After Xia Songluo's words hung in the air for a long time, from Yellow Hair's phone, Jiang Hang finally spoke again: "Miss Xia, I have two questions. I'd like to ask you first."
As long as he was willing to respond, that was good enough. Xia Songluo said, "Go ahead, I'm listening."
Jiang Hang spoke slowly: "I don't quite understand—since that Lawyer Jin has already looked into my past, what makes you think that a man who killed his own family would care about the life of some underling? And what makes you think that after hiding for over a decade, Ji Zhou is my only fake identity."
As his sentences grew longer, his Mandarin was indeed getting progressively more mangled.
So that was it—his accent problem was indeed a major reason he'd been playing dumb all this time.
Xia Songluo said, "No need to answer the first question."
Jiang Hang had only learned about it last night, and Yellow Hair already knew tonight—their relationship was clearly not simple.
"The second question..." She thought for a moment. "No matter how many fake identities you have, after everything that's happened these past two days, haven't you figured it out yet?"
Jiang Hang let out a dull grunt. "Figured out what?"
Xia Songluo said mysteriously, "You and I are destined to cross paths. No matter where you run, no matter how deep you hide, I'll always find you."
A water pipe had burst, and he happened to come fix it. Jin Zhan happened to deliver the letter tube to his door.
Even if he reacted quickly and fled overnight, he couldn't stop Yellow Hair from showing up at her door as a hostage.
"Don't you want to know why?"
"And that letter—are you really not curious?"
There was a moment of silence.
Then Jiang Hang said, "I'm not curious. But since you're so curious, I can come back and have a chat with you."
Xia Songluo didn't answer right away, suspecting he might have conditions.
Sure enough, Jiang Hang delivered the twist: "But first, let him go. Otherwise, no deal."
Xia Songluo refused: "Not a chance. Do you think I'm stupid? Let go of the hostage, and what leverage do I have over you?"
Yellow Hair: "Mmgh... mmgh..."
Jiang Hang said, "His name is Fang Ruiyang. He doesn't turn eighteen until next month, and his home is at Unit 21, Lanshan Estate. Please take him home first and hand him over to his mother, Fang Lizhen. In about an hour, I'll come over too. We'll meet there."
"Unit 21?"
Xia Songluo was slightly taken aback.
The lady at Unit 21—wasn't she the wealthy older woman who, according to Jiang Hang, had wanted to take him in as a godson and keep him by her side?
It suddenly dawned on her: "Oh, I see. So that's why you've been hiding out in Lanshan Estate?"
That WeChat chat history—was it to conceal their relationship and protect her?
The complaint last night—was he not deliberately provoking her, but helping her escape?
"See you in a bit." Jiang Hang didn't answer, then hung up.
Xia Songluo didn't call back either. Jiang Hang had already laid his cards on the table, revealing his "base" and "contact person" in the city. There was no need to keep negotiating.
She abandoned Yellow Hair and hurried up to the second floor.
The walk-in closet held over a dozen tall wardrobes, and she picked out a set of form-fitting athletic wear suitable for close-quarters combat.
After changing, Xia Songluo tied her hair up as she walked to the bed, picked up the bronze letter tube from the shattered glass on the floor, and tucked it into her waist pack.
She ran back downstairs, pulled a sharp craft knife from the toolbox, planning to slip it into her jacket pocket just in case.
After a moment's hesitation, she put the craft knife down and headed to the basement.
In the crammed storage room, she dug out a big iron box that hadn't been touched in years.
Xia Songluo blew off the dust, coughing uncontrollably.
The box had been locked by Old Xia. Gritting her teeth and risking the loss of her allowance, she pried it open with a screwdriver.
Flipping open the lid, the box was filled with all kinds of knives and daggers.
Some were practical, while others were collectible pieces of craftsmanship.
They were all things her mother had left behind.
Her mother had a particular love for collecting these small, refined cold weapons—apparently, she'd even bought an entire apartment to display them.
Xia Songluo first picked up her favorite balisong.
The blade was only eight centimeters long, with two handles, unfolding like butterfly wings and spinning like flapping wings in motion.
In the world of fancy tricks, the balisong was the undisputed king—extremely difficult to master. Few beginners didn't hurt themselves with it.
But it was largely impractical, better for showing off.
Besides, this balisong was a gift her father had given her mother years ago.
Damascus steel blade, titanium Damascus handles, master handcrafted limited collector's edition.
Highly ornamental, but with uneven hardness.
Her mother didn't think much of it—she didn't even take it when she walked away from the divorce.
