow, you realize there is color.” In that moment, she felt it resonate deeply.
Stepping out of the elevator, she found Fang Zeqing waiting at the door.
Probably because of work, he was wearing glasses today—thin silver frames perched on his straight nose bridge, giving him a scholarly, steady air. What nearly threw her off was his outfit: a black half-high-collar short-sleeved tee, the neckline hugging his prominent Adam’s apple just right.
As he dipped and lifted his head, it teased the eye, now hidden, now revealed.
Li Xia couldn’t help stealing a few extra glances.
Joy lit up his face, plain as day. “You’re here.” He reached for her wrist, took the bag from her hand, and led her inside.
“Why’d you bring something?”
Fang Zeqing peered into the bag and saw a fluffy white plant with a round little head.
“A meeting gift for the studio,” Li Xia said with a smile.
“Is that a cactus?”
“Bingo! White Cloud Takasago.” She went on, “Go ahead and touch it—doesn’t prick, and it’ll bloom pink flowers if you take good care of it.”
Fang Zeqing brushed it lightly. “Very cute.”
The studio was a spacious hundred-plus-square-meter loft done up in black-coffee tones. Glass doors partitioned off different work areas. Everywhere she looked—walls, corners—expensive gear and equipment loomed in sleek black stacks. The lounge area was papered with movie posters, and a few warm lights glowed like milk foam floating in an Americano.
“This place has some real style,” Li Xia praised.
No sooner had she spoken than a tentative voice came from behind her. “Boss? I finished the edit like you asked. Wanna take a look?”
Li Xia turned to see a young guy smiling at her, equal parts apologetic and surprised. She quickly let go of Fang Zeqing and gave him a nudge. “Go on, get to work.”
“Right, where’s your desk?”
Fang Zeqing led her to the director’s office. Li Xia set the cactus down in a spot where he’d see it at a glance. She admired the trophies on his bookshelf for a bit, took in the view, and by the time Fang Zeqing finished up and came to find her, she’d settled in.
“Hungry?” he asked as he entered.
Li Xia shook her head. “Did that guy leave?”
“Yeah, the editor.”
“Your employees call you Boss, huh?” Li Xia asked.
Fang Zeqing said they used all sorts of nicknames—”Boss, Director Fang, Brother Fang.” Since they were young, he just went with it.
It was a far cry from how people addressed her. And it was then, as he approached from the doorway, that Li Xia let her eyes trace his tall frame and its lines. From the line of his shoulders to his waist, the black fabric clung strictly yet perfectly, lending an air of restraint. Only his short sleeves revealed half his arms, and when he flexed without thinking, she realized he was far more built than she’d imagined—his muscles beautifully shaped.
It dawned on Li Xia, belatedly.
The man before her had always been a full-grown adult.
She looked away. “I’ve put the cactus right here for you. Take good care of it, okay?”
Fang Zeqing promised he would. As he picked up the pot, he noticed the small, exquisite chestnut-brown ceramic holder had a sticky note on it—four bold words in simple script:
“From Li Xia”
Followed by a doodle of a little chestnut.
Fang Zeqing stared at it and couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“You’ve got so many trophies here,” Li Xia said from the swivel chair. “Have you been directing for years?”
“Nah, these are just the handful of things worth showing from when I started in college to now.” Fang Zeqing eyed the gold and silver medals, tilting his head. “Come to think of it, it’s not that many.”
“No way,” Li Xia shook her head, utterly sincere. “I don’t know their prestige, but they’re proof of who you are today. Haruki Murakami never won the Nobel Prize in Literature—does that mean his books are no good or those awards he did get are worthless?”
Comparing him to Haruki Murakami? Fang Zeqing burst out laughing. He found Li Xia so adorable; his palm itched to cup her face, but without the right status yet, he settled for the urge to take her hand instead.
Right then, Li Xia spoke up, her eyes bright with expectation. “Can I watch your works?”
Fang Zeqing nodded. “Of course. Didn’t I say last time I wanted to watch them with you?”
“Really?” Li Xia perked up. “Here?”
Fang Zeqing glanced around at the dim, dull work environment. “It’s after hours. I don’t feel like staying here.”
“Then where?”
Two words flashed through Fang Zeqing’s mind, and he hesitated to voice them.
“Hm?” Li Xia prompted.
After a moment’s thought, Fang Zeqing went ahead. “…My place? What do you think?”
“…”
The air hung still for a second.
Li Xia teased, “Got designs on me, Teacher Fang?”
