Chapter 13

Wen Zhixu was still clutching the jacket in her hand, water droplets clinging to her hair strands, a thin layer dampening the top of her head. Jian Shichu held her hand, making her grip the umbrella handle.

Jian Shichu didn’t wait for her to ask. She unbuttoned with one hand while glancing sideways out, explaining, “Someone’s taking photos.”

Just a few flat words. Wen Zhixu’s day hadn’t gone smoothly, but on Mountain City’s ups and downs, she was the lucky one—there was always someone standing in front of her, wading through the muddy waters for her.

Jian Shichu took off her shirt jacket and draped it over her. Even Fog City’s sullen sky didn’t make the other’s skin look sallow.

Jian Shichu asked seriously, “You know the way, right? Head up first.”

“Where are you going?” Wen Zhixu grabbed her with her other hand, turning her head back. Her gaze pierced through the wall line; the paparazzi hugging his camera was still standing not far away, sheltering from the rain.

Paparazzi were different from entertainment reporters—one sold dirt, the other set traps openly. Wen Zhixu had trended yesterday. If someone wanted to mess with Tang Qin, yesterday’s hot search would make her the target being watched.

Being tailed today was simple—someone wanted to dig up her dirt. Of course, people had dug before years ago, but the chief editor had handled it all. There was jealousy among authors too; every industry circle was the same.

Where there were people, there were rivalries; where there were rivalries, there was fighting.

Jian Shichu fastened the buttons for her, her gaze calm and steady as she lowered her eyes. “You go up and wait for me first.”

Jian Shichu only buttoned the middle one; it fit Wen Zhixu perfectly. She took the dirty jacket from Wen Zhixu’s hand.

A thin silver chain hung around Jian Shichu’s neck, the pendant resting right on her collarbone. Her rain-dampened skin shifted slightly, but before she could see it clearly, it was covered up.

The other wore her black jacket now. The underground passage was just down the steps nearby; that day, the jacket had been very dirty, stained with debris and mud.

“Go up from here.” Jian Shichu gripped her shoulders, turning her around and pushing her forward.

Wen Zhixu hurriedly said, “How about…” But before she could finish, Jian Shichu had already left, the corner of the jacket slipping from her palm.

Muddy water was left in her palm, chilling her to the bone.

Jian Shichu descended the stairs, and the two with cameras quickened their pace, chasing toward the underground passage.

Wen Zhixu had come for a class reunion today. Getting photographed during the meal wasn’t a big deal, but afterward, she needed to find a way to shake these people off too.

A couple years back, classmates had invited her to gatherings too, but she’d politely declined every time. She didn’t have many close friends from university; she had little interest in such reunions.

There were lots of people here, and it was raining now—Jian Shichu choosing this moment to shake them was the best option.

Wen Zhixu was still standing in place. When the paparazzi passed by, she immediately closed her umbrella and ducked into the small shop, watching through the glass door’s reflection as the two headed down the passage.

The cashier guy was busy ringing up sales, shouting loudly, “Welcome!” Wen Zhixu gripped her umbrella tightly. The white shirt on her body had a dirty spot.

It was from the black jacket—mud stains like a lightning bolt had struck there. The jacket still carried a lingering fragrance; every breath tugged at her heart.

The man buying cigarettes at the counter turned to leave. His calm gaze landed on her face and suddenly flashed with surprise. “You’re… Wen Zhixu?”

Wen Zhixu had turned her head down, rummaging in her bag for tissues. She only looked up when she heard her name. The man was in a suit, water droplets on his shoulders—rain spared no one wandering outside.

Such fairness only showed under nature’s hand. Wen Zhixu paused to think, then asked uncertainly, “Zhang Yuan?”

Zhang Yuan held his breath before finally relaxing, straightening up with a smile. “Yeah, how come you’re just arriving?”

Zhang Yuan was the class monitor. Wen Zhixu had turned down his offer to pick her up today. She pondered slowly how to respond.

“No worries, let’s head up first. Some classmates haven’t arrived yet; no rush.” Zhang Yuan looked even more steady than in university.

His speech was appropriate and generous, like a required course on the path to maturity. As Wen Zhixu stepped out, Zhang Yuan reached out first to take her umbrella, showing his gentlemanly side.

Wen Zhixu pulled her hand back. “No need, I got it.”

Zhang Yuan fixed his gaze on her, chuckling. “Alright.”

He walked beside her, leading the way.

This reunion was organized by Zhang Yuan. To avoid switching spots, they’d booked a place for eating and karaoke all-in-one.

While waiting for the elevator, Zhang Yuan chatted casually with her, not mentioning Jian Shichu. Her relationship with Jian Shichu wasn’t a secret.

Basically, everyone knew, and they knew it was her who had brought up the breakup later. As for how they knew the follow-up, that had always been a mystery to Wen Zhixu.

One side of the private room was for singing, separated from the round table in the middle. The hall glowed with warm light, cold drafts cutting through the muggy, damp air.

Several classmates were already seated. Wen Zhixu hadn’t stood there ten seconds before Zhang Yuan clapped his hands first, drawing everyone’s attention. “Our big writer has arrived!”

Wen Zhixu glanced at him—like a suave young master stepping into a casino and unleashing his rogue nature.

