As the anesthetic wore off, Grandmother finally opened her eyes in response to everyone calling her name.

Professor Huang’s assistant had reminded them that she was not to fall asleep again for at least two hours after waking up. But Grandmother was desperately drowsy, and every time she started to close her eyes, Grandfather would press his face anxiously close to the bedside and call her pet name without stopping: “Feng Lan, Feng Lan — the doctor said you can’t sleep, wake up, don’t sleep, don’t sleep.”

Grandmother, beyond exasperated, forced her eyes open. The residual effects of the anesthesia still lingered, leaving her looking terribly weak.

She truly, desperately wanted to sleep. The kind of exhaustion that reaches its absolute peak feels exactly like this.

Grandfather’s hearing wasn’t particularly sharp even at the best of times, and with his worry about Grandmother drifting off, he had taken to bellowing directly into her ear without letup.

They do say that old age is a kind of second childhood, and there is real truth to that. Grandmother was utterly aggrieved, her voice hoarse, and as she tried to scold Grandfather, her own eyes filled with tears. “You old fool — you won’t even let me sleep? What a heartless man you are!”

She was going to sleep, she was going to sleep, and the sky could fall for all she cared!

Grandfather’s old face flushed red. “But the doctor said you can’t sleep. Feng Lan, bear with it — just a little longer, just a little bit longer.”

Grandmother was fuming, directing an aggrieved glare at Grandfather, while Grandfather hunched over and offered an endless stream of tender promises.

Such as: he would smoke less from now on.

Such as: he would give up going fishing, and stay home to keep her company watching television.

Grandmother listened to this last offering and said, with supreme distaste: “You’d better not come home at all. Who wants you sitting around with me watching television?”

Lu Yicheng stood nearby watching and listening, amusement alive in his eyes.

He couldn’t quite explain why, but he always felt that Jiang Ruoqiao and her grandmother were remarkably alike in temperament.

Watching Jiang Ruoqiao’s grandmother now, he found himself thinking — when she’s old, she’ll probably be exactly like this.

Actually, that sounds quite wonderful.

He was just smiling to himself when, quite by accident, his eyes met Jiang Ruoqiao’s — and he felt as though someone had pressed pause on his entire body. The smile froze on his face. He didn’t dare move.

Jiang Ruoqiao gave him a faint glare.

What was he smiling about — was something funny? What kind of person went around grinning like that?

Only after she looked away did Lu Yicheng lower his gaze.

Lu Siyan, who had been watching the whole scene, broke into a wide grin.

—

The surgery had been a success, and Grandmother’s recovery was going quite well. Professor Huang said that after a few more days of observation, if everything looked fine, she could go home — top-tier general hospitals were always like this, with beds in too high demand and far too many people waiting outside to be admitted for surgery. With the surgery behind them, Jiang Ruoqiao finally allowed herself to breathe. In the timeline she’d dreamed, this was happening at least a year ahead of schedule — it should be alright now, shouldn’t it?

—

The last day of the Golden Week holiday was Du Yu’s birthday.

Lu Yicheng hadn’t originally wanted to go, but Du Yu had called several times — turning twenty was a real milestone for him. And Lu Yicheng and Du Yu had genuinely built up a good friendship, with no real reason to decline. Lu Siyan had Jiang Ruoqiao’s grandfather watching him, and so in the end Lu Yicheng came to Du Yu’s birthday gathering. Du Yu seemed to be in lower spirits than expected, but when he saw Lu Yicheng arrive, his face finally showed some genuine brightness. He slung an arm around Lu Yicheng’s shoulders and steered him off to one side for a private word: “Chief Lu, give me a straight answer — do you think you can actually win Jiang Ruoqiao over?”

Lu Yicheng: “…”

How would he know.

Seeing Lu Yicheng stay silent, Du Yu sighed too. “Jiang Ruoqiao really is a tough one to pursue.”

Du Yu then appeared to undergo a complete personality transformation — one second deflated, the next back to full strength. “But! Chief Lu, I believe in your abilities. Someone like you is one in a million. Don’t worry, I’ll absolutely support you. If you get Jiang Ruoqiao, I might just finally see a ray of hope.”

