If she looked in the mirror right now, Jiang Ran would give up resisting immediately, because the atmosphere surrounding her is soaked in an overwhelming amount of male hormones.
Even though her clothes are neat and her exposed skin shows no signs of impropriety.
Beijiao reaches out, tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and casually glances at a thin layer of sweat clinging to her ear.
Her skin is naturally fair with minimal blemishes, but at this moment, due to his previous actions, her face resembles a steamed white bun, with a slight pinkish hue like food coloring applied on it.
Behind her slender neck, strands of her long curly hair stick to her skin from sweat. If they hadn’t done anything, the indoor heating wouldn’t have been warm enough to make her sweat.
Her nose tip is slightly red, probably because her heartbeat hasn’t fully calmed down. Her nostrils flare slightly with each breath, and her lips are somewhat dry—
Well, how could they not be dry?
He hadn’t kissed her much afterward, whether she was pushed onto the bed or pinned against the doorframe. She had refused to kiss him because nasal breathing alone couldn’t keep up. She could only open her mouth repeatedly during each impact, desperately drawing oxygen from the air.
So now her lips are dry, and she can’t help but lick them with her tongue.
Beijiao gently rubs her lips. His fingertips are a bit rough, and every time he touches the softness of her face, her eyelashes flutter involuntarily. She lifts her eyes to look at him… those deep brown pupils contain an unintentional shimmer of moisture.
“Don’t look at me.”
Beijiao covers her eyes with his hand, bends down, and gently pecks her red lips beyond his palm. “Do you still want to go out?”
Of course she does.
Zhang Lingling is standing outside the door.
Jiang Ran weakly pushes him away with barely any strength in her hand and finally opens the door. Standing at the doorway, Zhang Lingling is about to shout for the eighth time, but this time, her voice gets stuck in her throat.
“Mrs. Zhang.”
Jiang Ran smiles at her. “Why are you here?”
In her hand, she holds a screwdriver, and behind her in the center of the room lies a snowboard, as though she had been fiddling with this item in Beijiao’s room just now.
If it weren’t for the unmistakable scent of intimacy hidden in the cool breeze blowing in from the bedroom window when the door opened, Zhang Lingling might have actually believed their story.
“I came to bring you bird’s nest soup.”
Zhang Lingling holds a tray in her hands, with two bowls of red date, rock sugar, and bird’s nest inside. She truly came upstairs to deliver the dessert soup, and to check on them as well—
Since the first moment she saw Jiang Ran and Beijiao in the afternoon, something had felt off to her.
Although she hadn’t seen Beijiao in many years, he was still her son. If their relationship were truly unfamiliar or ordinary, he wouldn’t look at Jiang Ran with that kind of gaze.
Zhang Lingling knows that look too well—it’s filled with possessiveness and excessive attention. Even a casual glance cannot conceal it.
…Perhaps he hadn’t even intended to hide it.
This gaze resembles how his biological father looked in his youth. To anyone outside of that gaze, it would only cause chills and the desire to escape quickly.
Only Jiang Huaimin, who had a heart too large to notice, was happily chatting with the wolf cub.
Zhang Lingling appears somewhat distracted until she feels the tray in her hands suddenly become empty. Jiang Ran has taken the tray and placed the bird’s nest soup on the desk.
She picks up one bowl, drinking the entire contents in one go like taking bitter medicine. The red date flavor balances the earthy taste of the bird’s nest, making it not too bad. It seems that Zhang Lingling hadn’t neglected herself while abroad.
After finishing the bird’s nest soup and putting down the bowl, Jiang Ran twirls the screwdriver in her hand. She turns around and shakes the screwdriver in front of Beijiao’s watchful eyes. “Then I’ll take it. This.”
Beijiao’s gaze remains fixed on her delicate fingers gripping the screwdriver.
He remains expressionless on the surface and says, “Okay.”
Jiang Ran gives him a very innocent and friendly smile before turning and leaving the room.
As soon as she leaves, Zhang Lingling standing at the doorway appears somewhat awkward. The long-lost mother and son unexpectedly fall into silence—
Oh, Zhang Lingling seems to have something to say, but after thinking for a long time, her thoughts are in disarray, unsure how to begin… or rather, Beijiao simply doesn’t give her the chance.
“There’s something you want to say? Think it over first,” he says. “Otherwise, there’s no need to bother with unnecessary talk.”
As he speaks, he starts to close the door.
He is very polite; the door slowly shuts in a way that won’t disturb anyone. When Zhang Lingling regains her senses, only a narrow gap remains, and she has already been shut out.
