After finishing this set of shots, the photographer called for a break. Jin Jingyao stayed in the bathroom for a while, and when he came out, the young woman had already disappeared. Moments later, he found her outside the fire escape. The rain was almost over, and several trash cans in the back alley were overflowing. Across the street was a bar that hadn't opened yet. The floor tiles had a shallow layer of water, reflecting the dim sky. She was squatting on the ground without any regard for her image, a cigarette between her fingers. He frowned slightly, thinking that a con artist was indeed a con artist—low quality, very vulgar and cheap. He saw her awkwardly light the cigarette, lower her head to bite it, her lips very red. There was an unintentional allure in her every move. He actually felt a bit of an itch in his throat. The next second, she took the cigarette away and started coughing violently. He was speechless. Getting choked by a cigarette—he thought that only happened in third-rate, trashy novels. He walked over coldly, snatched the cigarette from her hand, and threw it into the trash can. "You can't smoke here." She nodded and humbly asked, "Sorry, then where can I smoke?" He felt a bit impatient, thinking she really had no common sense, but still pointed to the smoking area in the distance. "So far," the young woman murmured, "never mind then." "Anyway, I don't know how." She lifted her chin, "The one you threw away was borrowed from the photographer just now." Jin Jingyao felt a surge of displeasure. He looked at her unhappily, actually wanting to question her about why she accepted a cigarette from that disgusting Irishman. Didn't she know the lewd things he had just said to her? But after a while, he said stiffly, "Smoking is harmful to your health." She was still squatting on the ground, looking up at him, and suddenly laughed, "Thank you, little brother." He didn't know why she was laughing at him, nor did he like her calling him little brother. She didn't look much older than him. But her smile was very pretty, much more lively and vibrant than during the shoot. He stared at her, thinking he was being very fierce, without looking away. After a while, she seriously explained to him, "I heard that smoking is very effective, that it can help you forget a lot of unhappy things, so I wanted to try it." Suddenly, he didn't think her smile was that pretty anymore. It even seemed a bit forced. Very ugly. He wanted to ask her what unhappy things she wanted to forget, but the words that came out were, "Then you should try marijuana." She looked at him in surprise, "Have you tried it?" Jin Jingyao: "..." He thought she was so stupid and turned away coldly. After a while, he took out his jacket and threw it over her like a charity. He did this not because she looked cold, with her fingertips trembling, but because the jacket was already very old, worn for many years, and he didn't want it anymore. She widened her eyes and said, "Thank you." Then she asked him, "You're really nice. What's your name?" Here we go again, pretending not to know. He glared at her, "None of your business." "Alright, alright, I get it." She wasn't angry, smiled amicably, and introduced herself, "My name is Li Ling." He didn't catch what she said clearly, Ling Ling? Not even a last name, obviously making it up. Definitely a con artist, such a frivolous female con artist. The rain had stopped, but the ground in the alley was still wet. The accumulated rainwater was dripping heavily from the eaves, making a splashing sound. Ling Ling squatted there, motionless, watching for a long time. He didn't understand what was so interesting about this alley. It was dirty and messy, with only a few old houses, and it was far from the Thames. The smell of the sewer faintly wafted through the fishy rainwater. He should go back to the studio to rest; at least it was cleaner there. But his body seemed to be fixed in place, like Lingling's pet follower in a game, unable to stray too far from her. After a while, Lingling said, "Have you ever experienced something really, really terrible?" Her voice was very light, as if it were a wisp of withered wind. He stared at her thin back, recalling how she looked in the rain yesterday. She seemed to have turned back into that desperate, dead swan. In a soft voice, he said, "Yes." Lingling turned her face to look at him. A faint emotion flashed in her eyes. It didn't seem like surprise. He thought she would say something adults often say, like "Stop pretending," "Don't whine all day," or mockingly ask, "How bad could it be?" But she said nothing, just smiled at him. Years later, Jin Jingyao still remembered the young woman's smile as she looked back. It turned out that everything she wanted to say—comfort, understanding, empathy—didn't need to be spoken. This made him even more convinced that language was meaningless. At the dim end of the alley, her profile seemed to glow. She was still wearing his coat. For some reason, this thought made his throat tighten and his scalp tingle once again. They understood each other. He should have felt warmth and emotion. But her beauty still stirred bad desires in him. Sensing something, she slowly stood up and walked toward him. His heartbeat grew more intense. What was she going to do? Was she finally going to seduce him? But she stopped in front of him, staring wide-eyed behind him. "Ah, a rainbow." It turned out she wasn't looking at him, but at the rainbow. His heart sank heavily, and a wave of great disappointment surged through him. He turned his head. Large dark clouds were piled up at the end of the sky, while the other half of the sky seemed to have been split open by an axe, becoming clear and bright. In this scene, which could be called a wonder, a faint rainbow indeed appeared. It wasn't very