Floor-to-ceiling windows

Hundreds of kilometers away in S City.

Kuang Ye stood at the corner of an alley, leaning against a weathered red brick wall, her windproof lighter flicking open and shut. The flame sparked and died with each scrape, reflecting her conflicted expression.

Ahead, the snack street buzzed—vendors shouting, skewers sizzling in oil, their aroma thick in the air. A jewelry stall’s silver trinkets gleamed under the lights.

Kuang Ye scanned the scene, her gaze drifting back to the small shop across the way.

The shop, barely thirty square meters, was packed yet orderly, every table full, business clearly thriving.

Her lighter snapped shut with a crisp sound.

Her lingering gaze couldn’t resist, settling on the woman behind the glass window, holding a customer’s hand, her smile light and radiant.

Her ex, whom she’d broken up with three days ago.

The half-baked plan from earlier, scrapped when Xu Fengluan left, left her unsure whether to feel regret or relief. At the repair shop, she’d tossed her phone and slid under a car, moving through her routine mechanically.

But fixing cars wasn’t assembly-line work. Lying on the repair board, staring at intricate parts, she felt lost for the first time, like navigating a chaotic maze with no exit.

She zoned out for an hour before sliding out.

She realized her life had slowed, bogged down by someone’s presence, as if the past week was submerged in glue, sticky and sluggish.

She didn’t know what to do. Checking her phone, she saw Xu Fengluan’s brief message:

[If you like her, go find her.]

Kuang Ye took the advice, rushing to the nail salon’s doorstep. But stepping inside, finding a reason to talk, became her biggest hurdle.

She took a deep breath. The red, broken butterfly tattoo on her collarbone fluttered with her breath, as if ready to take flight.

But Kuang Ye couldn’t fly—she was tethered.

At that moment, the woman inside stretched, glancing her way before looking back, as if she’d noticed her long ago but chose to ignore her. She smiled at a customer, complimenting their makeup.

Kuang Ye kicked a pebble, hesitating before pulling out her phone.

The screen lit up, still on her chat with Xu Fengluan, that single line. Her thumb rubbed the phone’s edge, and after a long pause, she dialed.

Xu Fengluan answered slowly, nearly at the last ring.

“What’s up?”

“A-Feng, I…” Kuang Ye’s voice was urgent.

But she stopped, catching the hoarseness in Xu Fengluan’s voice, thick with desire. Though inexperienced in love, she was an adult—she knew.

Her boots felt glued to the ground, embarrassment flooding her for interrupting.

“I…” she stammered.

The phone’s clear audio dutifully transmitted restrained sounds—rustling fabric, muffled whimpers from a covered mouth, Xu Fengluan’s heavy breaths, and something like waves crashing.

“Something up?” Xu Fengluan’s impatience cut through her delay.

Kuang Ye held her breath, speechless.

“Hanging up. Talk tomorrow,” Xu Fengluan gave up after a few seconds, her phone crashing onto the bed with a thud.

The woman in her arms shuddered, pressed tightly against the glass.

At some point, they’d moved to the floor-to-ceiling window.

Liu Tingsong’s clothes remained—suit jacket, wine-red shirt, even the trousers that had fallen were hooked back up, loosely hanging on her hips.

A passerby glancing up would see only a faint shadow.

But Xu Fengluan didn’t know the shirt was open, the bra inside loose, barely covering anything. The soft curves pressed against the cold glass, fogging it with white mist.

“No… enough,” Liu Tingsong whimpered, her clear voice breaking, “It’s enough.”

Her breaths fogged the glass, condensing into droplets that slid down.

Xu Fengluan responded by grabbing her hand, interlocking their fingers tightly.

Her other hand, slipping under the trouser’s edge, hadn’t stopped since it began.

The relentless rhythm pushed Liu Tingsong to the edge, her silver-rimmed glasses askew, her hair loose, her usual clarity overtaken by a haze of emotion.

“No… it’s enough.” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

She tried grabbing Xu Fengluan’s wrist to stop her, but her strength failed, her hand resting limply, unable to retreat.

Forward was cold glass she couldn’t warm; backward was offering herself to Xu Fengluan’s arms.

No escape.

Trapped in vines, pricked by numbing thorns sinking into her skin.

The room stayed unlit—no time, no need—sinking into darkness.

They hid in it, the only light the dim moonlight, spilling like silver gauze, pooling in the hollow of Liu Tingsong’s collarbone and neck like a shimmering puddle.

In their swaying, the puddle splashed, moonlight scattering over her, sweat glistening like fresh porcelain.

In a haze, Liu Tingsong felt pinned, her flesh melting, bones grinding, every ounce of moisture wrung from her, her body marked with Xu Fengluan’s name.

Her waist tensed and relaxed, faint lines sharpening with each breath.

The distant sky was cloaked in darkness, bluer than gems, stars and moon like fiery flecks.

The beach was empty, a barrier at the entrance keeping tourists out since the tide surged, submerging the reef and even distant lounge chairs, dangerously high.

Whether the sea soaked circuits or some cheapskate cut costs, the streetlights were off, deepening the inky night.

“Please,” Liu Tingsong couldn’t take more.

Her fading clarity couldn’t grasp why things had spiraled like this.

From the sofa, she’d been coaxed step by step to the window.

“Phone,” she mumbled, grasping for a reason to push Xu Fengluan away.

“Answer the phone,” she repeated.

“Go answer it,” her hoarse murmur rasped.