When Xia Songluo was five or six, she'd dug it out of her father's study drawer, secretly practiced with it for about ten days, then brought it out in front of her dad and twirled it around. He turned white as a sheet.
He locked the balisong in the basement and forbade her from playing with any knives ever again, fining her a month of allowance every time he caught her.
But her father was too busy with work to watch her all the time, and she'd long since gotten familiar with every blade in that iron box.
Xia Songluo set down the balisong and picked up a trench knife instead.
It was the polar opposite of the flashy balisong—simple and brutal.
This thing originated in World War I, carried by soldiers for close-quarters fighting in narrow, muddy trenches. It was known as a weapon born from hell.
Too savage. Bringing it to meet Jiang Hang didn't feel quite right either.
Xia Songluo's gaze swept over the other knives: karambits, triangular bayonets, push daggers...
In the end, she chose the balisong again, folded it up, and tucked it into her pocket.
Everything ready, Xia Songluo untied Yellow Hair: "So you live in this same neighborhood too—no wonder you looked familiar."
Fang Ruiyang: "Mmgh, mmgh."
Xia Songluo tore off the tape covering his mouth: "Come on, I'll walk you home."
But he refused to get up off the ground. His arm was dislocated, his chin was swollen, and he could barely speak: "No! I have to wait for Hang Ge to come back before I go home, or else my mom will beat me to a pulp!"
"Serves you right." Xia Songluo kicked him. "Get up. If it weren't for the fact that I know you were only after the letter tube, I'd have done much worse than deliver you to the police."
"Then deliver me to the police station then!" Fang Ruiyang rolled onto his stomach, burying his head like an ostrich. "Or just beat me to death, I don't care."
Xia Songluo could see it now—he wasn't being stubborn, he was genuinely terrified.
Which made sense, she supposed. Anyone willing to secretly associate with a murderer wouldn't be someone simple, and Fang Lizhen was no exception.
Xia Songluo sent another message to Jin Zhan: Unit 21.
"Are you going to get up or not?" She gave him another kick. "If you don't, I'll grab you by the hair and drag you all the way home, see how humiliating that is."
Fang Ruiyang shuddered, and crawled forward, hugging the table leg.
Xia Songluo was at a loss for words. She picked up his phone and pretended to do facial recognition: "Fine, stay there—I'll call your mom and have her come pick you up."
"Don't!" Fang Ruiyang was so scared he let go of the table leg and lunged for the phone.
Xia Songluo pretended she'd already unlocked it, sidestepped him, and headed for the door.
He limped after her, hobbling.
Xia Songluo swung the door open, and the biting wind hit her square in the face, making her shiver.
It had been a long time since she'd gone out late at night. Only now, in the cold, did she truly realize winter had already arrived.
Even if the daytime temperature was still mild, once the seasonal node arrived, the cold snap came without warning, and snowflakes began to drift down.
She wanted to go back inside for a heavier coat, but Yellow Hair tagging along made that inconvenient, so she had no choice but to brave the outdoors.
Walking faster would get her blood moving quicker and keep her warmer.
Fang Ruiyang chased after her: “Sis, please, sis, can you not tell my mom I climbed over the wall? Just say I rang the doorbell and barged in through the front door, okay?”
Xia Songluo ignored him.
“I swear on my life, I had no bad intentions,” Fang Ruiyang explained anxiously. “Last night I stayed up late gaming, and I heard Hang-ge arrive, talking with my mom in the living room. I eavesdropped a little. He said you’d caught on to him, and he couldn’t stay here anymore.”
Xia Songluo slowed her pace.
Fang Ruiyang continued: “My mom asked how Hang-ge knew, and he said he overheard a conversation between you and a lawyer.”
Xia Songluo asked: “Did he play you the recording?”
“He treats me like a kid—why would he willingly show me? I eavesdropped on that too,” Fang Ruiyang said, pressing his aching shoulder with a hiss. “Hang-ge planned to leave tonight. He resigned from Lanshan Estate this morning, took a detour around the back mountain, and came straight to my house. While he was showering, I grabbed his phone and managed to guess his password.”
Xia Songluo was too curious about how much Jiang Hang actually knew: “What was recorded?”
Fang Ruiyang saw her interest and tried to bargain: “If I tell you, will you go along with my story to fool my mom?”
Xia Songluo shot him a glance: “Tell me first, and I’ll consider it.”
