Serves him right.
She secretly curved her lips upward.
/
The remaining couplets were pasted on the doors of various rooms, following the principle of no waste.
Afterward, Lan Yan began cleaning her room.
Liang Xiaoxia periodically hired cleaners for deep cleans, so the house was always tidy. This cleaning felt more like a ritual to bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new.
She wiped the desk with a damp cloth and went out to rinse it.
As soon as she stepped out the door, she bumped head-on into Liang Jingchuan passing through the hallway. She immediately stopped short.
Liang Jingchuan held an old phone.
Lan Yan stared for a moment. An iPhone 5S—a very outdated model.
He glanced down at her, as if saying: Recognized it?
She would recognize it even as ashes. It was the exact one whose screen she’d shattered back then.
Her family wasn’t extremely wealthy, but they lacked for nothing in basics. Lan Junwen himself had no extravagant hobbies and gave generous pocket money.
But Lan Yan took art classes, paying no small sum to the studio each year, plus extra costs for supplies. She was careful with money and never splurged. Handing over two thousand yuan to fix Liang Jingchuan’s screen had truly hurt.
But his phone was brand new, barely used.
To her surprise, Liang Jingchuan refused it, saying it wasn’t her fault—he hadn’t caught it steadily himself.
Curiosity overcame her reluctance to talk to him: “……Why didn’t you take it back then?”
“Didn’t I say? It wasn’t your responsibility.”
Seeing her disbelief, Liang Jingchuan smiled and explained: “I really dropped it myself. I was nervous then—I was afraid you’d see the phone wallpaper.”
“……What wallpaper?”
Liang Jingchuan showed a profound, enigmatic expression. “If it still turns on, see for yourself.”
Lan Yan’s heart suspended in that moment. He knew better than anyone how to whet her appetite, and she hated it.
Liang Jingchuan went to the living room and plugged in the phone to charge.
She waited and waited, but the charging icon never lit up. It was probably completely dead.
He turned to glance at her with a half-smile. “What a shame.”
Lan Yan gave up pursuing it further. Her intuition said it wouldn’t help her stick to her decisions.
/
The next day was New Year’s Eve.
Liang Jingchuan unusually reverted to being a proper gentleman all day, very well-behaved—probably somewhat mindful of the adults present.
New Year’s activities weren’t particularly novel, but since they only happened once a year, they weren’t boring.
After dinner, they turned on the TV and set out mahjong.
After two rounds, Liang Xiaoxia praised Lan Yan for improving—her thinking clearer than before, decisions more decisive.
Lan Yan smiled and said, “I played a few times in Penang.”
“With who?” Liang Jingchuan chimed in almost the instant she finished speaking.
Lan Yan startled and glanced at Liang Xiaoxia, who looked normal—no sign she’d noticed anything.
“……With people from the Yu family,” Lan Yan answered vaguely.
That whole evening, she lost badly, intercepted by Liang Jingchuan three times. It was like he had x-ray vision and knew exactly what cards she held.
They played bigger stakes for the holiday. By the end of the night, she’d lost half a month’s wages. When they went downstairs for the countdown, she was utterly fuming.
A person’s width apart, Liang Jingchuan walked beside Lan Yan. He glanced sideways at her, tempted to reach out and poke her cheek.
The neighborhood residents had all gathered near the Sand Pit to avoid fire hazards, allowed only to play with sparklers and the like here.
Some children played with firecrackers. Lan Yan feared them and instinctively dodged to the side.
Their sleeves brushed. Liang Jingchuan tilted his head down.
In the night, the amusement in his eyes was very clear.
Lan Yan immediately stiffened her face and retreated to her spot.
But Liang Jingchuan stepped outward twice, blocking her on the inner side and shielding her from the crackling noises exploding on the concrete ground.
Lan Yan and Liang Xiaoxia each received a sparkler. They lit them with a lighter. Liang Xiaoxia enjoyed it more than she did—perhaps no matter how old one got, it was hard to resist the fleeting, brilliant joy of that moment.
Someone started it, and the nearby clusters of three or five residents began counting down.
Lan Yan gripped her lit sparkler and joined in: “Three, two, one…”
“Happy New Year, Yanyan.”
The instant the sparkler extinguished, the voice suddenly drew close, right behind her ear.
Lan Yan’s heart jolted.
It was the first second of the new year, the first words to enter her ears.
They lingered for a moment before everyone gradually dispersed and headed upstairs.
Upon entering the door, the Spring Festival Gala was nearing its end.
Liang Xiaoxia and Lan Junwen pulled out red envelopes from who knew where—two each—and gave them to Lan Yan and Liang Jingchuan respectively.
