Xi Wen had never imagined that losing a marriage was something that could happen to her. The past few months had felt like one long, drawn-out nightmare — in an instant, everything that had once belonged to her had collapsed. Looking at the wreckage before her, she almost couldn’t tell whether her old life had ever been real at all.

It had all happened in winter, and her life itself seemed to have turned to winter overnight — nothing but desolation and a world grown unfamiliar.

Fortunately, she still had Qi Xi, and Qi Xi’s colleagues and boss, which let her begin rebuilding a new life after the quick, clean divorce and asset preservation process.

On Gu Xuehan’s recommendation, she went to intern at a newly founded law firm.

Xi Wen had once been a genuinely excellent student, but she’d been out of the workforce for far too long. She was older than the other interns fresh out of school, yet she hadn’t accumulated the experience that should have come with her age.

Regret was useless. Only by not looking back could a person keep moving forward.

Fortunately, the founder of this new firm was Zhao Lin, an old senior of Xi Wen’s from school. He’d previously worked at the courts, and his ex-wife had also been a colleague there. Back in school, Zhao Lin had been something of a campus celebrity — tall, handsome, gentle-natured and principled, which made him extremely popular, with plenty of admirers. But Zhao Lin never dated anyone during that time. Later, after he started working at the courts, his eventual ex-wife — also a colleague there — pursued him relentlessly, and it was through that slow, persistent affection that she eventually won him over. Except…

“…the workload at the grassroots court was heavy, and Zhao Lin, being very conscientious, threw himself entirely into work — no time for romance, and he’d never touch a cent of gray income either, so life wasn’t exactly comfortable; he always kept his hands clean. His ex-wife had originally been drawn to him partly for his looks — she was a bit of a romantic dreamer, fantasizing about the sweet, dramatic love and marriage you see on TV, with a real taste for material comforts. After actually marrying Zhao Lin, though, she found reality was nothing like that. The two of them never had children — they’d decided to be child-free. A while back, his ex-wife apparently grew restless and quickly ended up having an affair with a wealthy young new hire at the court. When Zhao Lin found out, he didn’t say much — he just calmly went through with the divorce.”

“Probably because it hurt him, and staying at the court would only bring back painful memories, he ended up resigning — even though he had a bright future there — and decided, at his age, to strike out and start his own law firm instead. He’d previously worked in the juvenile division, so now he wants to put that experience to use, focusing specifically on representing minors in legal cases.”

Gu Xuehan explained all this while also sounding a little wistful. “Honestly, the court tried hard to keep him — they’d basically promised him the next deputy court president position if he stayed. He was firm about leaving anyway.” She glanced at Xi Wen. “So, Senior Xi Wen, just something to keep in mind — try not to bring up his ex-wife with him. He’s only just gone through the divorce himself.”

Gu Xuehan had thoughtfully filled her in on so much, but there was one thing Xi Wen hadn’t been able to bring herself to mention — she and Zhao Lin already knew each other. Or, more precisely, she’d known him, one-sidedly.

Back in school, before she’d ever been with Qi Ruiming, Xi Wen — like most of the other girls in the law school — had, unremarkably, once had a crush on Zhao Lin. It was a strange coincidence, really: Zhao Lin had also been on the debate team early on, and Xi Wen’s own decision to join the team hadn’t been entirely innocent of his involvement either. But by the time she joined, Zhao Lin was already busy with his internship, and only occasionally came by to coach the team, so she’d never had much overlap with him. Even those coaching sessions were never one-on-one — Zhao Lin was so popular that he was always surrounded by people.

There was something Xi Wen had never told anyone — not even her own daughter Qi Xi. She hadn’t ended up with Qi Ruiming from the start; quite the opposite, actually. At first, Xi Wen had felt nothing at all for Qi Ruiming. In fact, she’d even once asked him to pass along a love letter to Zhao Lin on her behalf…

Xi Wen still remembered it clearly. Qi Ruiming had joined the debate team even later than she had, but because he lived in the same dorm building as Zhao Lin and often played ball with him, he’d grown much closer to Zhao Lin than anyone else on the team. Zhao Lin treated him almost like a little brother — which was exactly why Xi Wen had turned to Qi Ruiming for help.

Youthful feelings always sound like poetry in hindsight. Xi Wen would never be so naive now, but looking back on those years, she’d been young once too, timid and anxious. She recalled how she hadn’t even had the courage to hand over that confession letter herself, and couldn’t help a small, rueful laugh now.