Lu Yicheng finally understood what Du Yu was getting at. “What’s going on between you and Yun Jia?”

Du Yu lowered his gaze and shook his head. “She’s still not really talking to me.”

Yun Jia did have a certain something for Du Yu.

But what did that something amount to? It was too tenuous. Yun Jia hadn’t even reached the point of deliberating whether to accept him — and so after the farm stay, things had naturally reverted to a distance, sending Du Yu all the way back to square one.

“Operation Roundabout, Plan A — complete failure.” Du Yu spoke with obvious meaning, referencing the whole Jiang Yan element of things.

Du Yu continued: “But now we can activate Operation Roundabout, Plan B. Chief Lu, Big Brother Lu — I’m entrusting my happiness to you!”

Lu Yicheng looked at him. He didn’t have much experience with romance himself, but even so he could tell Du Yu had it wrong, and said hesitantly: “You shouldn’t be pinning your hopes on someone else. If she wants to be with you, it’ll only ever be because of you.”

Du Yu was a complicated case.

In this department, he had the insight of someone who’d figured things out, but not quite all the way.

Lu Yicheng was probably a bit clearer-headed than Du Yu about it — this sort of thing was, by nature, a matter between two people. It had nothing to do with Jiang Yan, nothing to do with Jiang Ruoqiao or himself either. This was purely Du Yu and Yun Jia’s own business, and how it turned out depended entirely on them. Relying on some roundabout strategy was never going to change that.

Du Yu sighed.

Jiang Yan had also come to his birthday — he was still in the same dormitory as Du Yu since Lu Yicheng had moved out, and Du Yu couldn’t exactly leave Jiang Yan out of a gathering like this. With both Jiang Yan and Lu Yicheng present, the air was noticeably charged. Everyone noticed the injuries on both of them. Lu Yicheng was in better shape — the wound at the corner of his mouth was nearly healed. Jiang Yan looked somewhat worse. If only one of them had turned up like that, nobody would necessarily have thought much of it, but with both of them in the room, each bearing marks of injury, there was no stopping the imagination from running wild.

Outwardly everyone kept their composure, but inwardly they were screaming: What happened that we ordinary spectators don’t know about?!

Lu Yicheng and Jiang Yan weren’t sitting near each other.

Neither had said a word to the other.

The atmosphere was a touch charged — thrilling, even. One male classmate adjusted his glasses and scanned the layout of the room, already running through several scenarios in his head: if Lu Yicheng and Jiang Yan did come to blows, which position would give him the best view, and which position would allow him to watch while staying out of the line of fire?

The phone in Lu Yicheng’s pocket vibrated. He took it out and unlocked it.

He was holding the phone below the table. He glanced down at it — it was a WeChat message from Jiang Ruoqiao.

Jiang Ruoqiao: 【Remember to remind my grandfather to take his medicine~】

Lu Yicheng’s eyes carried a faint warmth. He lowered his head and typed back with long fingers: 【There are sticky note reminders, and Siyan will remind him too. I’ll also call after a while — oh, I forgot to mention, I’m out tonight. Today is Du Yu’s birthday.】

Jiang Ruoqiao: 【Oh, I see.】

Jiang Ruoqiao: 【Have fun then. Don’t bother calling — I’ll call and remind Grandfather myself.】

Lu Yicheng sat there, head bowed, exchanging messages.

This scene fell naturally into the line of sight of Jiang Yan, sitting diagonally across from him.

Jiang Yan watched with cold detachment, radiating the low pressure of “keep away,” and helped himself to an open can of beer.

Near the end of the dinner, Lu Yicheng’s phone rang. It was Lu Siyan calling.

Everyone at the table was in lively conversation — clearly not a good place to take a call. He simply stood up, phone in hand, and stepped out of the private room. He hadn’t been gone long before Jiang Yan, on some pretext, also left the room. At the bend in the corridor, Jiang Yan stood expressionlessly listening to Lu Yicheng’s phone conversation.

Lu Yicheng’s voice was warm, carrying a faint undercurrent of gentle indulgence. “I’ll be back soon. Tell me what you want to eat and I’ll bring something back.”

Lu Siyan: “Great-Grandfather said he wants bubble tea.”

