The secret turned into a warm touch.
Cheng Daichuan felt his ears flush; before he could react, his shoulder was bumped again. Then came Ruan Xi’s muffled, sticky moan.
Cheng Daichuan turned his head—
Ruan Xi held her nose with one hand, kneeling beside his pillow as she spoke, “Cheng Daichuan, it really hurts.”
“Where did you hit it?”
“My nose.”
“I’ll take a look.”
Ruan Xi released her hand, her nose tip faintly reddened.
She said it hurt, but Cheng Daichuan’s gaze drifted downward, landing on her slightly parted lips that murmured in pain.
“If it hurts, go to sleep.”
“I don’t want to.”
Cheng Daichuan looked at those shamelessly spoiled lips. “What do you want?”
Ruan Xi, with her pink-tipped nose, curved her eyes into a smile. “I want to tell you my secret.”
Cheng Daichuan said, “Go ahead.”
Ruan Xi pushed herself up on the mattress, leaning closer.
He stared at her and added, “Just tell me over there.”
But the drunkard was stubborn, firmly shaking her head. “It’s a secret, you can’t just announce a secret like that.”
As she spoke, she even started singing: “It has to be quiet, quiet, quiet~”
Cheng Daichuan was so worn down he lost all temper, becoming a doormat letting Ruan Xi mess with him. “Fine, quiet it is.”
He then got up, opened the fridge, and took out a cold bottle of mineral water.
Twisting off the cap, he tilted his head back and took a long drink before setting the bottle on the bedside table.
Ruan Xi waited quietly, ready to tell whatever secret she had.
Cheng Daichuan sat back on the bed and met her eyes for two seconds. “Go on.”
The night was hazy; the lamp cast Ruan Xi’s shadow across the wall.
She knelt as before but propped herself up, inching closer to Cheng Daichuan’s ear to tell her story.
Her gaze wavered, and her shadow wobbled with her like a mischievous little cat, creeping closer at a teasingly slow pace.
Cheng Daichuan thought: What’s the difference between this and slow torture?
Listening to a drunkard’s secret was clearly no easy task.
Ruan Xi struck a mysterious pose, her lips again nearing his ear.
Cheng Daichuan tensed, afraid that if she got unsteady and breathed into his ear again, the anger he was desperately holding back would explode.
He frowned, turning away from her breath, yet found himself defenseless against someone who ignored the rules—
“Your ears are so red.”
Ruan Xi stretched out her hand and suddenly touched Cheng Daichuan’s earlobe. “Still so hot.”
Cheng Daichuan took a deep breath and squinted, turning his head.
Ruan Xi was quite drunk, a faint pink flush on her eyelids. Fearlessly, she reached out again.
This time, she traced the small wound Cheng Daichuan had gotten at the swimming pool.
Her sleep dress was bunched under her, the neckline pulled a bit lower.
But she kept looking at the collar of Cheng Daichuan’s shirt, her drowsy voice tinged with innocent surprise: “It’s almost healed.”
Her fingertips paused on the faint scar below Cheng Daichuan’s neck, pressing lightly, then brushing over it again.
The fridge had been set colder, and tiny shards of ice floated in the half-full bottle of mineral water.
Condensation soon covered the bottle, droplets sliding down the glass onto the bedside table.
That pool of moisture caught the weak glow of the night lamp and Cheng Daichuan’s gaze as well.
He didn’t move or speak, though the pale skin of his neck was slowly dusted with a faint flush.
Ruan Xi asked, “Are you hot?”
Just as she reached to touch the redness at his Adam’s apple, Cheng Daichuan suddenly grabbed her wrist and pushed her onto the bed.
The drunk Ruan Xi was easy to bully; with a single push, she collapsed.
She didn’t resist, softly falling along the curve of his arm onto his single bed, resting her head on a lump of blanket and blinking up at him.
Cheng Daichuan turned over and leaned above her but didn’t put his full weight on her.
His hands framed her ears as he spoke in a low, blunt voice, “Ruan Xi, if you keep touching me like this, I’m going to have a reaction.”
Ruan Xi looked confused. “What reaction?”
Cheng Daichuan restrained his emotions. “Explain your behavior just now.”
Ruan Xi looked even more bewildered, her face showing thoughts like ‘Who am I?’, ‘Where am I?’, and ‘What am I doing?’: “What behavior just now…?”
Cheng Daichuan didn’t know why he bothered arguing with a drunk, but somehow he was aflame.
The alcohol took over, emotions spiraling out of control.
Ruan Xi looked at him imploringly, then covered her mouth and yawned.
She seemed very sleepy, her eyes nearly closed, but still muttered her broken secret: “Actually… the feelings trapped inside you were lost because of me.”
Cheng Daichuan glanced at Ruan Xi’s slipping shoulder strap. “I know.”
Ruan Xi’s eyes closed briefly, struggling to open. “It was a girl from Second Class who wrote it.”
Cheng Daichuan looked at her collarbone. “I know.”
Ruan Xi mumbled, her eyes closing again. “I have many secrets, but I’m so tired.”
“Cheng Daichuan.”
“This is my bed.”
“It’s mine.”
“Where’s mine then?”
“Beside you.”