The result of her confession had turned out exactly as she’d feared — a day later, Qi Ruiming returned the letter to her, apologetic, telling her that Zhao Lin had no plans to date anyone, that he wanted to focus on finishing his internship and building his career first, and that he thanked her for the sentiment but hoped she’d find someone more suitable.

Though she’d half-expected that outcome, it had still hurt when it actually happened — she remembered her eyes welling up at the time. Thankfully, Qi Ruiming had comforted her all the way through it, and after that, everything had followed naturally — Qi Ruiming began writing her love letters of his own, pursuing her in earnest. Because of his months of unwavering devotion, and the gentleness he’d shown her while comforting her after her failed confession, Xi Wen — who’d felt nothing for him at first — gradually gave in under his persistence and agreed to give it a try. And that “try” had lasted decades… only for it to end like this.

Thinking about it now, Xi Wen couldn’t help but feel a wave of dejection.

But she never let her emotions bleed into her work. After all, finding a firm and a boss willing to take her on at her age was already a rare stroke of luck — all the more reason to throw two hundred percent of her enthusiasm into the job, to make up for her shortcomings and repay both Zhao Lin and Gu Xuehan for their help.

Actually, when Gu Xuehan first recommended Xi Wen to Zhao Lin, Xi Wen had hesitated — she’d felt a little awkward about it. But at their first meeting, Zhao Lin’s manner toward her had been completely normal; he hadn’t even recognized her.

Xi Wen had felt a measure of relief at that — it seemed there’d been so many people confessing to Zhao Lin back in school that he simply couldn’t be expected to remember a junior like her, which would spare her plenty of unnecessary awkwardness working together going forward. But at the same time, she’d also felt a pang of disappointment — because, honestly, Zhao Lin had been her genuine first love, and no woman really wants her first love to mean nothing to the other person, to be entirely forgotten.

But these were just passing moments, and they didn’t affect Xi Wen’s ability to settle into her work. If anything, quite the opposite — she was deeply grateful to Zhao Lin for giving her this opportunity. When a person is going through heartbreak, they need something else to fall back on, something like work, like a career — because life can’t be lived without some kind of anchor. Without a goal, a person becomes as aimless and adrift as duckweed with no roots.

“To put it simply, I’d actually been wanting to leave the court system for a while now. Working in the juvenile division, I saw far too many cases of minors committing crimes. As a judge, I was supposed to weigh every angle and hand down fair rulings according to the law — but in many of these cases, the young defendants had no concept of the law at all. They’d never been properly educated by their parents or guardians, had no sense of legal responsibility, no capacity for empathy. Many of them had no idea their actions could destroy someone else’s ordinary, happy life.”

“After digging deeper and following the later outcomes of several of these young offenders, I realized that a child’s problems, at their root, are almost always adults’ problems. These kids who end up committing crimes and defying the law — before they ever became perpetrators, they were very often victims themselves. Domestic violence and abuse. School bullying. Sexual assault. Parents too irresponsible, drinking and gambling their lives away, leaving the child with no money even to eat, until they turn to pickpocketing and theft just to survive. Growing up in a world with no love, no guidance, they end up becoming what was done to them — turning around and hurting the next round of victims in turn.”

On Xi Wen’s very first day, Zhao Lin had called her into his office and spoken these words to her earnestly. He looked at her and said solemnly, “So the reason I founded this firm is that I want to use my experience from the juvenile division to provide more targeted legal services and assistance to young clients. These children who’ve broken the law should absolutely face legal consequences — but the suffering behind them also deserves society’s help, to fight for their rights, to help them escape whatever terrible environment shaped them. At the very least, the people who hurt them in the first place should also face consequences — only then does a court’s judgment on these kids actually mean something. Only then will they understand that everyone who does wrong gets punished, not just whoever happens to get caught.”

Moved by how seriously Zhao Lin spoke, Xi Wen found herself sitting up straighter, her own expression growing more solemn. She’d only heard from Gu Xuehan that Zhao Lin was starting his own firm, without any real sense of what kind of cases it actually handled. Hearing him explain it now, she suddenly felt the full weight of the responsibility on her shoulders.

Zhao Lin, for his part, seemed quite relaxed. He gave Xi Wen a gentle smile. “You don’t need to feel too nervous hearing all this — I just want you to be mentally prepared, because many of our clients come from troubled family backgrounds themselves. The fees for these cases are often minimal, and some are even pro bono legal aid work, with only a small case subsidy. So if you’re hoping to make real money at this firm, I’m afraid that’s not very realistic — this firm simply isn’t built to be profitable. If you don’t mind that, then feel free to stay and give it your all.”

