The youngest Major and commander of the Army Special Forces detachment. During the military district's open day in June, he stood at the edge of the training ground listening to a briefing. His gaze casually swept over the spectators—and then froze. The girl standing beside his capable subordinate, Ye Ming, was tiptoeing to wipe the sweat off her brother's brow. The sunlight fell on her slightly wrinkled nose, and the tissue in her hand gently brushed the dust from Ye Ming's epaulet. At that moment, Lin Che heard his heart race, a sudden loss of control he had never experienced in his twenty-seven years. Over the next three days, this top special forces soldier—who could disassemble any firearm in thirty seconds and lie low in the depths of the jungle for seventy-two hours without making a sound—always "happened" to appear in the camp where Ye Ming was stationed. He finally asked, seemingly "in passing": "Was that your sister who came last week?" Upon receiving an affirmative answer, this special operations commander, whose decisions on the battlefield were as sharp as a blade, launched the most precise non-military operation of his life—gathering fragmented information about her through Ye Ming: she preferred Van Gogh to Monet, kept a Ragdoll cat named "Latte," and was allergic to mangoes but could never resist sneaking dried mangoes. When he finally got her number, this man, who could memorize the coordinates of an entire war zone map, stared at the blank text box on his phone screen. He typed and deleted repeatedly, finally sending only a single line: "I'm Lin Che. Your brother's comrade." The timestamp read 2:00 AM. He had just finished night training, his fingertips still carrying the metallic chill of his weapon.
"To meet you and fall for you, it surprisingly took only an instant."