The stomach cramps came on fast and fierce. Xu Huaisong found his medication, swallowed it, opened the door to find that Lu Shenglan had already left, then pulled back the covers and lay down on the bed.

He thought he might genuinely be a little unwell in the head.

This set of bedding — after Ruan Yu had slept in it, he had specifically told the hotel not to change it.

As that thought crossed his mind, he reached for his phone — and then suddenly went still.

At the top of his WeChat message list, it showed that he had sent a message to Ruan Yu.

But when he opened the conversation, he could see that she had recalled her message before his account had sent that “b.”

Three seconds. He came back to himself, got out of bed, and walked to the living room to check the computer.

On the desktop version of WeChat, the conversation window with Ruan Yu had been deleted, the message history wiped clean.

The demands of intense courtroom argument required precise command of time — a professional habit that made him able to state with absolute certainty that he had not allowed Lu Shenglan to linger here for long. From the moment the stomach cramps had overwhelmed him and he’d hurried into the bedroom, to the moment he’d heard the door close behind her, had been no more than one minute.

Cross-referencing that with the timestamp his account had sent the message — the incident had occurred within that one minute.

The truth was obvious.

Lu Shenglan had grown up in the United States from a young age and wasn’t familiar with WeChat, which was used so commonly in China. She had assumed that deleting the record on the desktop version was sufficient, not knowing that the phone automatically synced a backup copy.

And given how little time she’d had, it was clear this had been an impulsive, unpremeditated act — she hadn’t had time to think it through properly.

Xu Huaisong drew a slow breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then typed on his phone: What did you recall?

There was no reply for a long time. When he was just about to call instead, Ruan Yu responded: I sent it to the wrong person so I recalled it, sorry about that, Attorney Xu.

He believed she had genuinely sent it to the wrong person. Lu Shenglan must have realized the same thing from Ruan Yu’s recall, and confident that Ruan Yu wouldn’t bring it up on her own, had dared to do what she did.

But that made it all the more clear — that message was critically important.

The problem now was that Ruan Yu had probably interpreted his “what did you recall” as “why did you recall it,” rather than “what was the content of what you recalled.”

He had no patience left for parsing words. He called her directly.

It took a long time for her to pick up on the other end — she was probably deliberating over something.

But he had no room left to deliberate.

Every drop of blood in his body had frozen the instant he saw that “b.” Now his entire being was gripped by some unnamed panic, so thoroughly that he couldn’t feel the stomach pain at all.

He went straight to the point: “What I meant was — I never received your message. What was it you recalled?”

“Huh?” Ruan Yu sounded genuinely surprised. “Then how did you reply to me?”

He gritted his teeth. “That wasn’t me.” He asked again: “What did you recall?”

Silence on the other end. After a moment: “It doesn’t matter… I really did send it to the wrong person anyway…”

Xu Huaisong turned back, grabbed his car keys, and walked out the door. “Are you at the new apartment?”

Half an hour later, Ruan Yu heard the doorbell.

From the moment she’d received that “b” from Xu Huaisong — wondering if he was gently telling her not to read too much into things — to getting his phone call and sensing the barely-contained urgency and frustration in his voice — and through this entire half hour of turning over every possible scenario in her mind, knocking one down, starting over, knocking another down, starting over again — she’d been on a rollercoaster of rise and fall and rise again.

Now, at this moment, she found she was suddenly afraid to open the door.

She walked up to it, confirmed through the peephole, then spoke through the last barrier standing between them: “You… what are you here for?”

“Open the door.”

Xu Huaisong’s voice sounded remarkably calm at that moment — the edge of teeth-gritting intensity from the phone call earlier seemed to have vanished.

Only then did Ruan Yu dare to open it.

But the very next instant, a tremendous force pulled her forward, and she fell into an embrace she had imagined for herself countless times.

Only this embrace was nothing like she’d pictured. Xu Huaisong was holding her with what felt like every ounce of strength in his body — as if he intended to crush her.

The acute lack of oxygen left Ruan Yu no chance even to cry out. All she could feel was the burning warmth of his breath, buried against the curve of her shoulder, stimulating every nerve ending as it seeped into her skin inch by inch.

Her mind crashed for five full seconds. Then she began trying to pull back.

Xu Huaisong immediately let go.

But his gaze remained fixed on her face, utterly still.

Ruan Yu tilted her head up and looked back at him. In that brief, fleeting moment, she saw in his eyes the crash of waves against a cliff face, the rising of the sun and the setting of the moon; she saw a white waterfall suspended in midair, scattering into a spray of jade and silver; she saw everything in this world that was vast and magnificent — and at last, she saw herself.

Only herself.

Someone once said that a person’s eyes can speak.

In that instant, he hadn’t said a single word — and yet she felt as though she had read what was written in the air between them.

Though she still couldn’t quite make sense of it — why, so suddenly, had Xu Huaisong come to feel this way toward her, as though it were an emotion he had been suppressing for a very, very long time?

The shock passed. She opened and closed her mouth several times before something finally came out, more question than statement: “What’s… what’s gotten into you…”

And then, like a child who refused to give up on getting a piece of candy, he simply repeated himself: “I want to know what you actually recalled.”

He’d used a word like “actually,” and yet Ruan Yu felt there was nothing forceful about his tone at all.

If anything — he sounded a little hurt.

Originally, upon discovering that he hadn’t received the message, she would have died before admitting what she’d sent. But in this moment, in the midst of all this shock and turmoil, she did something she herself couldn’t quite explain — she placed her phone into his hands.

The screen was open to her conversation with Shen Mingying.

Shen Mingying’s most recent reply read: Who asked you this? Or are you doing research for your writing? Honestly, aren’t (a) and (b) the same answer?

