She couldn’t handle it anymore.

The moment she saw the friend request, these three words emerged in her heart.

Still sitting on the sofa, faint wisps of smoke floating around her, she sat motionless against the sofa back. Her eyes held the light from her phone screen. This request Jin Yiken sent had no message attached. The “Source” column showed it came from contacts. The region column was blank. The account name was his surname. The profile picture was entirely black. His Moments were invisible due to privacy settings, or perhaps he was simply too lazy to post. This account was clearly newly created after changing his phone number post-breakup, without a trace of the past.

Her finger paused on the “Accept” field, breathing slowly. After a long while, it moved to the “Reply” field above.

She wouldn’t accept yet. She’d ask him first: In the early morning hours, did you take drugs?

Send.

This non-friend page chat had no dialogue box or sound. She placed her phone on the coffee table. Lao Ping was still pacing beside her, nagging, instructing her about various matters for tomorrow, also prying twice about the progress of the relationship between Jin Yiken and her. She ignored him.

She herself didn’t know either.

Neither side was making it clear. At most it counted as “thawing”—at least he was willing to communicate with her. But the “drug use” suspicion kept bothering her. The message she’d sent hadn’t received a reply for a long time. She picked up her phone again, her finger tapping on the armrest. She said to Lao Ping: “Hey, delete me on WeChat first, then add me as a friend. I’ll reply to your message. See if you can receive it on your end.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Give me your phone, I’ll do it myself.” She reached out. Lao Ping wouldn’t give it. She simply swooshed it out of his pocket in one smooth motion, operating efficiently.

It worked, yes, even without accepting the friend verification, the other party could still receive messages she sent in real time.

But as time passed minute by minute, Jin Yiken’s friend verification lay there without a sound. Was he too lazy to deal with her? Had the face he’d finally put down been pushed back up by her like this, so now he simply wouldn’t add this friend? That couldn’t be—Jin Yiken’s temper wasn’t that bad.

Her mind kept turning without stopping. Later the xiaolongbao takeout also arrived. The service was particularly good—they didn’t crudely stuff the xiaolongbao into a takeout box. They sent it over together with the steamer basket. Additionally, another takeout delivery came with much more: ten jin of spicy crayfish, ten jin of salt and pepper mantis shrimp, various vegetable dishes, seafood barbecue, and a case of beer. She smelled the aroma and turned to look. Lao Ping was happily receiving the goods there, shouldering it and saying: “I’m going next door.”

Next door was the show producer for this variety program. They were also having a small meeting there. Long Qi asked: “Aren’t you usually stingy to death? How come you’re treating people to food?”

Lao Ping’s mouth gestured toward the xiaolongbao direction: “Look, when ordering takeout for you, he casually asked what I wanted. Since he’s treating, might as well treat the team.”

With those words, she bounced right up from the sofa, catching sight of the famously delicious and expensive crayfish shop name on the takeout bag, then turning to look at the two lonely baskets of xiaolongbao sitting on the coffee table: “Have you no shame?”

“That’s why I’m asking what’s the situation between you two now, so I can weigh whether this meal is too much of a mooch.”

Talk was talk, but his tone held not a bit of embarrassment. He dropped a line—”eat your xiaolongbao”—and with a “bang” the door closed. He went to drink with his producer buddy next door. This attitude, needless to say, truly had the old style of Long Xinyi. It left Long Qi unable to think of words to curse him for three seconds. Then her phone dinged. She turned back.

After a full fifteen minutes, Jin Yiken’s reply finally arrived late.

Three words: That was candy.

Not drugs, candy.

While still recalling whether what had flashed by in that cup was really pills or candy she hadn’t seen clearly, Jin Yiken’s second message came: Even if I took drugs, by the time I came looking for you the effects would have worn off. I didn’t take any.

Immediately followed by a third: Just finished showering.

Fourth: Are you accepting or not?

He was really using the friend verification as a chat box now. And that last sentence, read in his tone, clearly didn’t mean what it said on the surface but was blatantly “if you drag this out any longer, I’m withdrawing.” Her right thumb moved to the “Accept” field.

Her left index finger pressed against her lower lip.

Press the button.