Everyone’s gazes followed Zhang Yuan’s voice onto her. Then someone stood to greet, “Hard to invite a big Buddha like you—turns out it’s true.”

“Haven’t seen Xiao Xu since graduation, right?”

“Everyone’s in different cities after graduation; of course it’s hard to meet up.”

The classmates chimed in one after another, showing their sarcasm through jokes. Wen Zhixu could hear the undertone. You don’t hit a smiling face; she just gave them a look and said nothing.

Zhang Yuan probably felt it was off and quickly said, “Alright, alright. Haven’t you two not seen us since university graduation either? You think you’re easy to invite?”

“You two talking about her—if you two hadn’t come to Chongqing on business, we might never see you this lifetime?”

Zhang Yuan smoothed things over for Wen Zhixu. His Mandarin had a spicy, salty accent that sounded amusing, but Wen Zhixu’s mind wasn’t on that.

“Xiao Xu, come sit.”

Wen Zhixu had just pulled out her phone when she heard someone call her. She looked up; she couldn’t recall the woman’s name at the table. She could only give an awkward smile and nod.

The dishes had been served long ago. Wen Zhixu was actually late today. Male classmates were smoking in the room; she avoided sitting near Zhang Yuan.

Zhang Yuan had deliberately left the seat across from him empty—that spot was probably for Jian Shichu.

The woman who’d greeted her earlier nudged her arm and asked softly, “Xiao Xu, are you working as a screenwriter on a crew lately?”

“No, just following the crew to observe.” Wen Zhixu had just opened her phone but had to set it down again because of the chit-chat nearby. She wanted to text Jian Shichu to check on her.

“I heard Jian Shichu is coming too. Do you two still keep in touch?”

She went straight to the point. Wen Zhixu gripped her phone tighter, her gaze flicking to the empty seat across first.

Wen Zhixu felt her throat tighten. She eased it before saying, “We keep in touch.”

She didn’t hide her connection with Jian Shichu. The other was clearly surprised. “So you two now…”

At that moment, only one seat was left. Wen Zhixu wasn’t being overly cold; her clothes were damp at the hem, and the cold air gave her goosebumps.

Just as Wen Zhixu was struggling with how to respond, someone else interrupted from the side. “Hey, Xiao Xu, I saw news online. Do you plan to start a new book this year?”

It sounded like a reporter’s question, but it also felt like a rescue for Wen Zhixu. She looked toward the voice—a woman with curly hair in a gray dress skirt, clearly dressed up on purpose.

Wen Zhixu remembered her; she had a nickname in class—Little Pepper. Rumor had it she’d married right after graduation, the earliest in their class.

She lived a glamorous life, modeling part-time in university, then meeting her boyfriend as a caddie at a golf course.

“I’m preparing; will start a new book.” Wen Zhixu gave a simple response.

Little Pepper followed up with praise. “I remember seeing online before that Xiao Xu was publishing short stories in magazines back in high school. Writing really is a talent.”

Wen Zhixu never used a pen name. After her first book blew up, netizens were like detectives, noses sharper than police dogs, digging up her old magazine publications.

Including that deleted Weibo account, which she couldn’t log into anymore, but screenshots still surfaced.

“Speaking of which, back in university, Xiao Xu was so low-key. Who knew she was a regular little author in ‘Jiuqu’ magazine.” Zhang Yuan joined in the hype.

Wen Zhixu hadn’t mentioned those things when she first entered university; after all, that was a high school summer story.

Later, she rose to fame with Ru Shi. No Weibo, no fan groups—just readers.

Someone else asked, “‘Jiuqu’ didn’t close down? Back when we were students, lots of people in our class loved reading it. Short stories aren’t even online anymore. Which series was Xiao Xu’s first collection from?”

Wen Zhixu had blown up with one book near university graduation. The only thing noticeable about her college years wasn’t that faint spark of youthful talent, but the spotlight from Jian Shichu.

Wen Zhixu couldn’t quite recall. “I forgot; it’s been too long.”

“How could you forget?” The person chuckled lightly, a hint of disdain at her lips. “I mean that piece where you plagiarized an author called Peanut.”

Wen Zhixu shifted her eyes from the table to her. The other still had that joking look. Wen Zhixu had indeed forgotten.

But she remembered the plagiarism accusation. She was young back then; from submission to publication, in that interval, she’d already deleted her social Weibo.

She was prepping for gaokao then, not online. Whatever the internet said and spread, she didn’t pay much mind—Mom had handled everything for her.

Peanut, this author, had only ever communicated with her online. Comparatively speaking, Peanut hadn’t published many short stories.

Of course, once cut off from the internet, she lost all contact with the other party. This matter only resurfaced after she blew up in popularity, when netizens dug up that little incident from that year. This was precisely the downside of using a pen name.

Since the author Peanut never showed up from start to finish and never made any statements, the incident lacked solid proof.

Wen Zhixu had never plagiarized. Plagiarism was a taboo for authors. As for why her high school magazine piece was so similar to Peanut’s, she herself wasn’t entirely sure.

The atmosphere turned subtly awkward in that moment. Bringing up these things right in front of her was inappropriate no matter how you sliced it. Zhang Yuan was just thinking of smoothing things over when, unexpectedly, the door to the private room was pushed open.