Yan Sishi received a message from Grandfather Yan, asking him to come home for a visit.

Grandfather Yan assured him repeatedly that, aside from the housekeeper, everyone else had been sent away. He only wanted the two of them to have a private conversation — it would take no more than half an hour of his time.

Yan Sishi had not visited Grandfather Yan’s place in a very long time.

The Yan family home was like a gilded cage, resplendent and ostentatious, yet Grandfather Yan’s personal quarters were simple and elegantly understated.

When Yan Sishi arrived, Fang Shumu happened to be walking out through the front gate, a bag slung over her shoulder, clearly on her way out.

Fang Shumu paused to greet Yan Sishi. “Wen Shubai mentioned you’re leaving for Bincheng next week.”

In truth, Yan Sishi’s expression and tone could not be called cold — yet she felt that his manner kept people at a far greater distance than outright indifference ever could.

Like a snow-capped mountain: you could see it, you knew it stood there somewhere beyond the drifting mist, appearing and vanishing, yet no matter how long you lived, you could never draw near.

Before high school, Fang Shumu had been the only girl in Yan Sishi’s social circle who came relatively close to him — a privilege afforded by the longstanding friendship between the Fang and Yan families.

Given Grandfather Yan’s standing, Yan Sishi had always been the very center of their world. And a person like that — setting aside the shelter of his family’s name — possessed a brilliance that left others hopelessly far behind.

That she had once been the person closest to his orbit was something she had always taken a quiet pride in.

But then Yan Sishi transferred to a school in a small city, Huo Qingyi passed away, and Yan Sishi spent years abroad, cutting ties almost entirely with his former friends.

By the time he reappeared, she seemed to have become one of those farthest from him — perhaps even less close than his own colleagues.

It was impossible not to say that such a reversal was difficult to accept, at least for a time.

Hearing that Yan Sishi would no longer return to Beicheng for anything outside of work was, unexpectedly, something of a relief to her.

At the very least, she would no longer need to rack her mind over how to find her way back to him, nor torment herself with the thought: even a girl who came out of that little-town high school could manage it — why couldn’t she?

She made a rather sad discovery: perhaps this story had never involved any competition to begin with.

Fang Shumu said nothing more. “Grandfather Yan is waiting for you in the courtyard — he just took his blood pressure medication.”

She gave him one last look, stepped past him, and walked toward the front gate without looking back.

Grandfather Yan wore an old blue-grey undershirt, worn for many years now and faded to a pale wash. He held a bowl of fish food in his hands and was feeding the goldfish in the large celadon tank.

“Little Yan, you’re here.”

“Yes. How have you been feeling lately?”

“About the same.” Grandfather Yan set the bowl down on the nearby table without much concern. “Shubai tells me you’re leaving Beicheng next week.”

“That’s right.”

“Is the startup coming along well?”

“Reasonably well.”

“If there’s anything you need help with, just say the word. Your grandfather may not have much else, but I still have a few connections that might be of use.”

Yan Sishi replied evenly, “The government has support policies in place. We’ll go through the proper channels to apply.”

Grandfather Yan let out a sigh.

The courtyard held several trees, their sparse shadows falling across the ground, lending a certain loneliness to his bent, aging figure. He had lived a life of great achievement — yet who could have foreseen that in his old age, there would be not a single younger family member he could truly speak with?

“Little Yan — have you ever hated your grandfather?”

Yan Sishi said nothing.

“Your grandmother passed away early. I pitied your father for losing his mother so young, and I indulged him far too much for it. Later… I was also concerned with preserving the Yan family’s reputation, so I often turned a blind eye to many things, and inevitably caused you and your mother to suffer in the process.”

Yan Sishi’s expression grew a shade more distant.

“When things happened afterward, even when I wanted to help, I was powerless to do anything…” Grandfather Yan’s face fell into a look of grief. “And then came this latest matter — you’ve seen how it’s played out, a spectacle for the entire city to laugh at.”