The page instantly jumped into the dialogue box. A system notification confirming the friend relationship appeared at the top. And just in the second after she and Jin Yiken established their friendship, his video call came through this page, quick as a knife cutting through wood. The notification ring was loud, making her wrist shake.

After answering, Jin Yiken just appeared before her eyes like that.

The lighting over there was adjusted very low, dim yellow. He wore a tank top—not the one from playing basketball. He was sitting on the sofa. His phone was placed on the coffee table facing his upper body. When the video connected, he was just picking up a carbonated drink from the table. The can hissed open. The large TV screen in the living room was playing a ball game. The screen’s light shone on the mural above the sofa and also on his body. Long Qi heard a burst of soccer commentary. He was glancing at the TV.

“Did the xiaolongbao arrive?”

“Arrived.” She replied.

He took a sip of his drink, his gaze still on the game. After Long Qi heard a burst of cheering for a goal, his attention finally moved back to his phone. He set the drink on the table: “Then we can talk about the scar now.”

“What relationship are we in now?”

She asked in return.

Jin Yiken looked at her. She said: “Boyfriend and girlfriend relationship? Or sex partners?”

“Which relationship would allow you to simply tell me about the scar?”

“I want you to say it.”

“If you insist on this tone, there’s no point.”

“I’m pointless?” This comment grated on her ears. “Jin Yiken, after you came to my place in the middle of the night and slept with me, I’m asking you to confirm a relationship, and you turn around and think I’m pointless? So should I stay silent and let you summon me at will and dismiss me at will to be considered…”

“When I said pointless, I wasn’t targeting the event itself,” he interrupted. “It was your tone.”

Long Qi had a whole chest full of arguments ready. Before she could speak, he continued: “Middle of the night bothers you?”

This completely stumped her. Jin Yiken’s elbow rested on his knee: “Don’t play the victim, Long Qi. Don’t pretend in front of me. Who really slept with whom anyway.”

Her momentum deflated a bit.

“So what does it mean that you’re caring about me on one hand but stringing me along on the other?”

……

Still no response. She declared: “Jin Yiken, let me tell you, I most dislike ambiguity. It’s either one or two—I must have certainty. If you have any thoughts of making me a backup, better cut things off with me now. When I say I’ll leave, I’ll leave without a trace of regret or lingering attachment. In a few years I can still wish you a happy wedding!”

“Your imagination is really rich.” He replied.

“My execution ability is also very high.”

“Say that again.”

He looked up at her across the screen. The face he’d given her with the previous sentence was “revoked” because of her subsequent pushing her luck. He was daring her to have the guts to “speak wildly” again and try it. She replied: “I don’t want to say it anymore.”

Then Jin Yiken sighed.

He rubbed his face with slight fatigue, then picked up his drink again. Long Qi got up from the sofa and headed toward the bed. After he finished drinking and thinking, he asked: “When are you coming back?”

“Four days from now.”

“Then we’ll talk when you get back.”

His hand reached toward the screen: “I’m going to sleep.”

Her words stopped in her throat. Jin Yiken paused again before closing the video: “Those things you confessed to me—quite unlike you.”

She listened, her elbow propped on the pillow, staring at the screen.

“But I kind of like it.”

The video cut off with a ding. The screen disappeared. The static chat box jumped back out. Her face was illuminated by the screen light. At that instant, her ears were a bit red. Then she released her phone and turned to lie down. Not even two seconds later, she turned back. Her long hair slipped from her shoulder to beside her face. Looking at Jin Yiken’s profile picture, the sound of him saying those words replayed once, twice in her ears. From that dim lighting, carrying pre-sleep fatigue, yet also mixed with a certain soothing and hint—low voice, pleasant to the ear, like love words.

Done for.

She thought.

Couldn’t fall asleep.

The next day her entire state was even more lethargic than yesterday. During recording breaks while resting in the car, reflecting back, she felt Jin Yiken’s move was really brilliant—first suppressing then elevating, saying he’d leave her alone but beckoning to give her a piece of candy, stirring up the entire pool of water restlessly. But she particularly fell for this technique. Her mind was full of thoughts about how to get this person. Her competitive desire reached its peak. Her whole person was so agitated she couldn’t be contained. She kept his chat box open all day, but he didn’t send a single message.

