On the fifteenth day of the lunar month—the Lantern Festival—A Jin came home early.
Without discussion, he dragged Lin Wan out the door and took her to Joy City.
The square outside was lined with shimmering ice sculptures—most striking were the twelve zodiac animals, arranged around the perimeter.
Children and students dashed from one to another, taking pictures with their signs.
Too many people outside.
A Jin tugged Lin Wan into the mall instead.
Lanterns and red banners filled every floor; a sea of festivity.
In the main hall hung rows of red riddle slips.
Crowds craned their necks to read them.
A Jin pulled her forward.
"Come on, let's take a look."
The holiday cheer warmed Lin Wan up herself.
She had always liked games.
Seeing everyone guessing riddles made her pulse quicken with interest.
Before she could choose one, A Jin pointed.
This one's funny.
'A Lin Sister falls from the sky.' (One form of address)
Can you guess?
Lin Wan rolled her eyes.
"No."
"Let me think…"
He paused dramatically.
"I've got it."
"What?"
"High school girl."
"…"
He wrote down the riddle number with great seriousness.
Then spotted another.
"This one's good—'Breast implants failed, wants to end it all' (five-character slang)."
Lin Wan glared.
"No idea."
"How are you so dumb?" he teased.
"It's simple—'Might as well die.'"
She understood—too quickly—
And ground her teeth.
"Pervert."
She searched the board and finally found one she liked.
She waved him over, recited provocatively:
"'All real men like to roam the world south and north' (nine-character saying)."
A flicker of discomfort crossed his face.
Lin Wan smirked.
"Men are all scumbags."
"That's the third tone," he protested.
"Not the neutral tone."
"It's scum," she declared firmly, emphasizing the wrong tone on purpose, giving him a look full of challenge.
A Jin surrendered immediately.
Scum it is.
Whatever you say.
The two of them kept guessing riddles like it was a competition. After more than a dozen rounds, A Jin still solved more than she did.
Unconvinced, Lin Wan wanted to continue, but he tugged her hand.
"Enough. Aren't you hungry? Let's get something to eat."
Seeing she still hesitated, he added softly,
"Losing to a man isn't embarrassing. Come on."
Lin Wan curled her lip.
"You look down on women."
A Jin froze for a second, then gave a wry laugh.
"That was before."
"And now?"
"Now… I'm scared."
"Liar."
Before going upstairs to eat, A Jin dragged her to the prize counter. Two long lines had formed. Lin Wan didn't want to wait, but he insisted. He had studied the event board earlier—guess ten riddles correctly, and you get to draw a lottery ticket. The prizes were supposedly generous.
"Who knows," he said, "maybe we'll win something big."
Lin Wan glanced at the small mountain of prizes behind the counter and felt a faint sourness.
"I don't have that kind of luck."
A Jin opened her palm and placed his hand over hers. "Perfect. I'm overflowing with luck. I'll lend you some."
He even blew a puff of "fairy breath" onto their joined hands.
Lin Wan nearly jumped, and a young couple behind them stifled laughter.
Heat rose into her cheeks. She slapped the back of his hand sharply.
A Jin exaggerated a wince, loud enough for people in front of them to turn and look. Then he leaned down and whispered,
"At least let me keep a little dignity."
"You don't have any."
"Mm. I have no shame—only dignity."
Fortunately, the staff worked quickly, and soon it was their turn. A Jin read off each riddle number and answered. After verifying, the staff handed over a pile of "exquisite" small prizes.
Lin Wan burst out laughing. Keychains, a Crayon Shin-chan figurine, a Doraemon toy, and several characters she didn't recognize.
A Jin, however, examined them seriously.
"These two are duplicates—swap them for something else," he said to the staff.
Lin Wan turned away, rolling her eyes. So much for dignity.
A Jin bundled everything and stuffed the trinkets into the pockets of her down coat. Lin Wan looked down at her bulging pockets and reached to take them out—when the staff member announced,
"You answered twenty riddles correctly. You can draw twice."
A Jin stepped forward immediately. He scratched the card, glanced at it, and shrugged.
"Thanks for participating." Then he nodded to her. "Your turn."
Lin Wan drew a card. For some reason, she felt a little nervous.
The staff member read it, then beamed.
"Congratulations, miss. You've won first prize."
Before she could react, a small teddy bear was placed in her hands.
A Jin snorted. "That's first prize?"
Lin Wan stared at the toy blankly—then brushed its fur. A glittering snowflake-shaped pendant hung from its chest.
"This was attached by mistake, right?" she asked.
The staff member laughed.
"No, that's the real first prize."
"Is it… diamond?" Lin Wan lifted it toward the light.
A Jin said, "Fake."
The staffer wiped sweat.
"It's real. A limited edition custom piece for our anniversary."
Upstairs at the restaurant, Lin Wan still seemed dazed. She set down her chopsticks, picked up the teddy bear, and carefully removed the necklace.
A Jin chuckled.
"Is it really that great? It doesn't look worth much."
Without looking up, Lin Wan replied,
"What do you know?"
Then something struck her. She looked up suddenly.
"Wait—did you arrange this?"
A Jin almost bit his chopsticks.
"You think too highly of me. I can't come up with something that roundabout."
"So it really wasn't you?"
Her earlier excitement dimmed, turning into doubt.
He met her gaze steadily.
"Why would I do that?"
Lin Wan blinked and said nothing.
A Jin let it go.
"It wasn't me. If it were, I'd pick something better than that. Want me to swear?"
"No." She lowered her head and resumed eating tangyuan.
A Jin placed his hand over hers.
"Wanwan, believe me. No one stays unlucky forever. There's a saying—when misfortune reaches its peak, fortune follows. You've hit the lowest point already. Everything from here will only get better."
Lin Wan kept her gaze down. She knew—if she looked up, she would see sincerity shining in his eyes, a sincerity she couldn't afford to acknowledge.
She knew. That was why she didn't dare look.
Beautiful things were dangerous.
Like sweet bait—brief pleasure followed by the cold hook buried in her throat.
She couldn't forget. Didn't dare forget.
Last year today, she lay helpless in a pale hospital room, her body marked by wounds he had given, unable to see a future.
Now she sat across from him, surrounded by red lanterns and festival warmth—
But the wounds inside her remained.
She was confused.
Was life a circle, always returning to its origin?
Or a straight line, meant only to move forward?
No one told her.
All she had were instincts:
Instinct to remember.
Instinct to flee.
Instinct to protect what remained of herself.