He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his tone had shed its lamenting quality, replaced by something more resolute: “Little Yan, I have already drawn up my will. The assets under my name — though not a great deal — will pass entirely to you upon my death.”

Yan Sishi’s voice was extraordinarily calm. “You know I don’t care about that. The only reason I came today is because you are my elder, just as my maternal grandparents are.”

“I know. You have a good heart — how could I not see that? Your grandfather thinks it’s for the best that you go to Bincheng. When I was building my own achievements back in the day, I relied on my own abilities. You have such a sharp mind, and you don’t waste your gifts. With or without the Yan family behind you, you’ll build something great. And with you gone from Beicheng, I’ll have more room to act.”

Yan Sishi paused and asked Grandfather Yan what he intended to do.

Grandfather Yan picked up the bowl again, pinched a little food between his fingers and dropped it into the tank, watching the goldfish cluster and scramble for it. His voice, when it came, was perfectly calm: “Little Yan, whatever happens after this — don’t ask questions. And you don’t know anything.”

Yan Sishi did not press further.

To be honest, he did not yet have the capacity to purely hate anything or anyone.

Dai Shufang had once said: sometimes, hatred can become the very backbone of a person’s spirit — but you, Little Yan, are not that kind of person.

When you hate, you double the blame you turn on yourself. So don’t hate yet. Wait until you are truly strong — there will be no shortage of ways to deal with those who have hurt you. But that time is not now.

As things stood, what he felt toward Yan Suizhang, and toward Fang Pinzhong — Fang Shumu’s father, who had known everything at the time and had repeatedly helped Yan Suizhang deceive and conceal the truth — was nothing more than a cold, detached disgust and revulsion.

He was a member of the Yan family. If he wished to move against Yan Suizhang, now that he had the will, it would be trivially easy.

But at present, he only wanted to first build a life with Xia Li.

That was what mattered most.

Grandfather Yan said, “Shubai mentioned that young woman with the surname Xia. Your grandfather wishes you both well — may the two of you live peacefully in Bincheng from now on.”

Yan Sishi said “thank you” with a calm expression.

The conversation ended there. Grandfather Yan said he had arranged to have tea with an old friend that evening, so he would not be keeping him for dinner.

Yan Sishi took his leave.

Grandfather Yan’s legs were no longer very steady, but he insisted on walking Yan Sishi to the gate. In his parting words, there remained an earnest hope of a grandfather longing for family: “…If you have time during the holidays and come back to Beicheng with Xia, your grandfather would like to treat you both to a meal.”

In early June, Yan Sishi kept his word and went to Bincheng.

In truth, the office had not been fully sorted out yet, but he did not want to break his promise — and he could not bear the thought of seeing her only once a week.

The exhaustion of travel was a secondary concern. What he liked least was taking the flight out of Bincheng every Sunday.

Seeing her was a joy; parting from her was a pain far greater.

Of course, they spoke over video call every day.

He knew she had persuaded her supervisor on the direction of a project proposal.

He knew the exact contents of the afternoon tea at her office each day.

He knew that one evening she had stayed very late at the office, and before bed had scrolled through a shopping site on impulse, buying a pair of very high heels with no idea what occasion she would ever wear them to.

He knew she had peeled off her already-scratched phone screen protector and planned to replace it, only to promptly drop her phone and crack the screen, leaving her with no choice but to send it in for repair.

But their daily calls lasted only a brief hour, and on evenings when either of them worked late, even that couldn’t be guaranteed.

Being apart always left him afraid of missing too many small details of each other’s lives.

The office Yan Sishi and Wen Shubai chose for their company was in the same business park as Xia Li’s company.

Wen Shubai accused him of exploiting public resources for private purposes — a hopeless romantic with his brain entirely given over to love. Yan Sishi’s reply: the feeling was mutual.

Yan Sishi didn’t have many possessions, but his books and magazines were another matter. He had them packed up and shipped to the Bincheng apartment on the day he left.

By the time he arrived, the boxes had already come.

