Yan Sishi was mildly taken aback. He took the gift, and his gaze moved from the bag to her face. “You remembered?”

He hadn’t mentioned his birthday to her, and he’d made a point of telling Wen Shubai not to bother with a cake or any kind of ceremony.

He had told her his birthday was February 19th — but that had been… eight years ago now?

Xia Li blinked and smiled. “It’s right there on your WeChat profile.”

Yan Sishi studied her for a moment, then said nothing more.

She had always been someone who was thoughtful without ever making you feel pressured by her thoughtfulness.

After their late-night reunion at the convenience store on Monday, Yan Sishi had taken the following morning off to see his psychiatrist.

The doctor’s surname was Meng — referred to him by his psychiatrist in Boston, Myra.

Before leaving Boston, Yan Sishi had paid Myra one final visit.

Myra had told him that Dr. Meng was a former doctoral classmate of hers, and one of the finest psychiatric therapists in China. If he was willing, she would transfer his case history and records over to Dr. Meng.

If you feel you need it, you might consider going to see her. Myra had emphasized: this is entirely optional — let your own sense of what you need guide you.

The reason Yan Sishi had been able to maintain a long-term therapeutic relationship with Myra was precisely because she never pushed him toward anything.

Dr. Meng had the same professional ethos.

The first time Yan Sishi had visited her had been before he finalized his decision about returning to China.

A good therapist analyzes but doesn’t make decisions on your behalf — yet after their session, based on a combination of factors, Yan Sishi had made up his mind to accept the domestic offer.

On Tuesday morning, when he arrived, Dr. Meng had already arranged the room in the way that allowed him to relax most easily: the blackout curtains half drawn, a single small lamp turned on, the room in a soft dimness — not bright, but not absolute darkness either.

Dr. Meng placed a glass of ice water on the coffee table in front of him and settled into the sofa across from him. She smiled and asked: “How have things been lately?”

Yan Sishi took a sip of water. In a level voice, he said: “Yesterday I ran into a high school classmate.”

Dr. Meng watched him, saying nothing, waiting for him to continue.

After a pause, she gently prompted: “What kind of person is she? Were you two close?”

And then, at once, he recalled it — the voice from the convenience store the night before, soft as a light mist, carrying a gentleness that had cooled and settled over him.

And following on its heels, like a long-dry well drawing up its first thin thread of water —

A paper-thin dusk in a small town, in a bookshop that smelled of dust and fresh ink;

A stretch of steps far from an outdoor cinema, and the secret retreat they had shared there;

A dark clock tower classroom, and two people who were both, in their own ways, unhappy.

He had believed that well had run completely dry long ago.

Dr. Meng saw that he remained quiet and did not press him. She smiled and said: “Would you like to hear what I think?”

“I believe the reason you were willing to come back to China is that somewhere inside you, you had already judged yourself to be gradually regaining the capacity to form connections with people. Responsibility can mean pressure — but this time, for your grandmother’s sake, you chose that pressure willingly. That is a positive sign. There are likely many old friends here from your past; I’d encourage you to make contact with some of them, as feels comfortable to you — nothing deep is required, only what feels manageable. And if you feel you have the capacity to go further, I would gently suggest doing so.”

Finally, Dr. Meng said: “What we can offer as therapists is only the most basic kind of support. What forms the core of a person’s inner life can take many different shapes — and human connection is one of them. Of course, everything is premised on your own willingness. If you ever feel it becoming a burden, please stop, or come and talk to me.”

After he left Dr. Meng’s office and was driving back to work, Yan Sishi found himself recalling more and more details.

A rainy day at the library. A night of snowfall. A banner that had been kept. Red bean bread. Frozen lemon soda. The End of the World and Cold Bloodhound. The red cloth strip tied high in the cypress branches…

These fragments from the past were a seed.

But at the time, he had been so utterly dry himself that he had had nothing left with which to let it take root.

The last image in the sequence of memories was the night they had played truant together.

She had stood under a streetlamp, her eyes as clear and beautiful as glass filled with clean water.

Her gaze had been slightly evasive. The look on her face had hinted, unmistakably, at something she was hesitating to say.

She had asked: Have you been feeling any better?

He started the car and looked at the girl sitting in the passenger seat beside him.

Of course.

Of course.

Xia Li had expected a loud, chaotic gathering. But when she stepped through the door and swept the room with a glance, the dimly lit private room held no more than ten people.

The noise dropped for a beat as everyone turned at once to greet Yan Sishi with warm, surprised voices.

Two of them stood up and came to meet them at the entrance — a man and a woman. Xia Li guessed they were probably the friends closest to him.

The man was first to extend his hand. “Hi there. Wen Shubai — Yan Sishi’s childhood friend.”

“Hello.” Xia Li shook his hand. “I’m Xia Li — Yan Sishi’s high school classmate.”

At that, the young woman beside him spoke up: “From the high school in Chucheng?”

Xia Li smiled. “That’s right.”

The young woman studied her for a moment, offered no introduction of herself, and turned to Yan Sishi instead. “Long time no see.”

Yan Sishi made a faint sound of agreement.

Wen Shubai urged everyone to come in and find a seat instead of blocking the doorway.

The private room was spacious, with plenty of room on the long sofas, but everyone stood up to offer Yan Sishi a seat regardless.

Yan Sishi didn’t move toward the middle. He wasn’t the type who enjoyed being at the center of things. He simply settled into a spot toward the edge — the easiest place to get up and leave from — and then looked over at Xia Li, who was standing nearby, his gaze directing her to sit beside him.

She did, at once.

Honestly, she’d been feeling slightly out of place from the moment they walked in — she didn’t know a single person here, and the only reason she had agreed to come was because today was Yan Sishi’s birthday.

