Without the natural alarm of barking dogs, Lin Wan slept straight through the morning. By the time she woke, it was already nine o'clock. Outside the window, rain whispered softly against the world. She hurried over to look—under the dim, blurred sky, the boundary between heaven and earth, mountains and water dissolved into haze. Raindrops struck the lake's surface, stirring up tiny whirlpools that rippled outward in widening circles. Lugu Lake, veiled in rain, possessed a quiet, irresistible charm that captured her heart at once.
After breakfast, Chen Jin asked whether she felt tired. She said she was fine, just a little sore in the calves. Immediately, he volunteered to massage her legs. His technique was surprisingly skillful, infused with a man's natural strength, firm yet restrained. As her muscles gradually relaxed, drowsiness crept in once more. Seeing this, Chen Jin decided they would rest for half the day.
Lin Wan felt it would be a shame to waste precious travel time, but he gently comforted her.
"Travel is an emotional process. There's no need to chase anything but visual thrills. Just like now—lying here, listening to the rain, sinking into the quiet in perfect comfort. Isn't that better than trudging through rain for miles until you're utterly exhausted?"
She was almost persuaded by his rare burst of "profound wisdom"—until he ruined it with the very next sentence.
"You savor it slowly. I'm heading downstairs to watch the match."
At noon, the rain was still falling, though lightly. Chen Jin suggested eating out. They found a small local restaurant for lunch. In high spirits over Brazil's victory—his favored team—he followed the owner's enthusiastic recommendation and ordered two shots of "Guangdang wine." After eating, they browsed the roadside shops. Lin Wan lingered when she saw the dazzling array of trinkets, choosing several bracelets and necklaces.
At the register, the pile had doubled. Only then did she realize Chen Jin had quietly picked up everything she had set back down. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Since you like them, just get them all," he said nonchalantly. "They're not expensive."
"That's not the point," she muttered in frustration.
He grinned. "I know. I just rarely see you like something this much. Take it as my gift to you."
He paid, took the neatly packed little bag from the shop owner, pressed it into her hands, and held her close as they stepped outside.
The moment they left, the rain suddenly intensified, whipped sideways by the wind. The umbrella was nearly useless. Chen Jin grabbed her hand and ran. By the time they burst into the hotel lobby like storm refugees, both were drenched through—water dripping from their pant legs onto the floor. At the sight of each other's sodden state, they burst out laughing at the same time. Chen Jin wiped rain from his face, exhilarated.
"It's been ages since I got soaked like this. Feels damn good."
His reply was Lin Wan's sharp sneeze.
Alarmed, he hurried her upstairs and pushed her into the bathroom for a hot shower. The powerful stream of warm water beat against her skin, exquisitely soothing. She signed in contentment—then sneezed twice more in quick succession. Before she could enjoy even two full minutes, the temperature abruptly plunged. Icy water crashed down without mercy, startling a scream from her throat.
Chen Jin was outside drying his hair. The sound made him jump. He flung aside the towel and rushed over, yanking open the glass door with a splash.
"Wanwan, what happened?"
She was reaching for the faucet when she turned at the sound of the door and screamed again, snatching a folded towel from the wall to shield herself. The towel was still folded—barely large enough to cover what truly mattered.
Chen Jin strode closer, scanning her from head to toe.
"What's wrong?"
"The heater's broken—it suddenly turned cold."
Only then did he release a quiet breath. His gaze reluctantly traveled up from her pale, slender legs, forcing himself to steady his mind.
"I'll take a look."
The hotel's conditions were nothing to boast of. He twisted the knob with one hand, tested the temperature with the other, and after some effort, the warmth finally returned. When he turned back, Lin Wan had wrapped herself tightly in the oversized towel, revealing only her lotus-root-like arms—and, unavoidably, her straight, delicate collarbones.
Chen Jin swallowed.
"Hurry and wash."
He stepped out and closed the door behind him. Only then did Lin Wan let out a trembling breath. She was about to loosen the towel when the door opened again. Chen Jin reappeared—his eyes carrying a heat she dared not meet.
Instinctively, she crossed her arms tighter over the towel.
"What are you doing?"
He said nothing, covering the distance in two long strides. She retreated at once, but her throat tightened—no sound would come. There was nowhere left to go. One-step back pinned her against the wall.
He stood less than half a meter away, breathing unevenly, eyes blazing with the inevitability of a predator closing in on its prey.
