Zhang Yuge only realized that the person in question was a girl after Xie Yichen quietly jabbed him with an elbow — by then, his joke had already crossed the line into something crude and vulgar. But it was too late. Hu Ke’er’s face had gone completely green at the time, and without another word, she put down her chopsticks and bolted to the bathroom to throw up.

Afterward, she came back with unsteady steps, and no amount of coaxing could change her mind — she insisted she was going back to the hotel to rest.

Back in their guesthouse room, Zhang Yuge felt genuinely remorseful: “If only I’d kept my mouth shut earlier, we might have convinced them to wander around the old town with us.”

Xie Yichen had just finished showering and was sprawled lazily on the sofa playing a game. At those words, he slid his gaze sideways in Zhang Yuge’s direction — the meaning unmistakable: you asked for it, honestly there’s no helping you.

Earlier, Shen Qing had paid the bill, created a group WeChat chat, and sent a payment request for everyone to split the cost.

Zhang Yuge sat down beside Xie Yichen with his phone. Though it was technically a split bill, he’d eaten more than his share. After thinking it over, he sent a red packet into the group to cover half of everyone’s share. While doing so, he kept reminding Xie Yichen, “Don’t you dare claim it — that’ll save me twenty-eight yuan.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when the cheerful chime of a claimed red packet rang out, and the person beside him drawled leisurely, “Oh. Looks like I was a little too late.”

Zhang Yuge: “……”

You did that on purpose, didn’t you?!

Xie Yichen shot him a glance, then stood up and went to sort through his luggage rack. He wasn’t bothering to hide anything, so when he unzipped the black backpack, Ning Sui’s delicate little ladies’ bag was immediately and obviously visible inside.

Zhang Yuge spotted it at a glance and was visibly stunned: “Since when do you have a thing for stealing women’s purses?!”

“……”

“That’s Ning Sui’s bag, isn’t it?” Zhang Yuge’s sharp eyes were already connecting the dots, slowly recalling Hu Ke’er’s shout up on the mountain earlier. Something finally clicked — he felt like he’d caught them red-handed, with the thrill of stumbling onto a major scoop. “What on earth is going on here?”

Xie Yichen was still rummaging through the bag, didn’t even look up: “I carried it for her for a stretch up on the mountain. Forgot to put it in the trunk.”

Zhang Yuge thought they really didn’t look like two people with no prior connection. His eyes were practically sparkling: “Bro, are you the type to carry bags for girls you just met?!”

He counted off on his fingers all the ways Xie Yichen had been cold and ruthless to various girls in the past. Xie Yichen paid him no attention whatsoever — he finished tidying his luggage, then settled back onto the sofa. His phone chimed idly and he paid his share in the group chat.

He exited the chat and happened to see that Ning Sui had sent him a message: 【How about I transfer you my share of the bill? 🐱】

Before he could reply, she quickly unsent it.

The grating background noise of Zhang Yuge faded away, replaced by a noticeably fawning tone: “Heh heh, no I haven’t been staying up late, really, I swear Mom — A’Chen makes me go to bed early every day. I’m up earlier than the roosters at the wet market.”

His mother was checking up on him. Zhang Yuge’s mom was a formidable woman — sharp-tongued and fiery, a seasoned expert at roaring thunder. She was the only person who could keep Zhang Yuge, with all his mischief since childhood, in line. He feared nothing in heaven or earth except his mother.

As he put it himself, the moment his mother raised her voice, his reflexes would send him bolting to the bathroom — which was how he developed the good habit of never wetting the bed as a child.

Zhang Yuge was still chattering away in the background. Xie Yichen propped a bent finger against his temple, his side profile tracing a hard and handsome line from cheekbone to jaw beneath the soft glow of a small wall lamp.

He moved his finger, indicating he’d seen the message: 【?】

Sui Sui Sui: 【I was going to say this could count as treating you to dinner, but then I thought it wasn’t very sincere.】

Xie Yichen sent back another question mark: 【So?】

His texting style was nothing if not starkly distinctive. Ning Sui bit her lip, her tone tinged with just a hint of uncertainty: 【So I’m thinking I’ll skip this one for now?】

“……”

Whoever was on the other end was apparently too amused to respond to that — and simply skipped past it entirely: 【Your bag is still with me.】

Ning Sui came to with a start: 【Oh, right, I suppose it is.】

Xie Yichen: 【When are you leaving tomorrow? Or if it’s convenient, I could bring it to you now.】

Ning Sui considered for a moment: 【It’d be too much trouble for you to make a trip just for that. How about this — I’ll treat you to a movie instead. We can meet at the cinema and you can return it to me there.】

Honestly, Ning Sui had no real confidence that Xie Yichen would say yes. Hu Ke’er, caught up in her romantic notions, was over in the corner doing a voice call with Xu Zhou. Ning Sui quietly stood up, cradling her phone, and went to sit on the sofa outside.

