The old electric fan was cranked to its highest setting, but it barely pushed any air. As summer vacation crept closer, the heat climbed relentlessly. A single fan could hardly bring relief.

Yue Feather tossed and turned on his bed, sweat soaking his shirt in minutes. Lying on a regular mattress was far less cool than his bamboo mat.

"If only we had an air conditioner…" he muttered under his breath. He’d repeated this countless times since summer began.

He often dreamed of striking it rich—buying an AC for home, the latest laptop, and a Nintendo console to play anywhere.

But it was just a fantasy.

Humans love daydreaming. It’s not bad; it’s a way to cope.

Silver Bell must be asleep by now, he thought. She usually drifted off the moment she hit the bamboo mat.

People say the simpler you are, the easier you sleep. Did that mean Silver Bell was truly pure-hearted?

As Yue Feather’s mind wandered, rustling sounds came from below. He turned his head. Today, Silver Bell wasn’t sleeping. She frowned, restless, shifting her body again and again.

He closed his eyes, but the rustling filled his ears. It made him uneasy.

"Can’t sleep?" he finally asked. Maybe it was because of that time of the month for her.

No reply came. The rustling had stopped a while ago.

Yue Feather peeked down. Silver Bell had fallen asleep—but her posture was awkward, her face tight with pain. Her brows stayed slightly furrowed, never relaxing.

He had zero experience with this. He didn’t know how to help. All he could do was stay quiet, worried he’d wake her. Light sleepers startle easily.

Yue Feather forced himself to sleep. Midnight heat clung to him. He dreamed a long, strange dream: he was a hundred-year-old man, nearly bald, studying something he couldn’t quite see.

Heat jolted him awake. Sweat drenched his body, beading on his face.

A breeze slipped through the window gap, lifting the curtain gently. It brought a trace of coolness to his feverish skin.

Summer winds were rare. If they blew steadily, nights wouldn’t be so sweltering.

Yue Feather fumbled for his alarm clock, pressing the night-light button. The tiny bulb glowed, showing it was only 2 a.m.

He could still sleep three more hours before dawn. But sleep wouldn’t come. Earlier, he’d been tired but restless. Now, he felt wide awake, oddly energetic—as if he didn’t need rest at all.

"Sigh…" He sat up. "Life without AC is torture… How’s Silver Bell sleeping?"

On the bamboo mat, Silver Bell was curled tight, wrapped head-to-toe in a blanket. Only half her face peeked out to breathe. It looked like winter.

Yue Feather couldn’t fathom how she endured the heat. He wanted to strip naked; she acted cold. Yet her furrowed brows and faintly purple lips proved she truly was chilly.

"Could she have heatstroke?" He scratched his hair, worried. He barely took care of himself, let alone others. Was this illness, or just her period?

She seemed cold. Quietly, he stepped down and switched off the creaking fan.

Her frown eased noticeably.

"Should I move you to the bed?" he murmured, half to her, half to himself. "It’s warmer up here…"

He stared at her blanket-wrapped form like a dumpling. After a long pause, he scooped her up.

Her soft body pressed against him through the blanket. How many men could resist this temptation? How many could keep their thoughts pure?

Yue Feather couldn’t. He brushed her forehead—smooth as Jade, icy to the touch. He fought his racing heart, laying her gently on the bed.

Having such a beauty sleep beside him daily was both a sweet temptation and a stern test. His willpower was growing, unnoticed.

He wiped sweat from his brow, still wide awake. Barefoot, he wandered to the balcony.

The moon hung high, pure and bright. In a few hours, it would set. For now, the night belonged to the moon.

Almost no houses had lights on. Cars rarely passed the dim streetlamps. Only distant skyscraper LEDs blinked. Only the plaza’s xenon lights blazed, turning that patch into daylight.

Night breezes came unpredictably. Sometimes, when he felt hottest, no wind came. Other times, gust after gust swept over him, leaving him refreshed.

"What a beautiful night," Yue Feather whispered from the bay window, gazing at the silent city. "Waking up at midnight to see this… it’s rare. But nice. You notice things you’d miss by day."

Lately, life had been too busy for quiet moments. This stillness felt peaceful.

He replayed his first meeting with Silver Bell in his mind, frame by frame.

Sitting too long, he felt a chill. He stretched, yawning. Sleepiness crept in. He shuffled to the living room.

Drowsy but not ready for bed, he turned on the TV, muted the sound, and flipped channels.

Most screens were static or music loops. A few replayed daytime shows.

He sank into the sofa, savoring the pre-dawn quiet. Watching TV alone at this hour had its own charm.

His hand slipped into the sofa crack—and touched a thin notebook.

"What’s this?" He didn’t recall leaving homework here. He opened it. Strange symbols filled the pages: numbers, English letters, pictograph-like marks, and fragmented Chinese words. No complete sentences.

The handwriting was bold, almost as messy as his own—but elegant, with a mature man’s flair. It reminded him of the notes Silver Bell had copied for his homework.

Was this hers?

"A diary? Doesn’t look like one…"

He puzzled over it. Probably just doodles—a way to unwind, or to piece together lost memories.

He flipped to the last page, about to tuck it back. Then he saw a sentence.

The handwriting here felt hesitant, uneasy. Earlier strokes were swift and sure. These were slow, with erasures, the edges softened.

The ink was faint. Afraid to wake Silver Bell, he didn’t turn on lights. He held the notebook close to the TV’s glow to read:

"If I disappear one day, you must keep living strong. Walk that path to happiness."

Yue Feather’s eyes widened. He didn’t know why Silver Bell wrote this. But it echoed his mother’s words when she left him with his foster mother.

He faintly recalled she’d said the same thing…

“Little Feather… if I ever disappear one day,” the young mother murmured, stroking the head of the still-young Yue Feather. Gentle and warm, she seemed nothing like someone terminally ill. “You must keep living strong. Make yourself happy. Promise me, okay?”

“Mm! Mom… don’t… don’t leave me, okay?”

“Mm-hmm, Mom won’t leave Little Feather…” The mother in his memory smiled, a hint of strain in her comfort.

“Mom…” Yue Feather closed the notebook and slid it back to its spot. A couple of large tears rolled down, unstoppable.

“Even after all these years… I still haven’t grown strong…” Yue Feather smiled, self-mocking.