Fingers interlocked, eyes meeting.

Strange, isn't it? After all this time, how can my face still flush?

Palm against palm, fingers entwined with fingers, body warmth melding through those interlocking gaps.

I've clearly held your hand so many times before—in dreams, in photographs, beside the hospital bed where the ECG beeped steadily, in the deep of night after you'd fallen asleep.

But no matter how many times, whenever you're by my side, my heart still races.

My heart crashes wildly inside my chest, sending blood rushing up from my neck to my face, burning as if scorched by flames.

This fire has been burning since the very first time I saw you. All these years, not only hasn't it gone out, but it's blazed fiercer and fiercer.

It's burned through my chest and eye sockets, and when it streams out from my eyes, it becomes light.

Can you see it? The light in my eyes—every time you look at me, it's saying: I like you, I like you.

So you were this young and tender back in high school?

So young and tender that I want to put you in my pocket, hide you away and carry you with me, not letting anyone see. You'd grow up right there in my pocket, slowly becoming the you I'm so familiar with.

How wonderful.

Jiang Yueming, Jiang Yueming.

Do you know what you'll become in the future?

You'll grow a bit taller, your shoulders will broaden. You won't wear this hoodie anymore. When you grow up, you'll always be in a suit and tie. Every time you're about to leave for work, I'll straighten your collar for you, making it neat so everyone can see what a handsome man my husband is.

You'd smile and kiss my forehead, and after I'd remind you to come home early, you'd stride off to work, full of vigor.

And me? After you left, I'd quietly change clothes and follow you—because I have to go to work too.

You became much more strong-willed. You didn't want to stay home and be kept by me. You said that was living off a woman. You said you wanted to buy me gifts with money you earned with your own hands.

You were so eloquent; you convinced me.

Fine, then I could only arrange for you to work at my company. You never knew that the elusive chairman who you'd never met was actually your beloved wife.

How deeply we were in love back then.

Jiang Yueming, Jiang Yueming.

Do you know, I actually resent you just a little?

I resent you for being too considerate, too gentle, too good at taking care of others.

You remember every single one of our anniversaries. You're always the first to apologize when I'm angry. On rainy days, when you hold the umbrella, your right shoulder always gets wet.

Where did you learn all these things? You're a textbook straight-laced engineering guy. If no one taught you, you'd never have learned these things naturally.

I resent you for meeting her before you met me. I resent her for teaching you all these things.

Before me, did you make mistakes again and again, racking your brain trying to figure out how to apologize to her?

She taught you how to coax someone, how to be the first to lower your head in a quarrel. So when you face me, you're already so experienced.

But I don't want the finished product. I want the young, inexperienced you who would blush and not know what to say.

I want the sweat on your palms the first time you held a girl's hand. I want to see how clumsy you were chasing a girl for the first time in your life. I want to hear the nervousness in your voice the first time you said, "I like you."

If you were dumped by someone, I would've wished that the light in your eyes dimmed little by little because of me. Such a first time—I wish it had been mine, too.

But forget it. I can't bear to see you heartbroken. We're together now, and we'll never part again.

Jiang Yueming, Jiang Yueming.

Why did you fling my hand away?

Wen Xiaoyu?

I heard you call that girl's name. Her name is Wen Xiaoyu.

Such a pure name. Braided pigtails, white shirt, speaking so softly and gently. A girl like that is probably the white moonlight of many people's high school years, right?

I heard the slight panic in your voice. What are you panicking about? Why did you fling my hand away in front of her?

Are you afraid she'll see?

Afraid she'll know what relationship there is between us?

Just what is this relationship between us?

You held my hand all morning, from one end of the street to the other, from the breakfast shop to the bookstore entrance. You held my hand, fingers interlocked. Your face flushed, your heart raced.

Tell me, Jiang Yueming.

What is this relationship between us?

You tell her, what is this relationship between us?

You both started to speak at the same time, then stopped at the same time. The atmosphere was a little awkward.

So youthful. What clumsy probing.

You just left me there on the sidelines, making me a spectator of you two.

The wind blew against my face. My hand clutched my skirt tighter and tighter. I personally took this skirt out and ironed it this morning, making sure there wouldn't be a single wrinkle.

And now this skirt has become so wrinkled because of you.

Envy, jealousy, fury.

I couldn't control my impulse, my rage, my destiny of being coveted. I wanted to hurl all of this with my right hand.

Right into her face, smash it all down, right into the face of this person who dares to covet what is mine.

At the same time, from the depths of my chest, let out that long-suppressed growl: —!

I wanted to watch her fall, her face blood-red, to let you see those seemingly pure cheeks ooze with dense spots of blood as she crumpled to the ground, to see if she could still smile and speak to you then.

The beast within my body was about to charge out of its cage—for the pride of a girl, to defend its treasure that tolerates no coveting.

It's been crashing inside my chest for years, crashing so hard my bones have cracked. I've had no choice but to wrap it in layer after layer of skin, bundling it into a human-shaped shell.

This shell can smile, can blush, can say, "Me? Mad? Why would I be mad?" This shell is the version you like.

Hah—

In the end, she was unharmed and left.

I held back. Wasn't I good?

I know that if I had truly done that, there would be nothing left to discuss between us.

You like pure girls, and such a person shouldn't feel jealous, shouldn't envy.

I ought to cleverly express my displeasure.

Tilt my head, pout, turn away.

You like that, right?

The angle of the head tilt has to be just right—not too much, or it looks affected; not too little, or it seems deliberate.

Just enough so my hair hides my clenched jaw.

I'm not angry, Jiang Yueming.

The wind just blew on me, and I'm feeling a little wronged.

You like a girl who can be a little jealous but won't go crazy, who can feel wronged but won't cry, who can get angry but won't hit anyone.

You like a pure, gentle Xia He who doesn't envy or hate. And so, I'll be exactly that.

See, I'm tilting my head, I'm pouting, I'm turning away from you.

I'll let you see the side you like best.

I'll let you see that we are a match made in heaven, a pair destined to be.

The old me messed everything up, but heaven gave me a chance to start over.

Jiang Yueming, that moment you flung my hand away—I'm not angry at all, truly.

Because I know, one day, your hand will never be able to fling me away again. Your eyes will never see anyone else again.

That day isn't far off. I've been working hard for it for a long time.

I'm waiting for you to say that line. You'll say it. You always do.

"Are you mad?"

No. Why would I be mad?