She waited quite a while before he finally replied: 【What movie?】

She couldn’t gauge his tone. Ning Sui typed: 【Ke’er says it’s called “Crazy Thursday” 🐱】

“……” A pause seemed to follow on the other end.

That was very on-brand for Hu Ke’er. Ning Sui, ever good-natured, handed over the decision: 【But I’m fine with anything, up to you.】

Sui Sui Sui: 【I looked it up — the cinema is a ten-minute walk from here. If you’re okay with it, could we meet downstairs at one o’clock?】

A long string of messages — and all he sent back was a single word.

Crisply cool: 【Sure.】

They agreed to meet on the road running directly in front of the guesthouse. Ning Sui went down five minutes early, and when she got there, she saw Xie Yichen with her bag hooked over one wrist, leaning beneath a streetlight with his head bent over his phone. His posture was loose and unhurried, and the lamplight cast a tall, straight shadow behind him.

The summer night still carried a slight chill. He was dressed in dark long sleeves and trousers, with a workwear jacket thrown loosely over top — a casual but sharp look. Ning Sui noticed that his clothes always leaned minimal and clean-lined; the cuts were cool, perfectly suited to his personality — forever effortlessly at ease.

The cinema was inside the old town, so they’d end up strolling through it after all.

Before she’d fully reached him, Xie Yichen was already lifting his eyes, catching hers in a direct, unhurried gaze. His features were striking — a pair of keen, deep-set eyes, dark and sharp, looking over at her with calm indifference.

She was still in the same outfit from earlier: a mint-green short-sleeved top and jeans, which made her figure look slender and graceful. Over it she’d draped a thin white jacket.

Ning Sui’s steps slowed for just a moment before she picked up her pace, drawing closer beneath the streetlight: “Sorry, I’m late.”

Xie Yichen made a casual sound of acknowledgment: “It’s fine.”

Her little white bag looked almost like a trinket in his hand. Ning Sui took it back from him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

The old town came alive at night — lights blazing, streets packed with people, and three-wheeled horse carts still passing through.

The two of them walked side by side in the lamplight, their pace surprisingly well-matched. Xie Yichen navigated while Ning Sui scrolled through showtimes and available seats.

After a while, she glanced up tentatively: “I see a few other films with good availability. We could decide once we’re there.”

Xie Yichen’s stride was unhurried. He pushed a single syllable out through his throat: “Sure.”

“……”

Ning Sui felt like he was constantly switching between two modes.

One: jaded and languid. Two: too cool for words and couldn’t be bothered with people.

More unpredictable than a random walk in mathematics.

He said nothing more, so neither did she, as she drifted over to the curb beside the road.

She’d always loved walking on curbs since she was small, like a child balancing on a beam — wobbling along, dodging the fragmented shadows of tree branches, thoroughly entertained.

At one point she nearly missed her footing. Xie Yichen glanced over from the side: “Careful you don’t fall off.”

It had rained briefly earlier, and the pavement was still damp with shallow puddles. Ning Sui shook her head with great seriousness, her eyes bright under the streetlamps: “I won’t. I practiced one-legged hopping on these when I was little.”

Even as she spoke, Xie Yichen happened to step onto the curb near her, then shifted slightly aside to give her room.

He was watching the ground, a note of amusement in his voice: “You actually practiced that?”

The logic of childhood really was wonderfully strange. Ning Sui said, “That’s not even the strangest thing I did. I’ve done all sorts of things when I was little.”

Xie Yichen raised an eyebrow: “Such as?”

Ning Sui thought about it, then recounted faithfully: “I practiced skimming Wangzai Mini Mochi in a washbasin. I practiced eating rice noodles with a toothpick. Oh, and I trained my hamster to be Pikachu.”

She didn’t remember much else, except that the little creature always trudged back from several meters away with the most aggrieved little steps.

She heard Xie Yichen laugh beside her — a low, warm sound: “Is it still alive?”

“Hm?”

“The hamster.”

Ning Sui pressed her lips together: “It died a long time ago.”

Xie Yichen’s step faltered slightly. She realized he’d misunderstood, and said earnestly, “It wasn’t because I dropped it or anything. It’s just — hamsters have very short lifespans. A lot of pets are the same. Three or four years and that’s their whole life — they can’t live as long as us humans.”