“No, that’s not it—I didn’t mean anything else. It’s just that home has a projector and a sofa; it’d be more comfortable than here.” Fang Zeqing hurried to explain, then apologized. “Does that sound too forward?”
Not forward, Li Xia thought to herself.
Tempting.
A man and a woman alone at night—however you sliced it, the mind wandered.
But she was the boldest little fish in the river of adventure. How could she get cold feet?
Excitement sparkled in Li Xia’s eyes as she looked up. “Sure.”
She added firmly, “But starting now, no more holding my hand.”
Fang Zeqing hesitated for a few seconds, glancing left and right, before letting out a sigh-like breath and saying, “Okay.”
–
Just like that, Li Xia unlocked two worlds related to F in a single day.
She felt their relationship was like the escalator carrying passengers out of a subway station—rising steadily from below, layer by layer, gradually revealing the larger, brighter sky above.
Her heart felt the same.
Shopping through the supermarket with Fang Zeqing, Li Xia walked on his right side. She picked out snacks she liked and asked him what he enjoyed eating. These calm, everyday moments made her keep forgetting that she was the one who had to leave.
Fang Zeqing also bought two new water glasses and a pair of pink slippers.
Li Xia found it puzzling at the time. That is, until she stood inside his empty, dimly lit home. The vast space was furnished in rational, austere black-and-white tones: an island counter, a coffee table, cabinets—and not even a sign of water glasses or any trace of daily life.
Fang Zeqing scratched his head awkwardly. “I’ve been abroad for the past month. Haven’t been back.”
Li Xia slipped on the new slippers, flicked on the ambient lights, poured sparkling lime-flavored wine into the glasses, washed some fruit, and arranged it neatly. At last, the space finally had a touch of vibrancy.
Li Xia clapped her hands and settled back onto the sofa with satisfaction. She teased Fang Zeqing. “I thought your life was all refined and elegant.”
Who would have guessed it was a bare-bones empty shell.
Fang Zeqing tilted his head while fiddling with the projector nearby and wiped a smudge of dust from his hand. “Being refined can get tiring sometimes.”
Li Xia watched him from across the room, amused. “The photos you post on Instagram are all pretty refined. Back then, I thought, wow, this guy has real style.”
“So those are just the highlight reel,” Fang Zeqing said. “What do you think of the real me now?”
More authentic. And cuter, too.
Li Xia kept that thought to herself.
She took a sip, then bit into a green grape. “How long has this thing been sitting unused? Go wash your hands.”
By the time they had settled comfortably on the sofa, it was already eight o’clock. Fang Zeqing asked Li Xia what kind of film she wanted to watch and invited her to pick one.
Li Xia replied, “I like anything you’ve shot.”
Fang Zeqing smiled and glanced at the time. “If we try to watch them all, we might not have enough time.”
Li Xia had her answer ready long before. She ticked them off on her fingers. “Your favorite from your early days, the one from mid-career that won a big award, and the recent work you’re most satisfied with.”
“Looks like I’m the one doing the picking,” Fang Zeqing said.
Li Xia blinked at him.
The ones he chose would offer a peek into his subconscious tastes.
She wanted to know him better.
In these final days.
In the end, Fang Zeqing selected three films: a daring skydiving documentary, the gritty realism of Deskless Workers. For the last one, he hesitated, dithering over the options. “I can’t pick a favorite. How about we start with the first two?”
Li Xia nudged him with words. “Come on, pick one.”
Fang Zeqing swiped across the screen. His voice was soft, but Li Xia caught it anyway.
“There isn’t one I’m particularly satisfied with.”
She wasn’t sure why, but from the moment she’d first met F, Li Xia had noticed how little sense of fulfillment he got from his work. It was just like this—”no particular satisfaction”—and it seemed he felt the same about himself. Li Xia compromised and watched the first two. She glanced at Fang Zeqing and said she wanted some sweet wine, then clinked her glass against his.
Fang Zeqing’s expression eased. As their glasses chimed together, he said, “To you visiting my empty house.”
Li Xia threw her head back and laughed without restraint.
The burst of lime brought a rush of tangy sweetness and faint bitterness, laced with alcohol, lingering on her lips and tongue. In the quiet moments between words, the film’s audio filled the air. She and Fang Zeqing sat close; with her legs folded beneath her, her knee brushed the fabric of his trousers. Their shoulders were nearly touching, just an arm’s length apart.
It felt subtly intimate.
All the while, Li Xia sat upright against the sofa. Outwardly, she stared at the screen with feigned focus, but in truth, she hardly registered what F had captured. All she saw was the skydiver leaping decisively from the heights, the raw freefall’s weightlessness punching through the screen and straight into her chest.