Xi Wen genuinely didn’t mind — money wasn’t something she needed. What she needed, after her failed marriage, was to find a new footing in life, to find work she could pour her time and energy into without ever feeling like it was wasted.

She made a solemn promise to Zhao Lin. “Even though I’m hoping this return to work will let me support myself, making money isn’t my primary goal. At my age, I’m long past the point of craving material things. I just want my life to feel a bit more meaningful, a bit more fulfilling.”

Hearing this, Zhao Lin smiled too. “Then you can rest easy — we don’t have much money here, but we certainly don’t lack cases. You have no idea how many minors out there need our legal assistance. It’ll probably keep not just your working hours full, but your personal time too.”

“That would be perfect,” Xi Wen said, finally relaxing, smiling. “My daughter’s grown now, has her own career, doesn’t need me looking after her. I don’t have relevant work experience, but the one thing I have plenty of is time — overtime, business trips, none of that’s a problem for me.”

Though time wasn’t an issue, Xi Wen still felt a bit uneasy. “But I don’t have relevant work experience, so please don’t have unrealistic expectations of me. Just treat me like any other new intern — it’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but all I really have extra of is age…”

These past few months, Xi Wen hadn’t attended any class reunions or alumni gatherings, but she knew that many of her old classmates had changed — the once green, youthful students had, for many of them, let go of their old dreams, replaced by the beer bellies and worldly manners that time tends to leave behind, with less idealism, less fire in them than before.

But Zhao Lin felt different to her. Though time had changed his face — he was no longer the fresh-faced campus star he’d once been — beyond the ordinary signs of aging, something about him hadn’t changed at all.

Listening to him talk about why he’d founded this firm and what he hoped to achieve, Xi Wen felt something indescribable stirring inside her.

How wonderful, really. Time had turned Qi Ruiming into someone else entirely; it had changed many of her old classmates too — some had lost their way, some had made mistakes. And yet, here was someone who hadn’t changed at all.

Zhao Lin was still holding onto his ideals about the law, still keeping his principles, still trying, just as he always had, to use the law to help the vulnerable.

And after all this time, Zhao Lin was still just as patient and gentle as he’d been back in school — even toward Xi Wen’s own lack of confidence, he was still willing to earnestly encourage her—

“You may lack work experience, but you have an advantage that younger people don’t. You have a child of your own, and you’re close with her — so you understand young people’s mindsets far better than the rest of us do, which makes it easier for you to communicate with these troubled kids. A lot of juvenile offenders are, deep down, starved for love — many of them have never really experienced anything like a mother’s affection. You come across as warm and approachable, and your age makes it easier for these kids to trust you, to feel comfortable around you. If they can let their guard down and open up to us properly, that’s how we’ll find the right way to actually help them.”

He smiled. “So don’t you think that’s exactly your strength? Most of the people here are quite young — most of them don’t even have partners, let alone kids of their own. As for me, having chosen to stay child-free and now divorced, I’ve never actually raised a child either, and I’m honestly a bit rough around the edges myself — not as thoughtful and meticulous as you women tend to be. So in our work going forward, I’ll be relying on you quite a bit.”

That whole speech not only eased Xi Wen’s embarrassment about her age and lack of experience, it also restored her confidence in an instant, making her feel that she genuinely still had something to offer.

Xi Wen smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Attorney Zhao!”

Zhao Lin paused for a moment at that, but said nothing more, just nodded with a smile before heading off to attend to his own work.

The atmosphere at Zhao Lin’s new firm turned out to be even better than Xi Wen had expected. Zhao Lin himself was wonderful, of course, but the other newly hired interns were lively and warm too, around the same age as Qi Xi — Xi Wen found she had plenty to talk about with them, and learned all sorts of things about what young people were into these days.

As for the work itself, Xi Wen never felt too embarrassed by her age to ask the younger interns questions. Quite the opposite — she was eager to learn, kept a proper, humble attitude, and never once tried to pull rank because of her age. Sometimes, when the interns had urgent tasks they couldn’t finish in time, Xi Wen would volunteer to jump in and help. Over time, she became almost like a friend to these younger colleagues.

Zhao Lin’s firm wasn’t oriented toward profitable commercial work — he’d made that clear to every intern during hiring — so the people who’d ultimately chosen to join weren’t there chasing money. Most of them were idealistic young people who wanted to combine their efforts to make even a small dent in the current landscape of juvenile justice.

