He went directly to find Huang Yingshi: “Forgive me for being so forward, but do you have an employee named Jiang Du?”
He had named her directly. Out of social courtesy, Huang Yingshi smiled and asked, “Does Mr. Wei know Xiao Jiang?”
Xiao Jiang, Xiao Jiang — such an ordinary way to address someone. A company could have a Xiao Zhang, a Xiao Wang, a Xiao Li, and of course a Xiao Jiang too. Yet how remarkable that nickname was. Jiang Du was no longer a young girl; like him, she had grown up by many years.
Wei Qingyue said he knew her — they were high school classmates. He had just caught a glimpse of someone passing by who looked like her, but he wasn’t entirely certain.
High school classmates? Huang Yingshi was surprised. She had never heard Jiang Du mention it, and so quite naturally, she told Wei Qingyue a little about Jiang Du’s situation.
Aside from its interview programs, the company also ran several new media accounts that followed closely on trending topics. There was a dedicated team responsible for writing content for the public-facing channel, and overseeing the quality of those articles was precisely Jiang Du’s job. Three to four articles were published per week, with a very strong average weekly readership. In the eyes of Huang Yingshi and her colleagues, Jiang Du was shy and averse to conversation — unless workplace communication was strictly necessary, she said as little as possible, presenting a very classic case of social anxiety.
In the hotel parking lot, the driver, Old Luo, was still waiting for him. Wei Qingyue raised his wrist to check the time and frowned. Had his watch stopped? The time wasn’t moving at all. He wondered whether today was cursed, or whether the hotel’s feng shui was bad — every instrument for measuring time seemed to have broken down.
He called Old Luo and asked him to come up and take the watch to a shop for repair. Wei Qingyue had a compulsive relationship with time; his watch was essential to him. Without the time, he had no way to find his bearings in the city. The time on his watch had to exist at every moment.
The smog showed not the slightest intention of dispersing.
Wei Qingyue came looking for Jiang Du. In an adjacent room, several interns were discussing the cover image for the current issue and speculating about how the footage would end up being edited. He spotted a girl with a permed, woolly curl — a very slender figure, wearing a black dress, with thin and pale arms just as he remembered. She was explaining to the newest intern how to use an artificial intelligence system to select images — a system that was, in fact, a product developed by Lingdong Technology, the company Wei Qingyue worked for.
He only saw her from behind, and from the arms alone, he knew it was Jiang Du.
Wei Qingyue rapped his fingers against the surface, and the people inside looked up one by one, glancing in his direction, then apparently nudging Jiang Du.
Turn around and look at me. Turn around and look at me. See me. Wei Qingyue recited this in his heart, again and again.
Jiang Du finally turned around, and a smile rose onto that refined face — a face that now carried the flavor of a young man.
He saw a flash of panic in Jiang Du’s eyes. Clearly she had recognized him, which was not difficult at all. The seas had shifted and the clouds had changed form, but Wei Qingyue was still Wei Qingyue. All these years, he had kept the same hairstyle from his school days; his height had barely changed; his figure hadn’t altered by a single inch. He had done everything in his power to preserve his original appearance — so that Jiang Du would be able to recognize him at first glance.
Even if only to increase the odds that, on some busy street, she might catch a glimpse of a familiar silhouette and he would catch up to her.
But there would always be some degree of change. He was a man now, no longer young.
“I’m looking for Miss Jiang — would it be convenient for her to come out for a moment?” Wei Qingyue paid no heed to the curious gazes of the others. When he spoke those three words — Miss Jiang — he bit down on them with some weight.
Jiang Du’s face had grown very small — almost smaller than in her girlhood, perhaps because of her hair, which was fluffy and dense and clustered around a face that was clear and fair, touched with a light trace of lipstick.
