He couldn’t sleep.
Even though it was late, he’d been drinking, and had spent the whole day shooting, Fan Qing still couldn’t fall asleep.
It had been pretty hot these past few days. A part of the window screen wasn’t fully closed. Fan Qing tossed and turned, then finally lay on his side, burying his head into the pillow.
He stayed like that for a while and kept thinking he could hear a dull, rhythmic thudding sound outside the window—like someone knocking softly.
At first, he thought Laifu had snuck out in the middle of the night to scratch at the food cabinet, trying to sneak an extra meal. But as soon as he sat up, the sound disappeared.
He stayed sitting cross-legged on the bed for a good thirty seconds before realizing—the sound he heard had probably come through the pillow.
It was his own heartbeat.
Faint, but very rapid.
Fan Qing flopped back, pulled the blanket over his face, and exhaled deeply.
Now lying flat, the heartbeat was gone, but it was hot under the blanket. He could feel the warmth of his breath against the fabric.
Luan Ye’s breath on his face had been warm too, but calmer—and laced with a trace of red wine, falling softly on his lips.
Fan Qing threw the blanket off again and stared at the ceiling.
After that whole cycle of tossing, sitting up, lying down, and tossing off the blanket, he had no idea what he was even doing anymore.
He should’ve known the moment he looked at Luan Ye through the camera—he had no idea what he was doing.
He remembered once, as a kid, sneaking off into the mountains to play. He got sick afterward, feverish and dazed, unable to sleep. Someone said he’d been “bewitched” by a mountain spirit or fox fairy. His grandmother even burned paper at a crossroad.
Totally superstitious nonsense.
But tonight felt eerily similar.
From Luan Ye saying “the lens is the eyes of someone in love” and then taking his photo—to him setting down the camera and kissing Luan Ye—to finally being scared by a horn, almost breaking the camera, and running off…
The whole night, like that old-fashioned light on the stage, had been hazy, dim, and chaotic.
Maybe it was because he was drunk, or maybe it was because—after so many years—it was like what the old people said: he was “bewitched” again.
By Luan Ye.
If Luan Ye knew that he was being compared to a fox spirit, who knows how he’d feel… Fan Qing chuckled.
Probably wouldn’t care. That guy always seemed like he lived outside the bounds of the world—actually quite fitting for the role.
Including tonight. Fan Qing remembered when he kissed Luan Ye, apart from a flicker of surprise at first, the other didn’t back away; even his breathing remained calm.
It was him, instead, who got yanked out of the haze by a blaring horn, left stunned and lost in the aftermath.
So in the end, the one who got kissed out of nowhere stayed sitting there, while the one who did the kissing ran away first.
Fan Qing turned over again.
He should probably apologize to Luan Ye tomorrow.
“Sorry about last night—I shouldn’t have kissed you out of nowhere…”
Yeah, that sounded like someone deserving a punch.
“I don’t know why I kissed you, it just happened…”
If Luan Ye didn’t punch him for that, he’d be too kind.
“Maybe it’s because I like you a little.”
Fan Qing froze.
Do I like Luan Ye?
He turned over again. A breeze drifted through the half-open mesh window, blowing away the summer heat—it was soft and comfortable.
Just like that kiss.
Just like how it felt being with Luan Ye since the day they met.
When Luan Ye first arrived, his condition, the scars on his wrist, and his illness all hinted at a really difficult past. But most of the time, he was calm and natural, like a quietly growing tree deep in the mountains.
Being around him made Fan Qing feel at ease. Maybe even… dependent.
But he didn’t know if Luan Ye felt the same way about their time together—if it was special for him, too.
After all, Luan Ye was already twenty-seven. He probably had his own mature way of dealing with relationships.
An adult, nine years older, studied abroad, good at photography and painting, had been to so many places… and had a boyfriend.
Fan Qing suddenly sat up straight.
Luan Ye has a boyfriend.
And he had kissed him.
The blurry, tangled emotions from earlier vanished instantly. His mind cleared up in a second—only to be flooded with a panic-laced clarity.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit!
What the hell, Fan Qing?! You didn’t think of that when you kissed him?
—Nope.
The slight sweat he’d worked up under the blanket instantly went cold. Fan Qing stared into the darkness of his room, paralyzed with helplessness.
What now?
Worrying about how to apologize, wondering if he liked Luan Ye—none of that mattered anymore.
Laifu started banging on the cabinet again—or no, wait, that was his heartbeat, pounding hard and loud without the pillow to muffle it.