“Honestly, the reason I wanted to go into this field was simple — I’d once received help from Teacher Zhao myself, back when he was still Judge Zhao. My family was poor, my dad drank every day, my mom left, no one looked after me. I had no money to eat, was starving all the time, so I’d sneak into the supermarket to steal food. After enough times, I got caught. Judge Zhao happened to be passing by — he paid the store for what I’d taken, bought me a meal, sat and talked with me for a long time, and offered to cover my living expenses and school fees going forward. That’s how I made it through school and passed the bar exam.”

“Wait, really? Judge Zhao helped fund me too!”

…

Chatting over lunch one day, Xi Wen learned that half the interns at the firm had, at some point, received help from Zhao Lin — and inspired by him, had worked their way through law school and passed the bar exam. The moment they heard he’d left the courts to start his own firm, they’d applied without a second thought.

Talking with them, Xi Wen realized her young colleagues had come from all kinds of schools, some more prestigious than others. Zhao Lin hadn’t screened candidates by academic pedigree the way top firms often did — he cared more about their sense of purpose and responsibility toward the work, and was willing to give a chance to kids from less impressive academic backgrounds. As a result, nearly everyone he’d hired worked incredibly hard.

That energy and passion were infectious — Xi Wen found herself swept up in it almost immediately, becoming part of this warm little family, working late together, poring over case files together, discussing cases together, and somehow it all felt genuinely joyful.

At first, Xi Wen often struggled to keep up with her younger colleagues’ way of thinking when collaborating on cases or discussions, but before long, her life experience and careful, thorough way of thinking began to serve as a useful complement to the team. As time went on, Xi Wen found herself settling more and more comfortably into her role.

But no matter how much overtime they put in together, these young colleagues still had rich social lives outside work — dates, get-togethers with old classmates. By seven or eight in the evening, the office would empty out almost entirely, leaving only Xi Wen behind — Qi Xi was usually working late too, and had moved into a shared apartment with a friend for convenience, plus she was dating now. Even when Xi Wen went home, she was still alone.

So even though staying at the office alone felt a little lonely, it still beat going home to watch mindless TV — she might as well stay and keep working.

A few days later, Xi Wen noticed that Zhao Lin, perhaps because he’d taken on more cases lately, had also started staying late — and increasingly later at that.

Since Xi Wen had returned to the workforce, she had a great deal of knowledge and skills to catch up on, and often found herself absorbed in studying case files late into the night, completely losing track of time until she suddenly realized it was already past ten.

Yet every time she hurried to pack up her things around ten and head home, the light in Zhao Lin’s private office was still on — he seemed to be working even later than she was.

Because they were always staying late together, and close in age, at some point — Xi Wen couldn’t quite pin down when — Zhao Lin started inviting her to grab dinner together. They never went anywhere fancy, usually just grabbing set meals at a casual place downstairs from the firm. Even over dinner, Xi Wen would seize the chance to pull him into discussions about cases, but she never found it boring.

Zhao Lin was an excellent listener, remarkably tolerant — not like a typical harsh boss who scolds his subordinates. Perhaps from all his years working with troubled kids at the court, he carried a kind of elder’s gentleness about him. Whenever she had a new idea about a juvenile case, Xi Wen never hesitated to speak up.

Back with Qi Ruiming, she’d never been like this — she’d always had to gauge whether a topic was “safe” to bring up, whether it might upset him, and would default to safer subjects instead. But with Zhao Lin, for the first time, she felt completely free to be herself, willing to discuss even half-formed ideas about handling a case. And Zhao Lin rewarded that trust well — he never once criticized or mocked her for a naive approach to a case. Instead, he always praised her for thinking outside the box, always encouraged and protected that instinct in her.

“You’re just the same as you were back on the debate team — your reasoning was always a bit unconventional, catching your opponents completely off guard, never playing by the expected rules, which is exactly why you kept winning against the odds. So you don’t need to keep doubting yourself over this — sometimes that’s exactly what makes you shine, your strength.”

That evening, over their usual dinner, Zhao Lin — having just helped a young client resolve a case of school bullying — was in high spirits and had a bit to drink, growing chattier than usual. His tolerance for alcohol clearly wasn’t great; by now, his eyes, looking at Xi Wen, already carried a faint hint of drunkenness.

He smiled at her, then looked away, sighing softly. “You used to be so confident back in school, always a little proud of how sharp you were. When did you become so unsure of yourself?”