He’d always been like this before.

Things he could say verbally, he’d never bother typing out, unless teasing. His chat records with Bai Aiting were respectful and polite. His chats with Long Qi, aside from hotel room numbers, were sexually explicit mutual taunts. Later entering his Moments, the content was even sparser and harder to understand. The few sparse posts were all physics-related. The only one she could understand was a movie list from a film public account he’d shared last month. She clicked in. Lao Ping just happened to get in the car, saying: “There’s an event tomorrow night—Teacher Zang invited us to see a play.”

The movie list enumerated several films about to be released domestically in April. She scrolled down. Lao Ping was quite happy, notifying the other two assistants and one stylist in the car: “Everyone free tomorrow night? Everyone’s going. He reserved a whole row of seats for us.”

“What play, Uncle Ping?”

“‘Utopia in the Mirror,’ Director Huang Yupeng’s version.”

“Didn’t that play’s tour already end?” The stylist sister turned her head back. The comb in her hand caught a strand of Long Qi’s hair. Her head tilted to the side. She made no sound, busy looking at the movie list. The sister said, “Tickets were so hard to get. I couldn’t even get tickets through insider connections back then.”

“One additional performance, happens to be here,” Lao Ping said. “Happy? Good to you all, right? Fine, prepare well tomorrow night yourselves. Don’t thank me—the impressive one is Teacher Zang.”

Long Qi’s shoulder was patted by Lao Ping: “And this little ancestor.”

“Alright, get to work.” After he finished speaking, he turned and got out of the car. Long Qi glanced at him, then at the female assistant.

“What did he say?”

“Uncle Ping said we’re seeing a play tomorrow night.”

“What play?”

“‘Utopia in the Mirror.'”

“Is it good?”

“It’s very classic. There are different versions. You have to see Director Huang’s version. The previous national tour had very high reviews…” While the female assistant was introducing it, she looked back at the movie list, scrolling to a Hollywood film releasing in April, a new installment in a series, “Cliff’s Edge 5.”

She remembered when the last installment premiered domestically, she’d watched it with Jin Yiken. The previous films were also watched in the small screening room in Jin Yiken’s attic. At the time, he’d insisted on taking her to see the midnight premiere. She said she hadn’t seen the previous films and had no interest. So he locked her in the screening room and made her watch films continuously all afternoon, watching parts 1-3 entirely. She was both angry and discovered they were somewhat good. Later he took her out for a good meal to appease her before she’d accompany him to see the premiere.

This film’s new installment, the fifth part, would premiere tomorrow night at midnight.

Returning to the chat box, she interrupted the female assistant: “Have you ever pursued someone?”

“Haven’t you ever pursued anyone?”

Long Qi looked at her, expression unchanged. The female assistant caught on: “Oh, naturally equipped with a different system, you’ve never pursued anyone… normal.”

“How do people pursue?”

“First figure out the other person’s interests to prescribe the right medicine—chat about music or sports, invite them to dinner, watch movies or plays they’re interested in…”

“Right,” she replied. “If I invite him to watch a movie he’s interested in, it’s especially obvious I’m pursuing him, really giving him face, right?”

“Right. When a man pursues a woman, there’s a mountain between them. When a woman pursues a man, there’s only a veil. Normal men will climb right down the pole.” The stylist sister chimed in.

The female assistant glanced at the stylist. Long Qi made her decision: “Help me buy two tickets for ‘Cliff’s Edge 5,’ the midnight premiere showing.”

Then she used her phone to check tomorrow’s flights, looking at tickets from Jin Yiken’s location to here. She couldn’t wait anymore. She wanted to see him tomorrow.

This matter of reconciliation required striking while the iron was hot, racing against time. She had to lure Jin Yiken here. Everything could be discussed properly afterwards.

That evening after finishing recording and returning to the hotel, she contacted the girlfriend of the buddy he’d played basketball with. One phone call over, probing what he’d been busy with recently.

“Seems to be busy with the company,” the girl said. “The renovation is almost done. Pengzi took me to see it. Pretty nice.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need to oversee the renovation, does he?”