Lu Yicheng was skeptical, but thinking it over — Jiang Ruoqiao’s grandfather did have quite the sweet tooth, though Jiang Ruoqiao had always been keeping it in check.

The old man had high blood pressure, high blood sugar, high cholesterol — he really should be eating less of anything sweet.

But if he flat-out refused, would it make Grandfather unhappy?

Lu Yicheng hesitated and asked, “What kind of bubble tea?”

Lu Siyan said: “Cheese grape.”

Lu Yicheng wanted to press his palm to his forehead: was this Grandfather who wanted it, or Siyan himself?

But in the end he agreed anyway. “Alright — cheese grape, less sugar.”

Reason told Jiang Yan that the voice on the other end of the call couldn’t be Jiang Ruoqiao’s.

Jiang Ruoqiao didn’t even like bubble tea.

But if only people could stay rational all the time. Jiang Yan couldn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in: what if it was her? What if their relationship had already grown this close?

That kind of thinking was nearly driving Jiang Yan out of his mind.

He went back to the private room and drank some more. The amount he’d been drinking had been increasing steeply lately. Before the dinner was even over, he left early. Stepping out into the street, he didn’t know where to go. In this short stretch of time, he felt as though he’d lost everything. He wasn’t even sure where he could go anymore.

In the end, he walked toward campus.

At the base of the dormitory building, he saw someone.

Lin Kexing had come today because she’d worked up the courage to see Jiang Yan. She missed him desperately, and she wanted to know how Jiang Yan’s mother was doing. Her life had been a wreck lately — without his mother around, she felt utterly unmoored. And he hadn’t been going home either. That Lin Kexing had held on until today before coming to find him was the result of restraining herself over and over again.

The moment she saw Jiang Yan, Lin Kexing’s nose began to ache.

She had imagined he’d be doing badly — but she hadn’t expected him to look this hollow and worn down.

“Jiang Yan, older brother.” Lin Kexing stepped forward and called out to him.

October evenings came earlier now than they used to; the streetlights at the base of the dormitory building had already come on.

Jiang Yan looked at Lin Kexing, his gaze flat and still — only the hand in his pocket tightened.

Lin Kexing’s eyes reddened, fixed entirely on him. “Jiang Yan older brother, I came today because…”

Looking at Lin Kexing like this, Jiang Yan couldn’t help thinking about how oblivious he had been.

He recalled what Ruoqiao had said that day in the lakeside park, and let out a cold, self-mocking laugh. No wonder Ruoqiao had said Lin Kexing had feelings for him.

Maybe what Ruoqiao had minded wasn’t that night itself — what she’d minded was having someone like this “little sister” figure always present at his side.

The alcohol, combined with the wound Lu Yicheng had already opened in him, loosened his tongue now beyond what any care could hold. “Stay away from me.”

And in that moment, Jiang Yan finally remembered — that night, Lin Kexing had said nothing, and had not pushed him away.

His head was splitting with pain.

Until a thought surfaced: what if — what if that night had never happened? Would he and Ruoqiao still be together right now?

Lin Kexing stared at him, bewildered. “Jiang Yan older brother…”

Jiang Yan had long since been a bowstring drawn to its limit — stretched taut beyond endurance. The fight with Lu Yicheng had done nothing to release the tension. Perhaps this was simply human nature: knowing someone has feelings for you, and so choosing, without restraint, to show them the very worst of yourself. “Why do you keep coming to find me? Why are you still coming?”

He knew perfectly well that all of this had its roots in his mother — in his mother’s greed.

But his mother was gone.

Jiang Yan had wanted to process everything on his own — and then Lin Kexing had appeared again. It was unbearable. “Why do you have to like me? Why?”

His voice was filled with anguish. “I had finally started to feel a little happy. I had finally gotten together with Ruoqiao. Why did you all have to do this? Did destroying me make you feel good?”

Lin Kexing stared at him.

Tears burst from her eyes.

She regretted coming. She shouldn’t have come today — if she hadn’t come, she wouldn’t have heard any of this.

The worst part of loving someone in secret was not the secret itself — it was this: that the heart you had already made so small, so meek, was met with the other person’s loathing, the other person’s contempt. That was the true bitterness.

