They were sitting on the second floor of the restaurant, right by the window, with a direct view of the vivid blue expanse of the lake. The windowsill was carved bamboo latticework — no glass in the frame — so the warm breeze simply drifted straight in.

In the moment sunlight flashed through, Ning Sui thought: Xie Yichen’s eyes are genuinely black. It was probably only when light fell into them that they showed amber.

But undeniably, his features were exceptionally good — striking from any angle.

His voice was deep and cool with a touch of magnetism, the ends of his sentences trailing off with an unhurried, faintly amused quality.

Seeing no reaction from her, Xie Yichen raised his chin slightly and said with a leisurely, pointed air: “That photo looks a bit familiar.”

Ning Sui’s gaze shifted. She composed herself, gave a quiet acknowledgment, and then reached out to point at the figure beside him in the photo — Zhang Yuge, who had been accidentally kicked by an opposing player and was pulling a face that looked exactly like someone suffering from severe constipation, photo-bombing the whole thing.

She said at a measured pace: “I was thinking about whether Zhang Yuge really likes this red jersey. I feel like I’ve seen him wear it several times these past few days.”

“…”

Xie Yichen’s gaze rested on her phone screen. Ning Sui seemed to consider it a rhetorical question rather than one that needed answering, and her attention had already drifted toward Lin Shuyu, who had followed Xie Yichen over: “Are you two here for dinner too?”

Lin Shuyu nodded quickly, like a rooster pecking grain. Ning Sui glanced at Xie Yichen again. He was unhurriedly lifting the over-ear headphones from around his neck, expression vaguely indifferent.

At this moment Xu Zhou looked up and noticed them, and promptly waved them over: “Hey, you made it. Come sit.”

The server pulled two chairs from the adjacent empty table. Xie Yichen and Lin Shuyu sat down along the outer edge of the square table.

Hu Ke’er thought: what a coincidence. She shifted to make room, and then heard Xu Zhou explain: “I mentioned earlier that we were eating here, and Yichen said the two of them would come as well, so I sent him the restaurant’s location.”

Hu Ke’er: “Just the two of you?”

“Yeah.” Lin Shuyu said, “The others didn’t get up until this afternoon. They just had their lunch, so they didn’t feel like coming out.”

“Oh.” Two more people made it merrier. Hu Ke’er, whose spirit had grown a little dull after a full day of natural scenery, felt her mood revive at once. She swiftly lifted the menu hanging on the wall nearby and handed it to Xie Yichen. “We haven’t ordered much — take a look, see if you want to add anything?”

The restaurants in this area all had fairly similar menus. After a quick discussion, everyone agreed to add a plate of mint-fried spare ribs and a dish of oyster-sauce water spinach.

They’d barely placed the order when the couple at the table next to them started arguing.

It seemed the girl wanted chili added to the fried rice, but the guy refused. The girl said that if he couldn’t give ground on something this trivial, the guy replied that he’d already been giving ground in enough other things, and from there they launched into a full-scale mutual accounting of grievances, one after another.

Looking at their own table, where everything ordered was on the milder side, Lin Shuyu said in a low voice with some feeling: “No wonder people say you should find a partner from the same region. If you can’t eat the same food, what can you even do together? Thank goodness we’re all from Huai’an.”

“That point is really so important.” Hu Ke’er agreed wholeheartedly. “People who can’t eat the same things have fewer things in common to begin with.”

As they were talking, the Qi-Pot Chicken arrived. Since Xie Yichen was seated at the outermost edge and was closest, it was natural for him to take everyone’s bowls and stack them together so he could ladle out the soup for each person.

He slid the first bowl he’d filled straight over to Ning Sui, who was nearest. She looked down — the broth was generous and substantial, packed with mushrooms and chicken, the porcelain bowl still holding a gentle curl of steam — and she said softly: “Thank you.”

Xie Yichen just made a quiet sound.

Lin Shuyu, always looking for common ground to chat about, asked everyone what their favorite food was. Conversation opened up lively and freely around the table, while Xie Yichen finished serving soup for everyone and then leaned back against his chair with nothing in particular to do.

Ning Sui glanced at him: “Aren’t you having the soup?”

“It’s too hot.” He lifted his eyes slightly. “I’ll have it in a bit.”

Ning Sui nodded, thought for a moment, then said: “They just created a group chat — all the high school students from different schools who got into Tsinghua or Peking University. Have you joined?”

“Yeah, I just saw it.”