After sitting down, Yan Sishi shrugged off his coat, then glanced at her and asked whether she wanted to take hers off too. “You don’t want to get it dirty.”

Xia Li unhooked her small chain bag, set it beside her, and slipped off her coat, holding it in her arms as she glanced around.

Then Yan Sishi reached over, pinched the collar of her coat, and took it from her.

He stood up, holding both their coats.

Wen Shubai, who had apparently decided to take his role as host seriously, stepped forward at exactly the right moment and took the coats from him. “Let me hang those — you two sit down and figure out what you want to drink.” He gestured toward the long glass coffee table, which had a drinks menu on it.

As Xia Li was looking down at the menu, the young woman who had greeted them at the door came over and settled herself on the arm of the sofa diagonally across from them.

She was tall, with striking features and a cool, refined bearing. She was dressed entirely in black — a high-neck sweater, leather trousers, and lace-up boots — with a silver chain at her collar, its pendant a miniature skull.

Beautiful, and with an easy, aloof confidence that seemed unbothered by anyone else’s presence.

She held a can of cola and turned slightly toward Yan Sishi. “I ran into your uncle the other day, and he mentioned you’re at MAXAS — is that right? My studio isn’t far from there. We should get lunch together sometime.”

Xia Li glanced up from the menu and looked at Yan Sishi.

He already had very little expression to begin with, and now there was something chilly and faintly weary about it. “We’ll see,” he said.

In the next instant, a drift of cool fragrance came closer, and a hand reached over — long, unhurried fingers — gently catching the corner of the menu she was holding.

It was Yan Sishi, leaning in toward her.

“Found what you want? What would you like?” he asked, in a quiet voice.

Xia Li drew a quiet breath — she had the odd sensation of being enveloped by the scent coming off him. “…Just a beer.”

Across from them, the young woman’s expression didn’t change. She simply shifted her attention to Xia Li, studying her with an air of mild curiosity. “Yan Sishi — is she that surgeon’s daughter? The one who is the student of your grandmother’s attending physician?”

Xia Li looked up at that, met the woman’s eyes with a smile, and said evenly: “You’re thinking of Tao Shiyue? You could have asked me directly. The answer is no.”

She hadn’t missed the undercurrent of hostility. She simply saw no particular reason to engage with it.

The young woman smiled.

Xia Li couldn’t quite read what the smile meant.

And then she stood and moved away.

Xia Li ordered a beer; Yan Sishi drank only ice water.

Since everyone here had been out of contact with Yan Sishi for years, they each drifted over in turn to say hello and catch up.

Yan Sishi’s manner was much the same as it had been that night in the car — not warm, not cold, responsive when spoken to, but going no further.

From the flow of conversation, Xia Li quietly pieced together more of the picture. Most of the people here were his middle school and high school classmates, all from the same social world.

The concept of social circles had become clearer to Xia Li the longer she had been out of school.

It was completely different from the spontaneous, personality-driven groups that formed in high school, where everyone wore the same uniform and nobody could tell from appearance alone whose parents did what.

In university, distinctions between social strata had already started to show. It was like how the students from Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan tended to keep among themselves, and local students formed their own alliances.

Out in the working world, those divisions became even more defined.

Family background, hometown, upbringing, education — people were labeled with all kinds of markers, and those markers determined who they found themselves naturally gravitating toward.

She had always known Yan Sishi came from a privileged background. But she had never thought to consider what the first six digits of his identity card number might indicate.

Listening to their casual conversation now, she realized she had probably vastly underestimated the weight of the Yan family name.

The people in this room were not, under normal circumstances, the kind of people who would ever cross paths with her.

Xia Li felt a sudden drop in her interest.

It wasn’t that she felt like an outsider — she had her own circle of friends, and she was genuinely satisfied with the close friendships she had maintained over the years: Xu Ning, Lin Qingxiao, and Ouyang Jing, who had unexpectedly become one of her closest confidants since coming to Beicheng.

It was simply that she had caught herself — mid-thought — analyzing all of this.

And that made her faintly contemptuous of herself for being that banal.

After everyone had made their rounds, Yan Sishi had a brief moment of relative quiet.

The ice in his glass had melted. He didn’t like the lukewarm taste, so he’d only taken a small sip before setting it down.

He turned and looked at Xia Li. She had a dark blue beer bottle in her hand, idly tapping the side of it with one finger, seeming slightly bored.

“Want to go get something to eat?” he said.

She came back to attention. “I think you can order food here too.”

But Yan Sishi was already standing. He reached over, took the beer bottle from her, set it on the coffee table, and said simply: “Come on.”

Wen Shubai noticed and looked over. “Leaving already?”

“Just going for a walk. Back in a bit.”

They went to where the coats were hanging, and Yan Sishi took both down and handed Xia Li hers.

The two of them headed out of the private room, down the corridor, and out of the building.

Xia Li put on her coat and slung her chain bag across her body.

“Oh—”

Yan Sishi looked over.

One strand of her hair had gotten caught in the chain. She hadn’t noticed, and the pull tugged at her scalp with a sharp little sting.

Yan Sishi stepped closer, told her not to move, and reached out to free the trapped strand.

Xia Li held the bag up in midair and genuinely did not dare to move.

It’s difficult to be completely honest with yourself about your own heart — especially when someone had given you so many moments of feeling, as he had.

Like right now.

This close, she only had to tilt her head up slightly to see the line of his jaw from his throat to his chin, the cool, almost jade-like quality of his skin, and the distinct shape of his throat.

One breath was all it took, and she was breathing in the cool, clean scent that came off him.

As though she were standing in an open morning when everything was white, with nowhere to look that wasn’t him.