Only then, in A Luo's cough, did A Yin remember her cold, and she once more docilely retreated into A Luo's embrace. If it wouldn't do, then it wouldn't do; could she force herself on her? Unexpectedly, it was clear that she'd been hasty. She yawned, falling asleep amidst the scent of medicine on A Luo's body. This sleep was comfortable and easy, even her curled shoulders growing buds, itching as they produced fruits of gentle feelings and honeyed intentions. A Luo and she nested together for a few days, and her illness was bettered by the nesting, her face glowing and radiant, as if having been dropped into and preserved in honey. She watched A Luo write poetry and paint; looked at the painting, and then looked at her. She thought of how, when she'd been young, she'd always wanted to raise a snow-white rabbit, and then afterwards, had wanted to raise an awe-inspiring black cat; but when she'd been young, her family had been poor, and afterwards, she...