Boxers with a hole in them.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, the moment Wang Yuxin said it, a corresponding image materialized in Chen Qingqing’s mind.

Mortifying.

Embarrassing.

Her face went red.

They had just stepped out of the clothing store when Xu Ye spotted them from down the street — inevitable, really, because Qingqing in a crowd was difficult to miss. At 171cm, she was already tall by southern standards, and in direct sunlight her complexion had a clarity to it that made her look almost carved from something luminous.

“Xu Ye gege, you look way better after the haircut!”

“I always looked good.”

His old style had been similar to Zhiwei’s — long on top, a little unruly, hovering somewhere in the vicinity of trying too hard. The new cut was cleaner. Sharper. He looked like himself but less apologetic about it.

Qingqing looked over — and kept looking, without realizing it.

“I know I’m good-looking, but you don’t have to stare quite that long.”

She snapped her gaze away. “I wasn’t staring. Don’t make things up.”

“Qingqing jiejie, your ears are really red.”

“It’s… hot.”

Qingqing reached into her small crossbody bag and produced a bottle of imported sun protection spray — foreign brand, the kind that wasn’t easy to find. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and misted it across her face, neck, arms, and legs in one smooth sequence.

She was halfway through spraying her legs when she noticed Xu Ye watching her.

Specifically watching her legs.

She redirected the bottle and sprayed it directly at him.

“What was that for?”

“Stop looking.”

“Looking costs nothing.”

Another argument was about to materialize. Wang Yuxin stepped neatly between them.

“Qingqing jiejie — is that sunscreen spray? Can I have a little?”

Qingqing looked at her and smiled. “Of course.”

The tension dissolved. Yuxin grabbed Qingqing’s hand and pulled her back onto the street.

Not far along, Yuxin veered into a men’s clothing store.

Xu Ye looked at the sign. Looked at the clothes. “Wang Yuxin, wrong shop. This is menswear.”

“No it isn’t. Your jeans are so washed-out they’re basically white. Don’t you need new clothes?”

“I don’t have money.”

Yuxin beamed. “I do.”

“You’re going to spend your money on clothes for me?”

“Mm.”

Xu Ye stood very still for a moment. Then he wiped at his totally dry eye with exaggerated emotion.

“I’m genuinely touched. Wang Yuxin, as of today you’re my actual little sister. Come here and let your gege give you a kiss.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the racks.

Qingqing glanced at Xu Ye. “Stop performing. You’re smiling.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Xu Ye walked in and watched Yuxin move through the store with the focused intent of someone who knew what they were looking for. A small warmth settled in his chest.

In his previous life, they’d stayed close through university — but after graduation, work had pulled them apart. Then after the marriage, there’d been an incident where Gu Mengyao had inexplicably become jealous of his own cousin visiting the house, which had led to a long stretch of keeping Yuxin away to avoid the conflict. The relationship had faded to almost nothing.

He sat down in the waiting area near the entrance, watching Yuxin hold garments up against herself and confer with Qingqing with the seriousness of a wardrobe committee, and found himself wearing what could only be described as a deeply paternal smile.

“Xu Ye gege — what about this one?”

“As long as it’s not loud. I’ll wear anything reasonable.”

“Try it on first.”

He obliged.

A plain white T-shirt. A pair of black casual trousers. The simplest possible color combination — and somehow it looked exactly right on him.

Yuxin circled him once, hand on chin. “Qingqing jiejie, what do you think?”

“It’ll do.”

“I think he looks great.”

Yuxin turned back with a grin. “You think so too, right, jiejie?”

Qingqing made a sound approximately as loud as a mosquito.

Then came the price negotiation. With Yuxin already a natural at bargaining, Xu Ye’s addition to the process made things considerably more aggressive.

Yuxin’s floor: fifty percent of the asking price.

Xu Ye’s opening: thirty percent.

A hundred-yuan T-shirt, he’d open at thirty.

A hundred-and-sixty-yuan trousers, he’d offer sixty.

And, to Qingqing’s quiet disbelief, the shopkeeper kept agreeing.

How is this shop staying in business?

Yuxin walked out having spent just over two hundred yuan on two T-shirts and a pair of trousers for Xu Ye. Combined with the haircut, he looked like a different person.

As they say in the northeast: quite beautiful, this young man.

“What are we doing now?”

“Food.”

“Xu Ye gege, my pockets are getting full — can you hold my phone? And my shopping bag too—”

He’d eaten from her table. He’d used her hands. He had no ground to protest.

Qingqing looked over and held out her crossbody bag.

“What’s this?”

“Hold it.”

“Hang on — what am I to you two? A pack mule?”

Qingqing: “I’m paying for dinner.”

Xu Ye snapped to attention. “Miss Chen, any further requests, you need only ask. I am available around the clock, twenty-four hours—”

“You just said twelve.”

“That was the standard rate. If you want me on overnight shifts, that’s a separate arrangement entirely. Though at the moment I’m selling labor, not—”

“XU YE!”

Women, it turned out, were simply made to shop.

Wang Yuxin was living proof. Xu Ye had expected Qingqing to be an exception.

He’d been wrong.

What he didn’t know was that Qingqing’s reluctance to go out had never been about not wanting to — it was about not knowing where to go or what to do once she got there. Alone, the answer was always just to stay home.

Today, she hadn’t bought a single thing or spent a single yuan. She was having the time of her life.

Xu Ye played baggage carrier and loyal shadow for the entire afternoon, trailing behind the two of them from shop to shop, peering at things neither of them explained to him, standing outside changing rooms with a growing collection of bags.

By the end of it, he was more tired than a full shift at the bar.

He dragged his feet behind them and announced to no one in particular: “Question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Do you know why women in ancient China used to bind their feet?”

“Why?” Qingqing and Yuxin said it at the same time.

“To stop them from going shopping.”

Both of them turned away simultaneously and refused to acknowledge him.

“Slow down. My legs are giving out.”

“Xu Ye gege, you’re so useless.”

Yuxin doubled back, hauled him off the bench he’d collapsed onto, and dragged him after Qingqing. Then, apparently deciding that all three of them should be operating in the same formation — the way good friends walk to the bathroom together after class — she stretched out her other arm and took Qingqing’s hand too.

Three figures.

Two tall, one small.

Passersby who saw them smiled.

(End of Chapter)