Eric Chen sat cross-legged on Lin's battered green velvet couch.
They were on Number 5 of Lin's so-called "short reel education marathon." The current three-minute video was part of a 2.5H long story in the Rags-to-Riches Talent Rise genre; a genre where an underestimated person (usually a woman) rises from poverty or obscurity to become a top performer. The protagonist in this particular case was a female physician transported back to ancient China with all her medical knowledge intact.
Lin, undeterred by the total lack of medical accuracy, sprawled beside him with the joyous abandon of a housecat. Her long black hair was up in a high, loose ponytail, which bounced with each sharp intake of breath or delighted squeal she made.
"Watch! See how Master Wei uses her own blood to save the dying crown prince?" Her free hand gestured dramatically.
"That's not how transfusions work," Eric said, plucking a stray potato chip from his pants and nibbling it. "And the blood wouldn't swirl around artfully like that."
"The point is the symbolism. In dramas, blood always means love. Or atonement. Or both." She clicked to the next episode without waiting for his reply. The sound of ancient zither music filled the room.
He watched the screen, saw a man in archaic garb standing over a woman's deathbed, face flitting from sorrow to malice. "Hey, that's the same actor from the last show," Eric said. "Does he ever get to live past episode ten?"
"Only if his love is pure. And we're on episode thirty now, pay attention!" Lin said, bursting into laughter. "Wait, wait, watch, there's a time skip in three, two... "
Eric observed the transition: one second, the deathbed; the next, a windswept hillside, the woman now alive and glowering with supernatural vengeance. He could not deny the raw effectiveness of it, the way the show traded logic for pure emotion and forward momentum. He supposed that was the appeal.
By the time they finished episode forty, she lay half draped across his lap, her face illuminated by the shifting colors of the events unfolding before them.
"Are you even enjoying these, or am I torturing you for no reason?" she asked, tilting her head back.
Eric considered. "It's...educational but predictable. You know exactly how it ends as soon as you finish the first five episodes. Most of them are just quickfire versions of standard C-dramas with less filler and character development. Let me see: Rebirth/Revenge Plot (重生复仇); Rich CEO Falls for Ordinary Girl (霸道总裁爱上我); Fake Marriage Romances (契约婚姻); Hidden Heir stories (真假千金 / 失散豪门子); Time Travel Romances (穿越爱情). What else?"
Lin stuck out her tongue at him. "You forgot Love Triangle with a Twist (三角恋 + 反转); Pregnancy Misunderstanding (带球跑 / 孩子是你的), and Immortal World Romance (修仙/玄幻爱情)."
She laughed when she saw Eric's exasperated facial expression. She laughed so hard that she slid off the couch entirely. "You'd make a terrible drama protagonist. You never brood, or pine, or... " She hesitated, then reached up to tug gently at his wrist. "Or take things seriously unless there's a patient involved."
"That's not true," he said, deadpan, but Lin just grinned and tugged again, pulling him down onto the floor beside her.
"So if you had to pick," she said, "Time Travel Romance or Rebirth/Revenge?"
He studied her: the earnest glint in her eyes. "Time Travel," he said finally. "At least then you get a second chance."
Lin's smile went soft at the edges. "You'd really go back and change something?"
Eric's hand hovered over his knee, unsure whether to reach for her or keep a safe distance. "Everyone has something to fix," he said, then added, more quietly, "Or someone."
Lin let the moment hang. For a second, the hum of the fridge and the distant echo of a neighbor's laughter were the only sounds. Then she broke the silence by flicking another video onto the screen.
The episode played out. Neither of them spoke.
After a while, Eric glanced at his watch—23:47, far later than he had intended. He still had rounds at seven, a fact his muscles reminded him of with every sluggish movement. He started to shift upright, but Lin's head remained on his shoulder, a gentle ballast.
"I should go," he said, hating how perfunctory it sounded.
Lin's hand moved, not to stop him, but to rest on his. "Or you could stay until the season finale," she said.
He hesitated. In the realm of short drama, the next move would be obvious: a lingering look, a sudden confession.
"I can stay one more episode," he said.
Lin squeezed his hand. "It's a double-length finale. And, I'm warning you, they live happily ever after."
He laughed, and this time it surprised even him. "As long as they do it quickly. I need at least six hours of sleep to keep my hands steady."
They watched. On screen, the heroine turned to face her fate. In the living room, Eric allowed himself, for once, not to know how it would end.
When the credits rolled, neither moved to break the silence. Only after the next auto-played episode began did Eric gently disentangle himself, swearing he'd return the next night to finish the marathon.
She saw him to the door, her hair now wild and loose around her shoulders. She leaned in, almost but not quite kissing him, her eyes crinkled with something that hovered between joy and a dare. He met her lips, kissing her lightly; he was clearly the luckiest man in the world to have met someone like Lin. Then he said good-bye and stepped into the hall, her perfume clinging to his coat.
*
Eric walked out of Lin's apartment building into a November night that was suddenly and unnecessarily cold. The city was quieter than usual and the hush had an aftertaste: the sticky residue of Lin's lipstick and perfume, and the distant echo of her laughter. He buttoned his coat, only then realizing that he'd left the jade bangle in his pocket.
He'd bought it that morning from an old woman who claimed it was late Qing, but Eric doubted the provenance. Still, the surface had a certain translucence, a green so pale it looked haunted; and a distinctive flaw in the jade which looked like a fox sitting on its hind legs. He'd planned to hand it over with a half-embarrassed flourish, to say something like "For you. Because you're impossible to impress." But the moment had slipped by, as moments with Lin always did, and now the bangle sat in his pocket, heavier than it should have been.
He considered doubling back, but Lin was likely already asleep, wrapped in her blanket burrito, dreaming up new torments for tomorrow's marathon. The image made him smile. He pressed the bangle between his thumb and palm, feeling the slight temperature drop of the stone against his skin, the way its oval shape fit in the hollow of his hand.
He thought about Lin's face, haloed by screen glow. He thought about how easily she slipped past his defenses, how she insisted on seeing the good in stories where (almost) everyone died. He imagined her face if he'd given her the bangle: a flicker of genuine surprise, followed by a smile so wide it would break the city in two. It was a small thing, stupid even, but he wanted to see it.
Above, a streetlamp flickered. Eric stepped off the curb, distracted by the possibilities he has just imagined. He didn't see the bicycle courier until the last possible second.
The impact was less a collision than a surprise: the sensation of onrushing wind, a wheel skidding over his shoe, the crunch of metal against shinbone. Eric's arms pinwheeled, reflex snapping him upright, but momentum carried him forward. He managed a single, incredulous "Shit... !" before his knees hit the low guardrail and he pitched over it, into the hungry dark of the river.
Cold, black water closed over his head. Eric's first instinct was to kick, but his shoes dragged and his coat ballooned, turning his arms into deadweights. He remembered, with a scientist's clarity, that he could not swim.
He thrashed, gasping and groping for the edge as he swallowed water, but the river was too wide, the bank too far. His legs gave out first, then his arms. His last thoughts were not words but color and sensation: Lin's mulberry eyes, the taste of dried squid, the exact shade of green as the bangle disappeared beneath the water. Then even that was gone. The world narrowed to a single point—a pressure behind the eyes, a pulse in the temples—and then nothing but cold.