She is somewhat distracted—not out of remorse or anything like it. She suddenly and unreasonably recalls the day four years ago when she left Beijiao. Back then, Beijiao was only in his senior year of high school. When he returned from evening classes that day, she had just received her visa and was joyfully packing her suitcase…
Later, they had an argument, or rather, it was a one-sided outburst from her. When she left, she slammed the door, just like today. She watched her son’s cold yet handsome face gradually disappear behind the narrowing door gap.
That expression, completely unchanging and indifferent toward her, as if regarding her as a dead person, made Zhang Lingling’s sense of shame reach its peak at that moment.
Right now, she wants to lash out at him.
“What are you being so high and mighty about? You’re just passing on the good looks you inherited from me. What you’re doing isn’t any different from what I did.”
Zhang Lingling says.
As the door is about to close, she sees Beijiao’s smile. He says, “Okay.”
Zhang Lingling is taken aback.
“I didn’t say I wasn’t thanking you.”
The door shuts.
It’s like hitting cotton with a punch.
…
After New Year’s Day, the year-end approaches. The south seems to finally realize winter’s arrival, and the weather gradually turns colder. The sky hasn’t cleared for several consecutive days, remaining overcast and gloomy.
On the day the last withered leaf falls from the persimmon tree in the courtyard, the sky finally begins to drizzle lightly. In the north, rain usually signifies the melting of snow and the arrival of spring, but in this southern city, the rain feels bone-chillingly cold.
There is no central heating in the south, and once it rains, the temperature becomes unbearable.
“Is the underfloor heating broken?”
Since waking up in the morning, Jiang Ran, wearing a fuzzy lounging suit, hasn’t let go of her hot water bottle. She’s curled up on the sofa watching the Beijing Winter Olympics on TV. On the screen, the men’s snowboard parallel giant slalom qualifying rounds are being broadcast.
At the other end of the same sofa sits Beijiao, and on the tea table’s side of the sofa sits Jiang Huaimin, leaning against him is Zhang Lingling…
Jiang Ran glances at Zhang Lingling expressionlessly, deeply admiring how this Auntie Zhang can still act so coquettishly and naturally at her age of over forty. How could an older man not like that?
She even feels a bit envious.
So envious that her gaze unconsciously sweeps over the black-haired young man on the other side of the sofa. Right now, he’s wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, seemingly unbothered by the cold, his muscular physique clearly visible, looking strong and powerful.
Jiang Ran silently swallows the saliva she’s involuntarily produced—not that she’s particularly lustful or anything, but since that first night when Zhang Lingling suspected something, she’s really been on her best behavior, keeping a safe distance from him as if they were strangers.
Her gaze lingers on Beijiao’s thin lips.
…She hasn’t even touched that area in almost a week. The most amazing thing is that this dog seems to have had his fill that day, only managing to quickly kiss her cheeks or just brush his lips against hers, never going for a deep kiss.
It’s like he’s got some sort of problem.
In France, randomly grabbing someone on the street to greet them would probably be more enthusiastic than what he does.
Jiang Ran is filled with resentment.
Just as she becomes increasingly annoyed, so much so that she can’t even focus on watching TV anymore—
“Are there any Chinese competitors?”
Jiang Huaimin asks the standard question a casual observer might ask while watching an international competition.
“Of course there are,” Jiang Ran answers listlessly.
“Will they pass the qualifiers?”
“They will. Although we started late, we are professional,” Jiang Ran presses the remote control to increase the volume. “Both men’s and women’s teams will have someone entering the round of 32, although it’s not certain they’ll win medals.”
Jiang Huaimin is brewing tea, the purple clay teapot set clinking lightly in his hands. Combined with the bubbling sound of boiling water rising and bursting, the mix of sounds makes one drowsy.
Jiang Ran yawns. When she turned on the TV, the competition was in the second half. There seemed to be ice or some other reason on the track, and already three athletes had been thrown out at the penultimate gate.
“This is unfair for the athletes competing later.”
On the other side of the sofa, Beijiao says.
“The organizers won’t take the blame for this. Competitions have always been like this… so during training, you have to work hard to overcome these external factors with technique.”
Jiang Ran glances at him. At this moment, a Polish athlete steadily passes through the area where everyone else has fallen, raising both hands in the air and punching the sky as he crosses the finish line… Her eyelashes flutter, and she says, “See, others can make it. Why did you fall?”
Beijiao looks at her smug expression and shakes his head helplessly.
“You’re talking nonsense. Do you think anyone who participates in the Olympics lacks technical skill? I heard that the Winter Olympics isn’t about national appointments; everyone is here based on their ability.”
Jiang Huaimin says from the side.
Jiang Ran expressionlessly fiddles with the lid of the hot water bottle in her lap, thinking to herself how aptly the word “heard” was used.
Before the Beijing Winter Olympics, since China’s only well-known strength in the Winter Olympics was short track speed skating, hardly anyone paid attention to the Winter Olympics. At most, people would watch official promotions for events where China might win gold medals or appreciate the figure skating from neighboring countries.