“Not the same?”
“No.”
“Well—”
Ruan Xi seemed quite reassured by Cheng Daichuan’s words and fell silent.
She looked asleep.
All the fuss about secrets after a whole night didn’t matter. Cheng Daichuan suppressed his burning desire, not even sure what exactly he wanted to hear.
The love letter was from the Literature Committee Member of Second Class; Cheng Daichuan never bothered to remember her name.
Cheng Daichuan wasn’t a strictly rule-following top student— sometimes he got bored in class.
There were often extracurricular books hidden in his desk; when the teacher repeated common mistakes over and over, he’d take out those books and flip through them to pass the time.
In the third year’s second semester, Cheng Daichuan ordered a set of Ken Follett’s Century Trilogy online.
Nine hefty volumes in total, all stuffed into his desk alongside mock exam papers.
That book was too long to finish at school; during summer vacation trips with Ruan Xi and the others, he also brought two of them along.
The love letter Ruan Xi mentioned was tucked inside one of those books.
Cheng Daichuan had seen it but hadn’t given it much thought, just using the envelope as a bookmark while reading.
Later, he overheard Shi Chao gossiping with Ruan Xi: “Is ‘Chuan Bao’ really interested? Otherwise, why would he bring a love letter written by a girl when we’re out playing?”
Cheng Daichuan paused, glancing out the wooden window frame of the Old House—
Ruan Xi was squatting carelessly in a small courtyard in the Ancient Town, devouring watermelon. “Which girl?”
“Literature Committee Member of Second Class, pretty too.”
That afternoon, the letter mysteriously disappeared.
Shi Chao scratched the back of his head, approaching Cheng Daichuan: “Boss Cheng, that book of yours… I flipped through it twice and forgot to put it away. Looks like the wind blew the thing away, sorry…”
As Shi Chao apologized, Cheng Daichuan caught a furtive figure by the door.
“Ruan Xi.”
Her face was guilty and flushed. “I didn’t see anything! I don’t know! Not me.”
If not her, then who?
Even a blind person could tell; this was hardly a secret anymore.
The cruise cabin’s air conditioning was strong, and Ruan Xi, wearing a slip dress, might have been cold. She started nudging into Cheng Daichuan’s blanket.
Every movement wrinkled her dress, revealing more of her fair, delicate skin…
Reason told Cheng Daichuan that Ruan Xi was just a good friend.
But his gaze kept drifting to her lips.
The central air seemed broken; the room grew stuffy.
The more ice water he drank, the hotter he felt.
After finishing the mineral water on the sofa, his restless impulses somewhat calmed.
He planned to end this night of uncontrollable craving—
By taking her back to her own bed.
When Cheng Daichuan lifted Ruan Xi, she briefly woke.
Her eyes half-open, she looked at him drowsily and quietly wrapped her arms around his neck.
Her hair brushed against his jaw, tickling.
Cheng Daichuan cleared his throat, helpless.
After putting her on the neighboring single bed, Ruan Xi didn’t let go, clutching his collar.
Cheng Daichuan followed her lead, hunched over, eyes downcast, a complex expression on his face.
Her lips parted slightly, moist and inviting.
That mouth— no one knew how many tempting words it had spoken.
After transferring schools, Ruan Xi sometimes called Cheng Daichuan late at night.
She’d talk about her dreams, her grandmother’s illness, and sometimes share her sadness about things back home.
In the more than two years since she left, friends had made new friends, classmates had new classmates, and she often felt left out of their conversations, occasionally lonely.
She said, “I wish you were here, Cheng Daichuan. I miss you so much.”
But after hanging up, Ruan Xi would quickly text him again.
The message basically said she not only missed him but also Aunt Shang, Shi Chao, Ais, her homeroom teacher Teacher Jiao, and the water town shop with the especially sweet orange juice.
She even sent a sticker with the phrase “Yulu Junzhan” (sharing rain and dew) on it.
When sending hometown snacks as gifts, Ruan Xi always packed them in a big cardboard box.
She made sure to share evenly, even including Ais.
Cheng Daichuan covered the wrinkles on Ruan Xi’s disheveled sleep dress with the blanket, holding her wrist, gently removing her restless hand from his collar.
Ruan Xi was heavily drunk, her hands still warm, fingertips tinged pink— like the evening sky dyed by twilight.
Tracing the pulse on the inside of her wrist with his fingertip, Cheng Daichuan thought back to his earlier dream.
In the dream, his movements were far from gentle— fingertips wiped away a bit of orange juice from Ruan Xi’s lips, holding the back of her neck as he kissed her.
Resisting was already difficult, especially with Ruan Xi’s restless sleep after drinking.
She kicked off the blanket, frowned, murmuring some unclear sleep talk mixed with breathless sounds.
Cheng Daichuan reached out, tracing her lips with his fingertip just like in the dream.
Then he leaned forward, forehead resting against hers, their warm breaths mingling.
But he didn’t continue to kiss her as in the dream.
Reason prevailed; he merely brushed his nose against her soft, warm lips and slowly sat up.
The glass door to the balcony reflected Cheng Daichuan’s silhouette.
He mocked the shadow: “Cheng Daichuan, you really are a bastard.”