“I don’t know what fate means, or why some destinies can be so absurd.”
—
That night, from nine o’clock the previous evening until three in the morning the next day, amid seven hours of frenzied passion and uncontrollable urges—like the crude acts of primitives—Xiang Yu did not lose the gentleness and affection ingrained in her bones. On the contrary, this raw, drenched, exhilarating transformation, as if she had become a different person, more firmly proved her love for Ren Sanliu. From the past to the present, it had never changed, not even slightly, due to the span of time or the pull of distance. In fact… in this situation, her love burned even fiercer.
Xiang Yu had simply been frightened. Her life held too many voids, making it so that after losing and regaining, she could no longer bear even the slightest weight. She remained that person full of tenderness, affection, and endless care, but she borrowed a midsummer rainy night, a quiet room, and a sturdy double bed to present all her gentleness in a more tangible way. It went beyond the spiritual realm; she used seemingly dominant and forceful physical actions, fantasies built from the pattering rain outside—like cracking ice shards—to bring those affections into the real world.
From the moment Xiang Yu heard about Ren Sanliu in the hospital, she had floated like driftwood, desperately grasping for something to hold onto, frantically inquiring and verifying in madness.
The two were essentially the same, both driven by love, but the subtle difference lay in the real touch. It was like clearly planning a grand blueprint in a lucid mind—no matter how beautiful the plan, it could not compare to the moment of true connection, when the solid sense of Ren Sanliu’s safety finally landed.
Now, as the surging emotions gradually subsided, in a state of complete physical and mental release, Xiang Yu let out a soft sigh. She held Ren Sanliu close, letting her head rest in the crook of her right arm. She raised her right hand, fingers splayed, palm cupping the back of Ren Sanliu’s head. Her five fingers threaded into the soft hair, strands weaving like spider silk around them. Her fingertips massaged the scalp at the roots, still damp with sweat and tingling with lingering aftershocks, faintly hot beneath.
At the same time, Xiang Yu’s left hand encircled Ren Sanliu’s other side—not the waist pressed against her own—thumb extended at a ninety-degree angle while the other four fingers pressed tightly together without gap, stroking slowly and pulling her closer.
Xiang Yu’s nose tip pressed against Ren Sanliu’s temple, nuzzling her scent—the camellia soap fragrance, the cedar in her skin, the faint salty milky sweetness in the hot sweat among her hair strands, and the hormone-laden, intense buttery aroma after their fierce lovemaking, like yellow butter melting in a pan.
—
All these scents blended like milk and water, impossible to pinpoint with a single word, but that was fine. Real life never followed logic, and this very chaos vividly confirmed their existence.
Xiang Yu took a deep breath, like a long yawn. In the mottled moonlight filtering through the curtain gap, she lay quietly on the bed without expending any effort. After the body’s extreme revelry, she waited for her misfiring nerves to realign in the quiet warmth.
Lying on this bed, bound in a tight, scorching embrace with no chance—or desire—to escape, Ren Sanliu knew herself less than she knew her vulnerability to Xiang Yu’s touch. She also harbored an unusual need and longing for Xiang Yu.
Ren Sanliu steadied her breathing, eyes closed, as scenes from their recent frenzy replayed like a film frame by frame: reason torn apart, senses dominating, failed self-rescue at the brink where beastliness met beauty. It made her rediscover herself—she was a normal, healthy woman, perhaps with a slightly strong libido.
At present, though their society lacked legal support for same-sex marriage, it was not entirely hopeless.
Currently, 31 countries and regions legally protected same-sex marriages, and 12 more recognized same-sex partnerships outside marriage.
Even if the local laws—Article 1,040—explicitly stipulated marriage as a free and equal union between one man and one woman, societal progress had led many, guided by emotion, to transcend gender constraints. They tacitly embraced a higher form: love as one soul’s attitude toward another, not an organ’s reaction to another.
If two people of the same gender received sincere recognition and blessings from family and friends, even without that certificate, when night fell and they shared a room, shed their clothes, and faced each other in unbearable heat with absolute honesty, no one could deny it was their wedding night.
Love is love—the rainbow translation: same-sex love is love too.
Ren Sanliu thought she had followed her heart and instincts. They had been together so early; she had been hers so long. It was all predestined.
Now, past the heatwave, she felt the oddness in her body. Her waist ached from the demanding position Xiang Yu had put her in—she realized belatedly it had nearly folded her in half. Her arms hurt too, from the minor muscle strain of the car accident, gripped by Xiang Yu, raised overhead, then pinned behind her back. She had become like a highly flexible toy in Xiang Yu’s hands, shapeable at will.
Yet Ren Sanliu was willing. She had known her masochistic tendencies, but Xiang Yu’s constant gentleness made it hard to voice. Now that Xiang Yu had gone wild, Ren Sanliu complied fully—charming, debauched, eager to relive it all. The sleepless three a.m. hour dragged unbearably.
