Chapter 17

Wen Zhixu clearly froze upon hearing the news that Jian Shichu had come out of the closet, a subtle shift occurring in the emotions at the bottom of her eyes.

“How old are you? Are you being childish?” Wen Zhixu conceded defeat in their staring contest. She simply averted her gaze from Jian Shichu and turned her attention to the computer screen instead.

Jian Shichu’s wrist drooped as she said slowly, “It’s impolite to ask someone’s age.” Her words floated lightly, drifting away like a breeze, and she felt a bit cold all over.

To be precise, she’d been breaking out in cold sweats since last night while sleeping, but she hadn’t paid much attention then because she hadn’t slept well all night. Jian Shichu didn’t have the energy to keep bickering with Wen Zhixu either.

She took a gentle breath to ease the waves of dizziness in her mind. In a daze, Jian Shichu even felt like her crow’s mouth had jinxed it—she really seemed to have caught a cold.

After all, yesterday she’d dragged two paparazzi around in the rain for several laps and then busied herself with restaurant matters all night. If she didn’t catch a cold, who would?

Wen Zhixu didn’t hear Jian Shichu respond. She tilted her head to look and saw her propping her elbow on her knee while replying to messages, her complexion poor. A fine layer of sweat gradually beaded on her forehead, giving her a frail air.

Wen Zhixu asked, “Do you want to go to the hospital and get checked?”

She thought for a moment, set aside her work, grabbed her bag from the side, and pulled out a packet of medicine from inside.

“I’ve got some Cold Spirit granules here. Take them first, and if it doesn’t help, I’ll go to the hospital with you.”

Wen Zhixu tore open the medicine packet. Her water cup held hot water she’d filled before heading out.

Jian Shichu watched her slowly, her eyes fixed on Wen Zhixu’s, as if carefully observing the lingering warmth in them.

Wen Zhixu shook the corner of the medicine packet. The crinkling of the wrapper was drowned out by the music playing on set. After tearing it open, she got up and went to the water dispenser to grab a clean paper cup.

The concern welling up inside her was impossible to hide. Wen Zhixu poured the medicine into the cup, added water, and shook it to mix evenly.

What she didn’t know was that Jian Shichu was right behind her, propping up her eyelids to watch, a trace of softness gradually turning in her eyes.

After taking the medicine, Wen Zhixu packed up her laptop too, stuffing the script into her bag along with it. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”

As she said this, she used the back of her hand to test Jian Shichu’s forehead—it was clearly hotter than before.

Jian Shichu endured the discomfort, suppressing a smile at the corner of her lips, and stood up obediently to follow alongside Wen Zhixu.

“Where’s your car?” Wen Zhixu asked, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Outside.”

Wen Zhixu thought for a moment. “Let’s take a cab then. If I drive, I’ll have to retake the subject one exam.”

Before Jian Shichu could respond, Wen Zhixu lightly gripped her arm to support her. The hold was gentle, carrying no ulterior motives, just pure natural care without a hint of other emotions—her expression was one that couldn’t be faked.

They didn’t see Wang Yun on the way down from upstairs. Jian Shichu hadn’t told Wang Yun either. Wen Zhixu just greeted the other screenwriters and left.

She didn’t actually have work on set anyway; she’d only gotten involved to supervise because she was afraid they’d mess up the original work. So leaving at this time naturally drew no comments.

At the hospital, while getting an IV, the intern nurse missed the vein twice before it went in successfully. Jian Shichu fell asleep with the drip hanging, leaning against Wen Zhixu for nearly three hours.

Wen Zhixu just watched her, her fingers gently brushing through her hair strands, tidying the messy locks. Speaking of which, Jian Shichu’s cold this time was entirely because of her.

So it was only right that she took on the caregiving. That’s what she told herself, and she really wanted to keep any other feelings out of it.

That year, she was the one who’d dumped Jian Shichu. No matter the angle, the hurt she’d inflicted seemed deeply rooted. These years, she’d learned to let go and deliberately suppressed the lingering thoughts that remained.

After bringing Jian Shichu home, it was already noon.

This was also the first time at Jian Shichu’s place. Jian Shichu still liked to hang a painting on the wall cabinet—it had to be an oil painting, framed in retro solid wood style.

Wen Zhixu glanced around after entering. Not planning to stay, she said, “I’ll head out first. Rest well.”

“I’m hungry.” Jian Shichu grabbed her hand, her long lashes looking weak from the IV.

Wen Zhixu’s gaze lingered on Jian Shichu’s face.

She’d once complimented Jian Shichu’s lashes for being beautiful, because they always seemed to hold a layer of misty water when she smiled.

“What do you want to eat?” Wen Zhixu turned toward her as she spoke.

Jian Shichu’s palms were icy cool. Holding Wen Zhixu’s hand like that inexplicably tugged at her heart, along with a twinge of discomfort.

“Whatever you make, I’ll eat.” Jian Shichu didn’t get upset when Wen Zhixu pulled her hand back. This illness felt worth it to her.

Wen Zhixu said, “I don’t know how to cook. Can I just order takeout for you?”

“I’ll teach you.” Jian Shichu’s tone was soft, which surprised Wen Zhixu. She was willing to fulfill every demand of the patient.

Wen Zhixu had never known how to cook before, and neither had Jian Shichu.

As for why this person later learned and even opened a restaurant, it was hard to fathom what had happened in between.

She only remembered that line: ‘If you like eating it, how about we open a restaurant together later?’

Right, that’s what Jian Shichu had said.

One of their promises was a restaurant, and later, Jian Shichu really did open one.

Wen Zhixu didn’t dare speculate if it had anything to do with that year.