She hadn't seen that look in his eyes for a very long time. Her heart stuttered violently. In the next instant, she bolted like an arrow loaded from a bow—but he stopped her with ease, wrapping her tightly in his arms. His abnormal heat seeped through her towel; she caught the faint trace of alcohol on his breath. Her heartbeat fell into chaos.
"Chen Jin, did you forget what you promised me?" she demanded breathlessly.
He had lowered his head to breathe in the fragrance at her neck. At her words, he paused—and let out a bitter laugh.
"Fuck. I really wish I could."
She struggled in his arms.
"You're breaking your word again…"
He tightened his hold, lowering his voice beside her ear.
"Wanwan… don't refuse me. I'm begging you."
Those last two words were so soft they sounded like a sigh—fragile, and laced with sorrow. Her mind blanked for a split second. He seized the moment, cupping the back of her head and kissing her, his lips grinding against hers. Before she could react, his tongue skillfully pried open her tightly closed teeth, sweeping her into a long, overwhelming kiss.
She tasted the faint bitterness of wine on his tongue and remembered what the shop owner had said—Guangdang wine, also called "walking-marriage wine," drunk by Mosuo men to summon courage before a secret union. It was supposedly only thirty-something degrees strong… but now she felt truly dizzy.
The shower was still running. Warm water streamed down in a fine, steady curtain, washing over their pressed faces and joined lips, wrapping the moment in a tender, dreamlike haze.
With one arm around her, Chen Jin kissed her deeply. The other hand slid from the back of her head, gently sweeping her wet hair aside, caressing the smooth arch of her spine. When his fingers met resistance, they lifted them lightly.
Her thoughts dissolved into chaos. Only when he finally let her breath did a sliver of awareness return—along with the unmistakable texture of fabric against her skin, the cool metal of his belt buckle at her waist, and the undeniable, burning hardness against her lower abdomen.
She instinctively arched away, weakly protesting,
"We can't… do this…"
He pulled her back tighter, fitting their bodies together without a seam, burying his head against her shoulder as he murmured with muffled grievance,
"Wanwan, just show me a little mercy, will you? I've held back for half a year. Look—touch it…"
He seized her hand shamelessly and pressed it down.
"If I keep suppressing it, something's going to break. It might already be broken. Help me check."
Before she could respond, he was already kissing her neck, her collarbones. She surrendered the useless argument, closing her eyes as he took what he sought—until his lips closed over her chest and a helpless moan slipped from her throat.
He grew only more relentless, teasing her with lips and tongue while his hand kneaded with alternating force and restraint, tormenting her increasingly fragile nerves. She bit down hard on her lip to stifle any sound, her hands clutching at his strong waist. Her nails dug through the thin fabric of his shirt into living flesh.
When he was done tormenting her from the front, he abruptly turned her to face the wall. The cold tiles made her shudder all over. When she realized his intent behind her, she pleaded in a trembling whisper,
"Not here…"
He replied with a vague "okay," hastily lifting her wet hair aside to kiss the pale curve of her nape, occasionally biting down lightly. Then her shoulder blades—then slowly, reverently, down each segment of her spine with his tongue.
The soft, wet tenderness unraveled her completely. The electric sensation raced from her spine to every corner of her body. If not for his knee bracing her legs from behind, she would have crumpled to the floor like melted wax.
She braced weakly against the slick tiles. The cold had vanished; even the hardness seemed to dissolve into softness. Her mind drifted further and further, until she almost believed she was lying on a cloud-soft mattress, on the verge of sleep…
Until a sudden, intrusive sensation between her thighs forced a muted cry from her lips. At that instant, she could no longer distinguish the emotion choking her chest. She wanted to resist—yet could only hypnotize herself into enduring it, telling herself it would pass.
All of Chen Jin's thirty years of restraint had been poured into enduring this moment. Her soft cry was an invitation card, a starter's pistol on the track—nearly making him lose control and rush ahead too soon. Sensing her trembling, he hastily withdrew his hand. His fingers were damp. Her body was already ready—but her mind still resisted.
He leaned to her ear, coaxing gently,
"Wanwan… don't be afraid."
It was the first time she realized that her own name could be a spell. A single invocation shattered her last defense—and pierced straight through to her tears.
He entered her through the blur of those tears, feeling her unbearable tightness. Patient and unyielding, he moved slowly forward, retreated, then advanced again, kissing her face as he did, drinking in her tears with his tongue. They tasted bitter—just like his love, and his longing.
Before they were even apart, longing had already begun.