A friend had sent him the group invitation that afternoon. Xie Yichen had been taking a nap, barely cracked his eyes open to look, and then promptly forgot.

He’d just accepted the request and found there were already a hundred and fifty people in the group.

Someone had taken a screenshot and sent it to Xie Yichen directly — the earlier conversation about the confession board. Xie Yichen scanned it and made no comment.

At the table, Lin Shuyu was still in full swing: “Yichen truly has the best taste in food I’ve ever seen — out of everyone I know. He cooks for himself, his pan-fried steak is unreal, we’ve all said he could’ve skipped the computer science route and gone straight to a Michelin-starred kitchen and done perfectly well.”

Xie Yichen raised an eyebrow at this: “Alright, you — that’s enough. One more word and you’ll have gone too far.”

Hu Ke’er asked curiously: “How do you even find the time to work on all that?”

Lin Shuyu answered on his behalf: “When he was little, his parents were busy and not around much. And this one has a picky palate, so I’d guess the nannies and housekeepers they hired couldn’t satisfy him either, which is why he ended up taking matters into his own hands.”

Hu Ke’er gave an impressed thumbs-up. If she were in the same situation, the result would be someone who lived exclusively on three meals of takeout a day.

“Getting him to actually cook for you is no easy feat, though.” Lin Shuyu clicked his tongue. “It probably happened more often in middle school when he was living on his own. After moving to the dorms, there was nothing — last time was my birthday, and that’s the only reason I got that honor.”

Ning Sui was listening while quietly trying to scoop herself some of the crossing-the-bridge rice noodles in front of her. But they kept slipping — too smooth — and after several attempts she switched to chopsticks, only to make things worse.

Without meaning to, she glanced sideways and met those pitch-black, amused eyes.

— That expression.

It might as well have had “how are you this clumsy” written all over it.

“… The rice noodles here,” Ning Sui took a sudden short breath, her voice inexplicably shrinking, searching for an explanation, “seem a bit slippery?”

“…”

Xie Yichen looked at her with that just-barely-a-smile expression. Ning Sui’s mind had gone slightly blank, and before she could say anything else, he simply reached over and took her bowl, using the serving chopsticks to coil the noodles. He added a couple of spoonfuls of broth while he was at it.

She watched the side of his face — clean, sharp lines, a straight and defined nose bridge. She watched as he finished in a few neat, unhurried motions, coiling the noodles into a neat bundle.

Hu Ke’er and Lin Shuyu were chatting back and forth at a diagonal, and Ning Sui propped her elbow on the table and leaned slightly toward Xie Yichen: “Did you really live alone in middle school?”

He looked at her sideways. “Yeah. A rented place, to be closer to school.”

That busy — could it really have been so busy that they couldn’t come home at all?

Ning Sui didn’t press any further.

The conversation had circled back to favorite foods. Lin Shuyu asked: “… Oh right, Ning Sui — what’s your favorite thing to eat?”

“Cheese.”

“Cheese is great. Eat enough and you’ll gain wisdom.”

The table went quiet for a beat. Lin Shuyu gave a dry cough — right, Zhang Yuge wasn’t here to receive his terrible pun. Nobody had picked up the bait.

“Yichen also loves cheese. We used to sneak out of school at night sometimes to get pizza.” Lin Shuyu smacked his lips nostalgically.

“I know he likes it.” Ning Sui thought back to the cheese roll from that day. She blinked lightly. “Does your school’s snack shop not sell late-night food? Ours had dumplings and stir-fried noodles — everyone would sprint over after evening self-study and fight for the last servings.”

Xie Yichen paused briefly, looked at her again, and then said in a low, unhurried voice: “They do, but not much variety, and it’s not that good.”

Lin Shuyu recalled this with a grimace: “Exactly — the pancakes were hard as a scale weight and drizzled with chili oil. The beef was so tough it was like it had been roughed up before slaughter. Cast-iron stomachs only — we called it the ‘laxative combo.'”

In the time it took for this conversation, the remaining dishes had arrived.

Ning Sui noticed that after Xie Yichen joined the group, someone immediately recognized his profile picture. The gossip quickly and rather self-consciously died down, and people who knew him started joking around with him: hey, is it true the Tsinghua scholarship really is in the tens of thousands? If you’re heading to Beijing, you’ve got to take us all out for a meal.

Xie Yichen, with complete nonchalance, said: sure, if you can round up a hundred people, I’ll foot the bill. The energy instantly shifted to a new blazing peak, and the group launched into discussing their next destination.

