Looking back on it afterward, the timing of their reunion was far from ideal.

…Far from ideal was an understatement — it was an absolute disaster.

Zhu Yun received a call from Ren Di in the middle of the night, asking her for a favor: to contact Tian Xiuzhu and have him take a look at the album cover design draft for the band. It was so late that Zhu Yun, half-asleep, thought she was dreaming. But the very next morning, Ren Di called again.

Ren Di rarely took the initiative to call anyone, so Zhu Yun assumed it must be truly urgent. Without a second thought, she pulled Tian Xiuzhu out of his studio.

And that was where she saw Li Xun.

To be precise, she hadn’t actually “seen” him — which was exactly why the timing was such a disaster.

Ren Di had arranged to meet at a café, and Zhu Yun had already found it strange. The Qing Hong Band was enormously popular right now; they couldn’t even stroll down the street without drawing attention — so why would they so brazenly agree to meet at a café? But at the time, Zhu Yun hadn’t given it much thought.

The café was busy. Zhu Yun and Tian Xiuzhu sat at the most conspicuous table by the window, waiting for Ren Di. Tian Xiuzhu was dressed casually, settled into a chair surrounded by trailing vines, looking as clean and refreshing as one of his own paintings.

At that moment, Li Xun was sitting at a table just five meters away.

She hadn’t noticed him at all.

When Li Xun left the café, Zhu Yun caught a glimpse of a dark figure at the door — there and gone in an instant. But even then, she didn’t recognize who it was. She continued chatting with Tian Xiuzhu, yet as they talked, that brief image kept flashing through her mind, again and again.

Each time it flashed, the image grew a little clearer. Gradually, she stopped hearing what Tian Xiuzhu was saying, stopped knowing what she herself was saying — until, with a jolt of disbelief, she found that the figure’s silhouette had sharpened enough to align perfectly with her memories.

Her heart thumped. She still didn’t dare believe it.

“What’s wrong?” Tian Xiuzhu noticed something was off.

Zhu Yun stood and rushed outside. People came and went along the street, but there was no sign of that sharp, striking figure.

Just then, a thin, slight man approached her and asked in a taunting tone: “Looking for Li Xun?”

Hearing that name, Zhu Yun felt a sudden wave of dizziness.

Everything had been confirmed.

Li Xun.

Over the years, she had silently invoked his name countless times — but always as a call into the void, never expecting a response, so accustomed to that silence she had grown. This moment was different. His name rose in her mind and instantly his face and form came into sharp, vivid focus — as if, in the very next second, someone might step out and answer.

Zhu Yun’s palms grew warm. She looked at the man in front of her.

“Who are you, and where is Li Xun?”

Hou Ning’s tone was sharp with barbs. “You couldn’t even recognize him — and now you’re asking where he is?”

Tian Xiuzhu came out of the café and moved to Zhu Yun’s side. His presence softened Hou Ning’s edge somewhat, but the snide remarks kept coming.

“We came to collect money. Who knew his old friends would turn out to be such hypocrites — refusing to pay was one thing, but then they go and…” He glanced over Zhu Yun and Tian Xiuzhu, left the sentence unfinished, and let out a cold, contemptuous snort.

Zhu Yun understood that Ren Di had orchestrated all of this. She had no time to think about Ren Di’s intentions, and asked Hou Ning again: “Where is Li Xun?”

“That’s none of your business. I came back just to scold you dogs — you lot who wronged him.” Hou Ning said his piece, then turned and walked away.

Zhu Yun stood frozen in the street. Tian Xiuzhu’s hand came to rest gently on her shoulder.

She snapped back to herself and caught up with Hou Ning in a few quick steps. Hearing the click of high heels drawing closer and closer from behind, he turned — and was seized by the collar. Hou Ning let out a reflexive shout. Zhu Yun, ignoring the stares of passersby, yanked him toward the narrow alley behind the café.

Hou Ning had never expected Zhu Yun to be so direct. He was small and wiry, barely shorter than her, and she gripped him with such force that he was completely helpless to resist.

Zhu Yun dragged Hou Ning into a corner, shoved him against the wall, stepped in close, and stared him down.