Fang Ruiyang said sheepishly: “It wasn’t clear, just that you two were discussing whether Hang-ge actually killed someone. And there was a mailbox—letters written to Hang-ge, with some kind of secret hidden inside. Hang-ge is cautious; he didn’t dare take it. But I wanted to take it to him and prove to him and my mom that I’m not a kid anymore.”
Xia Songluo frowned: “That’s it?”
Fang Ruiyang said: “It was too muffled. That’s all I could make out. Hang-ge has sharp ears, so he might have heard more.”
As they talked, the two reached the gate of Building Twenty-One.
The living room light was on, and the courtyard gate stood wide open.
It seemed Jiang Hang had informed Fang Lizhen in advance.
“Damn it!” Fang Ruiyang’s legs began to tremble, and he turned to run.
Xia Songluo grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him toward the courtyard: “Jiang Hang’s condition was that I deliver you to your mother’s hands. If you want to run, wait until you see her, then run—I promise I won’t stop you.”
Fang Ruiyang made one last desperate plea, lowering his voice: “Sis, I’m begging you, how much money do you want? Jewelry, designer bags, whatever you want, I’ll buy it all for you!”
Xia Songluo also lowered her voice and asked: “What exactly is Jiang Hang’s relationship with your mother?”
It wasn’t that she was interested in Jiang Hang’s personal affairs.
When facing the unknown, she instinctively sought more information to better protect herself.
In many ways, Xia Songluo felt her own personality was contradictory.
Too bold, too cautious.
Fang Ruiyang was too flustered to understand: “What do you mean, what relationship?”
Xia Songluo said: “You call him ge, and what does he call your mom?”
“That’s complicated,” Fang Ruiyang said, unable to explain it in a few words.
“Creak.”
The door opened.
Fang Lizhen appeared at the entrance.
She wore a comfortable casual loungewear set, wrapped in a wool shawl against the cold.
Only now did Xia Songluo realize she had noticed her before—and knew she was a fashion designer with her own womenswear brand.
In terms of looks, she wasn’t a conventional beauty, but her sense of style was impeccable. As she stood there, she looked like a woman who had stepped out of an old magazine spread.
Not that her clothing was outdated; rather, her whole bearing was steeped in a sense of storytelling.
Xia Songluo had initially thought she was only in her early thirties—she never expected her son to be this old.
Xia Songluo greeted her: “Hello, I’m…”
Fang Lizhen pursed her lips: “Miss Xia, the pearl of the CTO of Yunchuang Technology. I’ve seen you around the neighborhood. A girl as distinctive as you—I could hardly fail to notice you.”
Xia Songluo suspected Jiang Hang had told her, but she didn’t call it out. She sidestepped slightly and pushed Fang Ruiyang forward: “I promised Jiang Hang I’d bring him back.”
Fang Lizhen didn’t even glance at her son. She turned and walked inside: “Please, come in.”
Xia Songluo looked down at her feet. She had deliberately worn a pair of martin boots—good for kicking—and they were also her self-defense weapon. She couldn’t take them off: “I’m wearing new shoes. I walked here from my place, so they’re not dirty. I won’t change them.”
Fang Lizhen was rather surprised—here to hold someone accountable, yet still so mindful of details. She smiled: “That’s fine.”
Xia Songluo stepped inside. The interior of the Fang residence was a bit more dated than her own home.
Her family had bought a secondhand place and renovated it ten years ago, adding some trendy touches.
But the Fang home remained much as it had been over twenty years ago.
Clearly, the materials were top-tier, the style heavy and understated, carrying a strong air of old money.
Fang Lizhen invited Xia Songluo to sit, then looked toward the doorway: “You disgraceful brat, what are you still standing out there for? Want the neighbors to know what idiotic thing you did?”
Fang Ruiyang hurried in, one hand trembling as he shut the door.
The moment the door locked, he didn’t dare lie. He dropped to his knees immediately.
“Mom, I knew what I was doing. I’m not an adult yet, and if you smell me, I deliberately had a few drinks—if I got caught, I’d say I mixed up the buildings. All the villas in this compound look alike, and I…”
Fang Lizhen, who had just sat down on the sofa, rose and grabbed a Ru ware teacup from the tea tray on the table, hurling it at him.
The cup struck him on the forehead. He didn’t dare make a sound, only clutching his arm pitifully: “Mom, my shoulder is dislocated. Is it going to snap off?”
Fang Lizhen was so furious her chest heaved. It took her a long moment to compose herself. She sat back down and handed Xia Songluo a cup of tea: “I’m sorry you were frightened tonight. My bastard son doesn’t know his limits. But he truly has no bad intent—he’s just missing half his brain.”