Over the weekend, Xia Li helped him sort everything out together.

They both loved this kind of work. As long as there was no particular rush, watching the stacks of cardboard boxes that filled every corner slowly dwindle — while the wardrobe in the master bedroom and the bookshelves in the study were gradually filled in — was a deeply soothing process.

In the study, the turntable was playing a vinyl record — a Hong Zhuoli album, the official birthday gift Xia Li had given Yan Sishi for his birthday that year, separate from that spur-of-the-moment tin box.

At that moment, it happened to be playing Boy Sees Wild Rose. Xia Li hummed along softly as she sorted through a box of papers that resembled handwritten drafts.

Those drafts were things Yan Sishi had sketched and scribbled during idle moments — mind maps, algorithmic workings, and so on. English technical terms were mixed in with mathematical formulas, making them look, at a glance, like something written in a foreign tongue.

Among all of that, a page consisting entirely of illustrations naturally caught Xia Li’s attention.

It was a design drawing for a fish-shaped pendant, rendered across several versions, each one growing simpler and more elegant than the last — until the final version closely resembled the one now hanging around her neck.

Xia Li stared at it for a long moment before holding it up in front of Yan Sishi. “You never told me you designed it yourself.”

Yan Sishi glanced over and reached out for the design. She promptly hid it behind her back, keeping it from his reach.

“The earrings too? Was it the same?”

Yan Sishi only said, “Just some doodles.”

He had only produced an initial sketch, then handed it off to a professional jewellery designer to refine and produce.

“Ah…” Xia Li didn’t quite know what to say.

He never loved a person in a way that sought credit or reward.

She knelt on the pile of papers, leaned toward him, and wrapped both arms around him. Her heart felt so overwhelmingly soft that she didn’t know how to express it. “Little Yan, Yan Yan, Yan-classmate… how can you be this wonderful?”

Yan Sishi laughed quietly and said, with complete honesty, that being called that made him feel a little embarrassed.

“Then… husband?” Xia Li felt even more inclined to tease him.

Yan Sishi replied with perfect seriousness: “That’s not yet what I am, so don’t go around calling me that.”

“…” Xia Li leaned close to his ear and murmured, “Even in bed?”

She had the satisfaction of watching his ears turn immediately red.

He perhaps truly had two different sides to him. In bed, he was unmistakably commanding and forceful — yet when he was fully dressed and going about some ordinary task, a single sentence from her could make him flustered.

It was precisely this contrast that she found endlessly delightful.

By the end of the morning and the afternoon, everything had been more or less put in order.

Xia Li picked up her phone, planning to find a restaurant and book a table for dinner.

Yan Sishi glanced at her phone screen. “Still haven’t replaced it?”

“Haven’t had a free moment to take it in. I looked into it — replacing the screen would cost over a thousand. I’m still weighing whether to just get a new one or fix this one. It still works fine, so I’ll keep going back and forth a little longer.”

Xia Li was someone who took great care of her possessions. Most of the time, she was quite deliberate before buying anything even slightly expensive, and once she had it, she looked after it all the more carefully. She owned a cashmere coat that she had maintained so well that, after three years of wear, it remained as soft as the day she bought it, its silhouette barely altered.

The following week, Xia Li and Yan Sishi were both equally absorbed in work.

Xia Li’s company was partnering with a sporting event, which would involve a whole series of promotional activities — including a drone light show. This particular element was the most intricate of all, requiring coordination across the technical, marketing, and design departments.

On Yan Sishi’s side, the new project had just been formally launched, and a fresh wave of technical talent had just joined the team. A great deal of energy and time would need to go into getting everyone working smoothly together.

On Tuesday, Xia Li finalized the specifics of the drone show’s presentation with the head of the design team, and was finally able to leave the office.

It was already past ten-thirty. She sent Yan Sishi a message and learned he was still at the office, so she asked if she could come by.

They were in the same business park — her in Building A, him in Building D.

