Chapter 1

“Master, to Nanbin Road. In a hurry.”

Wen Zhixu stepped into the yellow taxi, leaning forward with the momentum and sliding her phone screen forward.

The driver twisted half his body around, squinting at the phone navigation before tsking. “Traffic’s jammed up now. Listen to me or the navigation?”

Her dangling hair ends brushed lightly as she settled into her seat. Wen Zhixu’s palms tightened, and she shifted back a bit, responding half-heartedly, “Listen to you, then.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she started dreading that line about being in a hurry.

The buildings on both sides gradually blurred, a low-flying sensation hitting her face. Wen Zhixu grabbed the overhead handle tightly.

—

Wen Zhixu marked two things on the August calendar: first, she’d ended up at the Chongqing police station, and second, she’d reunited with Jian Shichu at the station.

The former was like a turbulent river, zipping through 8D Magic City without a built-in GPS, crashing blindly against the rocks. The latter was a barb in the water—neither pullable nor flushable, stuck in an awkward spot.

To her, that barb didn’t need to move to drill straight into her heart.

It had been pouring in Chongqing that day. The damp heat wrapped around her calves from the ground. As a Jiangnan girl, she could adapt well enough—aside from not being able to handle spicy food, everything else was fine.

Wen Zhixu never imagined she’d end up at a police station one day.

Someone like her, who’d never committed a major offense from childhood to now, went from the mall one second to sitting in the station the next.

A standard white paper cup nationwide—Wen Zhixu gripped it with both hands, thumb resting on the rim, fidgeting restlessly.

The guy beside her looked fierce and sipped his tea. “If you ask me, just pay up and be done with it. I’ve got work tomorrow; no need to sit here making a fuss.”

Before Wen Zhixu could respond, a police officer came in with a notebook, interrupting, “Give it a rest. You go next door first and make your statement.”

The man stood up displeased and left. Wen Zhixu wasn’t much of a talker at the best of times, looked mild-mannered and easy to bully, but she wasn’t afraid of trouble.

The officer sat across from her, picking up the notebook. “The car owner’s on the way. I’ll get the rundown from you first.”

His voice was steady, casually gripping the ballpoint pen.

“Okay.” Wen Zhixu agreed, shifting her stool a bit. She took a sip from her cup to dispel the chill; her rain-soaked hair had already dried. The AC breeze gave her goosebumps.

Just ten hours before entering the station that day, her phone buzzed with a new message. A black-suited professional headshot from the 4S store—a diligent salesperson reminding her: [Miss Wen, when are you coming by today? It’s raining lately; remember to bring an umbrella.] Followed by an emoji.

Wen Zhixu had calmly replied back then: [Around three.]

She was always punctual, rain or shine. As she recounted this to the officer, that pent-up frustration bubbled up again.

“You arrived at three. When did you leave?” The officer jotted notes with one hand, looking at her seriously.

Wen Zhixu thought back. At the time, she’d shielded her head with her hand, jogging quickly to the 4S store. The extreme weather made her anxious, especially since she was in a hurry…

Wen Zhixu planned to settle down long-term, so she’d decided to buy a car. Today was pickup day. Living off words, chewing on stories of paper-people characters—even the best writers hit bottlenecks.

Some said Chongqing, that big-city small-town, was the best copywriting muse and material source. But she had zero ideas for the new theme her chief editor mentioned.

She only remembered the editor’s index finger half-curled, tapping the wooden desk, murmuring: After tasting poverty’s blandness, dive into prosperity. A touch of street-level fireworks would be perfect—like after ages of braised pork, someone hands you a bowl of fresh veggie soup.

Those few characters pieced together had stumped her for the first time.

She’d arrived right at three, forehead strands matted from the rain. The salesperson was waiting at the door, leather shoes clicking on the marble floor, silver name tag flashing past her eyes.

The salesperson habitually bent slightly at the side to guide her in, noticing the lingering droplets on Wen Zhixu’s forehead.