“I’ll ask you one more time. Where is Li Xun?” She held his gaze. “And who are you?”

She asked one question at a time. With each one, Hou Ning grew more unsettled.

It had been only a short walk, yet this woman’s expression was entirely different from what it had been moments ago. From the sunlit street into this cold, shadowed alley — she had changed in exactly the same way. The initial shock and grief had passed, and Zhu Yun’s eyes had turned calm and steady, measuring him from head to toe, weighing and sizing him up.

Hou Ning had no defense against that kind of look. He was used to lurking in the shadows, hiding behind screens — all his emotions lived underground, unfit to be brought into the light.

Just as Hou Ning’s legs began to go weak, Zhu Yun heard a voice behind her —

“Let him go.”

It was a strange feeling. After all these years, Zhu Yun had always thought of herself as the kind of woman others would call dominant. She had excelled academically, and after returning from abroad, she had never joined a company — at first because she wanted to explore domestic projects and build a foundation for her goals, then simply because she had grown too accustomed to freedom to follow anyone else’s arrangements.

All of that dissolved the moment she heard those two words.

Zhu Yun released her grip. Hou Ning immediately scrambled behind Li Xun.

She turned around.

The same black clothes she had glimpsed before. A tall, lean frame. Dark hair that made the angles of his face appear even sharper. Time had left its mark on him — though not heavily. At first glance he seemed greatly changed, but look closely and he was exactly as she remembered, only the edges had been honed to a keener point.

Li Xun stood with both hands in his pockets, chin tilted slightly upward as he looked at her — a posture that made her throat tighten.

Hou Ning tugged at Li Xun’s sleeve, eager to leave. At the mouth of the alley, Tian Xiuzhu stood waiting.

Zhu Yun opened her mouth. The first time, his name didn’t come out. She said quietly: “…Come this way.”

Li Xun followed her toward the deepest end of the alley, leaving Hou Ning and Tian Xiuzhu outside. Hou Ning was still tense — he had said what he wanted to say, called them dogs just to feel good about it, but the woman alone was terrifying enough. What about the man…

“Is that Li Xun?”

Hou Ning flinched, then realized Tian Xiuzhu’s voice was far gentler than Zhu Yun’s. He glanced sideways. Tian Xiuzhu was watching the two figures deeper in the alley and gave a soft, quiet laugh.

“Exactly as she described him.”

It had rained the night before. The ground was muddy and waterlogged, and beads of moisture seeped through the dark, weathered walls.

The alley was less than three meters wide. No vehicles could pass through it, and the road was old and pitted. A few bicycles leaned against the side, abandoned long enough that their tires had gone flat; weeds had stubbornly pushed their way up through the cracks in the pavement.

Squelch.

A clump of weeds was flattened under Zhu Yun’s heel.

She stopped and looked at Li Xun.

“How long have you been out?” she asked.

“Not long.”

“Why didn’t you come find me?”

Li Xun gave a faint, dismissive laugh.

Zhu Yun felt an inexplicable unease. “It was Ren Di who asked me to come. Did she bring you here too? That man just said you came to collect money — what are you planning to do?”

He still didn’t answer. The meeting felt too sudden, too overwhelming. She lowered her voice. “Do you have time later?”

“No.”

Li Xun declined without a second thought, as if this brief encounter had already been more than enough. He made to leave — but Zhu Yun deliberately blocked his path. He couldn’t get past.

“Move,” he said.

Zhu Yun didn’t step aside. She asked, “Who was that man? He doesn’t seem like someone who stays on the right side of things.”

Li Xun looked almost amused. “And you think I do?” There was a smile on his face, but it was utterly remote. With his gaze alone he drew a quiet line — giving Zhu Yun no opening to speak of the past.

Zhu Yun felt a creeping frustration. She asked quietly: “Where are you living now?”

“West side of the city.”

Zhu Yun’s eyes lit up at once. “Your brother is over there too.”

Li Xun said nothing.

“He opened a dance school on his own — teaches children. It’s right at —”

“Zhu Yun,” Li Xun cut her off. “We’re all pressed for time. Let’s not talk about things that don’t matter.”