She raised her eyes to look at him, and for an instant, time vanished. When she saw Wei Qingyue walking closer with that unchanging, slightly long hair, every dream she had dreamed in her girlhood came flooding back — bittersweet and vivid. She felt as though she had bumped against the light overhead, but the light was like the kind from her childhood home — dim, yellowed, an old bulb — and at the slightest touch, every shadow in the room swayed, as if caught in a gust of wind.
Jiang Du made a great effort to keep her expression looking calm, wearing the graceful lightness of an adult meeting an old acquaintance with a smile. She told the interns she was stepping out for a moment, and then followed Wei Qingyue toward the emergency exit.
“Long time no see, Miss Jiang.” Wei Qingyue still pressed down on the form of address. He extended his hand. Jiang Du seemed unprepared for this sudden reunion — her expression looked more like one of helplessness — and besides, her face had gone red, and her eyes had filled with a mist of unshed tears.
“After all these years, you’re still pretending not to recognize me?” Wei Qingyue looked at her with a smile. His hand hung in midair, and rather than retracting it with any trace of dejection, he reached directly down to take hold of her hanging hand, gripping it with gentle pressure. “I’m Wei Qingyue. Have you forgotten who I am?”
Jiang Du felt in that instant as though her entire soul had been seized.
The two of them remained in the awkward posture of a handshake. Jiang Du pressed her lips together; the mist in her eyes grew heavier and heavier. She stared at his face without blinking. Wei Qingyue said nothing and did not look away, waiting patiently as she took him in. His eyebrows were still that dark, his nose still that straight; the angles of his face had shifted slightly — sharper now, more defined. Time had been at work sculpting those features.
The world grew very quiet.
At last, Jiang Du slowly allowed a tiny smile to bloom — thin as a sliver of hope, unfurling at the corner of her mouth. She gave a gentle nod. “I remember you,” she said softly, and withdrew her hand, her whole body trembling with an involuntary, barely perceptible quiver.
“Good. Are you free tonight? Come have dinner with me?” Wei Qingyue’s tone was that of a question, but his manner carried an authority that brooked no contradiction.
Jiang Du’s heart turned achingly sour at a speed that defied belief. She looked at him, speechless, as though trying to determine whether this was a dream living beside her, or whether the real world had simply become this way.
If it was a dream, she hoped she would wake up soon. She couldn’t help glancing outward — were the tall buildings still there? Was the sky still there? Could she make out the flow of traffic, and the traffic lights cycling through their colors?
“I’m free,” Jiang Du said, her chest rising and falling in a gentle swell. Dream or not, she was going to say yes to him first.
“Good. What time do you finish? I’ll come pick you up.” Wei Qingyue made the decision unilaterally, pulling out his phone. “Give me your contact information.”
He didn’t pause to consider whether this approach was too abrupt — severing a twelve-year connection and then expecting to pick it back up again within a single minute.
As she typed in her number, his fingers moved in a way that was almost imperceptible, and when he glanced up, he met the deep, dark, beautiful depths of Jiang Du’s gaze.
She seemed to genuinely not know what to say to him — even more silent than before. Wei Qingyue very much wanted to be angry with her, to ask her: What on earth happened? Why were you nowhere to be found all these years? Why did you never once reach out to me of your own accord?
But the moment he saw Jiang Du, all the resentment that had accumulated over those many years dissolved, miraculously, in the space of a single second.
He had an inauguration ceremony to attend that afternoon, organized by the Intelligent Industry Research Institute at T University, co-hosted by several major corporations and well-known automakers, launching an artificial intelligence training camp.
“I’ll be in touch.” Wei Qingyue said this while his phone was already ringing. He offered a quick “excuse me” and took the call right in front of her. Jiang Du, mindful of propriety, gestured gently to indicate she would leave first.
Wei Qingyue answered the call with one hand and caught her by the wrist with the other, his gaze saying plainly: Don’t go.
The gesture had no regard for boundaries whatsoever. He wasn’t afraid of putting off a girl he hadn’t seen in over a decade.
Jiang Du had no choice but to stay where she was. She said nothing, standing as though at the bottom of a deep sea. Whatever he was saying, she hadn’t registered a single word of the content — only his voice. She was simply listening to that voice.