The popularity and awareness of the Winter Olympics are far behind the Summer Olympics, which are watched by the entire nation—
It’s only because this time it’s a home Winter Olympics that people have unprecedented enthusiasm and are seriously starting to study how this competition actually works.
For example, Jiang Huaimin might have just learned that participation in the Winter Olympics requires fixed points from previous World Cup and other designated events.
“There’s always room for accidents, no matter how strong your abilities are!” Jiang Ran doesn’t want to argue with him. “Strong technique can effectively reduce the occurrence of accidents.”
Jiang Huaimin hesitates, wanting to say something.
At this moment, the competition ends, and the final rankings for the men’s group appear on the large screen—
Since the track consists of two lanes, the competition is divided into the Red Group and the Blue Group.
In the qualifiers, the top sixteen from each group (Red and Blue) advance to the next round, making a total of thirty-two athletes.
At this moment, as if to illustrate their previous discussion about “accidents,” a highly dramatic scene really does unfold.
Just then, the commentator on TV says, “Oh,” [Kim Dusan finished seventeenth in the Blue Group, missing sixteenth place from Norway’s Aldonia by 0.01 seconds.]
The commentator’s tone is subtle.
Jiang Ran turns her head just in time to see the seventeenth place in the Blue Group on the screen, where there is a South Korean flag. The score really did miss the qualifying spot by 0.01 seconds.
Perhaps the event director also felt the situation was quite absurd, immediately switching the camera to focus on this South Korean athlete. He is seen standing below the track, looking up at the rankings in shock.
A few seconds later, he loses control of his emotions, throwing his ski gloves angrily, his temper flaring. In his native language, he quickly rants and then throws his snowboard at the nearby railing—
Behind the railing, a group of international media personnel with cameras scatter like birds and beasts.
Jiang Ran feels a complex mix of emotions. Putting herself in his shoes, it seems a bit hard to accept. She frowns and comments, “Kind of pitiful.”
She picks up her phone to see what people are saying in the group chat, only to find everyone sending firecracker emojis, with messages like “Hahahahaha, serves him right!” flooding the screen.
She is confused with a question mark, scrolling up to learn that this South Korean athlete had already gained notoriety before the competition—not because he skied well, but mainly because he had been complaining about the poor food at the Winter Olympics. He couldn’t eat well, couldn’t dress warmly, and was even a bit sick.
In short, he had a lot of complaints.
Now, it’s all over. He can go home to a place where he can eat well and dress warmly.
Jiang Ran rubs her temples in frustration, instantly feeling he isn’t that pitiful anymore. Indeed, serves him right.
At this moment, Jiang Huaimin, seeing her furrow her brows and rub her eyes in distress, mistakenly assumes she is sympathizing with the dramatic loss of the South Korean athlete: “Isn’t this kind of situation quite common? There was also that case in the Summer Olympics where a shooter nearly clinched gold in two consecutive events but missed the final shot both times—”
He wants to say, it’s all fate.
Seeing his daughter looking at him with a frown, he pauses and instantly abandons the metaphysical explanation of the event: “Ranran, your fear of accidents makes it hard for people to feel reassured about how you would handle a mistake in an important competition—”
“Huh!” Jiang Ran reacts quickly, immediately slapping her hand and glaring at Jiang Huaimin, “I just watched a master of metaphysics say that 2022 is a special year, and the heavens have given us the power to decide for ourselves. Whatever we say will come true this year, so you shouldn’t say anything careless.”
“Oh,” Jiang Huaimin says.
“Say ‘spit’ to get rid of the bad luck!” Jiang Ran unhappily kicks her legs.
She kicks Beijiao’s leg, and Beijiao looks at her but, in a very good-natured manner, doesn’t say anything.
Jiang Huaimin: “Spit spit spit! Is that enough!”
Jiang Ran is satisfied as she pulls the blanket over her legs. Jiang Huaimin sighs, muttering to himself, “Young but more superstitious than me,” while still feeling a bit uneasy and wanting to educate her.
He randomly picks up a piece of plastic left from some unknown packaging on the table, holding it up: “Look at this, it seems hard, but actually—”
He bends the plastic piece with his bare hands.
After throwing away the plastic, he randomly tears off a leaf from the orchid plant nearby, “Look at plants, they droop naturally without anyone touching them, but no matter how you bend them, they won’t break.”
Jiang Huaimin throws away the leaf: “Ranran, you should be like an orchid plant, resilient yet truly flexible.”
Jiang Ran is silent for a few seconds.
She turns to Beijiao, who is propped up watching TV, and says with a deadpan expression: “How embarrassing.”
