They were seated on the second floor of the restaurant, by a window with an unobstructed view of the brilliant blue lake. The window frame was carved bamboo with no glass — just open — so the warm breeze came drifting in unimpeded.

In a flash of sunlight, Ning Sui thought: Xie Yichen’s eyes were actually a proper deep black. They only appeared amber when the light fell into them.

But there was no denying it — he was extraordinarily good-looking, from any angle.

His voice was low and crisp with a faint magnetic quality, the end of his sentences trailing with a barely-there length, giving the impression of an unhurried, teasing interest.

Seeing no reaction from her, Xie Yichen lifted his chin, his tone drawing out with pointed meaning: “This photo looks oddly familiar.”

Ning Sui’s gaze shifted. Then she composed her expression and gave a steady mm, before extending her finger to point — at Zhang Yuge in the photo beside him, who’d been accidentally kicked by an opposing player and was now pulling a constipated face as he photobombed the shot.

She said slowly: “I was wondering if Zhang Yuge has a particular fondness for this red jersey. I feel like I’ve seen him wearing it several times these past few days.”

“……”

Xie Yichen’s gaze stayed on her screen. Ning Sui seemed to feel this was a question that didn’t need an answer; her eyes moved of their own accord to Lin Shuyu, who had come over behind Xie Yichen: “You two are here for dinner too?”

Lin Shuyu nodded rapidly, enthusiastically, and Ning Sui glanced once more at Xie Yichen. He was casually lifting the over-ear headphones from around his neck, his expression carrying that faint, unconcerned air.

Xu Zhou looked up and noticed them just then, quickly calling out: “Hey, you made it — come sit.”

A server pulled two chairs over from a nearby empty table. Xie Yichen and Lin Shuyu sat down on the outer side of the square table.

Hu Ke’er thought to herself: of all the coincidences — we just happened to run into each other? She shifted to make room, and then heard Xu Zhou explain: “I mentioned to them earlier that we were eating here tonight, and Yichen said the two of them would come as well, so I sent him the restaurant address.”

Hu Ke’er asked: “Just the two of you?”

“Yeah.” Lin Shuyu said: “The others didn’t get up this morning, only just had lunch this afternoon — they didn’t want to go out.”

“Oh, right.” Two more people was fine by her. Hu Ke’er, feeling a mild revival in spirits after a day of somewhat numbing scenery, promptly took down the menu hanging from the wall and handed it to Xie Yichen. “We haven’t ordered much — have a look and see if you’d like to add anything?”

The restaurant’s menu was much like all the others in the area. After a brief discussion, everyone agreed to add a plate of mint fried pork ribs and a dish of oyster sauce greens.

The order had barely gone in when the couple at the neighboring table started arguing about the menu.

It seemed the girl wanted chili in the fried rice, the guy didn’t, and the girl thought it was ridiculous that he couldn’t give way on something this minor; the guy shot back that he’d already given way on plenty of other things, and from there it escalated into them dredging up old grievances one by one.

Eyeing the food they’d ordered — all on the mild end — Lin Shuyu lowered his voice and mused: “This is exactly why they say it’s better to find someone from the same place — even food preferences can be a dealbreaker. Lucky for us, we’re all from Huai’an.”

“That is genuinely so important,” Hu Ke’er agreed. “People who can’t eat together can’t find common ground in anything else either.”

While they were saying this, the steam-pot chicken arrived. Xie Yichen was sitting closest to it on the outside, so it was natural for him to stack everyone’s bowls and ladle the soup for them one by one.

Ning Sui was closest to him. Once he was done filling hers, he pushed it straight across to her. She looked down — the broth was rich, packed with mushrooms and chicken pieces, the porcelain bowl still steaming gently. She ran the tip of her tongue lightly over her lips: “Thank you.”

Xie Yichen made a sound of acknowledgment.

Lin Shuyu used the moment to ask everyone what their favorite food was, fishing for common ground, and everyone started chattering freely. Xie Yichen, having finished ladling soup for everyone, leaned back against his chair without anything particular to do.

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

“It’s too hot.” He raised his eyes briefly. “I’ll have some in a bit.”

Ning Sui nodded, then after thinking a moment, said: “They made a group just now — everyone accepted to Tsinghua or Peking University. Did you join?”

