The restaurant was one of the places Wen Shubai had recommended previously. To avoid the wait at peak dinner hours, Yan Sishi had called ahead and made a reservation before leaving.

The car had barely started when the restaurant called back, saying reservations were only typically held until seven thirty, and that time had now passed — they were calling to ask whether he still intended to come.

Yan Sishi glanced at his watch and asked them to hold the table for another half hour.

Perhaps because the restaurant’s per-person price was high and table turnover was slow, they agreed.

When they arrived, a staff member came to lead them to their seats — a quiet, private booth tucked away from the main floor.

Xia Li didn’t open the menu right away. She draped her trench coat over the seat and stepped away to the restroom first.

When she returned and sat back down, Yan Sishi glanced up from the menu. She was wearing a casual-style creamy white knit dress, with a small folded collar that revealed the clean lines of her collarbone. White suited her — like a soft tuft of snow resting on a pine branch.

Xia Li opened her menu, asked what Yan Sishi had already chosen, and on top of that added a vegetable dish and a dessert.

When they were done, Yan Sishi took the menu from her and handed it to the server.

Xia Li lifted her teacup for a sip, and over the wisps of rising steam, her gaze drifted without thinking toward the hand he’d used to pass back the menu. It was truly a beautiful hand — fingers even and slender, skin fair and fine-boned, with subtle blue veins tracing the back — and the silver metal watch suited it perfectly.

While they waited for the food, Yan Sishi asked about her work.

Xia Li hadn’t expected him to be interested. She explained that her job was to liaise with overseas marketing departments, overseeing promotional campaigns related to brand image — from planning through to on-the-ground execution. Most of the strategies were driven by the overseas teams; her side mainly provided supporting work.

“It’s divided into several major markets — Asia Pacific, Africa, the Americas and Europe. I mainly liaise with the US and Canada, so I travel there fairly often, at least three times a year.”

Xia Li glanced at Yan Sishi and, seeing that his fingers were wrapped around his teacup and he was genuinely listening, continued: “On the East Coast — New York, Washington; on the West Coast — Seattle, San Francisco…” She lowered her eyes and took a sip of tea. “And Los Angeles. I’ve been to them all.”

Yan Sishi looked up at her. “Boston too?”

Yes — Boston and New York were so close to each other; four hours by bus, one hour by plane.

She’d flown into New York so many times, yet by some twist of circumstance, she had never once made it there.

Xia Li looked at him. When he said nothing, she always felt as though she were gazing at a mountain through fog.

The difference was, she used to want to explore that cool, distant mountain and see what lay behind it. Now, that compulsion seemed to have faded.

As she lowered her head to drink her tea, it was Yan Sishi who spoke again, asking what she’d studied as an undergraduate.

“English…” she answered on instinct, though her voice trailed off quietly.

Then she caught herself — it was just a field of study. What secrets could it possibly reveal?

The thought of how she’d once spent half a year grinding through English-language books, the agonizing choice between English and history when she filed her university application…

Following that thread, Xia Li asked: “You studied computer science, right? I remember you were already interested in programming back in high school.”

“Mm.” Yan Sishi told her that after completing his undergraduate degree at MIT, he had continued on to graduate school and earned a degree in Computational Science and Engineering — a Master of Science in Computational Science and Engineering.

Xia Li was actually a little surprised that Yan Sishi hadn’t gone on to pursue a PhD. As far as she knew, Wang Chen was still working toward his doctorate.

She brought up the errand she’d run for him. “The bookstore you sent me to didn’t have it in stock — I ended up going to a different one.”

Yan Sishi paused at that, raised a hand to lightly press his fingers to his forehead. “…I’m sorry.”

He’d chosen the nearest store to her on a whim, as a pretext. He hadn’t anticipated it would end up causing her more trouble than intended.

But Xia Li just smiled and shook her head. “It’s really fine — that store wasn’t far at all.”

Eating and talking, the conversation was still not particularly deep, but Xia Li felt that the atmosphere between them was far more relaxed and easy than it had been the first two times.

Among the things they’d ordered was a bottle of yuzu sake that Yan Sishi had chosen, which he said was the house specialty.

Since Yan Sishi was driving, he was only drinking water with ice, which meant the sake was Xia Li’s alone to enjoy.

The yuzu sake had been chilled — its flavor clean, sweet, and crisp, as though an entire yuzu had been freshly squeezed into it.

Drinking it felt like summer arriving early.

Partway through the meal, Yan Sishi received a phone call.

He glanced at the caller, stood up, and said, “Keep eating — I need to take this.”

About ten minutes later, Yan Sishi came back.

He sat down with an apology and explained it had been a work call — someone at the office who’d stayed late and had questions for him about some database parameters.

Xia Li shook her head. “It’s fine.”