Zhao Lin had probably just said it offhandedly, a little tipsy — but Xi Wen froze.

“You… remember me?”

Back then, there’d been quite a few girls on the debate team — partly because the law school’s debate team was well-known, joining it was something of a tradition among law students, and partly because Zhao Lin was genuinely popular, drawing in many girls who’d joined largely to pursue him. As a result, turnover on the team had always been high. Xi Wen had assumed Zhao Lin wouldn’t remember her at all…

Yet, to her surprise, he did remember…

Did that mean he also remembered the confession letter she’d once written him?

Xi Wen’s heart began pounding uncontrollably; she grew flustered, managing only an awkward little laugh. Fortunately, Zhao Lin really was a bit drunk, and being a considerate person, he simply shook his head with a smile at her reaction, downed the rest of his drink in one go, and didn’t bring the subject up again.

After that, Xi Wen felt a bit awkward, but the next day, Zhao Lin’s manner toward her was exactly the same as always, which put her at ease — she became fairly confident that Zhao Lin hadn’t actually remembered the letter after all; after all, so many people had written to him over the years, he could hardly be expected to remember every single one, especially hers, which he’d apparently returned without even reading.

Thankfully, nothing else changed. Zhao Lin still invited her to dinner every evening, and afterward, the two of them would head back to the office to keep working. But recently, Xi Wen learned from a younger colleague that Zhao Lin had actually been struggling with insomnia — meaning he really shouldn’t be staying late at all. If anything, he should be going home early, taking a hot shower, taking some melatonin, and getting into bed early to build up some drowsiness.

Except…

Except, perhaps because the firm was newly founded, Zhao Lin was clearly full of energy and drive, and kept staying later and later.

Xi Wen had originally planned to leave earlier, but worried about his health — especially after learning from Gu Xuehan that Zhao Lin actually suffered from myositis, and had once had a severe flare-up late at night while working overtime at the court, alone in the office, nearly a life-threatening situation.

Once she knew that, Xi Wen felt she absolutely couldn’t leave before Zhao Lin did — in case something happened and she needed to help.

But she hadn’t expected Zhao Lin to be able to stay up so late either — he showed no sign of wanting to leave, until Xi Wen finally couldn’t hold out any longer and started packing up, then went to his office claiming she needed to head home too, urging him to leave with her.

If only she were ten-odd years younger, Xi Wen thought, she felt she could have kept up with him for even longer…

But the body doesn’t lie. After a month of this “overtime” routine, Xi Wen felt she couldn’t keep it up much longer — looking in the mirror, the dark circles under her eyes had become nearly impossible to conceal.

Zhao Lin, clearly, wasn’t in much better shape.

When she’d first started, both of them had seemed fairly energetic…

Because of how hard she’d been working, Qi Xi had complained to her several times about overdoing it. But Xi Wen knew, deep down, that although she genuinely loved this work — helping so many young people had given her a real sense of purpose and self-worth — the real reason she kept staying late every night was that she was worried about Zhao Lin.

Gentle, tall, considerate — to those troubled, lost young people, he was like a guiding light. And to Xi Wen, wasn’t he exactly the same?

No matter her age, Xi Wen found that the rose-tinted glow she’d always had around Zhao Lin simply never faded — he remained, in her eyes, exactly the steady, dependable, passionate senior she’d once admired.

Though she knew it wasn’t right, the feelings Xi Wen had once buried deep and long forgotten had begun, slowly but surely, to stir back to life.

Except…

Except she’d already failed to confess to him once, back when she was young and had her whole future ahead of her — how much less likely was it to work now, at her age, divorced, with a grown daughter?

Working late one evening, Xi Wen shook her head with a wry laugh.

She’d assumed this was a chapter she’d simply have to suppress and bury on her own. But the turning point came on a night, half a month later.

Zhao Lin, as usual, invited Xi Wen to dinner.

Except this time, it wasn’t the café downstairs.

He’d booked a very nice, upscale restaurant, and his manner was unusually serious and formal — which only made Xi Wen more nervous and flustered, unsure what to expect. She even began wondering if she’d handled some case poorly recently, and Zhao Lin was going to have a talk with her about letting her go.

But just as Xi Wen was about to ask first, Zhao Lin spoke.

He looked somewhat helpless. “Xi Wen, can we… stop staying late like this?”

Xi Wen froze.

Zhao Lin looked a little embarrassed, but pressed on candidly. “If you keep working this late, my body genuinely can’t take it anymore.”