“Yeah, just saw it.”

A friend had sent him the group invite that afternoon. Xie Yichen had half-opened his eyes from a post-lunch nap, looked at it, and then forgotten about it.

He’d just approved it, only to discover there were already a hundred and fifty people in the group.

Someone had screenshotted the recent conversation and privately sent it to Xie Yichen — the part about the confession wall. Xie Yichen skimmed it briefly and said nothing.

At the table, Lin Shuyu was still holding court: “Yichen is seriously the person with the best culinary taste I’ve met in all my years — he can cook himself, and his pan-seared steak is incredible. We’ve all said he could ditch the computer science and go be a Michelin chef instead.”

Xie Yichen looked up then: “Alright, that’s enough — you’re overdoing it.”

Hu Ke’er asked curiously: “How do you ever find the time to get into all this?”

Lin Shuyu answered for him: “When he was little, his parents were busy, so nobody was home, you know — and this guy has a particular palate, so I guess whatever the housekeeper made wasn’t up to his standards either, so he taught himself.”

Hu Ke’er gave an admiring thumbs-up. In the same situation, she would have produced a person who ate three meals a day of takeout.

“But getting a meal out of him is no easy feat,” Lin Shuyu said wistfully. “He cooked more often back in middle school when he was living on his own. After we moved into the dorms, I’ve barely tasted it — the last time was when he made it for my birthday.”

Ning Sui was listening while quietly helping herself to the rice noodle soup in front of her — but it was slippery stuff and she couldn’t get any to stay on the spoon. She tried a few times on her own, then switched to chopsticks, and still managed to make a mess of it.

Without thinking, she looked sideways, and caught those dark, amused eyes on her.

That expression.

His face might as well have had the words “can you even manage, you clumsy thing” written on it.

“……The rice noodles here,” Ning Sui said, her breath inadvertently catching, voice strangely softened, reaching for an excuse, “seem to be a bit on the slippery side?”

“……”

Xie Yichen looked at her with that half-smile, and Ning Sui’s mind went a little blank for a moment. Before she could say anything, he simply took her bowl, used the communal chopsticks, and wound the noodles for her.

She watched his profile, the lines of his face clean and sharp, as he gathered and coiled them in just a few practiced movements and ladled in a few spoonfuls of broth.

Hu Ke’er and Lin Shuyu were having a loose diagonal conversation. Ning Sui rested her elbow on the table and leaned slightly toward Xie Yichen: “Did you live on your own in middle school?”

He glanced at her sideways: “Yeah. I rented a place so I’d be closer to school.”

Being that busy — did that mean he barely went home?

Ning Sui didn’t ask further.

Lin Shuyu had circled back around: “…Hey right, Ning Sui — what’s your favorite food?”

“Cheese.”

“Cheese is great. Eat more of it and you’ll gain knowledge.”

A beat of silence fell over the table. Lin Shuyu gave a dry cough — damn, he’d forgotten Zhang Yuge wasn’t here. No one to complete his pun.

“Anyway — Yichen also likes cheese. We used to sneak off campus sometimes at night to get pizza.”

“I know he likes it.” Ning Sui thought of the cheese roll from that day, her lashes giving a quiet flutter. “Doesn’t Gaohua’s school store sell late-night snacks? Ours had dumplings, stir-fried noodles, all kinds of things — after evening self-study everyone would rush over and fight for a spot.”

Xie Yichen paused, gave her another look, then said in that low, unhurried way of his: “It does — but there’s not much variety, and it’s not very good.”

Lin Shuyu thought back and could only shake his head: “Exactly. The flatbreads were hard as a dumbbell, smeared with chili oil; the beef was so tough it seemed like it had been through something traumatic before slaughter. Only someone with a cast-iron stomach could handle it. We used to call it the laxative combo meal.”

As they talked, the remaining dishes arrived.

Ning Sui noticed that after Xie Yichen joined the group, his profile picture was quickly recognized. The gossipy energy quietly tucked itself away, and familiar acquaintances began to tease him — Bro, is it true the Tsinghua scholarship is really in the tens of thousands? You owe everyone a dinner when you get to Beijing, right? The atmosphere pivoted into another wave of excitement, everyone jumping in to discuss their next destination.

— Beijing. That glittering, thriving city, so much more unknowable and new than Huai’an.

