Ruan Yu and Xu Huaisong stepped out of the elevator one after the other.

She had come to the hotel for the sake of Lu Shenglan. Now that her purpose was accomplished, she used “feeling a bit tired, so I won’t come up” as her excuse to propose heading home.

She hadn’t actually planned to go into Xu Huaisong’s room. Her state of mind was far too different from before — it had been less than four hours since what was arguably his confession, and showing up at his door this quickly would leave her so flustered her heart might simply give out.

Xu Huaisong didn’t press her. “Then I’ll go up and put things away first.”

“Your car isn’t even here — just go rest, there’s no need to see me off.”

“What I meant was,” he said, a hint of playfulness suddenly surfacing, his expression hovering somewhere between a smile and not, “go up and put things away first, and then rest.”

Ruan Yu blinked, then produced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well then, goodbye, Attorney Xu. Your car — I’ll arrange for a driver to bring it back to the hotel.”

That formal mode of address, and that particular arrangement — she knew exactly how to give as good as she got. He gave a quiet, low cough. “I was joking. Wait for me in the lobby — five minutes.”

Ruan Yu wasn’t having it. “No need. Five minutes is plenty of time for me to get a cab.”

“Then I won’t go up,” he said, a flicker of helplessness crossing his eyes. “Let’s go.”

“Alright then.” She seemed only now to relax. “You should still go feed the cat first. I’ll wait in the lobby.”

Xu Huaisong glanced at her, turned to press the elevator button, then looked back at her once more — presumably confirming she meant what she said and wasn’t just saying one thing while meaning another.

A little bit of willfulness was what made things interesting; too much of it wore feelings thin.

Ruan Yu knew this perfectly well. When she heard the elevator chime, she gave him a small jut of her chin to send him on his way.

Replaying those two glances he’d given her before leaving, the moment the elevator doors closed, the tight line of her lips slowly curved upward, and she walked to the rest area with a private, barely-contained smile, settling onto one of the lobby sofas.

The grand lobby blazed with golden light from every direction. There weren’t many people coming and going at this hour. She sat for a while, and watched two cleaning staff members pass by in front of her, pushing a cart loaded with supplies.

One of them was telling the other: “Room 1922’s guest still doesn’t want the sheets changed. Don’t mix it up.”

Ruan Yu went still.

Room 1922 — wasn’t that Xu Huaisong’s room number? Why were the sheets not being changed?

The two cleaning staff had already passed her in the span of that one sentence, and they would be out of earshot in another moment.

She got up quickly and followed behind them, pretending to be heading the same way, and managed to catch the other one’s reply: “It’s been three days already…”

Whatever else the two of them said, Ruan Yu didn’t hear.

Because she had stopped walking, her mind suddenly full of a low, rolling thunder.

Three days ago — she had slept in that bed.

After Xu Huaisong had dropped her home, Ruan Yu sat alone with a head full of questions she couldn’t sort out.

She settled herself down to think. Not being willing to have the sheets changed after she’d slept in them for just one night — setting aside whether this kind of obsessive behavior was at all in keeping with Xu Huaisong’s character — it seemed to suggest, from this one detail alone, that he must have liked her for quite some time already.

But when had it started? Before that night at the hotel, he had never given any visible sign of it.

Ruan Yu had a shower, and because a bowl of plain congee wasn’t exactly filling, she opened the “White Lotus in High Summer” set meal she’d brought home and ate it as a midnight snack, chopstick by chopstick, while scrolling through her social media feed on her phone.

She swiped down to refresh, and saw a post Liu Mao had made one minute ago: Same profession, same job title — how can the difference be this enormous?

Below the caption was a photo: a side-by-side comparison of two schedules. The one on the left was packed solid. The one on the right had only two items for the entire week — one for tomorrow, and one for this Saturday. The Saturday column showed an important video conference from nine in the morning until one in the afternoon.

Ruan Yu sat up straighter. Saturday noon was Teacher He’s birthday dinner. Could that schedule on the right happen to be Xu Huaisong’s?

She left a comment below: A lawyer with only two things on the schedule for the whole week — where do I find a fairy-tale attorney like that?

Zhikun Liu Mao: Our Attorney Xu.

Ruan Yu set down her chopsticks and called Qu Lan back with energy: “Mom, I’ll be there on Saturday. Wait for me at home with Dad, and we’ll take a car-share service directly — it’s the weekend, no point fighting the crowds at the high-speed rail station.”

Her mother agreed readily on the other end.

After she hung up, Ruan Yu hummed to herself as she cleared away the dishes, turned on the TV and switched to the sports channel to watch the World Cup, and in a pleasant mood posted to her social media: Green tea and the World Cup — burning the midnight oil while staying healthy. [ok]

The photo showed the cup of “Rich Affair Green Tea” on the coffee table, with the wall-mounted TV in the background.

Xu Huaisong replied within seconds: What about the White Lotus?

Ruan Yu glanced at the now-empty set meal container, and replied without a trace of guilt: Couldn’t finish it. It’s in the fridge.