Wei Qingyue talked on the phone while keeping his eyes fixed on her, his gaze not shifting by so much as a fraction.
This was nothing like what he had planned. All that nonsense about a gradual approach, or playing hard to get — he felt that every elaborate reunion scenario he had mentally rehearsed over the years was utterly foolish. He was twenty-eight. Nearly a third of his life had already passed. What was there left to squander? Life was short. Both he and she were people approaching thirty, standing on the ruins of their youth. If you wanted something, you should say it. If you wanted to do something, you should do it at once. Not another second of life should be wasted.
The phone was finally lowered from his ear. Wei Qingyue said, “I have to go, but I’ll come pick you up on time.”
Jiang Du’s heart pounded as she tried to match his pace: “Do you know where our company is?”
“I do.” Wei Qingyue was smiling. “Wait for me. I’ll definitely be there.”
Jiang Du gave another small nod. She was a person of few words: “Then I’ll wait for you.”
The reunion felt abrupt, and yet so natural.
At the afternoon inauguration ceremony, members of the Economic and Technological Development Zone committee, professors from the research institute, and chief researchers were all in attendance. Wei Qingyue brought his company’s head of research and development. Centering on the chosen topic, he shared with everyone the company’s technical vision and gave a concrete demonstration of a 3D model.
The three automakers present were all partners of Lingdong Technology, where Wei Qingyue worked, and it had already been confirmed that Level 4 intelligent-driving vehicles would be launched in 2025.
The entire proceedings were ultimately condensed by him into a ten-minute summary, made into accessible popular science content and posted online.
By the time Wei Qingyue came to find Jiang Du, her off-hours had already passed. He was in the underground parking lot, calling Jiang Du from his modified Mustang.
Before long, a figure stepped out of the elevator. As Jiang Du walked, she looked around. Wei Qingyue got out of the car and snapped his fingers.
The way she walked — so calm and quiet. Wei Qingyue found everything strangely familiar; that sense of familiarity carried with it a bittersweet warmth.
What had never changed about him was that effortless air of ease and nonchalance. He had turned up to the interview in sneakers; only for the inauguration ceremony had he changed into a white button-down shirt and tailored trousers, standing there impeccably as he greeted Jiang Du:
“Sorry, I’m a little late.”
Jiang Du tucked her hair behind her ear, her earlobes pale and luminous in the light. She offered the shy smile he remembered so well: “It’s all right. I put in a little extra time at work.”
He gallantly jogged over to open the car door for her, all long arms and long legs, the muscles in his arm tautening with a distinctly masculine strength as he pulled the door open.
“What would you like to eat?” Wei Qingyue brought up the topic of food very naturally. When Jiang Du said “Whatever you think is fine,” he replied, “Then I’ll decide.”
“Okay.” Jiang Du quietly fastened her seatbelt. Her posture was good; her whole body was tense.
“After all these years apart, you’re still this nervous around me?” Wei Qingyue teased her, glancing her way. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap. He very much wanted to reach out and touch that hand, to hold it in his palm.
Jiang Du gave a restrained smile, nodded, then shook her head — confused by her own contradictory responses.
“I’m very happy to have seen you today. And you?” He cleared his throat softly. The car eased its way out of the parking lot and plunged immediately into the surging neon of the city. “Shouldn’t the feeling be mutual?”
That was far too direct — it completely bypassed the conventional steps in the development of feelings between a man and a woman.
Just as he had expected, Jiang Du felt embarrassed. What kind of situation was this? Wei Qingyue was deliberately ignoring the gap of more than a decade between them, as though he and she could simply speak to each other like this from the very start.
“Happy,” she said, her voice very soft. All her emotions were pressed behind her heart. Her gaze began to wander, apparently finding the interior of his car curious, as her eyes moved over the configuration in small, subtle sweeps.