Yan Sishi studied her for a moment and thought he noticed that her cheeks looked a shade or two redder than before.

His gaze moved from the iridescent glass she was holding to the frosted glass bottle sitting beside it.

He reached for it, picked it up for a look — 300 milliliter capacity, already half gone.

He looked at her. “How well can you hold your alcohol?”

“About two bottles of small canned beer. Why?”

Yan Sishi wasn’t sure whether he should tell her. “…This is thirty percent.”

That was partly his fault. While she’d been in the restroom when he was ordering, the server had specifically mentioned that the sake was very well-balanced in taste — it drank almost like fruit juice — but the alcohol content was not low.

He had forgotten to tell her.

“…” Xia Li’s pupils froze.

Sure enough, before the meal was even over, the room had already begun to spin for her. By the time they reached the restaurant door, her steps had gone unsteady, and she nearly tripped.

“Careful.” Yan Sishi reached out and caught her arm in time.

He didn’t dare let go after that, and half-supported her all the way to the car.

Fortunately, Xia Li was a well-behaved drunk. She hadn’t been drunk many times, and the few times she had, she’d never cried or made a fuss — she’d simply gone straight to sleep.

This time was no different. The moment she got into the car, the warm air and comfortable seat closed in around her in a joint ambush, and her consciousness surrendered faster than anything.

Yan Sishi reminded her: “Seatbelt.”

The person leaning against the seat didn’t move a muscle — only the faint sound of deepening breaths could be heard.

Yan Sishi, one hand braced against the gear shift, leaned across and pulled out the seatbelt.

The warm, wine-touched, fruit-scented breath brushed past the side of his neck.

He paused, instinctively tilting his head slightly to one side, and clicked the seatbelt into place.

Like drawing close to a small fire on a winter’s day — even after moving away, that faint warmth and tension still lingered on his skin.

He found himself reaching up to wipe the side of his own neck.

The car moved through the blazing river of lights. Inside the cabin, though, the air was dim and hushed — like a submarine drifting through deep water.

From time to time, Yan Sishi turned to glance at Xia Li.

It was a feeling he rarely experienced: pure stillness. Not the empty, hollow kind, and none of the low-level restlessness that usually lay hidden beneath the surface.

Just pure, uncomplicated stillness.

When they arrived at her complex, Yan Sishi tried to wake Xia Li, asking which building and which floor she was on.

The deeply sleeping figure offered no answer.

He thought for a moment, then took out his phone and opened Tao Shiyue’s WeChat: Sorry to trouble you again. Do you have Xu Ning’s phone number?

Half a minute later, Tao Shiyue sent back a string of ellipses.

Then, after another moment: Added you to a group chat — ask in there. Yan Sishi, you owe me big this time — dinner’s the least you can do, right?

Yan Sishi replied: Of course.

He exited the conversation and found, sure enough, a new group chat had appeared at the top of his feed. There were seven members in total, and it was named: “Everyone come look, someone’s risen from the dead.”

Tao Shiyue had posted the first message inside: Everyone you know is here — ask them yourself @YAN.

Nie Chuhang popped up right after: What is this group?

Yan Sishi opened the member list and scanned it. The user with the nickname “XN” was, he concluded, almost certainly Xu Ning.

He sent a message to the group: Could you please share your phone number with me @XN.

XN: I’m here!!

XN: 131XXXXXXXX

XN: Yan classmate, what did you need me for?

Nie Chuhang sent another message right on the heels of that: Yan Sishi?!!! @YAN

Yan Sishi sent friend requests to the three in the group he hadn’t added yet — Lin Qingxiao, Nie Chuhang, and Xu Ning — then dialed Xu Ning’s number.

Xu Ning had spent the entire day going back and forth with a few senior screenwriters on the outline of a script. With her head spinning, she’d been scrolling through her phone for a break when she caught the group messages.

Earlier that day, the stir Tao Shiyue had caused while asking around among classmates from Class 7 for Xia Li’s phone number had set off no small amount of commotion.

It had been Xu Ning who’d sent Xia Li’s number to Tao Shiyue.

Now Yan Sishi was asking for her phone number, which left her a little worried that something might have happened to Xia Li.

When an unfamiliar number came in, she said a quick word to the screenwriters and stepped out onto the balcony.

She answered the call. “Yan Sishi?”

“Yes. It’s me.”

“What’s happened? Did something happen to Xia Li?”

“She’s drunk. Are you at home?”

“I’m not. I probably won’t be home until late tonight…”

“Which building are you in? I’ll take her upstairs.”

Xu Ning gave him the building number and apartment number, then asked, “Did she bring her keys?”

“I’ll check.”

Xu Ning heard the phone sounds grow distant, then faintly heard Yan Sishi call Xia Li’s name — several times before Xia Li finally let out a murmur.