The group was buzzing with chatter, everyone piping up one after another. My mom told me portions in Beijing are generous — they won’t let you out the door until you’re full; you could stumble in blindfolded and land in a Peking duck restaurant.

My second aunt’s allergic rhinitis got cured there — dry weather has its benefits too; apparently the snow is beautiful.

I heard the taxi drivers there are all older uncles and they’re super chatty.

Someone else added: Did you know, Tsinghua is huge — like, truly enormous. I’ve heard from south gate to north gate is several kilometres. If you’re not on a bike, it’s a full hour’s walk…

Every line was laced with eagerness and anticipation.

Ning Sui believed these classmates felt just like her — curious about the coming university adventure, full of expectation, and a little nervous.

Lin Shuyu sighed: “You know, time used to pass so slowly — you’d tear pages off the calendar counting down the days, and it still felt like years were dragging by. Then the college entrance exam finished and suddenly it’s like — university’s already here? It doesn’t feel like we’ve ever been away from home for this long before.”

He’d said something like this before, in a weaker moment in front of Zhang Yuge, who had immediately shot back: “Don’t worry — time only moves faster from here. Give it two years and you’ll be pushing thirty.”

“……”

Without Zhang Yuge here to ruin the mood, everyone genuinely agreed with the feeling. The frantic days of high school felt like they were still right in front of them, and yet they were already on the threshold of a new chapter.

The shift in identity was a little disorienting — almost like the mind hadn’t caught up yet. They just hoped this summer, serving as the dividing line, could pass slowly. Slower. A little slower still.

— No need to worry too much about the future, no need to mourn what was behind. Just like climbing aboard some blazing night train in summer, feeling the full, vivid, swirling warmth of life as it rushed past.

The mood grew heavy and still for just a moment. Lin Shuyu leaned back in his chair, head bowed. Then, as if on cue, the small child at the neighboring table began to cry: “Mama, where’s my silver marble? Where’s my little ball?”

The mother ignored him, carried on with her phone call, and gestured vaguely for him to be quiet.

Lin Shuyu felt a pang of sympathy. He turned around and gently tried to coax the child, who looked only a few years old: “Hey, don’t worry — let me help you look.”

He circled the floor, checked under his own table — nothing. Not a single marble to be found anywhere. He was genuinely baffled.

The child looked up at him with teary eyes, then said in a resigned, heartbroken voice: “It’s okay, Mister. It’s gone. Never mind.”

Lin Shuyu’s chest tightened. Before he could say a word, the child stuck a finger in his nose, let out a wail, and announced:

“I’ll just have to make another one—”

—

“I can’t believe a tiny kid just destroyed my tender moment like that!”

The laughter hadn’t quite stopped on the walk back to the guesthouse. Lin Shuyu was still muttering darkly as they went.

The light rain had just cleared. The air smelled damp and fresh, rather pleasant. The lanes near the southern entrance of Shuanglang were winding and complex. Evening had fallen, and the bar street was open — resident singer-performers were taking their stages at venues all down the strip, and familiar pop melodies drifted faintly through the air.

“Should we go sit somewhere? I’ve heard you can request songs here.” Hu Ke’er’s eyes lit up. She loved the feeling of a live music venue — a couple of light drinks, chatting, snacking with everyone; that sounded just right.

Nobody objected: “Sure, let’s walk along and see.”

Each venue had its own personality — sad love songs here, hard rock there. The street stretched on, so there was no need to rush.

As they walked, Lin Shuyu glanced at Ning Sui.

“Hey — don’t move, you’ve got something in your hair…” He raised his hand — he hadn’t actually intended to touch anything, just a reflexive gesture — but Ning Sui instinctively took a step sideways away from it.

The moment went slightly awkward. Xie Yichen, on the other side, looked over too.

Ning Sui recovered quickly. Her hand followed the motion to her temple, smoothing her hair, and she blinked: “What is it? Is there something there?”

Lin Shuyu: “Ah, a leaf had landed just now. It’s already fallen off.”

Ning Sui gave a small smile: “Thanks for the heads-up.”

They were nearing the far end of the street, and Hu Ke’er spotted a small venue with a slow, soft, lyrical ambiance. The interior décor was refined — featuring fine wines and fresh floral teas.