The restaurant bore an uncanny resemblance to the one described in Fog Condensing on the Window. The coincidences of the world come without warning or rules, catching you off guard.

Wen Zhixu stirred the egg in her bowl and looked up at Jian Shichu. “How long has your restaurant been open?”

“A year after we broke up, until now.” Jian Shichu was pulling fruit out of the fridge—all ordered online yesterday.

Wen Zhixu’s movements paused, the egg scrambled.

She changed the subject. “And then? What next?”

Jian Shichu glanced at her, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. “I’ll do it. You wash the fruit.”

“I’ll handle it. You sit and tell me what to do.” Wen Zhixu didn’t let her touch anything. She set the bowl aside and washed the fruit first.

Water splashed against the back of her hand as she rinsed the green grapes in the glass bowl, clearing away the residue.

The translucent color swayed in the clear water a few times. After washing them clean, Wen Zhixu placed them on the counter.

Jian Shichu was sitting there watching her just then.

The rice in the rice cooker had cooled completely. The kitchen spices were well-stocked, showing that Jian Shichu usually cooked for herself too.

She’d experiment with new drinks, taste them herself, and if they were good, offer them as freebies to customers at the shop.

After chopping the green onions, Wen Zhixu followed Jian Shichu’s instructions and poured half the egg mixture over the cooled rice, mixing it evenly.

She’d never seen egg fried rice made this way. “First time seeing this. Do you always do it like that?”

“Don’t know about others, but this is how I do it.” Jian Shichu plucked a green grape but didn’t eat it right away.

Wen Zhixu mixed the rice, her chopsticks pressing harder. “Will it even taste good?”

She eyed the contents of the bowl skeptically and dumped in the rest of the egg mixture.

“You’ll know once you try.” Jian Shichu bit into the grape—it was too sweet, so she didn’t take a second bite and tossed the remaining half into the trash.

She pulled out a tissue to wipe her fingertips. Wen Zhixu poured oil into the pan.

Jian Shichu’s phone had the steps noted and sat nearby. A WeChat notification popped up at the top of the screen, from Bai Xue.

[Ni You wants you to add her.]

She glanced at it without lingering or tapping. The page stayed on the memo.

Jian Shichu heard the WeChat sound. Still standing by the trash can, she asked, “Who’s it from?”

As if she didn’t care about privacy at all.

Wen Zhixu hadn’t turned on the fire yet. She set the oil bottle down and repeated, “Ni You wants you to add her.”

Her tone was flat. The spatula slid over the oil at the pan’s bottom. She zoned out for a few seconds before snapping back.

Jian Shichu came to her side. Just as she thought she was checking the phone, Jian Shichu took the spatula from her hand and set it aside, tilting her head to look at the pan bottom.

“How are you gonna stir-fry without turning on the fire?” Jian Shichu looked at her, a hint of laughter floating in her eyes.

Wen Zhixu reacted. “I forgot.” She turned to light the fire.

Jian Shichu steadied her shoulders to turn her steadily, then draped the apron over her. Leaning down, her arms circled Wen Zhixu’s waist to tie it.

In that instant, Wen Zhixu’s lashes fluttered. Jian Shichu’s ear carried a faint fragrance, and the silver necklace at her exposed neck gleamed in the air.

The other woman tied the apron unhurriedly, a touch of ambiguity seeping through the pleasure.

Wen Zhixu’s expression remained composed as she watched Jian Shichu straighten up, her body frozen like it was filled with icy wind.

Jian Shichu’s pupils shifted slightly, observing the flush on Wen Zhixu’s cheeks.

Wen Zhixu felt cold all over. She turned to the gas stove, saying nothing about what just happened. “You reply to your message. I’ve got the rest memorized.”

Jian Shichu still looked at her, then said calmly, “Alright.”

The moment she picked up the phone, Wen Zhixu instinctively glanced at the screen. She retracted quickly, but Jian Shichu still caught it.

Jian Shichu took the phone and sat at the dining table, replying to the message without a word.

[Not adding.]

[Bai Xue: Up to you. It really fits that saying—white moonlight’s destructive power can shatter the heavens. Once the person appears, all your efforts are for nothing.]

[Has nothing to do with her.]

After sending that, Jian Shichu looked at Wen Zhixu. Truth be told, even if Wen Zhixu hadn’t shown up, she still wouldn’t have accepted Ni You.

She propped her elbow on the table. The sound of oil splattering came from the kitchen, making the room feel noisier. Jian Shichu just watched Wen Zhixu’s back like that.

The scenes flashing in her eyes were from five years ago—that not-so-beautiful story she couldn’t let go of or release.

These stories seemed to gain warmth with Wen Zhixu’s appearance, like sunlight shining on icicles, forcing the memories to crack open bit by bit.

Jian Shichu was just about to exit WeChat when Bai Xue sent another message—a reposted Weibo post.

Jian Shichu’s gaze swept over the Weibo title, her fingertip trembling as she looked toward Wen Zhixu again.

She slowly tapped into it, her fingertips growing damp with heat. As her pulse quickened, she slowly scrolled down.

The Weibo’s accompanying image was a photo of Wen Zhixu and Ke Yixuan emerging from a hotel.

The reporter who broke the story wrote clearly: the photo was taken last night, and the content concerned Ke Yixuan’s sexual orientation, a scandal linking her with Wen Zhixu.

It also mentioned speculation about the inside story behind Ke Yixuan landing the female lead role, with Tang Qin demoted to second female lead.

Seeing this, Jian Shichu shut off her phone. At the same time, she realized Wen Zhixu had only gone to see Ke Yixuan after they parted.

She asked softly, “Where were you last night?”