Not long after Lin Weixia got home, two crates of apples arrived, followed by three crates of orange juice. She stood at the doorway, puzzled:

“I didn’t order any of this.”

The delivery man handed her a marker pen and explained: “A customer with the surname Ban placed the order. Please sign here.”

“Oh. Of course.”

The delivery man helped carry everything inside. Before Lin Weixia closed the door, she said a quiet thank you. She shuffled through the living room in her rabbit-printed slippers, then hopped on one leg up onto the sofa.

The doorbell rang again. Lin Weixia opened it — it was Menzi, fresh from the editing studio. The moment she walked in and saw the living room piled high with crate after crate of fruit and orange juice, she stared: “Why did you buy so much all at once?”

“I didn’t buy it,” Lin Weixia replied.

Menzi paused, then noticed the wound on her leg — and immediately understood, her tone dropping into a teasing lilt:

“Ah, so he bought it. I told you — you have mild night blindness, you had no business entering that night run. But you insisted.”

As Menzi went on talking, her sharp eyes caught the silver ring on Lin Weixia’s finger and she laughed:

“Well, well — our Weixia really is something. However carefree and untameable Ban the Young Master might be, one little crook of your finger and he’s still your dog.”

Lin Weixia pointed to her own injury with a wry smile: “No, don’t talk about him like that. And I didn’t just crook my finger.”

“You’re right, you’re right — that was the wrong thing to say.” Menzi apologized at once.

“Are you sleeping over tonight?” Lin Weixia asked.

Menzi let out a yawn, sat down beside her, and scooped up Shengxia into a hug:

“Obviously. And tomorrow we’re both staying in and ordering hot pot delivery.”

That was just how Menzi was — she had a three-bedroom apartment of her own but regularly showed up at Lin Weixia’s place without warning. Lin Weixia let her be; she had always been a bit of a loner, and having one warm, enthusiastic friend around was a good thing.

“Deal.”

The night had grown late. After washing up, Lin Weixia lay in bed while the sound of Menzi showering rushed from the bathroom. She slipped the silver ring from her finger and examined it closely.

It was a very simple ring — but beautifully shaped. Lin Weixia studied it carefully and thought it looked a little like a Möbius strip.

The ring was actually a little large for her. Lin Weixia sat up, pulled open the bedside table drawer, found a red cord, and threaded it through. She planned to wear it as a necklace from now on.

Once she had sorted it out, Lin Weixia sent Ban Sheng a message, typing with her fingertip:

Thank you for the apples and orange juice.

Before long, Ban Sheng replied — as nonchalant as ever, blunt and unsparing:

Ban: You’re welcome, little blind girl.

Day after day of classes. When Lin Weixia wasn’t in the library after lectures, she was slipping away to give Song Yihang his regular psychological counseling session.

She and Ban Sheng messaged each other from time to time, but he had seemed very busy lately. Lin Weixia sensed it and didn’t want to disturb him.

Then a message came in from Qiu Minghua. He said his birthday was this Wednesday, and he’d invited a big group of friends to a place he’d borrowed from relatives at the foot of Julu Mountain. He also mentioned that Ning Chao would be there, and asked Lin Weixia to come too — lots of people she knew would be around.

Menzi happened to be nearby and, with her sharp ears, caught the name Ning Chao. She immediately gestured for Lin Weixia to put it on speaker. She set down her knife and fork and asked cheerfully:

“Hi there, I’m Weixia’s friend — do you mind bringing one extra person?”

“Of course not! I can tell just from your voice you must be gorgeous — the more the merrier!” Qiu Minghua said.

After Menzi and Qiu Minghua exchanged a few playful lines, Lin Weixia put the phone back to her ear and chatted with Qiu Minghua for a bit.

Since the birthday was coming up soon, Lin Weixia and Menzi finished their dinner and made a stop at the mall to each pick out a birthday gift for Qiu Minghua.

When they got home, Lin Weixia pushed the door open. Shengxia came racing over with bright little grape eyes. She slipped off her coat, bent down, and scooped the small dog into her arms, then the two of them — one big, one small — settled onto the sofa.

Lin Weixia was about to get up and pour some water when she noticed the mountain of cardboard boxes stacked in the living room. She thought for a moment, picked up a box cutter, sliced one open, and took out a bottle of orange juice.

She drank two sips, bottle still in hand, then dialed a familiar number.

The phone rang with a cold, steady tone. Lin Weixia’s finger tapped idly against the bottle. After twenty seconds, the call connected. From the receiver came a low, slightly rough voice:

“Hello.”

“It’s me,” Lin Weixia said.

A quiet laugh came from the other end — low and faint, enough to pull at her breath. He said:

“I know.”

“Are you going to Qiu Minghua’s birthday?” Lin Weixia asked.