Xu Fengluan bit her earlobe, replying huskily, “Already did.”

Right, she had.

Liu Tingsong realized too late. The earlier ring was her lifeline—she’d urged Xu Fengluan to answer, pushing her shoulders, repeating it.

Xu Fengluan, annoyed, had leaned close, whispering, “One more time, then I’ll answer.”

Those words were too seductive. Liu Tingsong, unable to resist, moved with her, chasing the sensation, trembling before the final rings.

She thought it was over, but Xu Fengluan grabbed the phone, pressed her back to the glass, now facing it, her efforts futile, the teasing only intensifying.

It was “answer after this,” not “end after this.” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

“Bad thing,” she scolded, her weak, teary voice carrying no weight, more like deliberate whining.

“Bad dog,” she pinched Xu Fengluan’s wrist, her fingers trembling.

Too much—who did this?

Memories flooded, making her miss the Xu Fengluan of five years ago. Back then, she was excessive but not like now—a ravenous dog, devouring even her marrow.

How did it come to this?

Days ago, Xu Fengluan retreated under her teasing, restrained and shy, making Liu Tingsong wonder if she was too dull, lacking allure.

She’d thought Xu Fengluan, after five years, had lost interest, treating it casually, as if Liu Tingsong was the only one invested.

Only now did she see—Xu Fengluan wasn’t uninterested; she’d been holding back, even when drunk, punishing her until today, finally relenting.

Or rather, forgiving her past abandonment, but not skipping the punishment.

“Bad dog.”

“Jerk.”

Her scolding escalated, culminating in a full-name cry.

“Xu Fengluan!”

The highest warning.

Sobbing, she said, “I can’t stand… really can’t.”

Without Xu Fengluan holding her, she’d have collapsed.

Another shudder, but Xu Fengluan showed no sign of stopping, relentless, tireless. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

The fog on the glass thickened—tears or vapor, sliding down.

“Xu Fengluan!” she cried, her voice shattered.

Finally, Xu Fengluan released their interlocked hands, not to stop but to cover her mouth.

Unspoken words were forced back.

Her voice, no better than Liu Tingsong’s, rasped, “You called my name.”

Liu Tingsong ignored her, biting her hand.

“You called,” Xu Fengluan rubbed her face against hers, coaxing, “Sister’s too loud, the neighbors will hear.”

This wasn’t home—it was a hotel.

Liu Tingsong realized, suppressing her voice into whimpers.

Meanwhile, Kuang Ye stood frozen, knuckles white around her phone. If it were Chu Cheng, she’d have teased Xu Fengluan red and shared it in the group for laughs.

But Kuang Ye just pursed her lips, setting the phone down, standing stiffly.

The street quieted, diners left, vendors packed up, the salon’s last customer gone.

Kuang Ye straightened, cool on the surface, but her eyes locked on the shop.

Until she saw the woman approach.

Her body stiffened, palms sweaty.

“G-Good evening,” she stammered, her unease written across her face.

The woman responded easily, her smile bright. “Good evening, big star.”

She always called her that, with a playful, mischievous edge, like a teasing black cat.

“I… I…” Kuang Ye fumbled, tongue-tied.

Thankfully, the woman continued, “Here for me?”

Kuang Ye mumbled, “Ah.”

“Was that card you gave Xiao Jia?”

Xiao Jia was her friend.

Kuang Ye nearly nodded, then stopped, wanting to deny it, but froze under those smiling eyes, speechless.

“Don’t just give those out,” the woman laughed, tossing the card back.

“We were shocked—drank all night and only spent thirty.”

Kuang Ye caught it clumsily, blurting, “It’s fine, keep it.”

The woman said nothing, just smiled.

Kuang Ye pocketed the card obediently.

Seeing her comply, the woman continued, “That guy last time…”

“It’s not your fault,” Kuang Ye interrupted, then softened, “Sorry, it’s on me. He just wanted to provoke me into racing.”

“What about before you stepped in?” The woman’s smile didn’t waver. “Didn’t he harass you first, and you helped, then he targeted you?”

She countered, “How’s it all your fault?”

Kuang Ye fell silent, too tongue-tied to respond.

The woman spoke again, “Thanks for that day.”

“It’s nothing,” Kuang Ye said, frustratingly stiff.

She didn’t mind, laughing, “Don’t take his words to heart. You’re not less than anyone.”

Kuang Ye blinked, realizing she meant the jerk who’d said Burning Meteor only succeeded because of Xu Fengluan, that they were riding her coattails. It had provoked her, and if Chu Cheng hadn’t intervened…

Kuang Ye tugged her lips, saying, “I don’t care.”

“Really?” The woman’s fox-like eyes glinted mischievously. “Then why’re you here?”

“I…” Kuang Ye inhaled, her butterfly tattoo fluttering.

Gathering courage, she blurted, “Wanna go hill racing?”

Her clear eyes brimmed with hope.

Waves crashed, wind stirred foam, the room’s lights flickered on and off, curtains finally closed.

How it ended, Liu Tingsong couldn’t recall, only that she’d been coaxed into saying “I’m yours” countless times, swearing never to leave Xu Fengluan again.

Even the cleanup and ointment application—she had no energy, wanting only sleep, letting Xu Fengluan handle everything in a daze.

Later, Xu Fengluan brought food, but Liu Tingsong, too exhausted, ate a few bites while being fed before passing out, utterly worn out.