The phone in her bag remained silent. Zhou Mi was eager to go back into the store to check her WeChat messages again, unconsciously speeding up her ice cream-eating pace.
By the time she finished her entire cone, Jijie’s was still half uneaten.
She glanced at him somewhat embarrassedly, “Did I eat too fast?”
Jijie said, “I’m the one eating too slowly.”
“Not at all,” Zhou Mi wiped her mouth with a napkin, then glanced sideways at the spokesperson’s standee by the door. “I don’t know if the photo team might need me for something. I should go back inside first.”
Jijie waved his ice cream, “Thanks for treating me, and incidentally helping K’s revenue.”
Zhou Mi smiled, “Buy one, get one free—I’m the one benefiting from you.”
As soon as she stepped through the store entrance, Zhou Mi eagerly took out her phone and opened WeChat.
Sure enough.
Her conversation with Zhang Lian had ended with her telling him to throw away the rings. He hadn’t replied with anything else.
Actually… it was within expectation.
But a sense of emptiness was inevitable.
Even though she knew there was no further connection between them, and so many days had passed, she still couldn’t manage to be one hundred percent free of attachment.
Her reason for refusing wasn’t about growing tired of him—it was self-resistance and regret, not knowing how to face him.
So she chose not to meet, avoiding this indispensable closure ritual.
How strange, Zhou Mi thought with a self-mocking curve of her lips. For others, exchanging rings symbolized a lasting commitment, yet for her and Zhang Lian, exchanging rings was for parting.
She stood in place, looking at the WeChat interface again, habitually scrolling up to review previous messages.
She hadn’t deleted any of her chat history with Zhang Lian. These past days, she had countless times wanted to decisively erase everything, but always hesitated and retreated at the final confirmation step.
Their last normal conversation was the night before they separated. Zhang Lian had said he was having dinner with people from BZ and would probably return late, telling her to go to sleep early.
She had replied: I’ll wait for you.
Zhang Lian responded: You’ll make me distracted this way.
Zhou Mi sent him an obedient “lying down” emoji: Okay, good night (just pretending).
Then she received her mother’s call asking about the results, and within twenty-four hours, their world turned upside down, becoming like strangers.
Zhou Mi’s lips tightened. Just as she was about to put her phone back in her bag, it suddenly rang. She hurriedly took it out to look, her heart sinking a few more degrees—it was He Miaoyan calling.
She answered, “Hello?”
He Miaoyan said, “I’m near your store, where are you?”
Zhou Mi said, “I’m in the store. Just come right in.”
As she spoke, she walked toward the exit, coincidentally running into Jijie, who had also finished his ice cream and was returning. He smiled at her as they passed each other, him heading inside.
He Miaoyan was already waiting outside the door, her gaze repeatedly glancing inside. “I just saw a handsome guy go in.”
Zhou Mi asked, “You don’t mean my client, do you?”
He Miaoyan: “Hmm? The one in the yellow shirt?”
Zhou Mi turned her head. “That must be him.”
He Miaoyan exclaimed, “Wow, I’m seriously thinking about joining your industry. How come there are so many handsome guys?”
Zhou Mi said, “Better not—you wouldn’t even have time to nurse a broken heart.”
He Miaoyan didn’t say more, soothingly patting Zhou Mi’s back, then pointed to a nearby standee and handed over her phone. “First, help me take a picture with our baby.”
Zhou Mi rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
He Miaoyan moved over, striking a sweet little-wife pose, repeatedly instructing, “Don’t forget to use the beauty filter!!”
Zhou Mi half-squatted to help her friend find the most flattering angle, looking very serious. “What if your baby’s face doesn’t look right?”
He Miaoyan: “As long as I look good! Don’t care about him!”
Zhou Mi: “…You’re too honest.”
After taking the photo, the two girlfriends entered the store together.
Seeing how crowded it was inside, He Miaoyan couldn’t help but exclaim, “There are quite a lot of people.”
Zhou Mi said, “Some are fans like you who came to check in.”
She then asked, “What would you like to eat? I’ll get it for you. Do you want to try our specially promoted snack bucket?”
He Miaoyan wasn’t picky: “Anything is fine.”
Just as Zhou Mi was about to turn away, He Miaoyan suddenly grabbed her arm and said softly, “That handsome guy is coming over again.”
Zhou Mi glanced back and indeed saw Jijie walking toward them. She waved at him, “Season.”
Jijie stopped in front of them, holding an unopened zongzi-shaped plush toy: “Your friend?”
Zhou Mi said, “Yes, He Miaoyan.”
