Chapter Three: A Game, A Dream

At the wedding banquet, the newlyweds made their rounds to toast each table. As always, the bridesmaid and groomsman were the cannon fodder of the drinking table. After circling the room, Xiaoxiao had long since lost count of how many glasses she had downed on Huamei's behalf. She could only be grateful for the drinking tolerance she had built up over the past few years in countless social occasions.

When the guests had gone and the real festivities began, Xiaoxiao initially wanted no part in the post-wedding games, but she couldn't resist Huamei's pleading. She had no idea who suggested a competition between the newlyweds and their attendants—a game called "Five Sons Ascend to Honor"—but she immediately felt her luck had run out.

The rules were simple: a lit cigarette was tied to the middle of a red string, with one person biting each end. Five matches were stuck upright on the table, and without using hands, the pair had to light all the matches. The newlyweds formed one team, the bridesmaid and groomsman another, with the losers facing a forfeit.

"I don't think it's necessary; just on tacit understanding alone, we've already lost," Xiaoxiao tried to excuse herself. But Lin Shuo deliberately contradicted her, taunting, "You're not afraid to lose, are you?"

The alcohol had gone to Xiaoxiao's head. She grabbed the red string and thrust it at Lin Shuo; the game began.

The string was short, forcing Xiaoxiao and Lin Shuo to stare each other down at close quarters, looking ridiculous. Lin Shuo led from the front, Xiaoxiao following carefully behind. The smoke stung Xiaoxiao's throat, making her want to cough, but she held it in. They finally managed to light the first match when Xiaoxiao's exposed knee was unexpectedly pricked by a wine opener lying on the carpet. She instinctively lurched forward, and the red string was burned through by the match. Both of them ended up with a smoldering piece of string between their teeth, neither willing to let go, locked in silent confrontation.

What started as a contest with the newlyweds had morphed into a duel between Xiaoxiao and Lin Shuo. As the flame crept perilously close to their jaws, Lin Shuo quickly spit out his end and yanked the piece from Xiaoxiao's mouth, slapping it onto the table to extinguish it.

"Ni Xiaoxiao!" Lin Shuo's anger was fiercer than the force of his hand.

Xiaoxiao wiped her mouth and stood, nearly losing her balance from the pain in her knee. She looked at Lin Shuo with smug satisfaction and said, "You lost."

The room was full of people waiting for drama, their eyes fixed on the two of them. In that moment, Xiaoxiao chose to leave with her head held high. Only when she entered the elevator did her composure wilt; in truth, she was the one who had lost. Lin Shuo, it turned out, could still throw her off balance.

The apartment security guard saw her limping and kindly called a car for her. As she turned, she saw Lin Shuo, breathless, hurrying out of the emergency stairwell. Before she could react, he crouched down to lift the hem of her dress. Xiaoxiao staggered back in alarm, shouting, "Pervert!"

The guard quickly put down the phone and rushed over to restrain Lin Shuo. Lin Shuo explained the situation politely, and the guard, still suspicious, reluctantly let him go. Lin Shuo crouched at Xiaoxiao's feet again, pulling a band-aid from his suit pocket. "Be careful it doesn't get infected," he said.

"I don't need your help. Aren't you supposed to hate me?" she retorted.

Lin Shuo's hands paused as he unwrapped the band-aid. He chided, "Stop fussing. This is the forfeit for the losing team." Once he'd applied the band-aid, he turned and left without another word, taking the elevator up.

Xiaoxiao couldn't help but feel ridiculous. So, in the end, it had all just been a game.

Back in the wedding suite, the uproar continued. Lin Shuo stood on the balcony, the busy street below devoid of Xiaoxiao's figure. He held a cigarette between his lips, absently clicking his lighter. Once, twice—there was no wind, yet he cupped his palm tightly around the flame, but it simply wouldn't catch. A futile effort. At last, he gave up.

Loneliness is not the time to speak of love.

Chapter Three: A Game, A Dream—complete.