Xia Songluo had drawn her own conclusions. She had searched Yellow Hair—apart from his phone, he carried no weapons.
Fang Lizhen said: “Ahang told me he’s already worked things out with you, but whatever compensation is due, you only need to say the word.”
Xia Songluo cradled the warm tea: “I didn’t come out the worse for it, so no compensation needed. But you really must discipline him properly. If there’s a next time…”
Fang Lizhen assured her: “He won’t do it again. If he does, I won’t wait for you to say anything—I’ll personally take him to the police station for a lesson.”
Seeing how shaken Yellow Hair looked, Xia Songluo let it go. She drank some hot tea to warm herself and waited for Jiang Hang.
But Fang Lizhen kept studying her, which made her uncomfortable. She looked back: “Is something the matter?”
Fang Lizhen seemed puzzled: “Miss Xia, didn’t your family move here only ten years ago?”
Xia Songluo nodded: “My father’s job transferred. We moved here from Xi’an.”
Fang Lizhen asked again: “As a child, did you ever go to Hong Kong or Malaysia?”
Xia Songluo said, "I've never been there. I prefer skiing; when I travel, I tend to go north more often."
Fang Lizhen was genuinely puzzled. "Then where did you meet Jiang Hang? I thought you'd met him as a child, recognized him, and then secretly investigated him."
Hearing this, Xia Songluo was just as confused. "You mean, if I'd grown up living here, I might have known him?"
Fang Lizhen said, "You investigated him and didn't know? Lushan Meadows was developed by his family. This villa was one they kept for themselves—it was the wedding house his parents gave to me and his uncle. When Ah Hang was a kid, during summer breaks, he'd come stay here a few times to practice his Mandarin."
Only then did Xia Songluo realize that the bankrupt Hong Kong developer behind Lushan Meadows was Jiang Hang's family?
Right—Jin Zhan had mentioned that before his family emigrated, they'd been in real estate in Hong Kong.
She and Jin Zhan had both overlooked that detail.
What's more, she'd gotten it wrong—Fang Lizhen was actually Jiang Hang's aunt-in-law by engagement, not his blood aunt.
Seeing Xia Songluo's eyes darting back and forth, Fang Lizhen let out a chuckle. "Don't misunderstand—I'm not his aunt. His uncle and I never married. My son has no relation to his uncle, either; he's not his cousin."
"…" Xia Songluo's thoughts, which she'd just straightened out, went crooked again.
Suddenly, it hit her—in that tragedy in Jiang Hang's family, five people were killed, and one of them was his uncle.
Could that be Jiang Hang's motive for murder?
Fang Lizhen could never have guessed how far off base her thinking had gone. "Still, in my heart, I treat him like my own nephew. Making you two misunderstand was my own doing—and he scolded me for it..."
She sighed. "But I had to do it. Only that way could I regularly find excuses to call him over and get him to sit down for a home-cooked meal. You have no idea—that boy is far too cautious. Without a good enough reason to distance us from him, he'd never dare come near us. He was worried he'd bring harm down on us."
Xia Songluo quietly exhaled in relief. At least it wasn't what she'd imagined.
Wait—if his uncle's old flame was willing to look after him, didn't that suggest he was innocent?
Xia Songluo sat up straighter, a faint tension in her voice that was hard to detect. "He's not a killer, is he?"
Fang Lizhen fell silent, studying Xia Songluo.
Truth be told, even she still hadn't figured out exactly what had happened.
Fang Lizhen wasn't lying—she had indeed noticed Xia Songluo before, because of Xia Zhengchen.
How should she put it? It was rare to see such a devoted father. No matter how busy his work got, he'd personally drive his daughter to school every single day, year after year without fail. He rarely missed any parent-child activities, either, at school or outside it.
Many neighbors used him as an example to scold their own husbands.
As for Fang Lizhen's impression of Xia Songluo—she'd thought of her as a sheltered little princess, raised in a delicate glass greenhouse, innocent and naive.
Until one day, she saw this little princess in her floral dress, at the front of her house, grab hold of the branches of a tree three stories tall, flip through the air a few times, and land effortlessly on her feet. Her core strength was rock-solid—the whole move was so smooth that even her skirt barely rustled.
That was when she knew—this was no delicate hothouse flower.
Xia Zhengchen worked in research; he was a typical STEM nerd. On a rainy day, carrying his daughter as he ran home, he'd be gasping for air within minutes.