Wei Qingyue caught the movement of her gaze; even his voice carried a smile:
“I modified this car myself. It was originally a used secondhand vehicle.”
Jiang Du looked at him in surprise. Wei Qingyue actually drove a secondhand car — the price didn’t quite match what you’d expect from someone of his standing as a tech figure. Not only had he bought a beat-up old car, he had modified it himself?
But somehow that wasn’t hard to understand. He had always been this way — one of a kind.
Without waiting for her to ask, Wei Qingyue continued: “It’s nothing really. The domestic situation isn’t like overseas. Regulations abroad are comparatively loose in this area, so this time it was just a matter of adding some comfort improvements. It’s not like overseas, where you can reprogram every single system.”
“You can do that yourself?” Learning of something novel and technical, Jiang Du showed no expression of surprise — she was more interested in the fact that it was Wei Qingyue who had done it.
“Yes,” Wei Qingyue told her. “I like to tinker.”
The soft interior lighting fell on his handsome profile like a dream.
The overwhelming sense of a dream — surreal and unreal — made Jiang Du suddenly unable to breathe properly. She wanted to grab hold of his arm, but she knew that was too abrupt, and could only release a quiet sigh: “You’re still so clever.”
“When you compliment me, I feel happy,” Wei Qingyue said — he had become remarkably expressive about his immediate feelings. Something about him had clearly changed. “Shouldn’t I return the compliment? Tell you that you’ve grown even more beautiful?”
Jiang Du finally smiled. With some self-consciousness she turned her head away to look out the window.
Outside was the rapidly receding skyline, and beautiful lights — the city like a dazzling, many-colored planet.
She was almost on the verge of tears: You came looking for me, Wei Qingyue. So then — what happens next?
“Let’s go to Dragon Phoenix Pavilion, shall we — the lobster bisque rice. Oh, by the way, you’re not allergic to seafood, are you?” Wei Qingyue’s voice drifted into her awareness once more, and she turned to find his face entirely, unflinchingly earnest.
Jiang Du shook her head and sat up straight again, eyes facing forward.
“Would you like to listen to some music?” Wei Qingyue said. “Though I only have two songs.”
Jiang Du immediately turned to look at him.
Soon the familiar, wistful opening notes of “Half a Heart” filled the car. Jiang Du’s vision blurred in an instant. The melody from years long past was like a lake of gentle, lethal water, wrapping them both inside the present moment.
Neither of them spoke again after that. They listened to “Half a Heart” through to the end, then to “Cold Rain Night” — cycling through, one following the other, interlocking, like a circle you could never exit — until the car stopped near the restaurant and Wei Qingyue retrieved a jacket from the back seat, draped it over his arm, and went in with Jiang Du to order.
Jiang Du was still that same agreeable, indifferent-to-details personality. She told him to order. Wei Qingyue didn’t bother pressing her on the matter, and quite decisively ordered a whole array of dishes.
“There are a lot of things I want to ask you,” Wei Qingyue said with a smile. “I’m not sure which to start with. Have these years been good to you?”
To his eyes, Jiang Du’s face always had a slightly unreal quality — perhaps because the longing had lasted so long that its actual fulfillment produced this strange feeling.
As he said this, his gaze slowly swept over every inch of her face: the unruly bangs, the eyebrows, the eyes, the nose, the rose-petal lips.
“Well enough,” Jiang Du said. She had no wish to speak of hardship. She asked in return, “And you?”
“Muddling along,” he said with a sly smile. “My career history — I won’t go into it. It’s all on the record, all official. I hope it didn’t make me seem pretentious to your team. Can we talk about something personal instead?”
His tone had suddenly grown a few degrees warmer. Jiang Du bent her head politely over her shrimp balls, murmured a soft “mm,” her mind entirely occupied with the word personal.
“I’m not sure whether you’ll want to hear it.” Wei Qingyue looked at her deeply, his gaze searching. He could feel it — that Jiang Du was avoiding him, whether deliberately or not. Was it because they had been apart too long? Or was it the same as before?
