Hot flashes

Zhou Heng raised his hand and pushed it outward against Xiao Jue's chest, causing Xiao Jue to take a half step back.

"What are you doing?" Zhou Heng tilted his head and looked at him, his brows slightly furrowed.

After being pushed away, Xiao Jue did not retreat far. He remained standing next to Zhou Heng's chair, one hand still resting on the back of the chair, the other hand hanging at his side.

He looked at Zhou Heng, a smile playing on his lips, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Good morning kiss."

Zhou Heng looked at his face, opened his mouth as if to say something.

My phone vibrated on the table.

Zhou Heng glanced at the screen, which was facing upwards, and a WeChat notification popped up from the top.

The note only showed the last name, followed by a short title: "Your brother's birthday is the day after tomorrow. Come back."

Zhou Heng paused for a moment, his hand holding the spoon still.

He flipped his phone over, screen down, onto the table, the movement very subtle, as if he didn't want the person on the other side to see it.

But Xiao Jue's gaze was fixed on him; he saw the message the moment it popped up.

"Are you going home the day after tomorrow?" Xiao Jue took a sip of porridge.

Zhou Heng's fingers curled slightly on the table.

His gaze remained fixed on the dish of pickled radish on the table, not looking up. After a while, his voice came from there: "Hmm."

Xiao Jue's gaze fell on Zhou Heng's lowered eyelashes. He didn't ask any further questions, finished the remaining half bowl of porridge, and the bottom of the bowl made a soft sound on the table.

"Do you want me to give you a ride?" Xiao Jue's voice came from the other side.

Zhou Heng shook his head.

Xiao Jue looked at him. Zhou Heng's eyelashes covered his eyes, and he had no expression, but the hand holding the chopsticks was a little white.

Xiao Jue stood up, stacked the two bowls together, and carried them into the kitchen.

It was already quite dark when Zhou Heng got home.

The car stopped outside the villa area gate and waited for a few seconds before the iron gate slowly slid open to both sides.

The driver parked the car at the entrance of the main building. When Zhou Heng opened the car door and got out, the lights in the porch were already on. The warm yellow light shone on the steps and made the small area of ​​the ground in front of the door appear white.

He paused for a moment at the bottom of the steps.

Voices and laughter came from inside the house, muffled by the door panel as if flattened, overlapping with the sounds in his memory.

He pushed the door open and bent down to change his shoes.

The living room was bright; the light from the crystal chandelier poured down from above, illuminating the entire room without a single shadow.

A round table was placed in the center of the living room, and the table was already full of plates and bowls. The steam from the hot dishes rose gently under the light.

His father, Zhou Zhengting, sat in the main seat, wearing a dark blue shirt, his hair neatly combed, and was speaking to the person next to him with his head turned to the side.

He spoke with great focus, a slight smile between his brows, and a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth—an expression Zhou Heng rarely saw on his face.

He was sitting next to Song Yaru, who was wearing a light-colored knitted cardigan and had her hair tied back. She was serving food to a boy who looked like a junior high school student.

The boy had his head down, his phone held horizontally in front of him, his thumb swiping rapidly across the screen, completely unaware of the bowl of food being handed to him.

Song Mingze.

Zhou Heng's half-brother, the son born after Song Yaru entered the family, is thirteen years old this year, an age when all he cares about is his phone.

Sitting next to Song Yaru was Song Yuanzhuo, a middle-aged man in his forties, wearing a dark gray jacket, whose face bore a resemblance to Song Yaru's.

He leaned back in his chair, relaxed, holding a cup of tea in his hand, occasionally taking a sip.

Song Yuanzhuo is Song Yaru's brother and Zhou Zhengting's biggest business partner—or more accurately, the person Zhou Zhengting relies on.

His wife, Chen Jingyi, sat next to him.

There was another person sitting next to Chen Jingyi.

Song Yu turned his head, and the first thing Zhou Heng saw was the lines of his profile.

It was a face that easily caught the eye – high and flat brow bones, a clean shadow cast by the eye sockets under the light, a straight nose with almost no undulation from the brow to the tip, and a neatly defined jawline, like the edge of a knife that had been sharpened to its thinnest state.

His skin wasn't fair; it was the warm tone of someone who rarely got to be in the sun, and it had a faint, even sheen in the warm yellow light of the restaurant.

He sat next to Chen Jingyi, wearing a loose black hoodie with the collar pulled up neatly, revealing a small patch of skin above his collarbone.

Holding a glass of orange juice, she leaned back in her chair.

His gaze swept across Zhou Heng's face. His eyes were a dark color, and under the light, the pupils looked like two dark pebbles soaked in water. His gaze slid from Zhou Heng's brow bone to his chin, as if he were confirming an old object that he hadn't seen in a long time.

When Zhou Heng pushed open the door, the sounds in the living room seemed to be caught by the tail.

Zhou Zhengting turned his head to look at him. The smile on his lips was still there, but it seemed to have been lightly brushed away by something, thinning out.

A fleeting moment of stunned silence crossed Song Yaru's face.

"You're back?" Song Yaru's voice was a little lower than when she spoke to Song Mingze earlier. "Why are you only arriving now? We thought you weren't coming."