Xia Songluo's eyes and brows were somewhat like his, but her build wasn't—she probably took after her mother.
" Auntie Fang?" Xia Songluo was waiting for her answer. This mattered a great deal.
Fang Lizhen withdrew her gaze and answered seriously, "If you ask me whether an eleven-year-old Jiang Hang could brutally kill five adults, I'd say yes."
Xia Songluo's breath caught. Was she admitting his guilt?
Fang Lizhen drew a comparison. "And if you ask me whether the Jiang Hang of today could brutally kill his uncle, who was twenty-nine at the time, I'd also say yes without hesitation."
Xia Songluo understood. "But Jiang Hang couldn't have, at age eleven, brutally killed his uncle who was twenty-nine back then?"
Fang Lizhen said, "Correct—because the skills Jiang Hang had back then were all personally trained into him by his policeman uncle."
At the word "policeman," Xia Songluo's spine snapped straight. "His uncle was... a policeman?"
"Mhm." Fang Lizhen gazed softly at an old photograph on the television cabinet.
It showed a very young her, standing with a handsome man, the backdrop being Victoria Harbour just before the millennium.
That night, the harbor had hosted a grand celebration.
Beneath a sky full of fireworks, the man stood with his arms loosely crossed, beaming at her with a brilliant smile.
She, on the other hand, stood at attention, making a salute and saying, "Yes, sir."
Fang Lizhen averted her gaze, a touch of sorrow flickering in her eyes. "His name was Jiang Rui. Besides being Jiang Hang's uncle, he was also his mentor and his idol. Ah Hang's dream since childhood was to become a criminal investigator just like his uncle. He held himself to the highest standards—how could he ever harm his own family?"
Xia Songluo finally exhaled in relief. She'd known it—"policeman" had to be the anchor point.
"However..." Fang Lizhen shifted gears. "He and I lost touch for over a decade. Earlier this year, Ah Hang nearly died, and only then did he come to me for help. His personality had changed so much I barely recognized him. He refuses to say a word about those years. Whether he killed anyone during that time—I honestly can't tell you."
As she spoke, she opened a bottle of red wine beside the tea tray and poured it into a goblet.
Due to the lighting, the wine looked red as blood as she held it and swirled it gently.
Xia Songluo tightened her grip on her teacup, suspecting Fang Lizhen was deliberately trying to frighten her.
Fang Lizhen observed her without making it obvious, noticing that she was a little scared. So why was she so insistent on seeing Jiang Hang, then?
Just then, a sound came from upstairs—footsteps on the wooden stairs.
Deliberately audible, as if to alert the three people on the ground floor that someone was coming down.
"The person you've been waiting for climbed back over the wall," Fang Lizhen said, then gestured toward her son. "I won't shirk responsibility, but that fool—well, you could say he learned from bad company. He didn't pick up a single one of Ah Hang's strengths, but he sure learned the wall-climbing trick."
Xia Songluo drew in a breath, standing up without meaning to, sliding her hand into her pocket to grip the butterfly knife, her eyes fixed on the stairwell.
Fang Ruiyang finally saw his deliverance. "Brother Hang, quick—plead for me with Mom! My whole body hurts, I can barely stay kneeling!"
Jiang Hang walked downstairs. Having quit his job, he no longer wore the engineering department uniform, but he was still in workwear-style jacket and trousers.
He had only his cap on, revealing his grim expression.
His attitude matched Fang Lizhen's—he didn't even look at Fang Ruiyang. In his slightly accented Mandarin, he said, "Aunt Fang, I take back what I said about him still being a kid. Beat him good, don't hold back. If you really beat him to death, I'll be your son."
"What?" Fang Ruiyang's eyes went wide, staring at Jiang Hang as if he didn't recognize him anymore.
A silent scream rose in his heart—the sky was falling. This time, he'd really pissed off his brother!
"Don't worry." Fang Lizhen downed the rest of her wine in one go, then set the glass down on the coffee table. With a sharp crack, the slender stem snapped.
Xia Songluo's eyelids twitched slightly, as if she understood why Yellow Hair didn't dare go home.
Kind of pitiful, really. Xia Songluo offered him some consolation: "You stayed up all night just to prove to them you're not a kid anymore? Forget the how—either way, you got what you wanted. You should be happy. Come on, no more moping. Smile."
It nearly drove Fang Ruiyang mad with frustration.