Her own heartbeat felt weightless now.
Because she realized—
Fang Zeqing was watching her.
His gaze burned, yet it was held in check.
Li Xia grew self-conscious under his stare and turned to him. “Why are you spacing out on me?”
Fang Zeqing let out a soft chuckle. “I’ve got something better I want to watch.”
“…”
Heat crept into Li Xia’s cheeks once more.
She pivoted quickly to another topic, asking why he’d chosen skydiving as a subject. He explained that he was young then, always chasing dangerous, offbeat stories for the thrill.
“If you were making a documentary, what would it be about?” Fang Zeqing asked.
Li Xia pondered. “There’s that popular one about book publishing that I love. Or film my grandparents and parents.”
“My worldview is pretty small. They love me, but they’ve only been part of the second halves of their lives since I was born. If I got the chance, I’d document their whole story.”
Fang Zeqing nodded. “That’s a great idea.”
“Do you always start from what you like?” he asked.
“Of course,” Li Xia said.
Her legs had gone numb from sitting cross-legged, so she shifted to stand and stretch. Suddenly, a firm grip closed around her right wrist, pulling her back down.
“Li Xia,” Fang Zeqing said.
“Hm?”
Her heart stuttered.
“I’ve actually had a question for you. Wanted to ask for a while now.”
“What is it?”
The screen’s shifting lights danced in his eyes. Fang Zeqing’s voice was low and measured, carrying a wave of warmth.
“Why did you use my photo as your wallpaper?”
“…”
Busted.
She’d thought he’d forgotten all about it.
Li Xia dropped the pretense.
She turned to the man beside her, his features sharpened dramatically in the low light.
She shot back, “Is that so hard to get?”
“I liked it, so I set it.”
She felt his grip tighten on her wrist. “Liked what, exactly?”
Li Xia’s gaze met his for a fleeting second before darting away. “You’re hot.”
Fang Zeqing’s expression shifted from surprise to amusement, tinged with helplessness. “So it’s my face you like?”
“What else? You think that’s why I DMed you out of the blue?”
“Who knows—you might DM everyone.”
Li Xia whipped her head around. “You’re still doubting me?”
“Then prove it.”
Li Xia, half in a huff, pulled it up and showed him.
Her empty inbox held only his profile picture.
He looked utterly pleased, grin spreading wide. “If you’d shown me sooner, I wouldn’t have gotten all jealous.”
“You were jealous?”
Li Xia studied him closely.
She watched as he shifted, a touch embarrassed, and murmured from deep in his throat: “Mm.”
“Feels kind of ridiculous.”
It was candid. Shy, even.
Like a tiny magnet grazing her heart, it sparked a fizzy itch of desire at the tips of her nerves—the kind she’d been suppressing. Ever since he’d held back from taking her hand, honoring his promise not to push boundaries. Or maybe earlier, while they’d shopped together. Or even from that first glimpse of him that afternoon.
That’s when she’d spotted it: this nagging addiction to him, this possessiveness buried deep.
Caring was like a machine distilling honey; anyone close enough would taste its dense, intricate sweetness.
Between her and Fang Zeqing hung something like a wind-stirred beaded curtain. Only in faint breezes did it part just enough to reveal glimpses of each other’s true feelings.
But those fleeting gusts only left her itching for more.
Li Xia swept it aside.
“I have a question for you, too.”
She sat up straighter, facing him fully.
“Mm. Shoot.”
She locked eyes with him. “Fang Zeqing—have any of your ex-girlfriends been here?”
Had they sat like this, cuddled close, held hands, spent the night?
She’d come to terms with her own ordinariness before ever stepping into his studio. Human connections sparked brightest in their unwritten spaces. She stood at one point in his vibrant world, afraid to peer ahead.
“No.”
This time, Fang Zeqing took her hand properly.
“No exes have been here. No exes at all.” He met Li Xia’s eyes. “The first twenty-seven years of my life? All about proving myself.”
“First time holding a girl’s hand. And…”
His gaze drifted up to her lips, then returned to her eyes.
“I kind of regret something.”
Their joined palms felt like a still lake.
Li Xia’s voice came out tight. “Regret what?”
Fang Zeqing spoke deliberately, word by word. “Regret that yesterday, scared of upsetting you, I didn’t kiss you back the moment you kissed me. Didn’t respond. Didn’t tell you how happy it made me.”
The film played on, ignored.
Li Xia squeezed his hand, her eyes sparkling with a smile.
“What about now?”
“Do you want to kiss me?”