This time it was from confusion, anxiety, guilt—
And a little… heartbreak.
Luan Ye had made it clear: he had a boyfriend. His first love at seventeen. The person who taught him photography. They went to college together.
Luan Ye never shied away from that truth—not about the boyfriend, not about the history they shared.
And in that context, he had kissed Luan Ye.
What kind of behavior was that?
His rationality must’ve been fed to Laifu like kibble. What kind of idiot does something like that?
And what about Luan Ye? Why hadn’t he dodged it?
Did he forget, too? Or maybe it happened so fast he didn’t have time to react?
Or… was it something else?
Because not only did Luan Ye not avoid it—he had… stuck out his tongue and licked him.
Oh. Maybe he was drunk too.
Fan Qing raised his hand and covered his face in the dark.
Yeah, there’s no way he was sleeping after this.
…..
Luan Ye lit a cigarette, glanced at the bottom-right corner of his laptop. 1:15 a.m.
The entire village was quiet. The world outside his window was pitch-black. It felt like he was the only one left awake on the planet.
The laptop had been shipped to him by Xu Song, and when he opened it, all the software was pre-installed—probably arranged by Xu Song.
He saved the photo he just finished editing and opened the next one.
He’d been exhausted these past few days, but he still couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was because of that unexpected moment earlier.
He really hadn’t expected Fan Qing to suddenly lean in and kiss him—and so sweetly, too.
Very unexpected.
But he himself hadn’t pulled away.
Maybe because of the wine, or maybe for other reasons.
Maybe it was just the mood, the moment, the alcohol—it just felt natural to kiss.
After all… this was the city of romantic encounters.
But he didn’t know what Fan Qing was thinking when he kissed him.
Eighteen years old. A teenager stirred by youth. A bit of curiosity, a bit of hormones…
Oh, wait—almost nineteen.
Luan Ye sighed.
He edited photos until the sky started turning pale. Then he took a short nap and woke up around ten.
Roughly four hours of sleep. In two more, Granny Mu would be downstairs calling everyone for lunch.
He showered, opened the curtains. The weather was nice. Luan Ye stood at the window for a while, letting the breeze ease his headache. Then he poured some water and sat back down.
Yesterday, Fan Qing said he’d come help organize the photos. Usually, he’d be awake by now.
But today wasn’t an ordinary day—Fan Qing had gotten drunk for the first time.
And kissed someone for the first time while drunk.
Probably needed more rest.
Luan Ye didn’t call him.
By 2 p.m., more than half the photos were done, and his eyes were starting to hurt. He rested a bit in his chair.
Fan Qing still hadn’t shown up. Not a sound.
Guess hormones really did take time to cool down—slacking off already.
Luan Ye thought of calling him. He twirled his phone in his hand twice, then put it back in his pocket.
Forget it. Let him rest.
The courtyard was quiet. Qiao Feibai was probably still asleep. The stuff they’d left at Go See the Mountains last night had already been moved to the teahouse—probably by Qiao Feibai.
The photo frames and paper from Taobao were piled up there too. He’d have Fan Qing carry them up later.
Luan Ye wandered around downstairs but didn’t touch anything. He eventually pushed open the door and stepped outside.
Went out for a stroll—joined the “slacking off” club himself.
The sun felt good on his skin. He wandered past yesterday’s opera stage and glanced up.
It looked small and old-fashioned in the daylight—charming, really.
You’d never guess two people had secretly kissed there last night.
He kept walking. The Go See the Mountains bar was still closed—probably taking a break after two back-to-back nights.
Luan Ye turned around and headed toward Li Ge’s café.
The village was bustling with tourists. Before he even reached the café, he saw Laifu lying at the edge of the road by the door, wagging its tail shamelessly at passing tourists.
A young girl pulled out a piece of beef jerky and carefully placed it near the dog after blowing on it.
Laifu pounced like it hadn’t eaten in three days. The girl gave it a pat and walked off. Laifu stayed there, wrestling with the jerky.
If Li Ge saw that, he’d scold it again.
Just as Luan Ye thought that, someone came out of the shop and lightly kicked Laifu’s rear.
“Eating again?”
Not Li Ge. Too gentle. It was Fan Qing.
“Beef jerky,” Luan Ye answered.
Fan Qing looked up immediately and spotted Luan Ye a few steps away—visibly startled.
“What a coincidence,” Luan Ye said. “Scolding the dog?”