Xu Huaisong: Then I’ll come over tomorrow morning for breakfast.

“……” Was it still possible to go to the hotel right now and order another “White Lotus in High Summer”?

Ruan Yu swallowed a difficult mouthful of green tea, and then suddenly noticed Liu Mao had jumped in to reply to Xu Huaisong: Can I come too?

Xu Huaisong: Sure. Sleep well.

Which, plainly read, meant: dream on.

Ruan Yu nearly laughed herself to tears. She wiped her eyes — and then spotted another comment just below.

Zhou Jun, her high school class president, had replied: What’s going on here? [confused]

He seemed to be referring to the “situation” between her and Xu Huaisong.

Only then did it dawn on Ruan Yu — apart from Liu Mao, did she and Xu Huaisong have mutual contacts?

Of course. Back during the joint graduation trip with both classes, the class president, who had organized the whole event, had probably added everyone’s contact details.

This was a problem.

She moved quickly and deleted the post, allowing herself a quiet breath of relief.

But the moment she let out that breath, she realized it hadn’t done any good.

Even with the post deleted, Xu Huaisong would still have received the notification of Zhou Jun’s reply.

Sure enough, the very next second, Xu Huaisong sent her a message: You know Zhou Jun?

To say something or not?

Ruan Yu paced back and forth in her room, and made a decision: things had come this far — she’d tell him half. If Xu Huaisong pressed further, she’d roll up her sleeves and tell him the truth outright.

She typed: We used to live in the same neighborhood in Su Shi. Do you know him too? I heard from Attorney Liu that your grandmother’s family was also somewhere in the south district.

Xu Huaisong: Yeah. Finish watching the game and sleep at a decent hour. I was joking earlier — I have work in the morning, so don’t wait for me.

Just like that?

Ruan Yu let out a soft hiss of breath, feeling rather pleased with herself — and then suddenly tasted something different in her cup of green tea.

A man who hadn’t been willing to let go of a set of sheets she’d slept in for one night was being this casual and unbothered about her male friend? He’d been quite stern with Liu Mao, hadn’t he?

On the television screen, a player sent the ball flying into the net. Something in Ruan Yu’s head clicked like a switch being pressed, and everything opened up at once.

She pulled up Liu Mao’s post about the schedules and read through it again.

Why had Liu Mao “coincidentally” helped her make up her mind to attend the birthday dinner, at the exact moment she was still on the fence about going?

That was far too convenient.

Liu Mao himself wouldn’t have done that deliberately, because he had no idea Teacher He even existed — unless all of it had been directed by the only person who was in the know: Xu Huaisong.

And how had Xu Huaisong found out that she had also been invited? Which meant he might already know she was Teacher He’s student. That she was his schoolmate.

But if that were the case, why hadn’t he simply said so to her directly? Why use this roundabout method to lure her into attending this birthday dinner?

He seemed to understand perfectly well that her reluctance to go stemmed from the possibility that he might attend — and from her fear that the truth about the novel might come out.

Following that line of reasoning to its conclusion, the answer was practically presenting itself.

From the television came the roaring cheers of fans in ecstasy. But in Ruan Yu’s world, all the shouting and celebrating had receded into a distant murmur in the background.

She pressed her hand over her mouth in astonishment. After a long moment, she murmured to herself: “Could it be… I’ve already been exposed?”

On Saturday, Ruan Yu went ahead with the original plan and picked up her parents for the trip to Su Shi.

Over these past few days, she had turned Xu Huaisong over and over in her mind, running through hypothesis after hypothesis — and had eventually concluded that all of it was meaningless. The only place where a real answer could be found was at this birthday dinner.

If he showed up with the excuse that his “work schedule had changed at the last minute,” then she would know: there were no coincidences this numerous in the world, and he must have known all along that he was the male lead of her novel. He had lured her here deliberately, afraid she would try to hide.

But if he didn’t appear, then all of this was nothing more than her own unfounded overthinking.

At eleven-thirty, the car arrived in Su Shi. Outside the hotel entrance, Ruan Yu got out with her parents and immediately scanned the nearby parking area.

No sign of Xu Huaisong’s car.

Her father, Ruan Chengru, gave her a sideways look. “You’ve been distracted the entire journey, and the moment you step out you’re craning your neck all over the place. What are you looking at?”

Ruan Yu laughed it off. “I’m conducting a threat assessment. Protecting the safety of you and Mom.” She linked arms with Qu Lan. “Come on, let’s go up.”

The three of them were guided by a server to the banquet hall reserved by He Chong.

Having come from Hang Shi, they arrived on the later side. The hall, with its twenty-plus tables, was already full of guests, and though the meal hadn’t started yet, people were gathered in clusters throughout, catching up with one another.

A large group surrounded Teacher He.

Ruan Yu swept the room with her eyes like a rapid-fire scan.

No target identified.

She exhaled softly.