She had a touch of delicate beauty, like a Republic-era young miss returning from overseas studies in a drama—but without the haughtiness.

This tied into Wen Zhixu’s habit of light eyebrow makeup; her soft features didn’t suit upturned tails.

“Have a seat first. Some hot water.” The salesperson handed her the hot water. The white shirt wrinkled as he sat, his belly pushing against it from the open seat. That cup’s temperature was about the same as the one she held now.

The officer chuckled. “Too detailed. Do you remember where you parked? Or where you went after picking up the car? When you left?”

“I don’t know. I left around four and went to eat.” Wen Zhixu recounted detail by detail from memory.

She hated trouble; her quick signature matched that, quite different from her outward personality.

“Got the gist. So you drove this car from the garage while heading to eat?” The officer pressed on. The interrogation room AC was on; she fought off a shiver.

Wen Zhixu took a sip of hot tea, head down, continuing. “Would you believe I took the wrong car?” She looked at the officer with wide eyes.

After parking in the garage back then, she’d found a bone soup place nearby. She couldn’t handle spicy; her stomach had ached for two days in Chongqing.

When grabbing meds, it took a while to decipher the clinic old-timer’s dialect. She always felt like Chongqing might not suit her.

Right as she ate, the editor messaged—not outright urging the draft, but implying no rush. That message became the incident’s trigger.

Chongqing garages were always a maze. After descending from the mall, she’d checked the photo notes on her phone. On the escalator up, she instinctively glanced back.

It felt like some magnetic pull. She chalked it up to social anxiety in a strange city.

Unluckily, the editor called then, starting with small talk.

Wen Zhixu kept her polite tone. She didn’t look much, just pulled open the door, slid in, and buckled the seatbelt one-handed.

The moment the car started, Wen Zhixu’s mind was full of her chief editor’s words. Street-level fireworks—hard to define, needed to show in the story, not just simple three dishes and soup.

She’d seen Chongqing at midnight: streets full of fragrant skewers, oily beef tendon handed off the iron plate amid pure Chongqing dialect.

But it wasn’t enough. Her ideas stayed superficial, like her ex Jian Shichu once said: Never been in love, how can you write a love story?

That name was a barb lodged in her heart; she didn’t dare dwell on the past.

Back then, a youth lit novel exploded her fame, launching her into literary circles. And she owed that book to Jian Shichu. Writers who can’t produce quality get beached eventually.

Thinking that, she heard a bang, slammed the accelerator, body lurching forward by inertia, pupils contracting.

The freshly picked-up car had an accident on the road. She didn’t know her location—rear-end, insurance claim.

After photos and showing the registration, she realized it wasn’t her car—giving the other side an opening.

The other guy got fired up on the spot. Her mind blanked; the standoff caused a traffic jam. The owner hadn’t loaned it out, so they both got brought to the station.

She didn’t know the owner, and now wore a car theft label. The word was laughable even to her.

Wen Zhixu had always respected uniforms like this growing up. She pulled out her license, registration—everything—laying it on the table.

The phone found in the passenger seat rang. Under the officer’s gaze, Wen Zhixu glanced at the table again.

The officer stared through her, probing for lies. Wen Zhixu tensed, swallowing, nerves stretched like a rubber band.

The officer closed the notebook, seemingly done. Standing, “Wait a bit longer. We’ll negotiate once the person arrives.”

She slowly relaxed, thinking of the revisions due tonight—the publisher was pressing. Closing her eyes, she tamped down her anger.

Wen Zhixu took a deep breath; her spine was numb. She’d waited idly for three hours straight.

If the owner was the petty type, chasing her relentlessly—she got a headache just thinking it.

She used the remaining half cup to swallow the meds from the clinic.

—

Nightfall, rain stopped. Nanbin Road’s riverbank blazed with lights, fog rising like swaying thin gauze over the water.