Jijie greeted her and handed over the small gift: “Thanks for supporting our store.”
He Miaoyan accepted it, smiling and scratching her head: “Just came to look around, no need to be so polite.”
Jijie said, “We’ll have activities for the next two days too. Come play more.”
He Miaoyan said, “Definitely.”
With that, he went back to his work.
He Miaoyan watched him leave, then turned to Zhou Mi and said, “Your client doesn’t seem to have any airs at all…”
Zhou Mi nodded and sighed: “Yes, he’s super nice. But that’s just him.”
Around four in the afternoon, Zhou Mi returned to the company to review and organize today’s materials. Tomorrow, she would need to accompany the media team to receive KOLs coming for the live broadcast and simultaneously post on social media. It would likely be another day without a moment’s rest.
Every day since separating from Zhang Lian had passed almost identically.
They were whirling days, moving so fast she could barely see herself; yet also crawling days, torturing her like a chronic inflammation.
On the closing day of the pop-up store, Zhou Mi didn’t work overtime because she needed to return home early to accompany her parents to a wedding.
The bride was the daughter of her mother’s friend, only two years older than her. Upon entering the hotel, they could see the newlyweds greeting guests amid decorations outside the hall that resembled a sea of flowers.
The girl’s makeup was thick, like a white mask adhered to her skin, making it difficult to breathe, and her false eyelashes heavily covered her eyes, but her smile was especially light and airy.
Her floor-length white veil wrapped around her like a cloud.
Her husband was dressed in a formal suit, about the same height as her. When her mother pulled Zhou Mi forward for a photo, she heard the groom turn to the bride and softly ask, “Are your high heels uncomfortable? Do you need to rest?”
The bride smiled and said, “You can massage my feet when we get back tonight.” Her voice was equally low.
Zhou Mi thought they looked very happy.
On the way back, her mother repeatedly admired the wedding videos she had taken. The host’s clichéd speech and the grand symphonic music filled the car, irritating her father, who complained, “Can’t you watch without sound?”
Tang Peili directly closed it. After a moment of silence, she sighed, “When our Mimi gets married, she’ll look more beautiful than her.”
Then, unable to contain herself, she muttered softly, “That person even sent me gifts on Mother’s Day, how did he change so completely? I still can’t understand…”
Zhou Xing rarely scolded her, but this time he interrupted her.
Zhou Mi immediately turned to look out the window. Outside, the lights seemed to slowly grow a circle of fine hairs, like a drizzle, hazy and fuzzy.
Early July.
The bright red pomegranate flowers in the garden below the company building were in full bloom. The summer atmosphere grew increasingly vivid. Just going outside briefly would wrap one in a cling-film-like heat.
Returning from the client’s office, Zhou Mi walked with her head half-lowered, using a tissue to wipe sweat from her forehead, following beside her colleague toward the company.
Upon reaching the tenth floor, several voices suddenly rose around her: “Boss,” “Fabian.”
Some were very polite, others sounded like calling an old friend.
She raised her eyes and saw Zhang Lian walking toward them. He was probably heading out, walking at a slightly brisk pace. His all-white short-sleeved button-down shirt with a point collar made him look especially fresh and somewhat younger—his appearance didn’t look like someone who had passed thirty at all.
In medicine, there’s a description of pain called “needle-prick pain.”
This was exactly how Zhou Mi felt each time she accidentally encountered Zhang Lian at the company—intense and brief, very fitting.
But she always maintained a calm facade, following behind everyone else, lightly calling him: “Boss.”
The man nodded with a slight smile, his gaze sweeping briefly over their group before he walked past, looking straight ahead.
Back at her workstation, after opening WeChat, Zhou Mi soon received a message from Jijie.
He said the King of Glory team sponsored by K would have an offline competition event and asked if she wanted to go watch on Sunday.
Zhou Mi checked her schedule notes and confirmed she was free that day. Without hesitation, she agreed.
She needed other things to occupy her life; otherwise, as soon as deep night or holidays arrived, she would immediately sink into the swamp of memories.
On the day of the event, the atmosphere at the venue was vibrant—fans had beaming smiles and cheered loudly.
Jijie helped her and her colleague get some fan support items—a hand banner and headband printed with K’s logo and the team logo. Zhou Mi happily put them on, nodding and shaking her head like a proud little insect wiggling its antennae.
Jijie raised his hand and flicked one side, then immediately smiled and said, “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
Zhou Mi secured both spring sides, her expressions and movements no longer so unrestrained: “It’s okay.”