Lan Yan accepted them openly with a smile. “I’m this old and still getting red envelopes.”
Liang Xiaoxia said, “We’ll keep giving them until you two start families. Then your kids can carry on the tradition.”
She knew Liang Xiaoxia’s “you two” didn’t mean that, but strung together like this, it seemed to vividly sketch out some future.
Lan Yan tasted a bitterness after the dizziness.
She was herself, Liang Jingchuan was Liang Jingchuan. Only the faintest hope existed that they would become “you two.”
She was a coward, afraid to bet on the disillusionment after an eternal failure.
Vancouver was still morning there. Liang Xiaoxia made a video call to Liang Jingchuan’s uncle and grandmother to give New Year’s greetings.
At such a time, as a family member, Lan Yan also bore the responsibility of saying a few auspicious words.
She sincerely wished the grandmother good health and a long life of a hundred years.
Once all the formalities were done, the two parents who rarely stayed up late grew tired. They turned off the living room lights and went to wash up and rest.
Because of replying to Lu Ying’s message, Lan Yan was the last to get up.
The home’s layout had the living room, dining area, kitchen, and family room in the center. The master bedroom and study were on one side, the two secondary bedrooms and guest bathroom on the other.
Lan Yan kept her head down, sending messages as she walked toward her room.
Passing Liang Jingchuan’s door in the hallway, she heard a faint creak as the door opened.
Before she could react, her wrist was seized, and she was lightly pulled inside.
She struggled in shock and heard Liang Jingchuan say “Shh.” His arm reached past her to close and lock the door.
Her heart skipped a beat. She whirled around to face him and hissed, “What are you doing?!”
The phone’s backlight still glowed, casting a pale light on her face. Her features took on a hazy, misty blur.
Liang Jingchuan instantly forgot what he meant to say. His gaze dropped from her nose tip to her prominent Cupid’s bow and beautifully contoured lips.
“…I want to kiss you,” he admitted frankly, voicing the only thought left in his mind.
Lan Yan felt a palpitation rise from her chest. She realized that from the moment they entered the door, her heart had been pounding like a drum.
Her heartbeat thundered, faintly drowning her own voice: “…What do you mean? If I don’t agree, you won’t let me out?”
“…Of course not.” His hand reached past her arm to the door lock, twisted it once to unlock, “You can leave anytime. I just wanted to tell you.”
Lan Yan shifted her foot back, but her heel immediately hit the door.
The phone’s backlight extinguished in that instant.
In the darkness, their breathing and heartbeats became impossible to hide—hers and his.
“Yanyan.”
Liang Jingchuan reached out. His palm touched her cheek, a slight static spark jolting them both and making her eyelids flutter.
He lowered his head, his breath even closer. “…You don’t have to take responsibility… Can I kiss you?”
She couldn’t make a sound.
“…Make an exception for me, just once?” His slightly cool voice had turned hoarse and faint.
The last word landed on her lips.
The static had already discharged earlier, yet she felt such an intense tremor now, flashing from their touching lips straight into the depths of her heart like lightning.
Her mind burned with the cold fireworks from the night before, bursting cluster after cluster.
The festive atmosphere, his words, the pleasant scent on him… everything urged her on.
It scorched her reason to the brink of collapse.
Liang Jingchuan’s lips were softer than in her dreams, but his whole body stiffened there like a glitched program.
He seemed to have no idea what a “kiss” really meant.
“You said…” Lan Yan heard her own voice, trembling and distorted.
“…Hm?”
“You won’t make me take responsibility.”
“Mm.”
Lan Yan closed her eyes, slipped her phone into the pocket of Liang Jingchuan’s pants, and suddenly tiptoed up. Her palms pressed against the back of his neck.
The skin under her palms burned hot. She was sure even his earlobes would feel the same.
She tilted her head to avoid his high nose bridge and pressed her lips to his, gently rubbing and turning.
He tasted like this.
Like untainted thin snow, like rustling raw rice paper, like cold spring water flowing over her fingers, like pale moonlight on the windowsill.
…Like everything she loved.
It took a good while before Liang Jingchuan finally reacted. His arms dropped and locked around her waist, pulling her tightly against him.
His breathing grew shorter, oxygen deprivation setting in. Like in a dream, he couldn’t believe his heart could race this hard and he could still survive.
He felt something lightly tracing his lip seam, evoking an image of a wet brush tip on paper, methodically filling in stroke by stroke with meticulous patience.
A moment later, he realized it was her tongue tip.
His mind boomed.
He parted his lips involuntarily, and her tongue tip slipped lightly inside.
It was like entering anesthesia again, thoughts blank.
She always forbade him from casually mentioning “death,” but if dying in this moment—what did it matter?