— Beijing. That city, equally brilliant, yet far newer and more unknown than Huai’an.

The group was chattering away, everyone pitching in one by one: my mom told me the portion sizes in Beijing are enormous — they won’t let you leave until you’re full; you can stumble in blindly and hit a Peking duck restaurant; my aunt’s allergic rhinitis was cured when she lived there, dry climate has its own advantages, and snowy winters there are very romantic; I heard all the taxi drivers there are grandfatherly old men, very warm and chatty; did you know Tsinghua is absolutely massive — apparently it’s several kilometers from south to north, you could walk a full hour without a bike…

Between the lines, everything brimmed with excitement and anticipation.

Ning Sui believed that, just like her, these classmates approached the coming university chapter with a mixture of curiosity, expectation, and a small thread of nervousness.

Lin Shuyu mused aloud: “Time moved so slowly before — you’d count days on the calendar and it would feel like each second took forever. Then the exam ends and suddenly it’s like — how is university already about to start? It’s like I’ve never been away from home this long before.”

He’d said something similar to Zhang Yuge a few days ago in a more sentimental mood, and that guy had snapped back without any sympathy: “Don’t worry, it only speeds up from here. In two more years you’ll be knocking on thirty’s door.”

“…”

But Zhang Yuge, great disruptor of all moods, was not here. Everyone found themselves genuinely agreeing this time. The busy days of high school still felt close — yet life was stepping into its next new stage already.

This shift in identity was taking a little time to sink in. There was only the hope that this summer — this dividing line between what was and what will be — could stretch out a little slower, a little longer.

— No need to think too far ahead about the future; no need to lament what had already passed. Just like boarding some bright summer-night train, going wherever it goes — feeling all the vivid, abundant, bustling moments that life has to offer.

The mood dipped into something slightly quiet and heavy. Lin Shuyu leaned back against his chair, head drooping — and just at that moment, as if on cue, a child at the next table started crying: “Mama — where’s my silver marble? Where’s my little ball?”

The mother ignored him and kept talking on her phone, waving a dismissive hand.

Lin Shuyu felt a twinge of pity. Unable to help himself, he turned around and tried to comfort the little kid, a few years old: “Don’t worry — big brother will help you look.”

He circled around the floor but found nothing. He was genuinely puzzled. The others also checked under their own table — nothing that looked like a marble.

The child’s eyes were shining with tears, and he looked at Lin Shuyu with pitiful resignation: “It’s okay, big brother. Don’t bother looking anymore.”

Lin Shuyu’s chest clenched. Before he could respond, the child shoved his little pinky finger straight into his nostril and let out a wail: “I’ll just have to make another one—”

—

“WHAT — little kids are genuinely destroying all my tender feelings!”

On the walk back to the guesthouse, everyone was still laughing loudly. The light rain had just stopped, and the air was permeated with the fresh dampness of petrichor. Lin Shuyu ranted and complained the whole way. Shuanglang’s southern side had a complex network of old alleyways, and by the time night had fallen, the bar street was in full swing, with resident singers taking the stage in each establishment, familiar pop melodies floating in and out of earshot.

“What if we go in and sit for a bit? I heard you can request songs here.” Hu Ke’er’s eyes lit up — she loved the feeling of live music, and a little wine, good conversation, and casual snacking sounded perfect.

No one had any objection: “Works for me — let’s walk ahead and see.”

Each venue had its own style — sad love songs at one place, hard-edged rock at another. The street was long; no need to rush into a decision.

As they were walking, Lin Shuyu glanced at Ning Sui.

“Oh, don’t move — there’s something in your hair…” He instinctively raised his hand — he hadn’t actually intended to touch her — it was more of a reflex. But Ning Sui’s reflexes kicked in first, and she took a small step sideways.

The moment went briefly awkward. On the other side of her, Xie Yichen also looked over.

Ning Sui recovered quickly. Her hand moved in the same direction as she reached up and brushed her temple, smoothed her hair, and blinked. “What was it? Something there?”

Lin Shuyu: “Oh, a leaf had just fallen on you. It’s already dropped off now.”

Ning Sui smiled. “Thanks for the heads up.”

They were nearly at the other end of the street by now. Hu Ke’er had her eye on a small venue with a slow, lyrical style. The interior decor was refined, with an emphasis on wine and fresh-flower fruit teas.

Just as they were about to walk in, they ran into familiar faces.

“Hey — Xie Yichen!”

