First, then, love.

Tears fell onto the back of my hand, burning hot.

The news on TV continued to broadcast.

Shu Yao huddled on the sofa, crying uncontrollably.

Fourth day.

It's raining outside.

The autumn rain was continuous, the sky was gloomy, and leaden-gray clouds pressed down on the city, making it hard to breathe.

The room was dark, like dusk, with the lights off.

Shu Yao didn't go to the art center; she took leave.

She simply couldn't face the cello; the moment her fingers touched the strings, all she could think of were gunshots.

He wanders around the house like a lost soul.

Walk into the open kitchen.

The marble island was clean and cold.

She opened the double-door refrigerator, which was filled with fresh vegetables and meat, which he had bought the day before he left.

She took out a box of frozen dumplings and tore open the packaging.

Turn on the fire, boil water, and cook the dumplings.

The water boiled, and the white dumplings were tumbling in the pot.

She scooped it up with a slotted spoon, put it on a plate, and without any dipping sauce, put it directly into her mouth.

It wasn't fully cooked; the meat filling in the middle was still icy and had a raw meat smell.

Shu Yao chewed twice, and her stomach churned violently.

I ran to the sink and threw up everything.

She turned on the tap, and the cold water rinsed away the residue.

I braced my hands on the edge of the sink and looked at myself in the mirror.

His face was deathly pale, with dark circles under his eyes, his lips were dry and cracked, and his hair was casually tied back, loose and disheveled.

Is this still the same Miss Shu who is so exquisite down to the last hair?

She went back to the living room.

The God of War lay motionless beside the shoe cabinet in the entryway.

The dog's food bowl was full, and it hadn't drunk much water.

The dog has also gone on a hunger strike.

Shu Yao walked over and squatted down next to the God of War.

I touched its coarse, stiff fur with my cold fingers.

"Eat something." Her voice was hoarse, and she realized her throat hurt terribly when she spoke.

The God of War opened his eyes, glanced at her, let out a low whimper, and weakly swept his tail across the floor without moving.

Shu Yao's nose tingled, and her eyes reddened again.

"He will come back. Evil lives on for a thousand years. He's so fierce, even the King of Hell wouldn't dare take him."

She didn't know if she was comforting the dog or herself.

*

3 PM.

The rain intensified, and raindrops pounded against the huge French windows, making a pattering sound.

The indoor temperature dropped to fifteen degrees Celsius.

Shu Yao didn't turn on the air conditioner. She felt cold, but didn't want to move.

The ninety-nine roses in the crystal vase on the coffee table were starting to wilt, their petals beginning to turn black at the edges.

Its once rampant vitality is gradually fading away.

Shu Yao stared blankly at the flowers.

The phone was clutched in my hand, the screen lit up and then dimmed, dimmed and then lit up again.

The WeChat chat window was filled with single-player messages she had sent out.

No reply.

*

8 PM.

Lin Shufen called again.

Shu Yao didn't answer; she immediately muted the phone and placed it face down on the sofa cushion.

She can't bear to hear anyone's voice now, especially any words about the police or gunfights.

She was afraid she would break down and cry.

It's late at night, 11 p.m.

The rain has stopped, but the wind is still blowing.

The living room was pitch black, with only the television screen emitting a faint blue light.

In silent mode, the news channel displays scrolling text at the bottom.

Shu Yao curled up in the large black leather sofa, wrapped in a fringed knitted blanket.

His legs were curled up, and his chin was resting on his knees.

She is so tired.

My nerves were on edge for four days straight, and I was completely exhausted.

My eyelids felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead.

The television screen in my field of vision gradually blurred, turning into a scattered halo of light.

She closed her eyes and fell asleep.

I slept very restlessly.

His breathing was shallow and his brows were tightly furrowed.

My dream was filled with blood red, black bulletproof vests, the piercing sound of gunfire, and hands dangling from a stretcher.

"He Zheng..."

She murmured unconsciously, cold sweat sliding down her forehead and soaking the stray hairs at her temples.

My body was shivering slightly under the blanket.

Time passed by, second by second.

Two o'clock in the morning.

Three o'clock in the morning.

The neighborhood was deathly silent; even the wind had stopped.

Only occasionally do one or two cars pass by the road below, the sound of their wheels splashing through the puddles.

3:45 a.m.

The God of War, who had been lying in the entryway pretending to be dead, suddenly moved.

Its two ears instantly stood up straight like radar.

The huge dog's head suddenly rose, and a glint of light flashed in its amber eyes in the darkness.

It stood up.

It moved extremely fast, its four paws stomping on the floor tiles, making a crisp tapping sound.

