Wen Zhixu could tell from the voice transmitted through the earpiece that it was good news from her editor. She parked the car, and by the time she opened the door, she already had a good idea.
Wen Zhixu tapped her earpiece with her index finger and asked, “Is Laifeng about to start filming?”
There was an exaggerated “Aiyo!” from the other end of the line, and the volume suddenly spiked, making her uncomfortable.
Wen Zhixu furrowed her brows slightly as she crossed the pedestrian crossing, her eyes fixed on the phone navigation.
“When you signed the contract before, you insisted on joining the crew to prevent any adaptations. Perfect timing—this shoot is in Chongqing. How convenient.”
As Wen Zhixu listened, her brows slowly relaxed, and a water droplet slid from the tip of a leaf above her head down to her neck.
A chill ran down the back of her neck as she replied, “Yeah, pretty convenient. I have something to do—talk later.”
She wiped off the water, shifted her feet, and looked down at her phone. The book she wrote a few years ago was being adapted, and the crew had finally set up to start filming this year.
She wasn’t one to live in an idealized world, but she didn’t want her paper character to have its life trajectory altered either.
Wen Zhixu didn’t dwell on it and continued walking forward.
—
Jian Shichu’s restaurant looked just like the photos online—gravel paths combined with a camping style. She stared at the glass wall, searching for Jian Shichu’s figure.
They were setting up tents outside, and she instantly spotted a familiar silhouette on a low chair to the side. Jian Shichu was leaning back against the chair, her left hand reaching into a plate to grab a grape and pop it into her mouth.
She was like a lazy orange cat in the afternoon, utterly still, detached from the world, yet not the least bit contrived.
This was Jian Shichu, yet somehow not the Jian Shichu from back then. Wen Zhixu stared for a long time but lacked the courage to go in.
The Jian Shichu in her memory wouldn’t have this casual vibe; that scholarly aura clinging to her seemed to have faded with time.
But so what? What right did she have to expect others to stay the same year after year? People change, just like how she’d put on a famous persona that wasn’t like her old self anymore.
Wen Zhixu noticed a server’s gaze on her and sidestepped behind a wooden sign, which also let her see the “Closed” sign.
She stood quietly at the entrance, out of place yet like a late customer with social anxiety.
She took a deep breath, slipped her hands into her pockets, and turned to head inside.
Her unhurried steps slowed even more when a girl appeared at Jian Shichu’s side in the distance.
“What do you want to eat tonight? There’s a new place that opened—food’s pretty good. Wanna try it?” Ni You rested her hand on the chair back and sat down beside Jian Shichu, lightly patting her shoulder before propping her chin on her hand and looking at her with a smile.
Jian Shichu tossed the half-eaten grape into the trash bin and snapped back to attention, looking at Ni You. “What?”
She had just zoned out.
Ni You’s smile stiffened, her gaze fixed straight on Jian Shichu’s profile. Jian Shichu had zoned out many times today—clearly, she had something on her mind. Ni You was about to ask.
But Jian Shichu straightened up, rested her elbows on her knees, and cut her off flatly. “I’ll have Xiao Yang drive you back to school.”
“I today…” As Ni You started to speak, her peripheral vision caught Wen Zhixu’s figure.
She shifted her gaze over, then slowly stood up.
Wen Zhixu stood there at a loss, her breathing growing hot and humid. She’d overheard their conversation, which now made her feel like a kid caught stealing candy.
“Sorry, we’re closed today.” Ni You smiled lightly at her, her gentle tone like a feather brushing the ear.
The guys busy setting up tents also turned their gazes over. Wen Zhixu parted her lips, about to speak, when her eyes locked straight onto Jian Shichu’s indifferent expression.
Jian Shichu tilted her head slightly and said slowly, “Something you need?”
Ni You looked puzzled and glanced between them. “You two… know each other?”
“We know each other.” Jian Shichu took a breath and met Wen Zhixu’s gaze without flinching—not like she was trying to assert dominance, but more like she wanted to see through the person in front of her. “Former…”
Wen Zhixu immediately cut her off. “Classmates.” Her tone was crisp and decisive, and with those words, she lost the staring contest.
Jian Shichu stared at her for less than five seconds before letting out a dry chuckle in the breeze. That year’s silent reticence—she almost hoped the other would stay that way forever.
—
Ni You had gone back to school. Jian Shichu had rejected her a few days ago, but the girl wasn’t deterred and came to the restaurant to hang out as a friend, just like always.
Jian Shichu had been through that age herself, but the difference was that Ni You could turn around and forget everything from a few days ago, as if nothing had happened—like the internet slang for living carefree and heartless. It was something Jian Shichu couldn’t envy.
She kept her distance from Ni You. Overall, she didn’t dislike the girl and had no particular thoughts about her.
The small stones ground against the soles of her shoes as Jian Shichu leaned back in her chair, her index finger tapping rhythmically and silently on the armrest.
A server brought over juice and placed it in front of Wen Zhixu, sneaking a glance at Jian Shichu’s expression.
Wen Zhixu felt oppressed by her presence, tucked her hair behind her ear to mask the awkwardness. Jian Shichu’s area was under renovation—except for this two-square-meter clean spot underfoot, the surroundings were littered with opened packaging.
“Insurance covered it.” Jian Shichu withdrew her aura, adopting an attitude of giving up the standoff. With two buttons undone on her collar, she sat across from Wen Zhixu, calm and composed.
