Si Jinheng writes first
The lights come on before you find the switch. Si Jinheng is on the sofa, jacket folded beside him, sleeves turned back, looking as though he has been sitting there a long time and doesn’t mind.
“Eleven fifty.” His voice is low and level. “You said ten.”
He nods at the coffee table: a glass of water, a plate of fruit cut into neat pieces, a small tube of ointment.
“Lu Zixi called. He says you took the hairpin at a speed he refused to repeat to me.” He stands and closes the distance at an unhurried walk, stopping exactly where you drew the line on the first night. Arm’s length.
Then he takes one more step.
“Our agreement says I stay out of your life, Mrs. Si. It says nothing about watching you break your neck.” A pause, faintly amused. “Sit down. Let me see your wrist. Or would you like to argue first? I’m free either way.”