She wanted to cover her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear another word.

But the words bored their way in anyway.

“Stay away from me. Don’t let us see each other anymore.”

—

Lin Kexing felt like a body drained of its soul, walking as if she were nothing but a husk.

She walked across campus, out through the gates of the university, and stood at the entrance, a moment of blank disorientation washing over her. Her tears had long since run dry.

She couldn’t think of anyone to turn to.

Her parents? That wasn’t an option.

Jiang Yan’s mother — where had she gone? Why couldn’t she be found? Lin Kexing ached for Jiang Yan’s mother’s comfort, for the warmth of her embrace… and in this moment, she realized with sharp clarity that there was not a single person she could pour her heart out to. Her eyes burned and dry, she took out her phone and messaged the one friend who knew: 【Are you there? I’m falling apart…】

Feels like I might just disappear.

It was a long while before her friend replied: 【Is this about your Older Brother J again? Ugh, don’t tell me, I don’t want to hear another episode of your tired drama! Toodles — I’m going to a party~~】

There was no one.

Lin Kexing stood at the edge of the intersection, lost and at a loss. She didn’t know where to go or who to turn to.

Until her phone rang.

It was Chen Yuan calling.

—

From the moment she’d dreamed of Lin Kexing’s phone call, Jiang Ruoqiao had been turning over the idea of making a new video.

Even during the days at the hospital, she hadn’t been idle — using footage she’d already filmed, she had spent nearly three days on editing alone before finally uploading the video to her account.

There had previously been fans who’d asked Jiang Ruoqiao whether it was possible to earn money from making videos without taking on any advertisements.

Many student followers were particularly curious about this.

The reason Jiang Ruoqiao had never addressed it before was because she had been cultivating the image of a brilliant, effortlessly elegant girl. She also had a small streak of vanity, so she had never mentioned her family’s financial situation or let on how hard she worked to earn money. The glamorous, wealthy girl image — it was genuinely appealing. She was self-aware enough not to try to pass herself off as that… but at the same time, some of the skincare products and cosmetics that occasionally appeared in her videos were genuinely out of reach for many students.

This video would be pulling back the curtain entirely.

Quite a few of her followers did see her through the lens of the glamorous, wealthy girl image.

The video was primarily about how she had achieved financial independence during her time at university.

There was footage of her getting up before dawn to go out photographing, with the shop owner’s permission, the shop owner herself appearing briefly on camera.

She wryly described the shop owner as her financial benefactor in the video.

There were also clips of her translating late into the night, focused and unwilling to sleep.

She was candid about her own materialism. But by the end, in the interest of promoting the right values, she also encouraged her followers not to engage in impulsive or excessive spending, to be sensible. She mentioned having heard many stories about predatory lending schemes during high school, and how after starting university she hadn’t wanted to add to her family’s financial burden — so she’d chosen to work hard and earn what she wanted on her own terms.

In the video, Jiang Ruoqiao’s voice came through: “I’ve actually been thinking lately about starting to track my expenses. Does anyone have a good expense-tracking app they’d recommend?”

Thanks to her nostalgia-themed videos gaining strong traction and bringing in a wave of new viewers, this video had barely been up for a short while before comments began flooding in —

“Little Qiao, you’re so inspiring!! I always assumed you were from a wealthy family — you’re amazing, I love you even more now!”

“Ha, same — I’d wondered before, some of Little Qiao’s skincare products cost so much… turns out she earned it all herself! Babe, listen to me — please start taking brand deals. I used to assume you didn’t need the money since you never did…”

“Just passing through — really inspiring and such a healthy attitude! Your desires, you satisfy on your own terms. That’s exactly right!”

—

Lu Yicheng had just come out of the bathroom and settled onto the sofa, toweling his hair dry with one hand while watching her video.

He couldn’t explain why, but when he heard her say “I’ve been inspired, I’m thinking about starting to track my expenses,” it was as though someone had given him a quiet knock.

He couldn’t help wondering: was it because she had seen his expense ledger at some point?

The warm light of the overhead lamp cast a soft haze around him. He paused for a moment, and then reached out and pressed like on her video.

—