Chapter 4: Cherishing Encounters

Hao Meng unbuttoned Jiang Fan’s tightly fastened shirt and slipped into his arms, resting her head on his chest and gently guiding his hand to her waist.

As she felt the firm muscles along Jiang Fan’s body, curiosity sparkled in her eyes. “You’re so muscular, and you moved so nimbly when you dealt with those robbers earlier—do you know martial arts?”

Hao Meng’s question stirred up a wave of longing in Jiang Fan’s heart for Li Jiuguan. He nodded with a hint of melancholy, pointing to the wounds at the corner of his mouth and eye that had yet to heal. “I learned from an old man for three years. All these injuries came from his fists.”

Jiang Fan’s words, though sounding like a complaint, were more a search for comfort and an expression of deep yearning for his recently departed teacher.

Hao Meng took his hand in hers, inspecting the bruises on his forehead and around his eyes. “If he was teaching you martial arts, why would he beat you so badly?”

“It was my own fault.”

Li Jiuguan, not wanting his own ugly appearance to affect Jiang Fan, had never allowed him to call him ‘master.’ The two of them always addressed each other in a teasing but affectionate way as ‘old man’ and ‘kid.’

“What did you do wrong?” Hao Meng pressed, her curiosity piqued.

“The school said I was morally corrupt and of poor character, so they expelled me. The old man saw how dispirited I was—like I had lost the will to live—and gave me a good beating, telling me to stand tall and be a real man.”

“Then why did they label you as morally corrupt?”

Jiang Fan fell silent.

“Is it hard to talk about? There must be more to the story,” she said softly, sensing his reluctance.

Everyone has their own secrets, so Hao Meng didn’t pry further.

Jiang Fan sighed deeply, his eyes brimming with tears.

“A man like you, and they called you morally corrupt? Then I must be no different from a female hooligan!” she exclaimed.

She remembered how Jiang Fan had brought her onto the bus, how he had made space for her to rest, and how, time and again, she had been the one to take the initiative, while he had blushed and fumbled with shy embarrassment—such genuine reactions that could not be faked. How could someone so fundamentally honest be accused of a lack of character?

Hao Meng had seen countless people in her life, and of all things, this was the one she simply could not believe.

The feeling of being seen and accepted was a rare luxury for Jiang Fan, who had been wandering the south in hardship. As he listened to Hao Meng’s words, his entire body trembled, and tears streamed down his face.

The affection that had blossomed between them on their journey had already made Hao Meng infatuated with him, and his brave battle against the four robbers had set her heart racing. Now, as they spent the night together in a single room, with the prospect of parting ways come morning, Hao Meng was eager to seize the chance to share a night of passion with the man she desired.

While Jiang Fan went to wash up, she had deliberately changed into a seductive nightgown, with nothing underneath to leave no barriers between them.

Yet, in the moment when Jiang Fan broke down in tears, Hao Meng found herself lost in thought.

How could such a pure, honest, and bashful young man—so green and unspoiled—be expelled from school for a lack of character? Those school officials were truly despicable, always picking on the honest ones.

A man’s tears rarely fall unless his heart is truly broken. Here was a man who had faced four burly criminals without fear, but at the mention of school, was moved to tears. What had happened there that lingered so painfully in his heart?

With so many questions swirling within her, she became certain that the man lying beside her was truly good at heart. Reflecting on her own intentions, she wondered, “Am I going against my conscience by trying to seduce such an innocent boy for my own selfish desires?”

Tormented by conflicting emotions, Hao Meng’s plan of seduction was abandoned, and the mood for intimacy vanished entirely.

She gently wiped the tears from Jiang Fan’s face, comforting him with a soft voice, “In life, we all go through unexpected trials. There’s no obstacle we can’t overcome. You should get some sleep. Tomorrow, you still have to go to Chang’an to find your senior brother.”

“Thank you.”

It was the first time Jiang Fan had cried in front of a woman. Seeing how understanding Hao Meng was, he managed an embarrassed word of thanks.

Hao Meng drew his hand beneath her cheek and replied coquettishly, “There’s no need for thanks between us. Being too polite puts up walls. From now on, don’t be so formal with me. Now be good and get some sleep.”

Resolving not to take advantage of his vulnerability, Hao Meng found herself seeing Jiang Fan in a new light, hoping for a deeper connection between their hearts. She suppressed her desire and, feigning exhaustion, closed her eyes.

Though still feeling sad, with a warm, beautiful woman in his arms, Jiang Fan found it almost impossible to remain unmoved. Hormones surged through his body, and despite his fatigue, he found it hard to fall asleep.

He could have taken in her beauty openly, indulged his hands as he pleased, yet his deeply ingrained reserve held him back. Like a thief, he stole a few furtive caresses from Hao Meng’s body as she pretended to sleep.

At some point, Jiang Fan finally drifted into dreamland, his soft snores filling the room.

Once Hao Meng was sure Jiang Fan was sound asleep from the steady rhythm of his breathing, she gently removed his roaming hand from her chest and slipped out of bed.

She changed her clothes, then sat for a moment on the edge of the bed, affectionately stroking Jiang Fan’s face—rough-hewn but striking. “He seemed so plain at first, but looking closer now, he’s really quite spirited,” she murmured to herself.

She then rummaged through her pockets, counting out all the money she had—sixty-seven yuan in total. Among the migrant workers in Dongguan, her income was considered decent, but her family owed a lot of money, and on this return trip home, she had paid off several thousand, leaving herself with only one hundred fifty yuan for the journey.

She had noticed Jiang Fan’s financial troubles early on, and had covered all their expenses along the way. Now, this was all the money she had left.

Taking a fifty-yuan note, she tucked it into Jiang Fan’s shirt pocket, keeping the rest for herself. Worried he might lose it, she carefully fastened the button on his pocket, then picked up her suitcase and left. As she opened the door, she turned back for one last look at the sleeping Jiang Fan, and tears of reluctance filled her eyes.

For safety, the inn kept its doors locked at night, and the owner slept in a small room by the front desk, serving as both concierge and guard. Hao Meng came downstairs, glanced at the clock on the wall—it was already half past five in the morning. With tears still clinging to her lashes, she knocked and roused the owner to open the door. Then, just as she was about to leave, she changed her mind, returned to the desk, and borrowed pen and paper to leave a note for Jiang Fan.

On the note, she wrote a landline number, saying he could reach her there between seven in the evening and one in the morning, but begged him not to call unless it was absolutely necessary.

From the moment she entered the inn, Hao Meng had not slept. When Jiang Fan’s restless hands wandered over her body, she had been sorely tempted to abandon her pretense of sleep and give in to desire. But seeing the sorrow in Jiang Fan’s eyes, and recalling her own weary years spent entangled with different men, she felt unworthy of someone so pure in body and spirit.

So, again and again, she forced herself to restrain her longing, determined to leave this beautiful encounter unsullied in her memory.

She left early, fearing what she might do if she faced Jiang Fan when he awoke—fearing her own overwhelming desire might ruin the sweetness of their chance meeting. In the end, she could only choose to leave without saying goodbye.