After the breakup, I was taken in by a group of trendy young women.

The hem of her nightgown was rolled up to her upper thigh, revealing the rose tattoo on her leg—bright red in the morning light, the water droplets on the petals long since dried, but the color was deeper and more vibrant than usual.

She stared at the hand with its distinct knuckles on her waist, and only one thought kept replaying in her mind—this hand is so big, the fingers are so long, and the knuckles are so distinct. Last time on the sofa in the shared apartment, this hand had wrapped around her waist from this angle.

This position made her so comfortable that she almost closed her eyes and fell asleep again—the sense of security of being embraced, the warmth of her back against his chest, the just-right pressure of his hands on her waist—all of these gave her an extremely dangerous illusion the moment she woke up: this embrace was hers.

She moved her legs, trying to turn over, but as soon as her knee moved half an inch, a soreness came from her thigh—not the muscle soreness after exercise, but a deeper, more lingering soreness, like the lingering soreness in her bones after someone had taken it apart frame by frame with extreme patience and meticulous care.

She hissed, biting her lower lip to swallow the muffled groan.

Then, carefully, like a bomb disposal expert moving an explosive charge, she gently lifted Lin Ye's hand from her waist.

His fingers brushed against the waist of her nightgown, the calluses on his fingertips scraping against the fabric with a very faint rustling sound.

She raised her hand halfway when Lin Ye's fingers suddenly tightened.

He held her waist with five fingers, pulling her half an inch closer to his chest.

The back of the floral print was pressed completely against his chest, with almost no gap between the two thin layers of fabric.

She could clearly feel the contours of his chest muscles and his steady, powerful heartbeat.

Her face flushed red.

The heat spread from my neck to my ears, and from my ears to my forehead; even the skin on my collarbone, half-covered by the neckline of my nightgown, turned pink.

She turned her head to see if he was awake.

As a result, when she tilted her head, the tip of her nose almost hit his chin.

Lin Ye's jawline was sharply defined, and his newly sprouted stubble had a faint bluish tinge in the morning light.

His breathing was even and long, his eyes were still closed, and his eyelashes cast very thin shadows on his cheekbones.

He's not awake.

Huatui breathed a sigh of relief.

Then she did something she hadn't expected—she didn't move his hand any further.

She gently placed his hand back on her side, as if returning a precious exhibit to its rightful place.

Then she shrank back another half inch, embedding her back more tightly into his arms, and rested her head back on the indentation that had formed on his biceps from her sleeping.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and her nostrils were filled with the scent of his soap and the faint smell of tobacco lingering from the previous night.

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile, like a cat secretly licking its paws after stealing some dried fish.

Just then, Lin Ye's voice came from above her head.

"woke up?"

The woman with the flower-like legs froze.

"You—when did you wake up—"

"When you raised my hand."

The woman with the flowery legs buried her face in the pillow.

The pillowcase was changed yesterday; it's made of Egyptian cotton and has a very faint lavender laundry detergent scent.

She buried her face so deep that only her two bright red ears were visible.

"Brother, you woke up, why didn't you say so—"

"I want to see what you're planning to do."

Lin Ye lay on his side without moving, and didn't pull his hand off her waist.

The woman with the flower-like legs lifted half of her face from under the pillow, revealing one eye.

The eye peered at him through the gaps in her disheveled hair, and it held embarrassment, shyness, and the awkwardness of being caught red-handed, but more than anything, it held something indescribable, something gleaming.

"I wasn't planning on doing anything—I just—you're holding me and I can't move—it's not like I don't want to get up—"

"So when you put my hand back and even shrank half an inch closer to me, you still couldn't move?"

Hua Tui buried her face back into the pillow and let out a muffled wail.

"Stop talking—"

Lin Ye chuckled.

He removed his hand from her waist and sat up, leaning against the headboard.

Morning light streamed in through the French windows, bathing the entire bed in a pale gold hue.

He reached for the cup of honey water that Shen Qing had made for him last night on the bedside table—it had long since gone cold, but it was just the right amount to quench his thirst.

Huatui also sat up from the bed.

Her floral nightgown was crumpled into a rag, and the side slit had rolled up to her waist. She quickly reached out and pulled the hem down a bit.

Her hair was a mess, like a bird's nest, and her face was covered in pillow patterns. There was a drool stain on the corner of her mouth, which she didn't know when it had gotten there.

She wiped her mouth haphazardly with the back of her hand, then turned to look at the closed door to the master bedroom.

He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air hard again.

The aroma of the fried eggs with butter grew stronger and stronger, so strong that her stomach growled again.

"It's Sister Shen Qing making breakfast."

She pulled her legs out of the blanket and stepped barefoot onto the carpet.

As she stood up, a wave of soreness surged through her groin. She hissed and grabbed the bedside table for support, then turned and glared at Lin Ye.

The glare probably meant "It's all your fault," but because the smile on his lips couldn't be suppressed, it had no power to hurt him.

Lin Ye got out of bed and put on a T-shirt and athletic shorts.

Flowery legs followed behind him, their bare feet making a clattering sound on the corridor floor.

She paused at the top of the stairs, looking down at the wooden steps of the spiral staircase with a very complicated expression.

"What's wrong?"

"My legs are weak."

She confessed honestly.

Lin Ye glanced back at her, then bent down, put one arm around her shoulder, and slipped the other hand under her knees.

The woman with the flowery legs instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Brother, put me down! I can walk by myself! I'm not like Sister Shen Na—"

"You just said your legs were weak."

"That was just now! It's not soft anymore!"

"Then go by yourself."

Lin Ye put her down.

Hua Tui stood at the top of the stairs, the hem of her floral nightgown swaying twice, the rose tattoo on her leg gleaming red in the morning light.

She took a deep breath, held onto the stair railing, and slowly, step by step, moved down the stairs like a little duckling that had just learned to walk.

She glanced back at Lin Ye halfway through the move.

"elder brother."

"what."

"Last night—you said one last thing. You said, 'Who's the biggest coward now?'—I didn't answer. Now I'll answer you."

She paused for a moment, then looked up at him. The morning light shone from behind her, gilding her entire body.

"It wasn't me."

Then she turned and continued to move down, the hem of her floral nightgown swaying gently with each step.

Lin Ye leaned against the stair railing, watching her move step by step to the first floor, then stop on the last step, turn around and blow him a kiss. The rose tattoo on her leg looked like it was really blooming in the morning light.

He reached out and took the cigarette out of his mouth, flicking away non-existent ash.

Then I followed her downstairs.