It walked up to the security door, pressed its nose against the crack, and sniffed hard.

Then, its thick tail began to wag wildly, slamming against the solid wood shoe cabinet next to it.

"Bang, bang, bang."

The voice was muffled and rapid.

An urgent, excited whimpering sound came from his throat.

"bite--"

A faint elevator arrival sound drifted through the thick walls and into the room.

Immediately following were footsteps in the corridor.

Military boots stepped on the tiles.

One step, two steps.

His steps were heavy and noticeably dragging, unlike his usual crisp and efficient pace.

The footsteps stopped outside the door.

There was a two-second silence.

Then, the fingerprint lock emitted a short electronic beep.

"drop."

"Click".

The snapping sound of the metal latch opening was amplified infinitely in the silence of the night, like a thunderclap.

The security door was pushed open.

A cold wind, mixed with the draft from the corridor, suddenly rushed into the room.

The moment the door opened, a complex smell rushed in.

A pungent smell of gunpowder and the burnt smell of burning gunpowder filled the air.

Mixed with the fishy stench of rotten mud from the wild, and carrying a very faint smell of rust.

The motion-sensor light in the entryway turned on.

The warm yellow light poured down, illuminating the man standing at the door.

He Zheng stood there.

Its tall frame almost blocked the entire doorway.

He was carrying a black helmet, which was covered in mud and had a deep scratch.

He was only wearing his black combat suit underneath.

The clothes were so dirty that their original color was no longer visible.

At the shoulder, the fabric was torn by some sharp object, leaving a long gash that exposed the ripped skin underneath.

His trouser legs were covered in half-dried yellow mud, and his military boots were covered in grayish-white dust and grime.

He raised his head, his eyes were bloodshot, his eye sockets were sunken, and a layer of bluish-black stubble had grown on his chin. He looked disheveled and颓废 (颓废 is a difficult word to translate directly, but it implies a state of listlessness, decadence, and a sense of dejection).

On the left side of his face, there was a three- or four-centimeter-long abrasion. The blood had dried and formed a dark red scab.

The corner of my mouth is cut.

The war god pounced on him, and the eighty-pound dog crashed directly into his leg, circling him wildly with its tail wagging like a windmill.

He Zheng raised his hand with some difficulty and rubbed the huge dog's head hard twice.

"Alright, get out of here."

His voice was hoarse, as if he had swallowed sand, and his Adam's apple bobbed laboriously with each word he spoke.

on the sofa.

The click of the door lock popping open jolted Shu Yao awake from her nightmare.

She suddenly opened her eyes, gasping for breath, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

My gaze passed over the dimly lit living room and went straight to the entryway.

Under the motion-sensor light.

That tall, familiar figure stood there like a mountain.

Shu Yao's breathing stopped.

My mind went blank for a moment.

Four days and four nights of fear, torment, and despair completely collapsed the moment I saw this figure.

He is back.

Alive, whole and complete, standing here.

She lifted the knitted blanket covering her.

Without thinking or hesitating, I stepped barefoot onto the cold marble floor tiles.

She ran towards the man without even putting on her shoes.

The silky nightgown billowed as she ran, her fair legs moving alternately, her steps large and graceful.

Tears welled up in her eyes the moment she took her first step, streaming down her pale cheeks.

My vision blurred and then cleared, cleared and then blurred again.

She didn't want to think about anything else; she just wanted to bury herself in his arms, hold him tightly, and feel his heartbeat and body temperature.

I've confirmed that he is real.

The distance is getting closer and closer.

Five steps, three steps, one step.

Shu Yao opened her arms and pounced on him without a second thought.

Filled with grievances and the ecstatic joy of regaining what was lost.

However, just as she was about to crash into his arms...

He Zheng watched as she rushed towards him barefoot, her eyes red-rimmed, and he took a big step back, his back slamming heavily against the open security door with a dull thud.

He raised his large hand, which was covered in mud and dried blood.

It hovered in mid-air, blocking Shu Yao's path and preventing her from moving.

Shu Yao missed her target.

My steps frantically stopped, and I slipped on the paving stones with my bare feet, almost falling.

She stood frozen in place, her hands still in the embracing position, suspended in mid-air.

She looked at him with tears streaming down her face, her eyes filled with astonishment and confusion.

He Zheng leaned against the door, his chest heaving violently.

His gaze fell on her thin, trembling shoulders and her bare feet on the cold floor tiles.

His Adam's apple bobbed.

He lowered his voice, which was extremely hoarse and rough.

"Don't touch it, it's dirty and smells of blood."