Look at her, thinking Xu Huaisong was capable of that. Thinking back on how he’d sent her “good morning,” “good afternoon,” and “good night” every single day these past couple of days without fail — if he’d truly known the truth all along, would he really have watched her leap about performing her act, like someone watching a monkey put on a show?

People weren’t that calculating and cruel.

Ruan Yu followed her parents over to greet Teacher He.

After the initial exchange of pleasantries, Ruan Chengru and Qu Lan were pulled away by He Chong to join a group of old colleagues. And then, from somewhere behind her, Ruan Yu suddenly heard a voice: “Ruan Yu?”

She turned around. The old class president, Zhou Jun, was standing nearby, and when he saw her look over, his face broke into delighted surprise. “Hey, I knew it! I just had a feeling today might be the day I’d run into you!”

He came over. “It’s been ages! You didn’t come to the reunion last year, and now you’ve deigned to show up for Teacher He — that’s a bit unfair, isn’t it!”

Ruan Yu smiled and exchanged greetings. “Things were hectic around then. Next time there’s a get-together, I’ll definitely make it.”

“You’re still based in Hang Shi?”

“Yes, I made a special trip today.”

“So that means…” Zhou Jun’s tone took on an unmistakably gossipy edge. “Xu Huaisong is also in Hang Shi?”

Ruan Yu faltered for a moment, then nodded.

Zhou Jun immediately lit up and leaned in, lowering his voice. “On behalf of the entire graduating class of the year 2010, Classes Nine and Ten — I have to ask: what exactly is going on with you two?”

Ruan Yu laughed it off politely.

She and Xu Huaisong hadn’t reached any kind of definition yet, and besides — in matters that touched on romantic relationships, how could it be appropriate for the woman to be the one to make the first announcement?

She tucked a strand of hair back, smiling as she turned her head away, already preparing a suitably vague reply to deflect — when her gaze drifted past the entrance to the banquet hall, and she suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure.

Ruan Yu’s smile froze in an instant.

Zhou Jun started, and followed her line of sight. “Hey, isn’t that Xu Huaisong! How come you two didn’t come together?”

The words weren’t said quietly, and they caught Xu Huaisong’s attention at once.

He looked over, meeting Ruan Yu’s blank, motionless stare — and then furrowed his brow slightly, as though genuinely puzzled, and came forward. “What are you doing here?”

Did he truly have no idea in his heart why she was here?

Ruan Yu slowly tilted her gaze up to look at him. “I came to attend my high school teacher’s birthday dinner. Why are you here too?”

Xu Huaisong’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Same reason.”

Zhou Jun stood beside them, completely at a loss, and interjected: “Hold on — what is going on? After all that — you two didn’t know you were schoolmates?”

Neither of them said a word.

He scratched the back of his head, looking utterly baffled, then made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Right then, allow me to make the introductions. Class of 2010, Class Ten — Xu Huaisong. Class Nine — Ruan Yu.”

Ruan Yu kept smiling, suppressing the internal volcano that was dangerously close to erupting, and said: “What a coincidence…!” Then she glanced at Xu Huaisong, whose expression carried a faint, artfully calibrated air of surprise, and delivered the final line of her confirmation: “But wait — didn’t you have a meeting today?”

He responded with complete composure: “The work schedule changed at the last minute, so I came.”

Sure enough — that exact “reason.”

Ruan Yu had very nearly been taken in by his flawless performance. But now, scene after scene from before was playing back before her eyes in rapid succession.

Xu Huaisong, asking “how did you know I’m from Su Shi” as if he had no idea. Xu Huaisong “coincidentally” appearing in the school canteen, “coincidentally” arranging for Liu Mao to take her mother away, “coincidentally” sweeping in like a hero in the pouring rain to save her. Xu Huaisong, lying in the hospital bed playing up his frailty, forcing her to read that risqué passage aloud…

The cold, aloof idol she had harbored a secret crush on for years — and he turned out to be this kind of person? Putting on one face while hiding another, calculating and calculating beneath the surface?

How was it possible that she had devoted so many years of sincere feeling to him and never once seen through any of it?

Ruan Yu felt as if she might be about to cry.

The tears now teetering on the edge of falling were made entirely of the sheer foolishness she’d carried all those years — leaning over the railing outside the classroom, gazing at him like a lovesick fool, her head full of nothing but romantic nonsense.

All those years convinced she had fallen for an elegant, refined, untouchable ideal — only to find out he was, underneath it all, just a childish, scheming troublemaker in disguise.

In the silence she left behind, Xu Huaisong blinked slowly — calm and unhurried, as he always was. “What’s wrong?”

Ruan Yu drew a breath and looked down at her own shoes.

What’s wrong? She wanted to drive the seven-centimeter pointed heel of her stiletto straight through the gleaming surface of his leather shoe, that’s what was wrong.

Author’s note: He tried the same old trick and met his Waterloo — the elite attorney’s life hangs by a thread. Shall we dedicate a song called “Wishing You Well” to him?