Love for You

From her confession on the train until now, he finally spoke.

Miao Jing’s eyes shimmered with emotion as she cradled his fuzzy head, asking softly, "If it weren’t for the undercover work, if you were just an ordinary working-class guy named Chen Yi, and I left for college, what would you have done?"

"The sister I raised—she’s smart, beautiful, capable, and stubborn. She’s tamed me completely, given me everything, as if she were born just for me. I’d work myself to the bone to earn money, let her see the world, date some nerdy boyfriend—of course, no one could ever measure up to me. When she graduated, I’d stand at her university gate, wearing a gold watch, driving a luxury car, looking dashing and impressive. I’d ask if she was willing to come with me, sleep with me, marry me. In this lifetime, I’d only raise one person. I know her—I can afford to keep her."

"When you came back from the Golden Triangle, didn’t you have even the slightest thought of seeing me, contacting me?"

"I did see you, I looked for you. You were playing basketball on the court, shining like the sun. I’d hitched a ride on a truck for over thirty hours—I was filthy and stinking." His Adam’s apple bobbed. "People’s minds change. The more you go through, living on the edge, constantly on guard... I thought... you’d be better off without me. I’m just like this, not worth mentioning. I took the wrong path from the very beginning."

"When you came back to Tengcheng, it felt like a dream. I wanted to drive you away, but I also wanted you to stay. But really, as long as you needed me... I’d stay by your side, make sure you weren’t alone. I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if I had to."

Miao Jing leaned in, capturing his lips in a tender kiss.

Their love was cut from the same cloth. As long as they could recall the memory of their younger selves walking hand in hand under a solitary lamp, and even years later, the thought still made their hearts flutter with a longing to turn back, then they had never truly drifted apart.

In Chen Yi’s barren life, there had been few opportunities to speak of love. Even during those years with Miao Jing, it was mostly driven by raw instinct, with rare moments of tenderness. He had never said "I love you" to anyone, and she didn’t necessarily need him to say it. She only needed his actions to prove it, for the two of them to be together, for his gaze to always remain fixed on her.

The kiss grew fervent, a shiver traveling from their lips down their throats, chests, and further, as the white bed curtains swayed and fluttered before settling slowly, concealing a pair of hands tightly clasped at the edge of the bed.

After that night’s confession, life seemed unchanged.

There was no formal agreement defining their relationship—not as boyfriend and girlfriend, not as siblings or family, and not with plans for marriage or children. Simple societal labels couldn’t encapsulate what they shared. But life is the sum of one’s existence, and as long as they were together, anything was possible.

The people of Latin America are inherently optimistic, passionate, and unrestrained, fond of cigarettes, alcohol, dance, and music. Their expressions of love are especially vivid, with passionate kisses common on the streets and all sorts of bizarre love gossip circulating. In such a fervent and romantic country, the two of them rarely exchanged words of love, seldom saying "I love you." The Chinese word for "love" always felt too formal, and saying it too often might seem frivolous. Chen Yi had never been one with a silver tongue anyway; the few times he revealed his feelings were always in moments of intimate closeness, in bed.Colombia is a land of flowers and fruits, where various blooms compete in splendor at remarkably low prices. Chen Yi would buy a bouquet from roadside florists daily, making their home among the first to achieve "flower freedom." Roses were naturally his most frequent purchase—local varieties were so abundant they seemed to blanket the streets. For two consecutive months, Miao Jing received different species of roses each day, every moment steeped in intoxicating beauty.

Chen Yi adapted to local life faster than Miao Jing, mastering Spanish earlier. While Miao Jing's company offered weekly Spanish lessons for employees, Chen Yi learned pronunciation and vocabulary from textbooks before directly engaging strangers on the streets. His command of curses and slang became so refined that whenever they went out together, Miao Jing found her English useless and Spanish inadequate, relying entirely on Chen Yi's arrangements.

Occasionally they conversed in Spanish. When Miao Jing encountered unique local ingredients while cooking, Chen Yi would approach to teach her words and pronunciation—"pepinodulce," "aguacatechoque"—enunciating with perfect clarity. Asked about his sources, he claimed everyone from playing children to eighty-year-old grandmothers could teach him a few phrases.

Miao Jing shot him a sidelong glance: "Was it the grocery stall owner downstairs? The one with the fiery figure who saves you the best fruits daily? Quite popular, aren't you?"

Having spent considerable time with Ramirez, Chen Yi had found himself a job patrolling wealthy neighborhoods as security. Clad in bulletproof vests and holding real firearms at building entrances, he'd occasionally join colleagues at local bars during downtime—evidence of his deep integration into the culture.

Chen Yi grinned, encircling her slender waist to peck her cheek. "What nonsense. The shopkeeper has a husband and three children."

Miao Jing hummed skeptically.

Resting his chin on her shoulder, his voice dropped to a husky murmur: "Te quiero."

"Te quiero"—the casual Spanish "I love you"—was uttered as freely as greeting old friends on the street, flowing naturally without emotional weight.

He'd absorbed some South American flair, often sprinkling cheesy Spanish pick-up lines learned from local men during their embraces. Sometimes Miao Jing didn't understand; sometimes she caught a word or two. He never explained, waiting for her later epiphanies that brought faint embarrassment or suppressed laughter. During intimacy, he preferred whispering "Te amo" by her ear—"I cherish you"—foreign languages carrying that unconstrained quality, unlike the solemn vow of Chinese "I love you," freely spoken anywhere, anytime.

Beyond declarations of love, Chen Yi's most frequent phrase was: "Tú eres mi media naranja."

You are my half orange.

Miao Jing adored this metaphor.

It evoked familiar sensations—peeling golden fragrant rinds, sticky tart juice spraying on fingertips, patiently removing white pith or biting directly, subsequent flavors known only to the palate. Whether refreshing sweetness or sharp bitterness filled the chest, no two oranges were identical, yet each contained entire worlds. Divided in two, there would always be that one unique half belonging solely to you.