Jian Shichu exited the 4S store, checking the time. She exuded a chill that didn’t match the mortal lights—not a detachment forgeable by the mundane world.

“In a hurry?” Bai Xue’s hand rested on her shoulder, glancing at Jian Shichu’s buttons.

Jian Shichu raised a brow. “The police called three times. I need to head over now.” She tucked the file bag into her purse.

Bai Xue crossed her arms, peering ahead. “You picked up the car from my place this morning. Gotta ask—how do you lose something like a car?”

Jian Shichu didn’t reply. If not for rushing to sign the contract that afternoon, she wouldn’t have left her backup phone in it. Phone-key designs were convenient, but sometimes too much so.

“Fine, I’ll drop it. What about that thing? The other side made their stance clear; you gotta respond sometime.” Bai Xue was Jian Shichu’s childhood friend. Back then, if not for grades lagging, her parents wouldn’t have shipped her abroad for gilding. Otherwise, she’d have gone to the same uni as Jian Shichu.

It was also because of those few years abroad that they had little contact. After returning, Jian Shichu seemed to have changed; aside from the empty times at the restaurant, she just stayed home.

Half a year ago, a young girl came to the restaurant. She wasn’t very old, and because a staff member had spilled lemonade, she gave a bad review and pestered Jian Shichu for several days.

From that point on, the girl came to the restaurant every day. She wasn’t causing trouble; she just clung to Jian Shichu, and it went on for half a year.

Jian Shichu brushed the hair from her face: “Respond to what? I’ve made it very clear—I have no such intentions.”

“What’s so bad about that little girl?” Bai Xue looked at her in surprise, as if trying to persuade Jian Shichu and naturally play matchmaker.

Bai Xue watched her for a moment, then let out a drawn-out “oh” as realization dawned: “You still can’t forget your ex-girlfriend?”

Just then, the car arrived. Jian Shichu glanced at her and was about to grab the door handle when something unusual flashed in Bai Xue’s eyes. She gripped Jian Shichu’s wrist.

Jian Shichu looked at her without asking, and the other forced a smile: “New business cards—here’s one for you.” Bai Xue stuffed a business card into Jian Shichu’s bag.

Jian Shichu gave her a helpless glance. “Alright, I’m heading out first. You go home early.” After Bai Xue asked that question, her expression turned melancholic.

After telling the driver the address, she leaned back and gazed at the dim lights on the opposite shore. Upon hearing “police station,” the driver instinctively glanced back at her.

Chongqing drivers were always speedy; in less than twenty minutes, Jian Shichu arrived at the police station entrance.

The station here wasn’t large. Wen Zhixu sat on the first floor. In the quiet night, with her exceptionally keen hearing, she instantly caught the sound of the car door closing.

That pent-up anger in her chest instantly surged to her head. Nothing else—she had been sitting in the police station for a full three hours.

The footsteps behind her grew closer. Wen Zhixu steeled herself and whipped around. The instant she saw Jian Shichu, her heartbeat skipped a beat.

The sudden chill wind drilled into her head too. Reuniting with an ex at the police station—this would be explosive in any book!

A flicker of surprise crossed Jian Shichu’s eyes. It was as if neither had changed, yet both carried a layer of mature allure.

“The person’s here?” The man followed her in. He’d caught the scent and returned, determined to squeeze money out of Wen Zhixu that day.

Wen Zhixu was fully at fault for the rear-end collision, but the car wasn’t hers, so insurance was off the table. This gave the other side an opening to demand an outrageous sum, which she refused.

The police glanced at Jian Shichu, noting their odd expressions. “If you don’t know each other…”

Before Wen Zhixu could speak, Jian Shichu replied: “We know each other. We’ll go through insurance—I’ll file the claim.”

Jian Shichu spoke without looking at Wen Zhixu. The man’s face darkened instantly. As the cold air wafted in, Wen Zhixu simply watched Jian Shichu quietly. She felt stifled and hot, her breathing tightening bit by bit.