(a) and (b) were the same answer. “Let me introduce you to someone” ultimately led to “what do you think of me?” anyway.

Ruan Yu waited with a nervous, fluttering heart for Xu Huaisong’s reaction — and then watched as his gaze lifted from the phone screen and fixed on her eyes.

“Mm. Aren’t (a) and (b) the same answer?”

His tone when he turned the question back on her was almost uncannily calm.

But Ruan Yu’s mind went completely, blindingly white.

When a person is under extreme tension, they sometimes enter a state of paradox — where the intensity becomes so overwhelming it produces its opposite. That was where Ruan Yu was now: she had no idea what her hands or feet were doing, and yet she remained perfectly, outwardly still.

After what felt like a full ten-count, she finally responded. She let out a small, light laugh — “Heh heh” — and said: “Oh goodness, I’ve gone completely scatterbrained — look at me, keeping you standing here this whole time…” She gestured for him to come in. “I just finished sorting through part of my things. The apartment’s not really cleaned up yet, so don’t bother taking off your shoes.”

She turned around after saying this, and found that Xu Huaisong was still standing in the doorway.

She froze again for another few counts, then asked: “Aren’t you coming in?”

Xu Huaisong finally crossed the threshold.

Ruan Yu guided him to the couch. “Let me make you some tea!” She turned toward the kitchen — then stopped two steps in and turned back, pointing at the phone still in his hand. “Heh heh, look at my memory — forgot my phone. Could I have it back?”

She covered the distance to the kitchen in a few quick steps, pulled the door shut behind her, and nearly collapsed on the spot, her knees going weak.

She pressed a hand to her own chest to calm herself, then leaned against the door and typed with trembling fingers.

SOS! SOS! Calling Shen Mingying!

Emergency situation, requesting backup!

This is NOT a drill!

Repeat — this is NOT a drill!

Jolted out of whatever she’d been doing by the relentless barrage of messages, Shen Mingying replied: What is going on with you — is Xu Huaisong about to confess to you?

Ruan Yu: I think he might be!

Or rather — has he already?

Shen Mingying: ……

Shen Mingying: I was just saying that casually. Seriously?

Shen Mingying: Do you need smelling salts right now?

Ruan Yu pressed her hand over her heart, which was running at a full gallop: Still holding together.

Shen Mingying: Okay so what are you going to do?

If she knew that, would she be hiding in the kitchen?

Shen Mingying: Did he actually ask to be in a relationship, or just let it be known that he likes you?

Ruan Yu: The latter.

Shen Mingying: Okay, so what do YOU feel about him?

Ruan Yu: You’re asking me so suddenly, I honestly don’t know…

She had genuinely moved on, or so she’d thought. But from that night when he had suddenly shifted his attitude, she’d been unable to stop herself from speculating about his intentions.

Because it was all so unbelievable, she hadn’t allowed herself to think too deeply about it — to really sit with what kind of intention she was hoping for.

But it was like the moment a coin lands — when you can finally see which side you actually wanted to come up. The instant she’d seen that “b,” she’d realized what she’d been hoping for might have been “(a)” all along.

Whether that hope came from old feelings reigniting, or simply from long-ingrained habit — she couldn’t say for certain yet.

After all, Xu Huaisong seemed to have become an entirely different person, nothing like the version of him she had known before. Trying to measure who he was now against the feelings she’d once had felt like her own personality had been split in two.

A message came through from Shen Mingying: Okay, look — whatever you feel, this is the first real chance you’ve had in all these years. Just try to get him. Worst case, if it doesn’t work out, you can let him go. Either way you can start fresh with your life. But if you just run away or reject him now, I’m telling you — you will never move on. Not ever.

Ruan Yu: Get him?

Shen Mingying: Yes, get him — not the other way around. As in, when things get intense, you’re on top. You know what I mean.

Ruan Yu: ……

After the rapid-fire exchange with Shen Mingying wound down, Ruan Yu made no move to open the kitchen door right away. Instead, she turned around and unhurriedly set the water to boil.

Once it was done, she poured a glass of plain warm water. She breathed slowly and steadily, composed herself, then pushed the door open.

Xu Huaisong looked up from the couch and fixed his gaze on her.

She let her eyes drop briefly, recalling Shen Mingying’s instructions, and asked in a calm and even voice: “Who replied to my message using your WeChat?”

Xu Huaisong made no attempt to conceal it. “The colleague you’ve met.”

“Ms. Lu.” She set the glass of water on the coffee table in front of him, and said nothing more.

At the moment Xu Huaisong had expected her to press further — to ask questions, to push for more — she did nothing of the sort. She stopped, abruptly, without following the expected pattern.

He felt like he’d swung a club with full force and looked down to find the ball sitting peacefully in the grass, sunbathing without a care in the world.

After a moment, she finally spoke — but what she said was: “She seems quite capable, professionally.”

“……”

Professionally capable at what, exactly?

Xu Huaisong opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had the feeling that no matter how he responded to that, it would be a trap.

After a long silence, he said it plainly: “She’s a university classmate and a colleague at the firm. Beyond that, there’s nothing between us. As for this matter — you can handle it however you like.”

“Handle what?” Ruan Yu asked.

Xu Huaisong swung and missed again.

But he couldn’t keep retreating.

He asked: “You’re not angry?”

“You seem more upset than I am.” Ruan Yu smiled slightly, glanced at the time on her phone. “It’s five o’clock.”

He looked up. “So?”

She bore in mind the importance of holding the home-court advantage, summoned her composure, and posed the question with all the ease she could manage: “Want to go out for dinner?”

Author’s note: I thought everyone had already gotten used to the fact that I’m someone who does “reversals” and “subverted tropes.” Trust between people really is such a fragile thing. I’m posting early to save myself.