Ban Sheng was stretched back on the sofa, phone in hand, his other hand pressing briefly at his brow. His voice came out a little hoarse:

“Not sure.”

“Okay. Get some rest.” Lin Weixia’s voice carried a note of disappointment, but she kept it to herself and said it anyway.

“Mm.”

Thursday. Jingbei was blanketed in snow city-wide. That morning, when she opened the window, nothing but white met the eye as far as she could see. Lin Weixia broke off a shard of ice from the windowsill and held it in her palm, watching quietly as it melted.

Qiu Minghua’s birthday started at three in the afternoon. Lin Weixia spent the whole morning at home going over her coursework. At noon she boiled a bowl of tomato and egg noodles, and while she was eating, the doorbell rang several times in a row.

Packages.

Lin Weixia got up and answered the door. She signed for the deliveries, set them aside, and went back to her noodles and her variety show.

She rested for an hour after lunch, then Lin Weixia sat down to do her makeup and change.

She drew her brows in front of the mirror, applied her lipstick, and after settling on a green beret paired with a short black padded coat — cool and clean, with just a touch of playfulness.

Before leaving, Lin Weixia’s gaze paused on the box on the desk. She thought for a moment, then went ahead and tore it open and tucked its contents into her bag. It was a medicinal patch she’d had brought over from Hong Kong. Ban Sheng studied in the Biomedical Engineering department — a relatively small program, where nearly every student was paired with a faculty supervisor.

Ban Sheng had always excelled in his field — top marks, impressive results — and had quickly caught the attention of a professor and been brought into the lab to work on research projects alongside the faculty team.

She had heard from Qiu Minghua that he had been run ragged, barely pausing between tasks, living in the lab practically day and night with no rest, to the point where his neck and cervical spine had been giving him trouble.

Lin Weixia was thinking of him, and figured that if he happened to show up at the birthday gathering, she could hand over the patches then.

Lin Weixia headed downstairs and found Menzi’s car already parked outside her building. She opened the door and got in. Menzi looked beautiful today — vivid makeup, a slouchy sweater paired with cowboy boots, striking and a little alluring.

Because of the snow, the traffic was sluggish. By the time they arrived at Qiu Minghua’s birthday party, they were over half an hour late.

The party was lively. The living room floated with white and yellow balloons and streamers. Rows of wine glasses lined the long table, and a crowd of young people were lounging on sofas, drinking and talking. Others had set up a barbecue grill out in the back courtyard.

The snow had stopped. Sunlight had broken through the clouds, pouring down in two transparent circles of white and blue — quite beautiful.

The moment Menzi stepped into the back courtyard, her gaze snagged on Ning Chao. He stood at the grill, turning meat while talking with a soft-featured girl with long hair.

Menzi crossed her arms and leaned in the doorway without saying a word, eyes fixed steadily on the two of them.

Ning Chao deftly flipped the pork belly with his tongs, scattered a handful of cumin over it, and the fat sizzled and hissed. He was laughing at something the girl beside him said when he felt a stare attaching itself to him, and glanced back over his shoulder, then returned to what he was doing.

The girl left a little while later. Before long, a different figure appeared in her place. Ning Chao continued grilling without even looking up — he didn’t need to look to know who it was.

He had made a note of this girl the first time they met, from the scent she wore — like the most intensely burning stick of incense in a temple, carrying the smell of red sandalwood.

Pungent. Provocative.

“Officer Ning, long time no see,” Menzi greeted him with a smile.

Ning Chao stopped what he was doing. The tongs pressed against the meat as he finally looked up at her. What came out of his mouth was entirely deserving of a slap:

“What, looking to get restrained again?”

The words landed like a bucket of cold water over Menzi’s head. The image flashed in her mind — her own hands bound with a rubber band by Ning Chao, left in the corridor for passersby to stare at.

The memory made her grind her teeth in fury. After a long moment, she tossed out a single line:

“Stupid dog.”

Ning Chao let out a quiet scoff and went back to ignoring her, stacking the grilled pork belly and eggplant neatly onto the grill plate.

Meanwhile, Lin Weixia was sitting in a wicker chair in the courtyard, having handed over her gift to Qiu Minghua earlier. The two of them were chatting idly.

Before long, Li Shengran made her fashionably late entrance, and the moment she walked in, the whole room erupted into enthusiastic greetings.

She was carrying a crocodile-skin bag, dressed to command. The two of them made eye contact across the room, and neither spoke first — both silently treating the other as air.

Ning Chao brought over a plate of grilled green beans and some lotus root — the kind of things girls tended to like. Fragrant steam drifted off them. Lin Weixia smiled and thanked him.

Li Shengran had draped herself across a reclining chair, smoking with perfect indifference. Thin threads of smoke curled from between her red lips. She held the cigarette in her hand and, without any particular preamble, started talking to Lin Weixia:

“Are you still in touch with Liu Sijia?”