Just as Wen Zhixu was about to speak, a server interrupted with a question about the scene setup, holding a diagram and crouching by the chair. “Sis, Aunt Wang said this part should go on the footing, ’cause that open space is for the fill lights later.”
The guy looked young, wearing a brown apron with the shop logo in the middle, naturally pointing behind Wen Zhixu. She reflexively turned to look.
Inside the half-open triangular shed, they were assembling a wooden platform, with a freshly made straw man leaning to the side. It was more like a hidden haven of peace than a restaurant, one that made you forget the city’s hustle and bustle.
Jian Shichu glanced over, then looked down at the diagram. “Leave this area open. Just shift the platform a bit—no other changes.”
“What about this one?”
Jian Shichu frowned. “What’s that?” She squinted to look closely, and after the explanation, she said casually, “Put this in the warehouse for now.”
That Chongqing accent felt like it was nibbling at Wen Zhixu’s ear. She belatedly looked at Jian Shichu—back when they were dating, Jian Shichu spoke it too, though rarely, since she couldn’t understand it well.
The cadence was a bit different but somehow pleasing to the ear. Jian Shichu’s voice always had this lazy, clear quality, amplified even more over these years.
Her first encounter with Jian Shichu was in the library. Beautiful people or things always carried a glow wherever they went. People like that didn’t need to do anything or say anything to win all the applause and favor.
Some used that advantage to grow wildly and cover the whole wall, but others came with their own thorns, unhidden brilliance that made people wary.
And at that time, Jian Shichu was the latter—like a magnet wrapped in gauze.
Wen Zhixu waited a few minutes, sitting on pins and needles the whole time. Sunlight slanted over her calf, and the silver glint on her wrist as it hung by her knee made her instinctively tug her sleeve down to cover the bracelet.
When Jian Shichu turned to look at her, she said, “Sorry… it’s my responsibility too. Tell me how much, and I’ll compensate you.”
Jian Shichu inhaled lightly, as if pondering, then sat up straight and said easily, “I don’t have a car these days—it’s inconvenient for errands. Figure something out.”
Wen Zhixu looked up in surprise. The other slowly ran a hand through her hair, and she said softly, “Then take my car for now.” Wen Zhixu lowered her head to fish the keys from her bag.
Post-rain Chongqing had quietly grown muggy and hot. The locust grass-topped shelter blocked the warmth, so the light beams could only bend in from the edges onto the table, without a trace of hope.
Wen Zhixu’s wrist hovered in mid-air, but Jian Shichu didn’t take the keys. Her gaze traveled up from the wrist, then she slipped her hand into her pocket and leaned back. “I’m not used to driving your car.”
“Aren’t our cars the same?” Wen Zhixu asked.
Jian Shichu pressed her lips together without speaking, just looking at her. But that was enough—Wen Zhixu hadn’t changed a bit. Soft by nature, whatever stubbornness she had left went into her writing.
Wen Zhixu averted her eyes and said softly, “I don’t have much on lately. If you need, I can be your driver.”
“Sure.” Jian Shichu raised a brow in response. “Can you stick with it? It’s tiring—I’m very busy.” She emphasized “very tiring.”
The guy unpacking nearby suddenly looked up at Jian Shichu, then lowered his head again, minding his own business.
Wen Zhixu exhaled. “No problem, I can.” She didn’t look at Jian Shichu—her indifferent attitude meant she’d already forgotten the unpleasantness.
Jian Shichu stood, pulling her chair aside. Looking at her, her tone softened. “Alright then, old classmate.”
Wen Zhixu shot to her feet, her knee banging right into the table corner. The light table shifted, and she hissed in pain. The undrunk juice in the cup sloshed, spilling some onto the table.
Jian Shichu’s gaze flickered with her hiss, landing on her knee for a second before bouncing away. She said nothing.
“Where are we going?” Wen Zhixu asked, gripping her keys tightly, not bothering to check her knee—it wasn’t bad.
Jian Shichu tossed out, “I’m hungry.” The hair tips hanging over her shoulder swept across her shirt as she turned.
Wen Zhixu followed along, walking behind Jian Shichu. Her knees ached faintly with every step, but that was nothing. That year, she felt that nothing could surpass the heart-wrenching, lung-splitting pain brought by her emotions.
She had searched for quite a while on the way here. Only after reaching the roadside did she start leading the way, occasionally glancing back to check if the person was following. Her style today was unusually flamboyant. Before opening the car door, she took off the bracelet on her wrist and stuffed it into her bag.
Jian Shichu naturally sat in the passenger seat, reached for the seatbelt, and asked, “What do you want to eat?”
“Hm?” Wen Zhixu thought she’d misheard and looked toward Jian Shichu. “Won’t it be inconvenient?” She didn’t ask directly. She’d just seen Ni You earlier, and the way Ni You looked at Jian Shichu—she wouldn’t mistake it. It was that feeling of admiration mixed with careful caution.
And she didn’t need to spell it out. Jian Shichu seemed to have an innate perceptiveness; figuring out the meaning behind a single sentence wasn’t hard for her.
“You said it’s a classmate. What’s inconvenient about that?” Jian Shichu propped her head on her hand and gave her a lazy glance before naming the place. “Beicheng Tianjie.”
Jian Shichu showed no impatience at all, just like a faint breeze passing lightly through the throat. Wen Zhixu let out an “oh” and lightly tapped the screen to input the destination.
As the car started up, Jian Shichu’s gaze—which had been fixed on Wen Zhixu—shifted to the window outside. The ends of her hair draped over the headrest, leaving a slight crease that smoothed back out as she turned her head.