Unable to resist, Ren Sanliu turned her head, rubbing her temple against Xiang Yu’s nose tip.
Suddenly, Ren Sanliu sensed something wrong.
Xiang Yu’s body was scorching. At first, Ren Sanliu thought it was just from their intense “bout,” as she herself was hot too. But after more than ten minutes, Xiang Yu’s heat not only didn’t fade but intensified. The thin summer blanket draped over her felt like a furnace warming up.
“Little Yu… Little Yu…”
Ren Sanliu freed her arm from the tight embrace, placing her hand on Xiang Yu’s cheek—scalding hot.
She quickly turned on the bedside nightlight. It had been on initially, but when Xiang Yu lifted her up facing the headboard, gripping the raised bar for balance, her flailing arm had hit the oval switch, turning it off.
Now relit at high brightness, Ren Sanliu propped herself up, leaned over, cupped Xiang Yu’s face, and checked her temperature. Not just her face—her whole body was flushed and burning. Ren Sanliu was certain: Xiang Yu had a fever.
“Little Yu…”
Xiang Yu, called by name and lifted, found Ren Sanliu’s hands cool and soothing. She instinctively pressed closer, rubbing against the comfortable chill.
She dazedly opened her eyes, squinting at the nightlight’s glow. When she spoke, her throat rasped like it had been scraped by tree bark—dry, hoarse, painful.
“What’s wrong?”
“You have a fever.”
Ren Sanliu hurriedly pulled her hand away, threw off the blanket, and moved to get out of bed.
“Ren Sanliu—” Xiang Yu’s arm shot forward, hooking her waist and yanking her back. “I’m fine… I know my own body. I’ll sleep it off.”
With that, her other hand grabbed the blanket to press Ren Sanliu back down.
But Ren Sanliu refused, shedding her earlier bed-obedience. She pried Xiang Yu’s hand from her waist, touched her burning forehead, pinched her flushed ear—
“Be good… I can’t sleep easy like this.”
She covered Xiang Yu with the blanket, then leaned over from above, body suspended, arm outstretched to grab the white short T-shirt dangling off the bed edge.
From retrieving the T-shirt to retreating to her position and slipping it on, until she rose and left the bedroom, Xiang Yu’s eyes stayed open, never leaving Ren Sanliu’s body.
Gravity pulled downward in that precarious hover; the lampshade swung up, down, side to side. The pearl-like pink button, distinctly outlined, protruded and wouldn’t recede.
The external air flow, internal hormones, normal skin reactions, or friction from movement made the sebaceous glands hypersensitive.
But Xiang Yu thought there was a more crucial reason—
She rolled her throat, swallowing audibly.
—Hadn’t she just acted like a child? Like a kid at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
She licked her lips, still feeling that pearl-like nub, that “baby tooth” thing, as if it had regrown during their recent oral play.
—Nonsense, all made up. Regardless, the human instinct to seek sustenance never faltered.
Besides… she hadn’t used her lips just now—she had used—
—Tongue tip raised to the palate, sliding three times, silently mouthing three words: Ren-San-liu.
When Ren Sanliu returned, she carried a medicine box in one hand and a glass of water in the other, the clear warm water rippling.
“Little Yu… take your medicine.” She sat on the bed edge, opened the box, took out a strip of ibuprofen, pressed out a pill, and fed it into Xiang Yu’s mouth.
Then, one arm around Xiang Yu’s neck from behind, she let her lean into her embrace while bringing the glass to her lips.
Xiang Yu took a sip of warm water; the capsule slid down her throat.
Leaning against Ren Sanliu, she tilted her ear, feeling the obvious softness. Through her lashes, she glanced sideways at the white short T—Ren Sanliu wore no bra.
When Ren Sanliu laid her back on the pillow, she couldn’t help but look at her—
“I’ll get some clothes… wait a sec.”
Ren Sanliu felt improper. Xiang Yu was feverish, yet she couldn’t stop thinking of those things. It was forgivable, though—they had fit so perfectly, felt so amazing; it was normal to crave more.
She grabbed clean clothes and underwear from the closet, turned back, and her heart fluttered again.
Xiang Yu had thrown off the blanket, propped herself up sitting on the bed, hair cascading over her shoulders. Her skin was flushed, breath hot. Ren Sanliu wondered if Xiang Yu’s earlier aggression made her seem so dominant, yet the fever was real. The weary softness in her eyes turned that dominance pitifully alluring, like feigned strength after exhaustion, waiting to be cherished.
“Lift your arms…” Ren Sanliu averted her face, afraid Xiang Yu would see her untimely arousal.
Xiang Yu obeyed, raising her arms. As Ren Sanliu dressed her, Xiang Yu’s gaze fell on the underwear pinched in her hand.
“I’ll do it myself….” Xiang Yu wasn’t so weak that she couldn’t even dress herself, but she wasn’t trying to be naughty either. It was just that… after dismantling the last psychological barrier, she wanted to indulge in the utter abandon of complete relaxation.