Yan Sishi asked about the keys; again, it took two or three tries before Xia Li mumbled something about “pocket.”

A moment later, Yan Sishi’s voice came back closer. “She has them.”

“Then I’ll leave it to you to take her up? I should be back before midnight.”

Yan Sishi said, “There’s a chance I may need to use your kitchen for a bit — I hope you won’t mind.”

“Not at all! Please go ahead,” Xu Ning said.

She thought Yan Sishi was remarkably considerate and thorough: he hadn’t brought Xia Li back to his own place, nor had he simply dumped her at some hotel. Knowing that she and Xia Li shared the apartment, he had even thought to clear it with her in advance about something as small as using the kitchen.

She hung up. Yan Sishi pocketed his phone along with the keys he’d taken from Xia Li’s trench coat pocket, and got out of the car.

He walked around to the passenger side and pulled the door open.

He gave Xia Li’s shoulder a gentle nudge. She scrunched her brow with a disgruntled murmur.

In the dim amber glow of the streetlights filtering into the car, her face was flushed red, and even without leaning in, he could feel the warmth radiating off her.

The hand resting on her shoulder paused.

Then he lifted it, looked down at her for a long moment, and at last bent his fingers slightly, letting them brush against her cheek with the lightest touch.

The thin, flushed skin was alarmingly hot.

And he was quite certain: the scorching sensation his fingertips felt — almost like a sting — was not simply due to the heat of her skin.

He straightened her open coat around her and stayed still a moment longer.

Then he took her keys from his own pocket, held them in his hand, grasped her arm, and drew it up over his shoulder.

What followed came with a kind of clean, unbroken decisiveness.

He put one arm around her waist, lifted her slightly from the seat, tucked his other arm under the back of her knees through the fabric of the coat, and carried her out sideways in his arms.

He turned and used his elbow to push the door shut.

By the time he reached the entrance of the complex, the car had locked itself automatically.

The residents here were mostly young working people, and there was no one manning the gate.

Once inside, the building numbers weren’t laid out in sequential order, and it took him a little time to find Xia Li’s building.

He touched the blue circular electronic key fob to the reader, and the iron door at the base of the building clicked open.

He shouldered it open and stepped inside to discover there was no elevator — an old building.

The person in his arms was very light; even carrying her up four flights of stairs didn’t feel like any effort.

What gave each step a strange, slightly uneven quality — as though the floor were shifting faintly beneath him — was not her weight.

It was her warm, slightly damp breath against the skin of his neck, unceasing and close.

At the fourth-floor landing, Yan Sishi set her feet on the ground first, then shifted to keep one arm around her waist and let her full weight rest against him.

He unlocked the door with the key, found the light switch by the entrance, and the white light spilled down the moment he pressed it.

He scooped her back up, stepped into the entryway, slipped off his shoes, and walked into the apartment in his socks.

The apartment was old, but the two of them had put real care into decorating it — all the heavy, dated mahogany-colored furniture had been cleverly disguised.

The room carried a faint citrus fragrance, like a flame-free diffuser.

Both bedroom doors were closed. Yan Sishi had no way of knowing which room was Xia Li’s, and felt it would be rude to open the wrong one, so he settled her on the sofa in the living room.

He went and closed the front door, then came back to the sofa.

It was obvious that the trench coat wrapped around Xia Li wasn’t very comfortable to sleep in, so he helped her out of it.

He spotted a blanket draped over the back of a dining chair, fetched it, shook it open, and covered her.

There were still two days before the heating would be turned off — it was warm enough inside that she shouldn’t catch a chill.

He then went to the kitchen, boiled a kettle of water, and set it on the coffee table across from the sofa.

He poured one cup and left it to cool.

He had little experience taking care of others; what he did have was a great deal of experience living alone. Everything here was simply doing for her what he would have wanted done for himself.

With all of that done, Yan Sishi sat down on the edge of the sofa, head turned to look at the sleeping figure beside him.

He reached out and brushed the stray hair away from her forehead.

The warmth and texture of her skin against his fingertips made him pause again.

He wasn’t sure whether he was looking at her or examining himself.

He sat in silence for a long while, until it occurred to him that staying any longer would be improper. Then he rose.

He sent Xu Ning a WeChat message to let her know Xia Li was safely home, and left the apartment.

Yan Sishi didn’t notice how quickly he was walking on the way back, or that his breathing had grown slightly uneven.

Out on the street, he found a slip of paper wedged under the windshield wiper. He pulled it out — a parking fine for overstaying in a temporary zone.

He got in the car and tossed it onto the dashboard without a second thought.

There was still a faint trace of fragrance — the crisp scent of sake and yuzu.

Like the thinnest thread, woven into the fabric of his clothes.

In the quiet, his gaze drifted across the now-empty passenger seat and caught on a patch of white.

He reached over.

It was her beret, left behind.