They were just about to go in when they ran into familiar faces.

“Hey — Xie Yichen!”

Zou Xiao and Zhao Yingyao came jogging over from not far away, each holding a milk tea. The street was lively and crowded. Lin Shuyu gave a barely-audible groan and murmured in Xie Yichen’s ear: “Incredible — how do they manage to run into us everywhere?”

Xie Yichen’s face kept its usual indifferent look. He wore the black jacket loosely open, the headphones hanging around his neck.

Zhao Yingyao pulled Zou Xiao along and approached them, glancing at Ning Sui and the others with a smile: “Are you heading into the bar? Why don’t we all go together?”

“……”

The male performer inside was about thirty, wearing a low flat-brim cap, with the full air of an artist. He was in the middle of singing a song that had aged well — Leslie Cheung’s Cantonese classic, “Summer Romance.”

His voice was rich and magnetic, the love song unwinding softly into the air.

The atmosphere inside was worlds apart from the din outside on the street. Walking in felt like stepping into a paradise set apart from the world.

A server led them to a long table in the corner and presented the menu — a sheepskin booklet bound with fine cord. Each page had a distinctive texture, and every drink entry was accompanied by a small watercolor illustration, charmingly whimsical.

Hu Ke’er ordered a Long Island Iced Tea. Zhao Yingyao and Zou Xiao shared a vintage red wine — one small glass each. Ning Sui ordered a warm red date and longan tea. The guys each made their own selections, and they also added a plate of fruit.

The performer on stage continued his unhurried singing. Lin Shuyu lowered his voice: “Should we call Zhang Yuge and Sun Hao over? What’s the point of them just sitting in the guesthouse?”

“There’s probably not enough room for them here anyway.”

Zou Xiao said it directly — she’d been tracking Xie Yichen with her eyes since they arrived, and since she hadn’t managed to sit near him, all she could do was silently glower at Lin Shuyu.

Zhao Yingyao, who was far more perceptive, smoothly followed up: “Besides, when we left, those two were still in the middle of a game — I doubt they’ll be done anytime soon.”

Lin Shuyu swallowed his objection and finally said nothing.

It was a slightly strange feeling. At the dinner table earlier, the conversation had felt warm and easy; now, with these two added to the mix, it seemed like there was nothing to talk about. Most topics felt flat before they began.

So they sat quietly and listened to the music. The singer really was good — his voice carried a story-telling quality, like each line was drawing out the threads of something lived.

Ning Sui’s head was bowed over her phone, her expression dim and absorbed in whatever was on screen, only a faint glow illuminating the side of her face.

In the pause between songs, the performer stepped offstage for water.

Hu Ke’er was scrolling Weibo and caught a trending topic that had just exploded — apparently some young male celebrity had been exposed as a serial cheater, stringing along multiple female celebrities simultaneously, with audio recordings as evidence. Basically confirmed.

It wasn’t anyone Hu Ke’er particularly cared about, but she was mildly invested in the drama; she turned her phone to show Ning Sui, and half-gossiping, half-philosophizing, said: “God, that’s so awful.”

The celebrity’s fans were still fighting the current, insisting that sharing a Starbucks Frappuccino didn’t constitute cheating.

One trending account had put up a poll in response: What counts as being a bad partner, in your view?

A. Having a girlfriend but still sharing life updates with a “close friend” B. Not pursuing, not refusing, and taking no responsibility C. Accepting affection from multiple admirers while keeping things ambiguous D. Sweet-talking you into a relationship, then turning manipulative

Xie Yichen hadn’t ordered any alcohol. He had a sparkling drink, and was now sitting with his eyes half-down, biting the straw, the whole of him sprawled languidly into the soft chair.

He and Ning Sui were sharing a sofa seat, and without thinking about it, had ended up sitting fairly close. It was hard to tell whether that faint rose scent was coming from the diffuser 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 from the side and exclaimed: “Yichen — why is your drink red? Is it strawberry?”

It was red tea, thank you very much.

Also, he’d pointed at the picture on the menu and ordered it completely at random.

Xie Yichen couldn’t be bothered to explain it. He looked sideways, and caught Ning Sui’s expression — thoughtful, and then quietly, mildly dawning with comprehension.

“?”

“So that explains it — no wonder you don’t mind accepting strawberry cakes.”