In his arms, she found a fleeting sense of security.

Beyond the support of his broad shoulders, the whole world seemed far away.

Under his wings, it felt as if there was nothing to worry about,

nothing worth worrying about.

It was a sensation that could easily become an addiction

—a captivating sense of security, yet wrapped in an aura of danger. 

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

When Sandra was little, there were always things that adults made her do that she couldn't figure out why she had to do: such as writing diaries and travelogues during summer vacations, calling a man she didn't know "dad," and referring to a boy she barely recognized as her "brother." She assumed there were reasons behind these demands. Adults had always known better.

Back then, she believed that being an adult meant knowing what you were doing, why you were doing it, and how to do it. However, as she grew up, she realized that, despite her busy schedule, she often found herself stuck in situations where she had no idea what she was doing, why she was doing it, or how to proceed.

Like now, as she awoke on a Saturday afternoon in an unfamiliar bed, staring at a ceiling speckled with acoustic paint, textured like the uneven face of her first love, she found herself questioning how she ended up here.

Okay, she admitted, she had quite a bit to drink yesterday, but not enough to lose consciousness. That man was rather well-endowed, and she had really enjoyed herself. However, her mind felt too blank at the moment to contemplate what had truly happened, and she didn't dare to try.

In her traditional culture, a girl was expected to maintain her chastity until marriage and remained faithful to her husband afterward. Of course, society had become more lenient toward women nowadays. Her mother left her real father to pursue love and did not face too much resistance from her grandparents. Although this dramatic change had severely affected her as a young child.

Her mother taught her from a young age that girls should approach sexual matters with care. "Men who win you over too easily," her mother would often say, "may never truly cherish you."

She had always been an obedient child, following her mother's advice. However, the scene she encountered at her boyfriend's bedroom door yesterday shattered her illusions. Unprepared for the harsh reality, she realized that her caution hadn't led him to appreciate her more. Instead, it had given him an excuse to betray her trust and sleep with another woman.

Of course, she would never admit that the reason she was lying here now was because of her own feelings of vulnerability, and she certainly would never punish herself for a mistake that clearly should have been borne by a man. A woman who did that would be very pathetic.

She shared the same surname as the martial arts grandmaster, Yip Man (a Chinese martial arts grandmaster. He became a teacher of the martial art of Wing Chun when he was 20). 

She had claimed the championship in the Western Amateur Women's Sanda (the official Chinese kickboxing full-contact combat sport) League just last month. 

As tough as she was, she hadn't been defeated by her formidable competitors, so how could she possibly be broken by a mere heartbreak?

It made her feel a lot better to think that way.

She didn't really want to get up, lying here was quite comfortable. Besides, every time she moved, a soreness radiated from her back, and her hamstrings throbbed with discomfort.

The sheet beneath her was smooth and soft. As she ran her fingers over it, they brushed against a dry, rough patch. She didn't dare to look at it or consider what it meant.

A ridiculous thought crossed her mind: "A hotel with sheets this nice wouldn't chase me for cleaning fees, right?"

She chuckled to herself. How many clandestine affairs had this bed witnessed? Who cared about such things?

Even she found herself less concerned than she thought she would be. What mattered more now was that it was already past noon, and she had missed the check-out time. Hopefully, that man was generous enough and had settled the bill in advance.

After lying down for a few more minutes, she took a deep breath and finally got up.

Clothes, like a dying but resigned man, lay strewn from the doorway to the bed. She picked them up one by one, dropping each piece onto the couch. 

A sticky note, bearing a phone number filled with '8's, was pressed against the nightstand. In her culture, the number '8' sounded like the word for "get a fortune", making it especially auspicious.

She glanced at the note, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the trash. It was just a one-night stand. She did not plan for anything more to do with that man.

Towels lay scattered across the bathroom counter and floor. The shower was still wet, with two curly hairs clinging to the tiles. A small, square, silver packet floated on the surface of the toilet water. She stared at it briefly before pressing the button. A soft flash of silver light swirled in the water and disappeared. Her heart clenched inexplicably.

She gently eased herself into a hot bath, feeling the soothing waves buoy her and relieve her sore back. As her hand brushed against her skin, tiny bubbles rose from the slightly blue water, eager to burst at the surface. The room was silent, enveloped in peaceful stillness.

Was anything different? It didn't seem so, at least not on the surface. But change often crept in quietly, invisible at first, especially when it came to people.

