Chapter 32

The air conditioning in the private room was off, but there was still a faint chill lingering. The server gave Wen Zhixu a misty blue shawl, which she draped over her shoulders without warming up.

None of the dishes on the table were spicy. She only took two sips of soup before setting down her chopsticks. It had been an hour since she came down from upstairs, and the person still hadn’t returned.

Wen Zhixu just sat there quietly. She had opened the sliding door, so she could hear the sound of water dripping from the eaves—clear and serene.

The footsteps breaking into this tranquility were especially clear. Wen Zhixu looked toward the door and heard Jian Shichu say to the server, “No soy sauce in Ni You’s food. She’s staying here tonight.”

The server replied, “Got it. I just checked the kitchen—there are still a few tomatoes in the fridge like you wanted.”

“Have the kitchen make her some tomato egg drop soup.” Jian Shichu’s voice was very casual.

Hearing this, she couldn’t help but glance at the table. Not a single dish had any chili. Seeing this made her even more distracted. She didn’t know what was wrong—an inexplicable discomfort welled up that she couldn’t put into words.

The atmosphere grew a bit subdued. When Jian Shichu came in, she asked, “Why haven’t you eaten?”

“I’ve finished.” Wen Zhixu set down her chopsticks as she replied.

The dishes, soup, and oils on the table hadn’t been touched at all.

Wen Zhixu said, “I want to go back.”

Jian Shichu sensed something off in Wen Zhixu’s expression but couldn’t pinpoint it. “The roads are slippery with the rain. Why not stay here?”

Wen Zhixu didn’t answer right away. She sat in silence, hesitating. The mountain roads were full of curves, and with the rain, they were slick. Fog had probably rolled in again by now—it really wasn’t safe.

Wen Zhixu agreed. She didn’t ask any more questions, unsure where to even start.

Jian Shichu had changed since coming down from upstairs. How to describe it? There was a gentleness mixed with detachment now, and her tone with Wen Zhixu had grown a bit indifferent.

The basement level had KTV rooms and game tables, but they were mostly for show—people who came for business didn’t have time to play.

The billiard room lights flicked on with a ‘snap.’ The room felt stuffy after the rain, and Wen Zhixu caught the damp scent, though it faded as the AC kicked in.

“Want to play billiards?” Jian Shichu grabbed a cue from the side. The cues were neatly lined up—store staff probably played during lunch breaks.

Wen Zhixu knew how; Jian Shichu had taught her. At first, Jian Shichu would line up the balls straight for her, and even if she missed, she’d say, “I didn’t see that. Take another shot.”

For the next twenty minutes, she kept missing, but Jian Shichu patiently let her go until one ball finally sank. Then she’d praise her. Dating was such a simple process back then.

In the two years they dated, they did so many things. Like wandering half of Beihai, or visiting every bookstore there.

So many things she knew how to do now—or hadn’t tried—Jian Shichu had taught her, led her through. Back then, Jian Shichu had said, “Living too rigidly leaves a lot of regrets.”

She thought about it—life really had turned out that way. Later, after the breakup, she returned to those most regimented years.

Everything was still there, but nothing was the same. When she drank too much, she’d miss her intensely; sober, she’d realize it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

When she took the cue, Wen Zhixu blanked out for a moment. Snapping back, she asked flatly, “How do we play?”

Jian Shichu adjusted the lights and replied, “Same old rules.”

That hit hard—no evasion or cover-up, just slick wording that flawlessly pulled them back into the old vibe.

The old rules: sink a ball, ask a question. Anything goes. A mindless way to kill time. Wen Zhixu unfastened a button on her hair clip so the shawl wouldn’t get in the way when it slipped down.

Jian Shichu handed her gloves, then racked the balls while asking, “You break?”

“I’ll break.” Wen Zhixu agreed, then felt the shawl was too cumbersome and took it off, setting it aside.

As Wen Zhixu leaned over the table, she was distracted at first but soon focused. With the white ball shooting forward, a crisp crack echoed through the room. No tension between them.

She broke well. Jian Shichu shrugged off her jacket, tossing it casually on the leather sofa. Dim light crept up to her collarbone.

Her necklace slipped out from her collar. As she turned with the cue, a slight smile tugged at her lips.

Her gaze followed Wen Zhixu. “Nice break.”

“Why did you think to go to my signing event?” Wen Zhixu followed the rules, asking something light. Her focus stayed on the table.

As she lined up her shot, Jian Shichu’s voice came amid the clack: “Wanted to. So I did. No reason.”

Even if Jian Shichu asked herself, that’d be the answer she’d give. To this day, she still didn’t know why she’d gone.

Wen Zhixu moved beside her, glancing over. Jian Shichu stepped back with the cue to give her space, her eyes fixed on Wen Zhixu.

Wen Zhixu’s eyes stayed on the table. “Since you went, why didn’t you come see me?”

“I didn’t dare.” Jian Shichu’s answer was direct and crisp, no panic. Her eyes grew misty over those three words.

But her voice sounded parched and weak—she really hadn’t dared. From the moment they broke up, she no longer knew what role she played in Wen Zhixu’s world.

