After work, Xia Li dragged out the last bit of remaining tasks, hoping the delay might get her out of the team-building event — but Song Qiao’an wasn’t having it.

As her team lead, he knew exactly what she had on her plate.

They’d just wrapped up one project; the next was still in the research phase. How busy could she realistically be?

She sent off her daily work report email, shut down her computer, gathered her bag and coat, and while Song Qiao’an had stepped away to the restroom, slipped out with a few other female colleagues from the department.

Song Qiao’an had a car, and Xia Li had been quietly dreading the possibility that he might offer to drive her to the venue.

She wasn’t oblivious — she understood perfectly well what his intentions were.

She didn’t actually dislike Song Qiao’an as a person. She’d worked under him for three years; the first time she’d traveled abroad on a work trip, he’d walked her through everything step by step, down to the smallest details, like how to handle her visa.

She simply didn’t have any feelings for him beyond those of a colleague.

Their department skewed relatively young, and the company had no rules against office relationships.

Song Qiao’an’s attitude toward Xia Li hadn’t gone unnoticed by the rest of the team, and every so often someone would join in with a little good-natured ribbing.

Precisely because of this, Xia Li was especially careful about how she navigated her interactions with him — not wanting to be ambiguous enough to give him false hope, but not wanting to be so blunt that things became awkward between them either.

Xia Li and the other female colleagues arrived at SO3 first.

The seat beside her was occupied when she got there, but the person promptly stood up to offer it to Song Qiao’an, cheerfully saying, “Song-ge, sit here!”

Xia Li could hardly stop someone from offering their seat. She looked away with an awkward expression and reached for her water glass.

Once Song Qiao’an sat down, he asked, “How did you disappear in the blink of an eye just now?”

“Sara and I had a conversation we hadn’t finished — we just came together.”

“Should we get some appetizers ahead of time? The admin team ordered a set menu, but it won’t be served until everyone’s here.”

Xia Li shook her head. “It’s fine — I’m not that hungry yet.”

Not wanting to get drawn into conversation with Song Qiao’an on anything outside of work, she pulled out her phone, pretended to be urgently replying to a friend’s WeChat, and gave half-distracted responses to his attempts at conversation.

Sure enough, before long, Song Qiao’an apparently sensed the futility of it and turned to chat with the colleague on his other side.

People trickled in one by one, and once most had arrived, the food started coming out.

They’d booked out half the venue. The scattered tables in the main seating area had been pushed together into two long rows. The organizers had mixed and seated people from both departments together at random, so a good number of colleagues from the design team had been placed at Xia Li’s table.

Once dinner was underway, Song Qiao’an, as a mid-level team lead, naturally took on the job of keeping the atmosphere lively.

Xia Li was grateful he had no time to pay attention to her, and settled happily into a quiet corner — picking at her food, sneaking glances at her phone, and barely taking part in any of the larger conversations.

The male colleague who had been seated on her other side by the reshuffle also wasn’t participating much in the conversation — he had, instead, been quietly observing Xia Li for some time.

When Xia Li set down her phone to refill her juice, he spoke up: “Are you Sherry — the one who handled the New York project last time?”

Xia Li looked over with a small smile. “Yes.”

“I worked on the visual communication design for that project — we coordinated over WeChat.”

He touched the tip of his nose, a little shyly. “You can call me Zack. Or Xiao Lin — my name is Lin Chiyu.”

“I heard you playing what sounded like a match-three game just now…”

Lin Chiyu nodded. “There’s one similar to it, with better art style and UI design — you might want to try it. It’s not available in the mainland region, though. Do you have a US App Store account?”

“I do.” Xia Li’s App Store was currently logged into her US account, so she opened it directly.

Lin Chiyu told her the name.

Xia Li typed it in. “…I’m not finding it?”

“Maybe the spelling — this game’s name is easy to misspell.”

“Can you check?” Xia Li turned the phone screen toward him.