He felt a touch of disappointment. Or perhaps his overly direct manner had exceeded her comfortable social distance. How could he be so certain that Jiang Du felt something for him?
A moment of silence.
Jiang Du slowly lifted her head, her tone careful: “You still want to say it?”
“I’ve suddenly lost track of what to say.” Wei Qingyue admitted it honestly, with a small laugh.
“I’m very glad to listen to whatever you say — it’s just that if you’re going to talk about Lingdong Technology’s business, I might not follow very well. I’m quite old-fashioned, really. As far as cutting-edge technology goes, I’ve only ever heard the terms.” As Jiang Du finished, a faint flush crept across her face, hidden by the restaurant lighting.
Wei Qingyue seemed to catch something in that. He asked with amusement: “Old-fashioned how? In what way are you old-fashioned?”
Jiang Du spoke in her unhurried way: “I rarely order food delivery, and I rarely shop online. I don’t like chatting with people over the internet. Outside of work, there’s almost no other content in my WeChat history. When I need to let my grandparents know something, I prefer to call them — I don’t like sending WeChat messages. I don’t like using my phone much in general. I feel that I’m actually out of sync with the times — a person full of old-world inertia, though I’m not sure that’s exactly the right phrase.”
“Not at all,” Wei Qingyue said to her with a gentle smile. “What does it mean to be out of sync with the times? There’s no rule that says you have to like what everyone else likes.”
“Thank you for understanding.” In Jiang Du’s manner, there was a kind of polite reserve, as if she were looking at the world from a certain distance.
Wei Qingyue studied her with that ever-present quality of quiet scrutiny, until Jiang Du gradually grew uncomfortable under his gaze. He laughed softly and asked: “Are your grandparents well? Are they still here in the city?”
“Both in good health. They’re both here. But we can’t afford to buy a place — we’re renting somewhere close to my office. It’s a little small, not as big as our old home.” When Jiang Du said they couldn’t afford to buy, she said it with remarkable composure, as though it weren’t any great matter at all.
Wei Qingyue nodded. He said: “I remember your grandfather’s cooking was very good.” His fingers unconsciously tapped against the surface of the table. “Sometime soon — may I come visit? To see how your grandparents are doing.”
Jiang Du was briefly taken aback. She wore the expression of someone who couldn’t quite decipher what Wei Qingyue was thinking. Those beautiful eyes of hers, whenever they looked at someone, always seemed to carry three parts wariness, and a sorrow as faint as smoke.
“Was that too presumptuous?” Wei Qingyue asked. “If you don’t think it would be inappropriate, pretend I never brought up such a forward topic.”
“Do you really want to come?” Jiang Du looked at him with a hint of timidity. “I can’t tell whether you’re saying it out of politeness or what. I’m afraid I’d take it the wrong way.”
“There’s no such thing as polite talk between you and me. What I say is what I mean,” Wei Qingyue corrected her. “Try this — the fish maw and chicken shred broth. The flavor is quite good.”
“Wei Qingyue,” Jiang Du suddenly called his name. When he actually looked at her, her gaze immediately skittered away. She appeared to be absorbed in tending to the food on her plate. “Do you think of me today as still being a good friend? The way we were back in high school?”
Wei Qingyue’s chewing slowed. He took a sip of clear tea and said: “No. I don’t think of you as a good friend. Nor do I have any intention of doing so.”
Jiang Du immediately stopped moving, her brow faintly creasing, lips pressed tightly together. She thought: Then why did you come looking for me?
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Wei Qingyue asked in a low, steady voice.
The question came so suddenly that Jiang Du was thrown into instant awkwardness. She shook her head.
“What a coincidence — I don’t have a girlfriend either. Now, from what you can see of me as a person — would I do as your boyfriend?” Wei Qingyue said it directly and plainly. He was at once restrained and bold; his gaze blazed and sharpened, like a close-woven net cast over Jiang Du.