“I’m not pressed for time,” Zhu Yun said.

Li Xun raised an eyebrow. He was standing close enough that his gaze bore down on her, entirely from above. He stepped half a pace forward, his expression sardonic. “Just because you’re not in a hurry doesn’t mean others aren’t.”

At this distance, the two of them and the alley walls on either side formed a natural enclosed space. His voice turned and circled within that narrow chamber, pressing in from all directions, seeping into her from every side.

In the brief moment her attention wavered, Li Xun slipped past her and walked out of the alley, disappearing into the crowd on the street.

Hou Ning moved to follow him, but Zhu Yun, rushing up from behind, grabbed his arm.

“How do we contact you? Where are you staying?”

“Mind your own business.”

“What are you planning to do?”

Hou Ning grumbled under his breath about why Li Xun hadn’t waited for him, all while brushing off Zhu Yun’s questions.

“What does our plan have to do with you?”

Zhu Yun tilted her head slightly, bringing herself face-to-face with Hou Ning. He noticed that her eyes were very clear — beautiful and bright, open and unclouded.

“Did you meet him in prison?” she asked.

“What of it,” Hou Ning grunted.

“I have a feeling you’ve been itching to do something.” Zhu Yun said. “I don’t know what you’re scheming, but I’m warning you — don’t go getting ideas about him.”

Hou Ning had always been a deeply contradictory person. On one hand, he was terrified of society and lacked the ability to connect with others; on the other, he was enormously arrogant — especially in this age, where his exceptional computer skills made him feel like an assassin lurking in the shadows, invisible and unremarkable, yet capable of delivering a fatal blow to anyone who looked down on him. They wouldn’t even know who they’d crossed.

But a shadow was still a shadow.

Let the sunlight in, and every piece of filth and waste inside is laid bare for all to see.

“Don’t think you know him better than you do.” Hou Ning said coldly. “He’s not the person you remember anymore. We’ve had too much time wasted from us. On this entire street, how many people are more capable than us? And look at where we are now. Don’t bother giving us those hollow, painless words of encouragement about starting over. It wasn’t you who went to prison. We have our own ways of getting money — we don’t need your —”

He stopped mid-sentence as Zhu Yun shoved him against the wall again. Tian Xiuzhu reached for her arm. “Calm down,” he said quietly.

Zhu Yun’s eyes were red-rimmed, and she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

“Don’t compare yourself to him. What gives you the right?”

Had Tian Xiuzhu not been holding her back, she might well have gone for Hou Ning’s throat. Her fingertips pressed sharp against his jaw as she said, word by word: “Let me make one thing clear — he may have gone to prison, but he is nowhere near a ‘bad person.’ Not even close.”

Hou Ning, rattled by her expression, muttered in weak defiance: “…That was before. You don’t know what he thinks now.”

Zhu Yun didn’t waste words arguing. She roughly rummaged through his belongings and pulled out his phone, then dialed the only contact saved on it.

The other end answered with a lazy, drawn-out greeting. Zhu Yun went straight to the point.

“Do you still remember what you set out to do?”

A few seconds of silence — then Li Xun hung up.

Hou Ning snapped back to reality and snatched the phone back, shouting at Zhu Yun: “You talk such a high-minded line — and yet you didn’t even recognize him just now!” He shoved past her roughly, then vented his frustration with a shoulder-check against Tian Xiuzhu, and stormed out of the alley.

Zhu Yun stood with one hand on her waist, breathing slowly and deeply.

She caught the smell of damp earth. The scent from the rain-soaked ground was strong, and she was oddly surprised she’d only noticed it now.

“Let’s go,” Tian Xiuzhu said quietly.

Hou Ning ran with his head down for half a block before he finally spotted Li Xun leaning against a tree along the roadside, smoking. He’d run so hard his lungs felt like they were about to give out. He crouched down beside Li Xun, wheezing.

“You didn’t even wait for me!” he gasped. “That woman is as fierce as some kind of she-devil!”