Zou Xiao and Zhao Yingyao came jogging over from not far away, bubble teas in hand. The street was lively, and Lin Shuyu gave a small, barely perceptible click of his tongue, leaning close to Xie Yichen’s ear with a quiet lament: “Incredible. We even run into them here.”

Xie Yichen’s expression remained the same as usual — not especially bothered. His dark jacket hung loosely open, headphones resting around his neck.

Zhao Yingyao linked her arm through Zou Xiao’s and drifted closer, glancing at the others, then smiling. “Are you all going into the bar? Why don’t we join you?”

“…”

The male singer performing inside looked to be in his early thirties. He wore a low, flat-brimmed soft felt hat, the air of an artist about him, and was just then singing a Cantonese song with some years behind it — Leon Lai’s “Summer Romance.” His voice was smoky and magnetic, the love song drifting, unhurried.

The atmosphere inside was the polar opposite of the noisy crowd outside. The moment they stepped in, everything quieted and deepened — like finding a world that existed apart from everything else, a secret garden unto itself.

A server led them to a long table in the corner and presented menus made of braided leather cord. Each page had a quality feel to it, and every drink was accompanied by a small watercolor illustration — charming and playful.

Hu Ke’er ordered a Long Island iced tea. Zhao Yingyao and Zou Xiao shared a glass each of the establishment’s aged red wine. Ning Sui ordered a hot red date and longan tea. The guys each ordered something as well, and they added a plate of fruit.

The singer on stage sang on at a gentle pace. Lin Shuyu said under his breath: “Should we call Zhang Yuge and Sun Hao over too? No point just sitting in the guesthouse.”

“Probably not necessary — there’s no room for more of us anyway.”

Zou Xiao was blunt about it. From the moment they’d arrived, her eyes had been fixed on Xie Yichen. Having failed to secure a seat beside him, she could only shoot sideways glares at Lin Shuyu.

Zhao Yingyao, more socially attentive, smoothly covered: “Oh — the two of them were still playing games in the living room when we left. I doubt they’ll be wrapping up anytime soon.”

Lin Shuyu held his breath and in the end said nothing more.

The feeling in the room had subtly shifted. During dinner it had still been easy and fun. Now it was as though all the good conversational energy had suddenly dried up — most topics no longer felt worth raising.

So they sat quietly and listened to the music. The singer was genuinely good — he had a way of telling a story through every note.

Ning Sui had her head down looking at her phone. The mood was immersive; the glow of the screen lit her cheek faintly and quietly.

During the pause between songs, the singer stepped off stage for a water break.

Hu Ke’er was scrolling through Weibo and caught a trending topic that had just exploded: a male celebrity heartthrob was apparently a champion of time management, allegedly juggling multiple female stars simultaneously, with audio recordings as evidence — essentially proven beyond doubt.

It had nothing to do with Hu Ke’er’s favorites, but she still turned the phone to show Ning Sui.

Ning Sui had just surfaced from a slight daze. She listened as Hu Ke’er said, half-gossiping, half-genuinely disgusted: “God, what a piece of work.”

But the heartthrob’s fans were still mounting a dying defense in the comments, insisting that sharing the same Starbucks Frappuccino couldn’t be considered cheating.

Some marketing account, right on trend, had put up a poll: What behavior do you consider truly low?

A. Having a girlfriend while still sharing your daily life with a ‘special friend’ B. Not pursuing, not refusing, and taking no responsibility C. Enjoying the attention of many admirers and accepting all their affections D. Sweet-talking someone into a relationship and then emotionally manipulating them

Xie Yichen hadn’t ordered alcohol — only a sparkling drink — and was now chewing on his straw, lazily sunk into the armchair. His whole posture was loose and unhurried.

He and Ning Sui had ended up on the same sofa seat, and somehow they’d drifted quite close without really noticing. He found himself uncertain for a moment whether that faint rose scent was coming from the incense on the table or from the person beside him.

He set down his glass, was just about to say something, when Lin Shuyu leaned over with exaggerated wonder: “Yichen, how come your drink is red — is it strawberry flavored?”

Because it was red tea, thank you very much.

Also, he’d ordered it by pointing at a picture on the menu, more or less at random.

Xie Yichen couldn’t be bothered to engage with him and turned back — only to find Ning Sui looking at him with a mildly contemplative expression, which quickly shifted into faint understanding as she nodded slowly.

“?”

“So that explains why you didn’t mind receiving a strawberry cake.”