Perhaps because she and Jijie were relatively attractive, the director cut to them twice in succession before the game started. The commentator’s teasing followed immediately: “SDG is indeed a team with good looks, and their fans’ appearances are quite remarkable too.”
The team fans in the audience erupted in another wave of roaring cheers.
Zhou Mi contained her overly joyful smile, her eyes darting around, completely afraid to look at herself on the big screen. In the end, she could only shyly raise her hand banner to cover the lower half of her face.
On the way home, Jijie asked her, “How did you feel today?”
Zhou Mi hadn’t experienced such wholehearted excitement and relaxation for a long time: “Really great.”
Jijie smiled, his eyes curving, “How great is ‘great’?”
Zhou Mi thought for a moment: “Just very happy, very passionate. I didn’t know game events could be so impressive in person. What we usually play is child’s play…”
Then she hastily corrected herself: “Child’s play only describes me. You’re still the high-end god-tier Na Ke, national server. Those one or two hours every night when you carry me are my happiest times now.”
Jijie laughed, “As long as you’re happy.”
Zhou Mi turned her head to look at him: “What about you? Were you happy today?”
Jijie said, “I’m happy every day.”
Zhou Mi raised her eyebrows: “You never have unhappy moments?”
Jijie said, “Of course I do, but I still try to stay happy.”
Zhou Mi was quiet for a while, then suddenly asked, “Have you seen an animation called Inside Out?”
Jijie said, “Yes.”
Zhou Mi said, “Actually, sadness is very important too, indispensable. It complements happiness. To be precise, all emotions are important, just like every color that makes up the world.”
Jijie didn’t speak for a while. After a few minutes, as the car drove into Zhou Mi’s residential compound, he finally said, “Speaking of what makes things up, I suddenly remembered something.”
Zhou Mi tilted her head: “What?”
Jijie said, “That ‘boyfriend content 60%’ I saw in your Moments comment section last time.”
Zhou Mi paused, then smiled understandingly: “That was all made up, don’t take it seriously.”
Jijie slowly brought the car to a stop at the entrance to her building. His entire face turned toward her as he called, “Zhou Mi.”
Zhou Mi sat upright: “Hmm?”
Jijie’s tone was serious: “Would you like to try being with me?”
Zhou Mi froze in place, her eyes wide and round.
Jijie’s smile was like a fresh green summer day: “I know I’m not that 60%, but can I be the 40% that takes advantage of the vacancy?”
—
That night, Zhou Mi took her usual two sleep gummies, but still couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much she tossed and turned. One moment she would hug her plush toy and stare blankly, the next she would take out her phone and aimlessly refresh her Weibo homepage over and over.
Finally, she returned to WeChat and revisited the industry public accounts she hadn’t checked for a long time.
She clicked on an account she used to read most frequently.
Indeed, the principle that things smell worse up close but better from afar holds for anything.
Zhou Mi found that its readability had doubled. She read one article after another, from the main text to the comments, with great interest.
Midway through, her index finger suddenly paused on the screen. She saw an article about a communication meeting in early May that included a photo of Zhang Lian. The image wasn’t large, and the shooting distance wasn’t close, but it was clear and recognizable—he was speaking on stage.
The man rarely wore such formal attire. He looked elegant and dignified.
That same day, she had discovered a bicolored Iceland poppy in the flower box on his balcony—the only one, pink-orange in color. She thought it was very unique, so she gave it to him before going to work.
That flower had been placed in the pocket of his suit jacket.
Zhou Mi stared at that spot, her breathing quickening, feeling as if her internal organs were being twisted to pieces.
Tears fell uncontrollably, threatening to make sounds. She could only tightly grip the edge of her blanket, her molars aching from being clenched so hard.
She hadn’t cried like this before bed for a long time, as if wrapped in salty sea water, as if about to drown.
As the intense grief gradually subsided, Zhou Mi roughly wiped away the blur before her eyes with her forearm, then went to look at Zhang Lian’s Moments again. Still, he hadn’t updated anything.
She missed him so much.
But this was all there could be now.
From now on, knowing nothing about him, not recognizing each other when they met, helplessness and despair with no solution.
Just then, the clock in the living room suddenly announced the time, telling her it was now noon.
The magic had truly ended.
Zhou Mi, it’s over, let him go, and free yourself too. Things will get better. Look forward. The day will dawn. It’s not like you haven’t been through this before. This is just a small Tacky Fairytale – Chapter in life. It’s time to turn the page.
Like chanting scriptures for deliverance, she recited these useless but somewhat comforting chicken soup phrases in her mind without stopping, then tiredly closed her eyes.