chapter 2

“Why are you tying me up?”

“Open your mouth.”

“What are you—mmph…”

“Quiet. Swallow.”

He forced me to eat the seafood congee one spoonful at a time.

He was clumsy at first and spilled quite a bit, pausing every so often to wipe my face.

By the end he had found his rhythm, and soon the bowl was empty.

Only then did he release me. Holding the empty bowl, he said mildly, “If you enjoy eating this way, we can do it again next time.”

I arranged my face into an expression of humiliation. “I won’t surrender. Not when it comes to him.”

Inside, I was delighted.

It was not as if I had abandoned my hunger strike. Jiang Wenzhou had insisted on feeding me.

His lips flattened as his pitch-black eyes fixed on me.

My skin prickled, but I forced myself to meet his gaze.

“You like him that much?”

“Wenzhou, you’ve never even dated. You don’t understand love at all.”

He lowered his head and rubbed a finger along the rim of the bowl.

For some reason, every muscle in me tensed.

Then he became my gentle big brother again and smiled. “Get some rest. You’ll need your strength if you want to keep fighting me, won’t you?”

I watched him go.

As soon as the door closed, I collapsed across the bed as if all the strength had been sucked out of me.

Jiang Wenzhou had been terrifying just now.

Still, nothing was more terrifying than having a job!

I climbed down, lifted the chain at my ankle, and crept to the door to listen.

When I heard the lights outside switch off, I opened the closet and retrieved my phone.

“What comes after the hunger strike? What do I do next?”

My cousin replied, “Freeze everyone out. Let them see how disappointed you are in them!”

So I stopped speaking to Jiang Wenzhou.

He did not seem particularly bothered.

He still came in three times a day with my meals.

Sometimes I slept late and woke to find him sitting beside the bed, staring at me.

Once I was awake, he would unlock the silver chain so I could wash up in the en suite bathroom.

While I did, he would bring in the reheated food.

On the third night of my one-sided cold war, he suddenly entered the room.

I hurriedly hid the phone and eyed him warily.

His hair was still damp, and he wore only pajamas. Water had dripped from his hair and soaked a broad patch of his collar, turning the fabric translucent.

The sight dazzled me for a second. I instinctively looked away.

His helpless voice drifted over. “The showerhead in the other bathroom is broken. I need to borrow yours.”

My mind felt scrambled, still stuck on the drops hanging from his hair.

“Suit yourself.”

I thought I heard a quiet chuckle.

When I looked over, he had already gone into the bathroom.

Soon, the rush of water filled the room.

I pulled a comic from the shelf and pretended to read, but all I could hear was the shower.

Staring at the illustrated face on the page, a thought suddenly struck me.

Jiang Wenzhou had gone in empty-handed.

Which meant—

Sure enough, when the water stopped, an embarrassed, low voice came from inside.

“Tong Jia, I forgot my clothes. Could you pass me something to wear?”