Li Xun said nothing. Hou Ning looked up at him. “You ran off so fast — don’t tell me you were scared of her too.”

Li Xun shot him a cold look. Then Hou Ning suddenly brightened, pulling two wallets out from inside his jacket.

“Look! The wallets from that man and that woman — I grabbed them on my way out!”

“…”

Li Xun, cigarette between his lips, said nothing and looked up at the treetops above.

Having seen Zhu Yun, he was even quieter than usual.

“It doesn’t matter that the singer wouldn’t give us money,” Hou Ning said with a sly grin. “Bringing down an entire company might be tricky, but bringing down two people individually? That’s easy. I have a dozen ways to drain them dry. Or hey — two-for-one deal, take their friends and family along too. I’ve got a great idea — once we get their money, we spend it all on dog food and mail it back to them. What do you think — wait, huh?”

Hou Ning had been going on with great enthusiasm when he suddenly stopped, his gaze falling on the wallet in his hand — Zhu Yun’s wallet.

Inside the car, Tian Xiuzhu reminded Zhu Yun, sitting in the passenger seat, to put on her seatbelt.

“What did you two talk about?” Tian Xiuzhu asked as he started the engine.

“Nothing much. He wouldn’t say anything.”

Tian Xiuzhu drove the car up from the underground garage to street level. The light hit them both, and they squinted.

“He doesn’t trust me,” Zhu Yun said. “I didn’t recognize him, and I was with you. He thinks I betrayed him.”

“Not recognizing him isn’t the same as betraying him,” Tian Xiuzhu said, his voice as even as always. “You didn’t know he was out, and you had no idea he’d be there today. It’s him and his friend who are twisting things around. As for the two of us — did he really expect you to go six years without talking to any man, without sharing a meal with one? That makes no sense.”

Zhu Yun looked out the window, and said quietly: “Back when I first got together with him, I felt like even comparing him to other men was a betrayal.”

Tian Xiuzhu drove in silence.

“But after all this time…” Zhu Yun said.

“Six years is a long time,” Tian Xiuzhu said. “Time changes a lot of things — no one is to blame for that. Besides, you were both so young back then. Every moment felt like forever.”

He took advantage of a clear stretch of road to glance over, holding her gaze for a moment.

“No one else’s words matter in something like this. Only you know the answer. Do you feel like you betrayed him?”

Hou Ning stared in astonishment at the wallet in his hands.

“This is yours?”

Tucked inside the innermost compartment of Zhu Yun’s wallet, he had found a photograph.

It was candid — taken without the subject’s knowledge. In a slightly sparse conference hall, a tall young man stood at the front of the room, speaking to an audience. The photo’s resolution was terrible; the man’s face was indistinguishable, but a head of golden hair blazed brilliantly against the murky image, letting you feel, even through its blur, the young man’s brash energy and soaring ambition.

Li Xun took the photo.

It was old, but well-preserved. The only smudge on it came from Hou Ning’s dirty fingers just now — the first mark it had received in six years.

No.

He paused.

More than six years, wasn’t it?

When was this taken?

Li Xun held the photo in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He forgot to smoke, just as he had forgotten who that bright-spirited figure in the photo was.

Eight years? Nine?

The stub of the cigarette dropped to the ground. He freed his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose.

What was that company called again…

Time was a terrifying thing.

A gust of wind moved through. Leaves drifted down from the tree. The photo shifted in his grip, and he instinctively tightened his fingers around it.

Inside a passing car, Zhu Yun watched the falling leaves through the window, lost in long, careful thought.

She had to admit it: six years had worn away many of the tender details. What remained were the days and nights they had fought for something together, and the path he had lit the way toward — the one he never got to walk. Those things were carved into her memory still, immovable as bedrock, rising out of the ruins that time had made, solid and enduring.

Time had inevitably worn down so much, leaving only a concentrated core to weather the ages. Zhu Yun did not know what six years in prison had done to Li Xun, but she knew one thing: even now, if he pointed her in a direction, she would still abandon everything without hesitation, burning every bridge, staking it all on that one chance.

How exactly to define “betrayal,” Zhu Yun herself couldn’t say.