The bushes by the hospital entrance saw little foot traffic. Cars, though, were always parked nearby.
The video played. Liu Qianxiu fast-forwarded.
When a figure appeared, he clicked once and stopped.
On the screen, a woman with long limbs and an easy, clean silhouette stood before the bushes. She bent down and reached in. When she straightened again, there was a small, furry bundle in her arms.
She looked awkward holding it, like someone trying not to crush something fragile. She spoke briefly to another woman beside her, then lifted her head and glanced in the direction of the camera before walking out of frame.
The feed shifted angles.
Light and shadow moved across the screen. In the dim reflection, Liu Qianxiu’s features looked deeper, farther away than they should have, as if the camera couldn’t capture him either. His gaze stayed on the frozen image, eyes reflecting the screen’s glow, still and quiet like a deep pond.
The security guard leaned in, took a look, and then, clearly distracted by the woman’s looks, tried to steer himself back to a safer topic.
“What’s she holding? Kittens?” he asked. “Strays, probably. That lady’s got a kind heart. They’re really small, though. Hard to raise. Not sure they’ll make it.”
Liu Qianxiu stood, thanked him, and walked out.
Mu Wan got Liu Qianxiu’s call just as she was lowered off the wire rig.
After days of rain, the air was thick with heat, sunlight steaming it into a damp burn. Mu Wan stood in the shade near an old city wall, dressed in a male costume for a period drama. Sweat had flushed her face red.
“Hello,” she said.
Her forehead itched. She scratched lightly, and sweat slid down her fingers.
“This is Liu Qianxiu.”
His voice was the same as ever, deep and cool, like spring water running over stone.
It was unexpected.
It was Monday. He was back at the hospital today. Mu Wan remembered telling Lin Wei she’d treat him to a meal to apologize once he returned, but filming had swallowed her whole. She’d forgotten.
“You’re back,” Mu Wan said, polite and warm. She crouched slightly, the heat trapped inside the costume rising against her skin. Her smile held steady. “I’m really sorry about last time, and thank you. My wound’s healed. If you’re free after work today, let me buy you dinner.”
“No,” he said.
Simple. Clean. No room for negotiation.
Mu Wan’s smile tightened, like a cloud drawing itself in. Her tone stayed bright anyway.
“Then why are you calling me?”
In his office, it was quiet. Only the crisp sound of paper shifting. On his desk, an ambulance record lifted at one corner as the air conditioning breathed over it. He spoke with the same calm, steady restraint.
“I want the cats.”
Mu Wan understood immediately.
He’d been close to the calico. He probably knew it’d been pregnant. He came back from leave, found the calico dead, pulled the footage, and saw Mu Wan take the kittens.
But the first time they met, she’d asked if the calico was his. He’d said no—a stray.
So what right did he have to claim her kittens?
Mu Wan pressed her tongue to her teeth and smiled, lazy and unbothered.
“Oh?” she said. “Which one?”
Her voice changed when she teased. It opened slowly, like a flower uncurling petal by petal, releasing something warm and unmistakably feminine. For a second, she became that “cat” again.
Her voice overlapped with memory, the corridor, the heat of a drunk body pressing into him, slender arms tightening, the sweet burn of alcohol in the air.
She’d forgotten.
He hadn’t.
The air conditioning finally flipped a page on his desk. Thin white paper, a printed form. Name, phone number, address.
Liu Qianxiu did not answer.
On Mu Wan’s end, someone called for the next shot. Her attention snapped back to the set. Her voice returned to normal, professional.
“Sorry, Doctor Liu. The cats are mine. I can’t give them to you. If there’s nothing else, I’m going back to work.”
She hung up.
That afternoon, the nurses’ conversation had already moved on. Taobao’s mid-year sale. What was worth buying, what wasn’t. No one mentioned the calico again.
After a brief sigh, the dead cat faded from the hospital’s memory like frost falling off a branch, silent and gone.
Liu Qianxiu finished a surgery, signed off, and left work on time.
His car merged into the evening traffic, disappearing into the flow.
The sky had cleared that morning. The asphalt, baked all day, gave off dry heat. The patches of dirt, only half-dried, stayed dark brown, sprouting weeds that looked stubbornly alive under the shade of the triangular maple trees.
Compared to Nanfeng Apartments, this neighborhood was old and worn. Sunlight filtered cleanly through the treetops and landed on stained walls, making the whole place feel weathered, like a story that had lasted too long. Utility poles stood close to the buildings. Wires ran straight and messy across the rough exterior, linking one block to the next. Occasionally, a bird perched on an antenna strung between two buildings.
Liu Qianxiu walked into the first building of the second row.
The stairwell was dim and narrow, still holding the damp smell of rain that hadn’t fully dried. White paint flaked off the handrail. Rust freckled the metal like spots on a quail egg.
The building was old enough to creak with history. The entrance opened straight to the stairs. Beside the staircase was a basement door, dark and quiet, with junk piled nearby. The steps were low and smooth from countless feet.
A small window sat on the landing between floors. Rain had washed the glass clean. Sunlight poured in, cutting the ground into strange, bright shapes.
When Liu Qianxiu reached the landing between the second and third floors, he heard a door open.
He paused and looked up.
Mu Wan stood on the stairs above. She wore a green halter top and denim shorts, her long hair tied up, revealing pale, straight collarbones. Her neck was long, her face small and vivid. Her brows were slightly drawn as if she’d been worried, but when she saw him, the tension eased a little.
He stood with the light behind him, cold-white skin and deep features sharpened by shadow. In this cramped, shabby stairwell, he looked like fine porcelain buried in a shipwreck, only one corner exposed to light, yet impossible to mistake for anything ordinary.
Mu Wan looked down at him. Her red lips parted, and her voice echoed faintly in the stairwell.
“Doctor Liu, are you here for me?”
He didn’t answer her question.
His gaze locked onto her arms.
A blue-green blanket was bundled against her chest. Inside it, a black-and-white kitten, tiny and limp.
“What’s wrong with it?” Liu Qianxiu asked.
Mu Wan looked down at the bundle in her arms.
Inside the blue-green blanket, Zhong Fen lay limp, too quiet for something that small.
“It’s not doing well.”
The author has something to say:
Mu Wan: Oh? Which one do you want?
Liu Daochang: The unbehaved one.
he wants you~ HAHAHA thank u for the chapter!!
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