“Not really, but when playing basketball I heard them casually chat about a few projects, investing in some films. They didn’t go into detail. Seems quite busy. Pengzi’s family wants to buy a vineyard. Isn’t Jin Yiken’s dad have one? They wanted to chat with him and get some advice, but can’t even arrange a meeting. My brother wanted to invite him to test drive a new sports car—also no time.”

“Oh…”

She stroked her arm. That girl asked her: “You two, how are things?”

She knew that once she spoke to this girl, the girl could turn around and tell Pengzi, who could turn around and spread the word throughout this circle. So she said: “How things are between us depends entirely on him.”

Really giving plenty of face.

Then she shared a viewing guide for that movie in her Moments, blocking irrelevant people, visible only to him. She also found a screenshot of his ID card that Jin Yiken had sent her long ago in her phone album, memorizing the ID number, preparing to buy plane tickets.

But when selecting boarding time, thinking of what that girl said about him being very busy, her operations hesitated a bit. She exited the app and entered WeChat. Moments had no activity. Jin Yiken’s chat box was also quiet and peaceful. She lay on the bed.

She decided to wait for him to contact her first.

But an entire evening passed. Jin Yiken really didn’t contact her. On the third day of recording, the weather wasn’t good either. It started raining. Although the temperature here was high and not cold, she still couldn’t withstand recording outdoor scenes all day. When she finished work, her entire person from inside to outside was half-wet and not-dry. In the car back to the hotel, the heating was turned up full, but she still felt uncomfortable. Her phone spun round and round on the armrest. She looked at the street scene outside the rainy curtain. An assistant helped her dry her hair.

Four o’clock.

Many coconut trees and palm trees lined the roadside.

Just as she was contemplating whether coconuts on coconut trees would fall and kill passing pedestrians, Lao Ping said: “The play starts at six. After getting back to the hotel, don’t dawdle. Change clothes and we’ll head out.”

“What play?”

Lao Ping turned from the front seat. She nested lazily in the car seat, truly hadn’t remembered. Lao Ping looked toward the assistant. The assistant immediately responded: “I told her. I told her yesterday.”

“Fine, what play doesn’t matter,” Lao Ping turned back, continuing to type on his phone. “What matters is Zang Xipu. He invited you.”

She continued looking out the window: “Not going. I’m not feeling well.”

“But we already agreed.”

“Then you all go.”

Lao Ping turned back: “Little ancestor, we go? Does Zang Xipu want to see my old face? Is it Little Xu’s big round face? Is it Ah Fang’s moon face? We go? Go for what?”

“Hey, Uncle Ping,” the stylist sister pointed over with an eyeliner pencil. “When spraying people, don’t drag us in to catch bullets.”

“So does he want to see my face full of vomit I’ve been holding in? I’m not feeling well, headache, stomach churning. Also, how do you have the nerve after mooching one meal from Jin Yiken to then mooch play tickets from Teacher Zang? You’re happy but I’m embarrassed.”

“That grand ancestor is one of our own. Zang Xipu is normal socializing, reciprocal exchanges. I already arranged dinner together tomorrow. You’re not embarrassed.”

Long Qi had even less to say. She rolled her eyes, rolling so forcefully she made herself dizzy. Her stomach truly churned, nearly vomiting. Seeing her like this, Lao Ping said: “Fine, fine, fine, I’ll call Assistant Wang.”

……

Assistant Wang was very easy to talk to. Even though Long Qi wasn’t going, he still enthusiastically invited Lao Ping’s team and even conveyed Zang Xipu’s message telling her to rest well at the hotel.

This made things much simpler.

The female assistant had originally wanted to stay at the hotel to take care of her. Long Qi said no need—she’d wash with hot water and sleep. She told her to go watch the play with Lao Ping. Before the female assistant left, she said: “The movie tickets are bought, Qiqi. The pickup code was sent to your phone. Are you going to watch tonight?”

She didn’t respond. The female assistant said: “Then we’re leaving.”

Everyone leave.

Everyone go ahead.