Then, when Beijiao lazily glances at her from the corner of his eye, she shifts her gaze to Jiang Huaimin and says: “I’m almost thirty years old, not almost three. Can we have less of this infantile education, especially with outsiders around?”
Jiang Huaimin: “Who’s the outsider?”
Jiang Ran looks at Beijiao. He had been sitting there like a statue, showing no reaction, but now he turns his head, his dark pupils deepening as he raises an eyebrow at her from an angle Jiang Huaimin can’t see.
“…” Jiang Ran feels intimidated. “Even if there’s no outsider, can we just avoid saying such embarrassing things!”
Jiang Huaimin has no idea that for a moment his obedient daughter was being mentally skewered by someone’s gaze. He casually pats his beer belly: “But what I said is absolutely correct. You’re just too sensitive.”
“There’s one thing you said that’s very right. I don’t have resilience, only willfulness—” Jiang Ran takes a deep breath. “Didn’t you say you were going out? Why haven’t you left yet?”
Feeling too embarrassed to scold him, she hurries her father away.
Reminded by Jiang Ran, Jiang Huaimin seems to finally remember that he has important business today. He stands up with Zhang Lingling, preparing to go shopping for some New Year supplies—
Jiang Huaimin is quite traditional. No matter how prosperous he becomes, he always insists on personally purchasing the necessary supplies for festivals, as if only this way could the gods and ancestors see his sincerity.
He takes the car keys and tells Jiang Ran that the housekeeper is sick today and they should order takeout from a restaurant before dinner.
Jiang Ran absentmindedly agrees.
Jiang Huaimin heads to the entrance to put on his shoes.
Zhang Lingling is slightly slower. Her gaze sweeps over the two people on the sofa—
On the long sofa, the two occupy separate ends, not encroaching on each other’s space.
Beijiao sits neatly on one side of the sofa, head lowered as he plays with his phone.
Jiang Ran’s legs are covered with a blanket that doesn’t move a bit. She presses the remote control to change channels and finally stops on an evening soap opera.
She withdraws her gaze.
“See you tonight,” she says.
Jiang Ran politely replies, “See you tonight, Auntie Zhang.”
But Beijiao doesn’t respond to her.
…
The rain outside hasn’t stopped. The sky is gloomy. It’s only one in the afternoon, but it always feels like it might be getting dark soon.
In fact, everyone knows that the idea of it getting dark as early as two or three in the afternoon doesn’t exist in the south. Even with winter’s arrival, it’s not quite possible.
Seeing Jiang Ran almost freezing to death, Jiang Huaimin hurriedly lights the living room stove for her. This stove can actually produce fire, with a chimney venting smoke outside.
At this moment, the fire in the stove is burning vigorously, and the newly replaced firewood emits a “crackling” sound. This drowsy atmosphere.
Jiang Huaimin probably never expected what was happening in the living room at this very moment when he left.
Facing the stove, the two people who were sitting separately on the sofa, not encroaching on each other’s space, and barely exchanging glances are now entangled together. Intimate and moist sounds emerge from their entwined lips and teeth.
Jiang Ran holds the face of the person pressing down on her, tilting her neck in an extremely difficult posture, actively seeking his kiss—
Not touching him only slightly stirred her resentment; once she touched him, it was like a disastrous and chaotic collision of thunder and lightning. Only now does she realize how much she had missed his scent, her tongue desperately entwined with his without letting go.
(Note: “缠绕着” is translated as “entwined with” for a more natural and vivid expression in English.)
“Wait a minute, slow down.”
He is kissed to the point of heavy breathing. After saying this sentence, he feels that the line sounds familiar. When he realizes it, he even laughs at himself.
He bends down and kisses her furiously fluttering eyebrows, his lips curving upward, unable to flatten the smile.
“So eager?”
He teases her.
She is too lazy to scold him, biting his lip corner, her hands not behaving well as they slide down from his arms, contentedly touching the tight muscles she had been longing for just now—
Finally landing on his waistband.
Previously, it was always Beijiao who took the initiative, but this time, it wasn’t him.
Ten minutes ago.
Grateful that Jiang Huaimin, despite his age, couldn’t resist showing off his Masarati, at the moment when the sound of his Levante engine roared and gradually faded away, Beijiao, who had been somewhat drowsy on the sofa, felt something extend from the side and lightly but firmly step on his crotch.
He was stunned, truly unable to react at first. When he looked up, he saw Jiang Ran, the eldest daughter of the Jiang family, stretching her legs across the entire sofa… She was leaning against the back of the sofa now, adopting a condescending attitude to say to him: “Come here.”
Beijiao didn’t move at first.
She flickered her gaze, pursed her lips: “I want to.”
Beijiao looked outside; it was still raining, and the sun hadn’t risen from the west.
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