“Hina, I’ll sleep on the floor tonight. When you get up to use the restroom, be careful not to step on me,” Ayumu reminded her.

Though Hina had insisted earlier that *she* take the floor and let Ayumu have the bed, he remained stubbornly unmoved—no matter how much she pleaded.

“I’ll be careful.”

“Then let’s turn off the lights and sleep.”

“Mm.”

Once Hina settled into bed, Ayumu pressed the bedside switch. Darkness swallowed the room instantly. After a brief moment of blindness, his eyes slowly adjusted. By the faint moonlight filtering through the window, he could just make out blurred outlines.

Ayumu lay down in the dark but didn’t sleep. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through Langke Weibo to catch up on news from China. Japan had no firewall, and China’s was one-way—so accessing his old apps was effortless. Every night, he’d scroll for ages, sometimes until 1 or 2 a.m. A bad habit carried over from before.

Hina, lying in Ayumu’s bed beneath his used quilt, breathing in the faint lingering scent of him, felt too flustered to sleep. It was Ayumu’s oversight—he’d hastily made a floor bed with items Sakina gave him, leaving Hina surrounded entirely by his sheets and quilt.

The phone’s glow, though faint, stood out sharply in the dark. Already wide awake, Hina spotted it. She leaned over the bed’s edge and saw Ayumu scrolling—his back turned, completely unaware he was being watched.

She’d peeked for a while, but the screen was all Chinese characters she couldn’t read. She was puzzled he understood them so easily. She’d stayed silent—until she noticed him lingering on photos of a stunningly beautiful woman. A strange irritation prickled inside her. She couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Ayumu-kun… what are you looking at?” she asked softly.

Deep in the trending feed, Ayumu jolted at her voice. His hand slipped—the phone smacked his face.

“Ayumu-kun, are you okay?!” Hina gasped. Heart racing, she knelt beside him. She wanted to cup his face to check, but shyness and guilt froze her hands mid-air.

“I’m fine.”

Truth was, it stung. But the pain faded quickly. Picking up the phone, he saw the culprit—Hina—sitting right beside him. He felt no blame toward her. *His* fault for zoning out, forgetting she was there.

“It’s all my fault for startling you,” Hina murmured, voice thick with regret.

“My own carelessness. Don’t worry about it, Hina.”

He repeated it until she finally softened. But a new awkwardness bloomed: without him noticing, she’d lain down right beside him. He had no idea what this meant.

“Hina… aren’t you sleeping?” he asked, voice tight.

“Ayumu-kun, you’re so sly! Telling *me* to sleep while you keep scrolling… Planning to look at something… inappropriate after I do?”

Ayumu sighed inwardly. *No reasoning with girls.* Explaining would only dig him deeper.

“Your silence proves it,” she pressed, emboldened. “I’ll supervise you. I sleep when *you* sleep.”

He stayed quiet. She took it as permission to stay.

“Fine. I’m really sleeping now.” He slid the phone under his pillow—proof of intent.

But the gesture stung Hina. *He’s annoyed. He resents me.* Watching him feign sleep, bitterness welled in her chest. She rose to leave.

Hearing her move, Ayumu peeked open one eye. Moonlight caught a single tear tracing down her cheek as she turned away, dejected. Just before she stepped back toward the bed, his hand shot out and gently caught hers.

“You… cried?”

“No,” she whispered, swiping quickly at her eye.

Seeing her slender silhouette, Ayumu’s guilt sharpened. *She’s been through so much today. Alone in a strange place. Scared. And I just… scrolled.* He should’ve comforted her. Instead, he’d been thoughtless.

“Hina,” he said gently, “I’m going to scroll a little longer. Want to watch with me?”

He didn’t apologize. She’d denied crying—a transparent cover—but calling it out would only deepen the ache. This was his quiet fix.

“Mm!” she breathed, relief brightening her voice.

She settled beside him, tilting her head slightly toward his. Ayumu’s pulse quickened. Every inhale carried the soft scent of her shampoo. *Just shampoo*, he told himself. Still, his thoughts drifted.

“Ayumu-kun… who was that woman you were looking at?”

Her question, unknowingly, eased his tension.

“Oh, her? A Chinese actress who married a Japanese actor. Caused a huge stir online. She’s a ‘goddess’ to many Chinese guys—lots of complaints, some blessings too.”

“And… you? Do *you* see her as a goddess?” Hina asked, a hint of jealousy threading her words.

Ayumu recalled his past life as Zhang Chufan—a programmer crushed by the brutal 996 grind. Surviving each day had drained him. Dating? Goddesses? Never crossed his mind. If forced to pick? He’d half-joke the actress’s “dark version” suited him better. *At least practical.*

“I don’t have a goddess,” he said lightly. “I don’t want to be anyone’s backup option.”

Intrigued, Hina asked him to translate more comments. He read them aloud, quietly skipping the harsh ones.

After a while, she sighed. “Cross-border relationships seem so hard…”

“If it were you, Hina… would you ever consider marrying a foreigner? Living abroad? Say… in China?” Ayumu asked, curiosity slipping out.

“Absolutely not.”

Her answer was instant, firm. Ayumu felt a quiet foolishness. *Of course. Why did I even wonder?*

What he couldn’t know was the unspoken words trailing her reply—the real reason she’d never consider anyone else.