At five in the evening, the rain势 outside the hotel showed signs of lessening, but the sky was as dark as ten at night. She took a shower, dried her hair, and lay on the bed. Her head felt heavy, her nose stuffy. She scrolled through her phone. The room was so quiet only the whoosh sound of refreshing the homepage could be heard. Her whole person was buried in the blanket. She switched into Jin Yiken’s chat box.

Five fifteen now.

Her finger slid along the keyboard edge. After hesitating for several minutes, she finally typed: What are you doing?

Send.

She stared at the chat box for a full five minutes before finally seeing the words “the other party is typing” at the top. She propped herself up. The phone vibrated with a beep. He replied: In a meeting.

Long Qi’s finger tapped the phone body.

But in less than half a minute, the words “the other party is typing” appeared again at the top of the chat box. She stared, her chest itching. Soon, the message was sent: How things are between us depends entirely on me?

Yo, quite fast—that remark got around quickly.

She held her phone lying on her back, not replying to this sentence but another: I caught a cold.

Whoosh.

After sending it out, the chat box was quiet for three minutes. Her hand held the phone up until her arm was sore. Just as she was about to put it down, Jin Yiken’s video call came through. Each time catching her off guard, each time making her wrist shake. She turned back over, her elbow pressing on the pillow. After answering, she saw Jin Yiken sitting in a chair.

His legs were crossed. He wore a light formal-style shirt. You could tell he was in a semi-formal setting, but still stylish. This time he connected the video using a laptop. His phone was flipping in his hand. He himself sat lazily in a swivel chair, in a meeting room, but no one else was there. Behind the chair was a projection wall used for meetings. The glass wall beside it was faintly visible. Outside was a mass of buildings under evening dusk. The night view was brilliant.

“Didn’t you say you were in a meeting?”

“Meeting ended.”

“Ends just like that?”

“I’m the boss.”

As he spoke, the swivel chair slowly swayed. He slid his phone screen. A click of an unlocking sound. He asked: “Did Lao Ping give you medicine?”

“Sleeping is more useful than medicine. If you hadn’t called, I was about to sleep.”

“This early.”

“I’ve been uncomfortable all day, and you’ve been leaving me alone.”

Jin Yiken looked toward the camera. She propped her chin, looking at his eyes. He also looked at hers. Then she asked: “What are you planning to do tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow morning, meeting some producers, having some project meetings.”

“Oh.”

He was looking at his phone.

The suite had no sound. Five-thirty. She lowered her head, her finger scratching on the pillow.

“You want to watch ‘Cliff’s Edge 5’?” Suddenly, Jin Yiken spoke.

She looked up. His phone screen was displaying Moments content. She replied: “Just saw it?”

The sound of wheels rolling. The chair moved closer to the camera a bit. He was still looking at his phone: “Can watch it. About to premiere.”

“Mm, premiering tonight. I bought tickets.”

When Jin Yiken looked at her, she said: “Two tickets. Originally I also wanted to buy your plane ticket, but heard you’re very busy, didn’t dare delay your matters, lest you again think I’m self-centered and pointless.”

After these words, Jin Yiken didn’t reply quickly. Long Qi looked at him over there. Her gaze didn’t shift a bit. Her finger scratched on the pillow with a hissing sound. He still had his legs crossed, looking at her like this. Both sides quietly gazed at each other. Outside the suite, the sound of a service person operating a vacuum cleaner faintly came through, together with the pillow sounds, grinding through this subtle moment of staring.

Somewhat scorching, somewhat burning.

The wheels under the chair rolled again. The situation finally broke after six seconds. He leaned forward just a tiny bit, lowering his head to look back at his phone.

“Don’t worry about the plane ticket,” he said. “I’ll buy it.”

The vacuum cleaner sound approached her suite door. The breath she exhaled was somewhat hot. The original headache and nasal congestion suddenly cleared. Jin Yiken’s arm rested on the table edge. Phone light illuminated the collar area of his neck: “Can only buy the eight o’clock one. If there’s no delay, I’ll arrive at your place at eleven. How long from the airport to the hotel?”

“…About twenty minutes.”

“Then we’ll meet at eleven-thirty in your hotel lobby. I’ll come pick you up.”