Lin Weixia was peeling a small green tangerine. She answered in an even tone:

“We write each other postcards.”

Li Shengran let out a short laugh, flicked the ash from her fingertip, and said: “Out of the whole class, she only kept in touch with you.”

The two of them exchanged a few words and then fell quiet again.

Lin Weixia went back to peeling her tangerine. The juice from the peel clung to her palm in an instant — unpleasant. Menzi came running over from the barbecue area: “Weixia, can I borrow your mirror?”

“Sure.”

Lin Weixia tore off two tissues and wiped her hands, then opened the bag beside her. She reached in for her small green mirror — but the bag was so stuffed that as she pulled it out—

Smack. A packet of red-wrapped medicinal patches dropped to the ground, landing right at Li Shengran’s feet.

Li Shengran still had the cigarette between her fingers. She glanced down, and her expression shifted immediately. She stared at the packet of patches, something deeply complicated moving through her eyes.

Lin Weixia leaned down calmly to pick them up and tucked them back into her bag.

The tangerine only half-peeled, she kept looking up each time she heard someone come in — instinctively watching the entrance, wondering if it might be Ban Sheng.

“Is he coming?” Lin Weixia asked Qiu Minghua.

Qiu Minghua tossed a blueberry into his mouth and winced at the sourness, then answered: “You mean Ban-ye? He just said he’s finished up, he’ll be here.”

The quiet care and longing that Lin Weixia had been carrying inside herself were all caught by Li Shengran’s watching eyes. Silently, Li Shengran crushed the cigarette in her hand.

As evening approached, a sudden gust of strong wind sent the white smoke from the barbecue billowing straight toward them. The whole group erupted in coughing and scattered out of the way.

Lin Weixia stepped out to the edge of the courtyard and stood beneath a bare, leafless tree, eyes drifting into the distance.

“What makes you think you can go back to his side after hurting him like that?” Li Shengran’s voice appeared at her shoulder, blade-sharp.

Lin Weixia didn’t rise to the provocation. She answered simply:

“I just want him to be well.”

Li Shengran let out a short, humorless laugh. She couldn’t stand Lin Weixia and that infuriatingly placid composure of hers. She stepped right in front of her, voice dripping with contempt — and the truth she spoke was brutal:

“Do you even know what his life was like for those two years? He was the one I flew out to check on, again and again. Where were you?”

Lin Weixia had no answer. Her dark lashes trembled.

Li Shengran was like a cold, merciless executioner, landing one silent arrow after another, aimed directly at the heart:

“You don’t actually think he got that butterfly tattoo on his collarbone because of you, do you? Please — do you not know my English name is Vany? Vany means butterfly in Greek. I’ve had that name since I was ten. Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me.”

“That tattoo — I was with him when he got it.”

“The lighter that Shi Li took from him last time — I gave it to him.”

Lin Weixia slowly raised her eyes, holding them wide and unblinking.

So that was it.

The first time she had seen that swallowtail butterfly tattoo at his collarbone, something had stirred inside her that she hadn’t dared to name — the hope that he had gotten that tattoo because of her.

Li Shengran’s relentless assault was an unspoken declaration of war. Lin Weixia’s fingers curled inward, clenching tight — the pain of her nails pressing into her palms arrived, and suddenly, didn’t register.

That old feeling of helplessness rose in her again.

Two years could change so much. She had no choice but to admit it — she had always been jealous of Li Shengran. Of the fact that Li Shengran had been there. With him.

She had been the one who was absent.

Time had passed. It was entirely possible that, long ago, he had simply moved on.

Everyone had kept moving forward. Only she had stood still.

It was like wave after wave crashing inside her chest, one after another, relentless — water filling her ears, soaking her eyes, her mouth, her body growing heavier and heavier until she could no longer breathe.

Lin Weixia looked at Li Shengran. The pallor drained from her face and was replaced by detachment, by calm. She reached into her pocket and drew out the silver ring, her voice steady:

“Congratulations to you both, then. Please return this ring to him for me.”

Li Shengran stared at the silver ring sitting in Lin Weixia’s open palm — the one that belonged to Ban Sheng, threaded with a red cord. She moved instinctively to take it — then found the open hand close around it. Lin Weixia’s amber eyes met hers, and she spoke again, with the faintest curve of a smile:

“Actually — on reflection, I’d rather return it to him myself.”

Check.

Li Shengran stood there, completely thrown, not a single coherent expression on her face. Lin Weixia tucked both hands into her pockets, face cool, and walked straight past her — shoulder grazing shoulder — without looking back as she left the birthday party behind.

After she was gone, Li Shengran stood in place, still unable to believe what had just happened.

That ring.

The last thing Ban Sheng’s mother had left him. The ring he never took off. The ring he treated as more precious than his own life.

Ban Sheng had given it to her.