obvious, floating in the iron-gray clouds, like a shy smile. He quickly turned his head back. So boring. The female con artist, who had apparently never seen the world, excitedly took out her phone to take pictures, saying, "Wow, I saw a rainbow in London!" He poured cold water on her excitement: "What's so great about that?" Could the rainbow give her money, or help her complete her seduction task for her patron? She briefly looked away from the camera and said to him, "Cheer up." Then, as if coaxing a child, she said, "You can make a wish on a rainbow. I just made a wish for you. All the bad things will pass." He said, "Only a fool would believe that." But he couldn't help but take out his phone and do something foolish. She was photographing the rainbow, while he was photographing her. He thought, if there really were rainbows in this world, then the rainbow should already be in front of him. - After the break, they returned to the studio. She changed into a new set of lingerie, revealing even more skin. Her back was completely exposed, and her chest was wrapped in messy dark gray tape, giving her a peculiar and dirty beauty. In the hazy, almost sultry light, he gazed at her slender limbs, feeling as if he were in a dream. He couldn't imagine why a person's body could be so elegant and graceful, as beautiful as a sculpture.Every inch of curvature was so supple and distinct, almost like a masterpiece of craftsmanship. The shutter clicked, white light flashed, then dimmed, sweeping over her body like a tide, surging and receding, the white waves trembling in his palm. Then, the photographer wanted to shoot her back, so she turned away from the camera, like a bare cloud, squeezing into his arms. She had just taken a shower, her hair still wet, with a faint trace of warmth lingering. He didn't know where to look, trying hard to focus above her collarbone. But her lips were so red, like berries waiting to be sucked. He felt like a person forbidden to kill, holding a hunting rifle, gazing at the beautiful creatures in the jungle, his heart pounding with joy, fear, and desire. Why torment him like this? He couldn't hold back and asked her softly, "Why do such a bad thing?" Why take his classmate's money, why appear before him so disgracefully? She was stunned for a moment before saying, "It's not that bad, is it?" After a while, as if trying hard to defend herself, she said, "I need money so badly. If I don't do this, I can't even afford a ticket back home." He stared at her, "You're going back home?" What for, to deceive others? Be careful not to get caught. Out of a sense of anger towards the swindler, he couldn't control himself and pulled her closer into his arms. Maybe he used too much force, he even heard her hiss, as if he had hurt her. He instinctively said, "Sorry," then felt annoyed, why apologize to a swindler? But she laughed softly and whispered in his ear, "Actually, it's your first time too, right?" He glared at her with an ugly expression, thinking the swindler had finally found her conscience and was about to confess. The next second, he felt the hand caressing her back being gently held by another hand. He froze. Her hand was so soft. "It's okay," she said, "I'll teach you." She really taught him. She was very patient, teaching him how to pose in front of the camera, how to embrace himself, how to lift her body. And how to ignore the camera, pretending that in this small bathroom, there were only the two of them. It seemed she was very experienced, just a bit too talkative. It was as if when she said "first time," she meant "first time facing the camera," and nothing else. He felt she misunderstood him deeply. He was in the drama club, of course, he had plenty of experience facing the camera. But for some reason, he remained silent, even pretending to be more naive and ignorant. So she taught him even more patiently. At first, the photographer was still chattering away, like a noisy Irish turkey. But gradually, he quieted down, silently pressing the shutter. He got closer and closer to her. There was almost no gap between them. She straddled him. He was sweating profusely, his palms slippery, almost unable to hold her. She breathed softly in his ear, asking him, "Shall I teach you how to kiss?" He was trembling all over, dizzy, shattered by her words, completely undone. The flash kept popping, almost exploding. She was about to kiss him but changed her mind at the last second. "Forget it," she said, "a first kiss should be saved for someone more important." She touched his chin with her lips, dismissing him like a puppy, and didn't continue. He looked at her almost blankly. He felt confused, aching, unsatisfied. He didn't understand what she was saying. He had no one more important. Never had. But she stopped teaching him, so he didn't know how to continue. He could only touch her lips with his fingers. Constantly, incessantly wandering. Tracing the shape. When she was unaware, he wedged his fingers between her lips. He caressed her lips. The warm mouth, the soft flesh. The shape of darkness, the shape of water, the shape of love. He should have felt disgusted. But his whole body was burning with unbearable heat. The waters of the Thames flowed through him. He was drenched, rising from the water, sitting in the basket of a hot air balloon, ascending with her. He heard the air expanding with heat, wanting to float above London, needing a massive, massive flame. And this flame was held between her lips and tongue. He was not satisfied, meticulously caressing each of her teeth. Sharp, piercing, sweet sensations. Her crimson lips magnified in his vision, becoming an exploding **. It turned out he was someone who couldn't resist temptation. He didn't want to raise a white flag to her, only to experience the world-destroying explosion with her.