Her mind wandered back to the moment she opened the door, catching sight of two startled faces.

She had left calmly.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and sank deeper into the water's embrace.

The world is inherently free of trouble; it is only fools who trouble themselves.

🎬🔀

"Women were like houses.

The average man could only afford a snail's pace.

Those less fortunate might find themselves sleeping on the streets.

As the standard of living improved, many people ended up in modest two-room or three-room homes.

Meanwhile, some were born destined to reside in grand mansions."

At the time, Arden hadn't yet been taught a lesson by Sandra. He didn't realize there was anything wrong with his objectification of women. In the circle he grew up in, the elders, his father, and his friends had instilled in him the belief that this was simply how the world operated.

Back then, he hadn't "lived in a mansion." At best, his situation could be described as having "no fixed abode," frequently moving from one "room" to another.

"If a young man does not indulge in romance or adventure, it is a waste of their youth." Among the many lessons his father imparted, this was the one he embraced most thoroughly.

Fortunately, his father had sent him to college in North America, a place known for its liberal atmosphere. It felt as though there were no limits to what he could do, as long as he stayed within the boundaries of the law.

This is a picture of the SVJ (not ad😅).

He parked his red Lamborghini SVJ Roadster in the parking lot and glanced at his reflection, running a hand over his hair.

There wasn't much to fix; he'd impulsively shaved his head some time ago, leaving only a short layer of coarse stubble. His hairdresser had etched wavy patterns into the sides, and his friends teased that they looked like crop circles.

Despite the jokes, he wouldn't mind meeting an alien. A passionate encounter with an extraterrestrial woman would add an unforgettable chapter in his already colorful love life.

The SVJ's doors rose slowly, like the wings of a bird. He stretched out his long legs first, then stepped out with deliberate grace, drawing gasps of admiration from the onlookers. His large black sunglasses hid his mesmerizing gaze, but they couldn't conceal the subtle upward curve of his lips. That charming smile alone was enough to make the hearts of passing young girls flutter.

With his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he strode into KSF with an air of supreme confidence and unshakable poise.

KSF was important to him. It wasn't just a hangout spot for himself—his friends came here all the time too. Despite his family's wealth, he knew he had to earn a diploma abroad and build connections before returning to his parents. There was no way around it.

"Adeon Lam"—a name he didn't particularly like. He preferred to be called "Arden". Arden was no simple philanderer. When others were having fun, he joined in. When others were scratching their heads over exams, he was still having fun. Yet, the reports he submitted always earned the admiration of his professors, leaving them nodding in praise.

He was keenly aware that his freedom was fleeting, confined to these few short years. The day he returned home would mark his entry into the real "battlefield". Reality was harsh. 

The higher you stood, the farther you could see, but the riskier the path, the harder the fall.

With limited time and energy, he had little interest in the rigid material of textbooks. Instead, he focused on tangible, real-world matters. The market was a business of people, and he cared only about people. At this stage, his interest was women. To him, winning over women felt like conquering half the world.

"Yo, Arden, what took you so long? The sun's almost clocking out!" called his friend, Ryo Chin, lounging at the bar.

Ryo had just arrived last month—a young man with delicate features and a strikingly pretty face. During the welcome party, Arden had insisted on dressing him in a ballet outfit and pushing him onto the bar to perform Swan Lake. It was a fraternity tradition, and Arden had gone through it himself. But Ryo didn't see it that way. He still held a grudge.

"I went home to change." Arden said as he headed straight to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

"Out all night again?" Ryo raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Was it with that girl from The Roxy last night?"

Arden took a sip of his water and casually gestured with his fingers to indicate a "yes."

"Lucky you. She seemed like a real catch," Ryo teased, leaning in.

Arden took the last mouthful of water and gave a meaningful nod, punctuated with a thumbs-up.

"Damn, you're no bro," Ryo said, hooking an arm around Arden's neck and yanking him back. "You swooped in on my target while I was taking a leak. I saw her first."

Arden spat out half his water, coughing like crazy, before grabbing Ryo's arm and flipping him over his shoulder.

"Trying to choke me? With your tiny frame, you'd be a eunuch without even needing the whole castration thing."

Ryo got up from the floor, dusted himself off, and swung his fist, "Who you calling that? Say it again..."

Just then, Moya pushed the door open and found the two of them "intimately" tussling on the lounge sofa.

"Amitabha," she muttered, stepping back and crossing herself. "World peace, amen."

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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