In a booth section across the room, Wen Shubai retracted the gaze he’d been directing with considerable interest toward that side of the venue for a while now, and said with amusement, “Business seems to be going well over there — no wonder some people are feeling the pressure.”

Across from him, Yan Sishi showed no particular expression, only lifted his glass and took a sip of cold water.

Wen Shubai claimed his primary occupation was enjoying life; investing was only his secondary pursuit. Back in university, he’d treated a few restaurant ventures and creative boutique stores as light recreation — and had come out comfortably profitable. Over time he’d grown his portfolio to the point where he could stand on his own without any support from the Wen family.

For the foreseeable future, the opportunities were going to be in artificial intelligence, new-energy vehicles, autonomous driving, and other high-tech fields.

Shortly after Yan Sishi had returned to the country, Wen Shubai had sat him down for a thorough briefing on the state of the industry in the US, with a serious eye toward investing in those sectors — artificial intelligence especially.

AI had far too many sub-fields to count, and the future was still largely an open sea.

Yan Sishi, as a frontline researcher, had his finger on the pulse of the very latest industry developments; Wen Shubai, having studied finance, was separated from this kind of pure engineering field by a considerable gulf.

Every so often, Wen Shubai would find a reason to get Yan Sishi out so they could talk — filling in his own gaps in knowledge.

Yan Sishi had said he’d treat him to dinner tonight. Wen Shubai had declined a less useful engagement and come willingly.

It was only after arriving that he realized Yan Sishi’s reasons ran elsewhere.

Wen Shubai had formed a positive impression of this young woman the first time he’d encountered her, and his curiosity had only grown. While talking with Yan Sishi, he’d been sneaking glances across the room at intervals.

He’d noticed that before even the midpoint of the team-building event, two different men had already been making pointed efforts to get her attention.

Wen Shubai had studied Yan Sishi’s face more than once, trying to read something more from that cool, measured expression — but it was futile every time.

They’d known each other since kindergarten.

All those years, and Wen Shubai had never once seen Yan Sishi in a relationship.

Zero reference points. Naturally, there was nothing to compare against.

As far as Wen Shubai could recall, Yan Sishi had always been fairly reserved around women — not dismissive, exactly, more like an across-the-board politeness with a consistent undercurrent of distance.

The only one he’d had a somewhat closer relationship with was Fang Shumu.

And judging from how things had gone at Yan Sishi’s birthday gathering, Fang Shumu was not only far from being that exception — she was quite possibly on her way to being entirely excluded from Yan Sishi’s social circle.

Because her family name was Fang.

And the Fang family and the Yan family had been close for three generations.

The two of them ate and talked, while Yan Sishi, though clearly keeping close tabs on what was happening on Xia Li’s side of the room, seemed to be watching it all from a deliberate remove.

Several times, Wen Shubai said, “She looks like she’s bored over there. Why not go ask her to come have a drink with us?”

Each time, Yan Sishi gave no response.

Wen Shubai laughed. “My mom had the nerve to say I don’t know how to pursue someone. You’ve come all the way here and you’re not going to do anything?”

Yan Sishi remained noncommittal.

He wiped his hands on a napkin, stood up, and headed to the restroom.

Just as he pushed through the door, he heard voices inside.

By coincidence — it was Xia Li’s direct supervisor, and another man wearing glasses.

Both of them seemed to have had a fair amount to drink, and were running cold water over their faces at the sink.

The man with glasses laughed: “You still haven’t gotten her yet, Old Song?”

Xia Li’s supervisor said, “These things take time.”

“You’ve worked together for years now, haven’t you? What’s the holdup? All those business trips, just the two of you — how did you never make a move when you had the chance…”

“Don’t say it like that.” Xia Li’s supervisor’s voice had taken on a note of mild displeasure. “Love should go both ways… I’m working on it, alright?”

“She seems the innocent, easy type — how is she this hard to get? If you can’t manage it, Old Song, let me try. I’ll have her locked down in a week, guaranteed…”

Xia Li’s supervisor looked uncomfortable, but evidently unwilling to push back out of social obligation, and said nothing.