Xie Yichen walked at a comfortable distance from her, still looking down at the shadows on the ground, giving a lazy, quiet laugh: “That’s true enough.”

“What about you?”

“Hmm?”

Ning Sui turned to look at him, the gentle summer night breeze lifting the soft strands of her hair: “Is there anything from when you were little that really stuck with you?”

“Oh, plenty.” Xie Yichen strolled along with his hands in his pockets and offered her an example.

Back in primary school, right around the time of the 2008 Beijing Olympics, he’d taken the commemorative mascot-themed pencils his father had dug up for him and started selling them to classmates. He told them these were limited-edition products supplied exclusively by the Olympic organizing committee — twenty yuan each, orders by form only. Members got a fifteen percent discount.

Just from this, Xie Yichen had pocketed a comfortable thousand or so yuan. His father was then summoned to school by the teacher, who issued a stern reprimand for disrupting market order and the general atmosphere of the class — because two students had gotten into a fight over the pencils and wound up in the school infirmary.

Ning Sui: “……”

Truly worthy of you. You cracked the code of scarcity marketing before most people even knew what it was.

She was quiet for a moment: “What did your dad say?”

Xie Yichen smiled dryly: “My dad thought I had a good head for business. Even though the teacher confiscated all the money, he bought me a Switch as a reward.”

“……Your dad sounds pretty open-minded.”

They were just around the corner from the cinema now. Ning Sui was still patiently picking her way along the curb. The damp coolness of the post-rain air curled softly around her, and she blinked without thinking: “I always assumed you were the type to be the perfect student.”

Xie Yichen’s dark eyes dropped slightly, a hint of rakish amusement in them: “What — selling a few pencils makes you not a good student?”

“……”

Ning Sui faltered: “That’s not what I meant.”

She glanced at him quickly, then away. “I mean the kind who follows all the rules, comes from a strict household, does whatever the elders say.”

Ahead of them was an intersection. You could already see the glowing, colorful signboards — and beyond them, the crowds of a lively summer night.

“If that’s your definition, then no, I’m not.”

Xie Yichen walked just behind and to the side of her. His unhurried voice drifted with the evening breeze, reaching Ning Sui’s ear not quite clearly: “My parents left me mostly to my own devices, so I did whatever I wanted.”

……

The two of them walked into the cinema. The streets outside were crowded, but it was relatively quiet in here. The large screen above was cycling through today’s showings — alongside the most popular title, Crazy Thursday, there were also The Four Formations and Compendium of Strange Creatures, both of which sounded vaguely fantastical.

Ning Sui asked him: “What do you want to see?”

Xie Yichen didn’t have a preference: “You decide.”

“Then—” Ning Sui looked up and pointed to the last title on the list — a re-release of an older film — and asked tentatively, “I’d like to see that one. Is that okay?”

A Beautiful Mind. Xie Yichen had heard of it long ago but never found the chance to watch it — the story of mathematician John Nash, the man behind game theory and differential geometry, who fought through schizophrenia and still scaled the heights of brilliance in a legendary life.

He pulled out his phone and scanned the code: “Sure.”

Ning Sui leaned over and saw the tickets had already been purchased — IMAX, pricier than she’d expected: “I said I was treating.”

Xie Yichen glanced at her with an expression that plainly said it’s already done.

Ning Sui felt there was no real room to argue about a hundred-odd yuan. She pressed her lips together, about to say something, when her gaze drifted and landed on the snack stand selling popcorn and drinks.

Her eyes lit up. She had an idea: “Do you want popcorn? This one’s on me.”

Xie Yichen looked at her: “Sure.”

“Anything to drink?”

Xie Yichen, still economical with words: “Whatever’s fine.”

“……”

Ning Sui, who was notoriously indecisive, wrestled with it for a moment before nodding and heading off to queue at the snack stand.

They went in with a bucket of popcorn and two cups of Sprite, and got their tickets scanned. The film had almost no audience — their seats were in the center of the back half of the auditorium, the perfect middle position, with only a scattering of heads visible in the rows ahead.

The cinema was very dark, without a single source of light. Ning Sui’s steps slowed considerably.

She was gripping the nearest seatback, struggling to make out the row numbers, when a beam of torchlight swept on from behind her, illuminating the path ahead.

Ning Sui’s fingertips tightened involuntarily. She turned to look.

He stood behind her with that broad, reassuring chest, his presence steady and sure.

Those dark, fearless eyes seemed to catch the light too.

Noticing her expression, he dipped his gaze slightly, curved the corner of his mouth, and said in a low voice: “You’re scared of the dark, aren’t you.”