He laughed. “I know you love this job, but please, stop staying so late — because when you stay late, I feel I have to stay late with you. If you won’t leave, I can’t leave either. At this rate, I feel like neither of us can keep this up. Just look at those dark circles you’ve got lately…”

As Zhao Lin kept urging her to stop overworking, Xi Wen looked utterly bewildered. “But I’m not the one who wants to stay late — I’ve been staying to keep you company, because I was worried something might happen to you if your health took a turn…”

Now it was Zhao Lin’s turn to freeze. He took a moment to process it, then asked, half laughing, half exasperated, “So you’ve actually been staying late to keep me company this whole time?”

He rubbed his forehead, looking dismayed. “I thought you wanted to stay late, so I stayed too — entirely to keep you company!”

“Why would you need to keep me company, though…”

Zhao Lin seemed to finally throw caution to the wind. “Xi Wen, I don’t care how you see me anymore — I’m just going to say it plainly. Back on the debate team, I wrote you a confession letter, and you turned me down. I was heartbroken for a while after that, since you were my first crush. So much happened after that, over so many years, and I thought I’d made my peace with it, seeing you again. But now, spending all this time with you day after day, I’ve realized — I still admire you, just as much as I did back then. I like you. When other young people at the firm stay late, I don’t worry the way I do about you. When you stay late, I worry. I wanted to stay and keep you company, and it seems like the only way I can go home and rest easy is once you’ve left first.”

Zhao Lin actually liked her?!

If it weren’t for the sincere, earnest look in his eyes right now, Xi Wen would never have believed it was real.

And the truth behind all those late nights hadn’t been her keeping him company — it had been him keeping her company the whole time?

And because of a mutual misunderstanding, without either of them realizing it, it had turned into a kind of mutual one-upmanship of staying late?

Xi Wen found herself half laughing, half at a loss — but what struck her most was—

“Senior, you said you wrote me a confession letter back on the debate team, and I turned you down?” Xi Wen was fairly certain Zhao Lin was misremembering. “Didn’t you write it to someone else? I wrote a confession letter to you back then, and you rejected it…”

The two of them pieced it together, and finally realized what had actually happened.

Zhao Lin looked stunned. “I never received any letter from you at all! And you’re saying you never got mine either? I had Qi Ruiming pass it along to you! And then you turned me down, and not long after, you were with Qi Ruiming instead.”

“I also had Qi Ruiming deliver mine to you — he told me you’d sent it straight back to him, unopened…”

…

Neither of them was a fool. It was only now, all these years later, that the truth of what had really happened finally came to light.

The one who’d been playing games behind the scenes was almost certainly Qi Ruiming.

He’d taken Xi Wen’s letter and never passed it to Zhao Lin, instead lying to her that Zhao Lin had rejected it. He’d used the exact same trick on Zhao Lin. And so, all these years, neither of them had ever realized they’d missed each other’s letters — missed out on what could have been a mutually reciprocated first love.

Piecing it together, Zhao Lin was practically shaking with fury. “When you married him, I couldn’t sleep properly for days out of sheer frustration. It took me a good while to finally let it go. Then, not long ago, Xuehan came to me, and that’s how I learned what Qi Ruiming had done to you. I didn’t want to bring up old wounds and upset you, so I never mentioned any of this — I was worried that bringing up my old confession would make things awkward for you, so I never said a word. And it turns out you never even received my letter in the first place!”

Zhao Lin wasn’t the only one furious — something in Xi Wen ached too. So, after all this back and forth, she’d ended up missing her chance with Zhao Lin, and it had all come down to Qi Ruiming’s selfishness and pettiness.

“If he’d actually cherished you properly after you married him, fine — but is that really the kind of person he turned out to be? Doing this to you.”

Angry as she was, what Xi Wen felt more than anger was a kind of release, and a strange, grateful relief at having gotten back something she’d thought was lost forever.

“Senior, I think it’s actually good that we’ve reconnected now. We’re both single now — we’re not students anymore, but we’ve each weathered our own storms, and we both know clearly what we want, what we should cherish. Maybe this really is the best time for us to meet again.”

Xi Wen took Zhao Lin’s hand.

She suddenly felt that the winter of her life was finally about to end.

Spring comes early for some, and much later for others — just as spring arrives in different months across different latitudes on Earth, and even within a single country like Japan, the cherry blossoms bloom at different times in different places. Xi Wen’s spring had come very late. But it had come, all the same.

A late spring is still spring.