Yan Sishi stepped over to an empty sink. As the cold water ran, he said quietly: “I’d appreciate it if you’d speak with a bit more respect.”

Both men turned to look at him simultaneously.

The man with glasses: “…Are you talking to me?”

Yan Sishi looked at him without expression.

“Who are you? Do we know each other?” the man asked.

Song Qiao’an said quietly, “…He’s Xia Li’s classmate.”

The man with glasses felt a flicker of unease but covered it with a sneer: “So what? You interested in her too? Get in line behind me then. It was just a joke — don’t be so serious…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Yan Sishi moved without warning — he closed the distance in one step, seized the back of the man’s collar, and pressed his hand flat against the back of the man’s head, pushing it down toward the basin.

Under the running water, Yan Sishi’s voice came out like something that had been cooled to ice: “Funny, is it?”

The glasses slipped from the man’s nose with a sharp clatter into the sink. He struggled, but the hand pinning the back of his head didn’t budge.

That same cold voice asked again, unhurried: “Funny, is it?”

The man bellowed, “Old Song! Old Song!”

Song Qiao’an came to his senses and tried to grab Yan Sishi’s arm. “Hey, hey — come on, let it go. He’d just had too much to drink — this isn’t worth it…”

Yan Sishi shifted his gaze to Song Qiao’an’s face.

That sharp, blade-like look made even Song Qiao’an feel a chill.

At last, Yan Sishi let go, and said with cold contempt: “And this is the kind of manager you are.”

Song Qiao’an had the grace to look thoroughly embarrassed.

The man with glasses, squinting, fished his glasses out of the sink and in the same breath seemed to consider picking a fight — but Song Qiao’an grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the door. “Enough! Let’s go!”

At the doorway, the man with glasses still had a residual chip on his shoulder and muttered under his breath, “He threw the first punch — what’s there to be scared of? Call the police if you want…”

Over the sound of running water, that cold voice carried across the room with perfect calm: “Go ahead and try.”

It came out more as a warning than anything else.

No sound from outside after that.

Yan Sishi stood at the sink and washed his hands for a long time, something in his expression like the disgust of having touched something unclean.

He straightened his clothes, splashed water on his face, and then walked out.

Wen Shubai was pouring himself a drink when he glanced up at Yan Sishi returning to his seat across the table and did a double take.

There was water still on his face. His expression was cold and settled, with something close to a flinty edge in his eyes.

“…What happened?”

Yan Sishi said nothing. He just picked up his glass and swallowed a mouthful of ice water.

As if nothing had happened at all.

Across the room, the team-building dinner had moved into full swing. Drinks had been drunk, food had been eaten, and the energy had picked up considerably.

This was usually when Xia Li would make her quiet exit.

She glanced around — her department head and Song Qiao’an had both disappeared from her table. She decided this was her moment.

She locked her phone and tucked it into her bag.

She turned to reach for the coat hanging on the back of her chair — and grabbed at nothing.

She looked down. The coat had slipped to the floor.

When she picked it up, a small wave of distress hit her:

It was the lightweight wool coat she’d bought in New York on the recent business trip — perfect for spring mornings and evenings, when the temperature swing was sharp. She didn’t own many clothes, but every piece had been deliberately chosen for its quality and silhouette.

This coat was a soft, beautiful pale grey, the fabric light as a breath of air — and now it had not only fallen on the floor but had two grimy footprints pressed into it from whoever had stepped over it without noticing.

She held it and patted at it a few times. The marks didn’t budge. The ache in her chest was real.

Just then, Song Qiao’an came over with a glass in hand. Catching her about to leave, he said: “Heading out already?”

Xia Li said nothing, just kept mechanically patting at the coat.

At that moment, she felt a very strong urge to hand in her resignation.

“Stay a little longer? Cabs are a nightmare to get at this hour — I’ll drive you home.”

As he said it, the slightly-flushed Song Qiao’an reached for her arm.