Those three words made Wen Zhixu miss her shot. Unprepared, she turned to meet the gaze—less green and naive, but still something else.

Jian Shichu averted her eyes. The mood eased a bit, a hint of helplessness at her brow. Her turn.

Wen Zhixu knew she couldn’t beat Jian Shichu, who was great at long shots and low ones.

Right under her nose, Jian Shichu set up, but her focus made her seem unpracticed somehow. Her slender waist swayed into Wen Zhixu’s peripheral vision.

Before she could look clearly, the cue struck cleanly—then a second crisp clack. Two balls split and dropped into pockets.

Jian Shichu said nothing this time. No question.

She shifted position and asked, “How was the food?”

Wen Zhixu was momentarily stunned by the question, but Jian Shichu seemed serious, so she answered honestly. “Not bad.”

“Like what?”

With that, a ball sank, the clack suddenly sharp.

Wen Zhixu said, “The chicken soup was fresh.”

The next few questions were all harmless, like a real survey where your answers meant nothing.

Finally, one got to the point, and Wen Zhixu faltered. Jian Shichu asked, “First question: what made you think of it?”

Wen Zhixu knew what she meant. Leaning on the table, she replied, “Same answer as you.”

She’d wanted to ask, didn’t know why. Maybe because she cared, or regretted not seeing Jian Shichu back then. Maybe two years earlier, there’d been a slim chance.

Wen Zhixu watched the balls dwindle on the table. She knew how it’d end. Jian Shichu wasn’t rushing. She took a breath, looked at her, and asked, “Which one?”

In that instant, all sounds hushed—like every setup led here.

Wen Zhixu’s expression stayed perfectly neutral as she scanned the table. “The eight.”

Jian Shichu obliged, shifting to line it up. The eight rolled straight into the corner pocket, clinking against the others.

“Want me to play for real?” Jian Shichu propped the cue beside her.

Wen Zhixu glanced at her, eyes darkening in the light. Her grip tightened on the cue unconsciously.

She tried to stay clear-headed, not dwell on those words. Then she said, “You don’t need to test me, Jian Shichu. You’re the same with everyone.”

Jian Shichu lowered the cue, brow twitching as if to ask, “What do you mean?”

Wen Zhixu exhaled. “You remember what Ni You likes to eat, remind her to take her medicine. You’d do the same for her. If the age fits, you’d accept her—or put another way, you just need time.”

As Wen Zhixu said this, the air shifted. Her attitude seemed fully resigned to that past relationship, though she didn’t dare meet Jian Shichu’s eyes. Her voice trembled faintly.

Jian Shichu fell silent for a beat, watching Wen Zhixu. She steadied her breathing, hiding her emotions, just observing Wen Zhixu’s face.

After a long moment, Jian Shichu asked, “Are you jealous?”

Wen Zhixu didn’t react in time. Jian Shichu was right in front of her now, and it felt like all her secrets were exposed—even her last bit of courage to deny it head-on crumbled.

“I’m not.” Those three words came out strained from Wen Zhixu.

Then she turned her back, slightly closed her eyes to steady her breathing, and added when she opened them: “Possessiveness that doesn’t belong to a romantic relationship is the most ridiculous, so I won’t.”

Her words were stubbornly resolute, carrying the flavor of a Buddhist precept that had seen through the vicissitudes of life and let the past drift away with the wind.

“If you really wouldn’t, you wouldn’t have said so much.” Jian Shichu seemed very calm. The light made her eyes dry and sore; after a pause, the corners reddened.

She understood Wen Zhixu. Even if they reunited amid the sea of people, some things wouldn’t change. In simple terms, she simply couldn’t let go.

Wen Zhixu didn’t respond to her. A breath caught in her chest, stuck there for a long time. She feared that if she opened her mouth, her voice would tremble, and the emotional walls she’d held up for so long would collapse.

“What you can’t let go of isn’t me—it’s just an obsession. It’s been five years. A lot has happened in those five years; we’ve both met many people. If my appearance has caused you trouble…”

Jian Shichu couldn’t hold back her anger and interrupted: “Wen Zhixu, what gives you the right to declare that mine is an obsession?”

“Isn’t it? Jian Shichu, you keep probing because you can’t understand why I so easily said I gave up. I made it very clear—what else could this be if not obsession!?”

Jian Shichu’s chest felt crushed by a massive stone. She closed her eyes and shot back: “I’m tired. Don’t argue with me anymore. Just go.”

Wen Zhixu’s heart clenched. Yes, the words were utterly flat, but they were enough—enough to shatter her completely, leaving no room for reprieve.

Right after saying it, Jian Shichu slowly opened her eyes, laced with regret. Any words spoken in the heat of impulse would hurt the other.

Wen Zhixu seemed to realize her own mistake as well. She turned and left the room, her footsteps too hurried and unsteady. Before they could even settle into a rhythm, she heard Jian Shichu say: “Sleep in my room. I’ll send you off tomorrow morning.”

The even tone drew a period on the argument. Wen Zhixu left with poised grace, while Jian Shichu hesitated over whether to chase after her, standing in place to steady her mind.