Jiang Hang didn't look at Xia Songluo either. He'd come back in a hurry, going straight to the kitchen first, opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of ice water. With his back to the living room, he sat on the kitchen island, twisted off the cap, took a few gulps, rested for nearly a minute, and only then walked back.
He looked at Xia Songluo, his tone flat: "You said you wanted to talk. Where do you want to go?"
Xia Songluo said, "How about my place?"
"No." Jiang Hang dangled the glass bottle by its neck with two fingers as he sat down on the sofa across from her. "We can talk here, or at the sports field four kilometers away."
"Why the sports field?" Xia Songluo didn't understand.
"Just pick one." He didn't explain, lowering his head to swirl the bottle.
To be honest, Xia Songluo thought the way he looked now—all business and hard to deal with—wasn't as agreeable as the fake repairman version of him.
But he was far from scary.
"Don't mind him. That's just how he is, it's not aimed at you," Fang Lizhen spoke up to mediate. "As for the sports field—in about an hour or so, it'll be filled with people doing morning exercise. For him, it's a relatively safe environment. He'll be more relaxed, easier to talk to."
That explanation made it click for Xia Songluo—he preferred to hide in plain sight.
She thought of a place. "Jiang Hang, since you can go to the sports field, can we go to a square that's a bit farther away? Pigeon Square."
The whole thing had started with pigeons, so Pigeon Square was the most fitting place.
And it wasn't far from Jin Zhan's law firm. If things went well, it'd also be closer to get the letters translated by Jin Zhan.
Jiang Hang pulled out his phone and opened the map. After looking it over, he stood up, tossed the empty bottle into the trash can, and headed for the door.
Xia Songluo said goodbye to Fang Lizhen and hurried after him.
In the Fang family's courtyard sat a motorcycle Fang Ruiyang had just bought—a bright red Ducati V4S.
Jiang Hang swung his long legs over and sat down on the seat. A helmet hung from the rearview mirror; he took it down, put it on, leaned forward to grip the handlebars, and pressed the ignition button.
A deafening roar.
Xia Songluo walked over. "What are you doing?"
Amid the engine noise, Jiang Hang seemed taken aback by her question: "Aren't you going to Pigeon Square?"
"I'm not riding that thing." Xia Songluo gestured for him to kill the engine. "My place. I'll drive, you ride with me."
He Qi had a Ducati much like this one, with only one seat. The rear cowl could support a passenger, but it was hard as a rock—sitting on it felt like torture.
Ducati called itself the Ferrari of motorcycles, but based on Xia Songluo's riding experience, it wasn't better than a scooter. And with this kind of supersport bike, she'd have to lie flat against his back. No way.
"I wasn't planning to take you," Jiang Hang motioned for her to move aside. "Go home, get your car. Meet you at the square."
"Nope, we have to go together." Xia Songluo stretched out an arm, blocking him across the chest, her stance firm. "I'm afraid you'll run off."
Jiang Hang said, "I came back. I'm not going to run."
Xia Songluo said, "I don't know you well enough to take that bet."
Jiang Hang said, "I don't like riding in cars."
Xia Songluo said, "Easy. I'll let you drive. I happen to like riding in cars."
Jiang Hang flipped up the helmet visor and stared at her. "After we talk, I plan to leave this city. And you want me to drive your car?"
Xia Songluo: "..."
She couldn't argue with that. Fine. She lifted the arm she'd been blocking him with and instead pressed it on his shoulder for support, then swung herself onto the hard rear cowl.
"Let's go." Xia Songluo sat up straight. As long as he didn't deliberately ride aggressively, she could hold her balance if she stayed alert.
Jiang Hang didn't move for a long moment. He hooked his boot under the kickstand, steadied the bike, killed the engine, got off, and walked back inside, leaving her sitting there.
Xia Songluo had been wary of him before; now she was just annoyed.
Fine—no point in having a long talk. She'd say a few words, simple and direct. If he got it, good; if not, whatever. She'd just tear up the stamp.
She was about to get off the bike when Jiang Hang came back out of the house.
One hand held a brand-new helmet. From across the flowerbed, he tossed it to her with an easy arc.
Xia Songluo caught it out of reflex. She honestly hadn't expected that—he'd gone back inside just to get her a helmet.
Once she'd put it on, Jiang Hang circled back, got on the bike, leaned forward, and fired it up.
The Fang family's courtyard gate was still open, so they rolled out without obstacle, creeping over the speed bumps in the neighborhood. It wasn't until they passed the gate barrier and hit the empty, wide-open roads of the early morning that he began to accelerate steadily, heading for that square where the pigeons gathered.