Xia Li moved to step back. But before she could, Song Qiao’an’s arm was blocked.

She looked up, startled.

Yan Sishi had reached over and taken the coat from her arms with a light, unhurried pull toward him.

She found herself drawn along almost involuntarily.

Yan Sishi spared Song Qiao’an one brief, cold glance.

Given what had happened in the restroom, Song Qiao’an felt the weight of his own wrongdoing and didn’t say a word.

Yan Sishi turned back to Xia Li, his voice quiet and even: “Shall I take you home?”

Xia Li nodded.

She was in the worst mood she’d been in for a while; she didn’t want to stay a second longer.

Yan Sishi held the coat; she followed behind him.

There was a peculiar, subtle sensation of being led — her heart stirred faintly with the feeling of it.

At the entrance to the restaurant bar, Yan Sishi let go and looked down at her. “Are you cold?”

Xia Li shook her head.

He paused briefly, then reached out and took the coat she had folded over her arm. “I’ll carry it.”

“It’s dirty…”

“It’s fine.”

He glanced at the coat. The two footprints were quite visible.

Then he said: “I know a very good dry cleaner. We can drop it off on the way.”

Xia Li nodded.

They walked toward the parking area.

It was only then that Xia Li thought to ask: “How did you end up being here?”

Yan Sishi was quiet.

In that silence, something clicked for Xia Li.

A quiet beat in her chest, like the soft tap of a small drum.

It hadn’t been a coincidence, she thought. There was no way it had been.

Yan Sishi knew where her team-building event was. Calling this a chance encounter would be too clumsy an excuse — and a man like him wouldn’t resort to something that transparent.

She found herself suddenly without anything to say.

The silence settled and fermented, and the longer it went on, the harder it became to know how to break it.

They turned a corner, and then Xia Li felt a tickle in her nose and let out a small, quiet sneeze.

The breeze was light — not really cold at all.

“Are you cold?” Yan Sishi asked anyway.

She shook her head, the denial barely formed before his movements were already ahead of her words.

In one motion, he draped her coat back into her arms, then shrugged off his own long trench coat and laid it over her shoulders. He took the soiled coat back and tucked it under his arm.

The whole sequence gave her no opening to object.

The coat started to slip. She reached up quickly to grab the lapels.

And almost immediately, she was back in a memory from a long time ago — that night they’d skipped class together. A wind just like this one. A night just like this one. The same silence between them.

The same scene, played out as if in mirror.

This is the third time, she thought. The third time I’ve worn his coat.

Surely anything that happens three times takes on some kind of meaning.

She suddenly didn’t dare look at him.

The coat wasn’t properly on — just draped over her, like a shawl. Without thinking, both hands had found their way to the lapels and stayed there, as though she’d always been holding them. She moved through the rest of the walk wrapped in the scent that clung to the fabric, a faint, formless feeling of falling steadily inward.

“Aren’t…aren’t you cold?” Xia Li finally said.

Under Yan Sishi’s white button-down, he’d added a pale grey sweater.

But the fabric looked thin, and she couldn’t help feeling its warmth was questionable at best.

“Not cold.”

“Then let’s walk faster.” Xia Li suggested.

No sooner had she said it than Yan Sishi actually picked up the pace — striding ahead with those long legs, fast as a gust of wind, so that she was close to a light jog just to keep up.

And just at the moment she was nearly caught up, Yan Sishi abruptly stopped and turned around.

She stopped too, just in time.

Half a step apart, Yan Sishi looked down at her: “Faster?”

She thought she heard something like the edge of amusement in the question.

For a moment she was caught completely off guard.

And forgot, just then, to put her guard back up.

The amber streetlight seemed to cut a straight line right through to her eyes.

And Yan Sishi’s gaze followed it in.

The night breeze, it seemed, had rushed straight into her chest.

Who says you can’t step into the same river twice.

Otherwise, why did the tide she heard rising in her chest still beat in the rhythm of something old.