By the time Xia Li walked to the entrance of Building D, Yan Sishi was already waiting for her at the door. He swiped them through security and into the elevator, then brought her upstairs.

Xia Li’s company was in a period of rapid growth — headcount expanding at speed — and had taken over the entire Building A. Word was that the company was in talks with the local government about land rights, with plans to eventually build its own headquarters.

Yan Sishi and Wen Shubai’s company was still in its early stages, and had only taken the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth floors.

As they walked in, colleagues still at their desks greeted them, addressing Yan Sishi as Director Yan.

One or two people glanced at Xia Li with curious eyes, but no one asked anything.

Xia Li followed Yan Sishi into his office. The moment the door swung shut, she said, “How is it that even as the boss, you still have your people working late?”

Yan Sishi explained that he hadn’t forced anyone — the people still here were the ones on track to receive founding shares, seasoned technical experts who had spent years grinding in large corporations. Now that they were working on their own project, of course they had more drive than they ever did at a big company.

“Wow, is it too late for me to sign up?” Xia Li said with a smile.

“Not at all. We’re still hiring for marketing. You’d be most welcome.”

“I was joking. Would being your subordinate really be better than being your girlfriend? I’m not a masochist.”

Yan Sishi gave a quiet laugh.

Xia Li looked around the office.

It was separated from the open workspace by frosted glass panels, not particularly large, with white as the dominant colour — clean, and with a pronounced sense of modern technology.

A projector-enabled display screen was embedded in the wall. On the desk stood two monitors — one horizontal, one vertical. The water-cooled computer tower had a transparent case, emitting a cool white glow that even someone who knew nothing about hardware could appreciate as beautiful.

Xia Li did a slow turn around the room and came back to stand by the computer desk. “Are you going to be here very late tonight?”

“Possibly until at least midnight,” Yan Sishi said. “Don’t wait for me — go home and rest first.”

He seemed to remember something, paused, then opened the right-hand drawer of his desk and took out a white-packaged box, handing it to her.

Last year’s model of the well-known fruit-branded phone — in rose gold.

“I was just about to buy one myself…” Xia Li had never found time to have hers repaired, and had already figured a phone from 2015 probably wasn’t worth fixing.

“Same result either way,” Yan Sishi said. “Just think of it as your birthday gift.”

Xia Li accepted it without the slightest hesitation.

She stayed a little while longer, then got ready to leave.

She told him not to walk her out, and to finish his work and get some rest early.

Yan Sishi had always kept his professional and personal lives strictly separate. Aside from coffee and water, he would not bring snacks or other drinks into this space.

But in this moment, he couldn’t help himself — he kissed her once before letting her go.

It was only past midnight that he finished reviewing the model demo’s performance logs and left the office.

The colleagues who had stayed late invited him to join them for a late-night meal. He declined and went straight home.

He had barely stepped out through the park gates when his phone buzzed.

A new text message notification.

“Hi. I ran into Wang Chen, and he said you were heading back to Beicheng?”

Yan Sishi was puzzled. Then, one after another, more texts came through in quick succession:

“Hi. I asked Tao Shiyue, and she said something happened with your family. Are you okay?”

“Hi. Can you still receive my messages?”

…

Yan Sishi suddenly recalled — last year, at the seaside, Xia Li had snapped at him in anger, saying that someone had been sending him messages over and over, waiting for him over and over.

In that instant, everything became clear.

“Hi. Last mock exam before the college entrance — the questions were absurdly easy. Everyone said the school must have designed it just to give us some confidence.”

“Hi. Nice weather today. I organized my to-do list and realized there are so many films I want to watch after the college entrance exam is over.”

“Hi. The new issue of Cinema is out.”

“Hi. Are you doing okay now? Are you already abroad?”

“Hi. Do you get nervous before exams? Do you have any tips for dealing with nerves?”

“Hi. Tomorrow is the college entrance exam. Could you… wish me luck?”

…

“Hi. English as a major is so hard. Do you have any tricks for working up the nerve to just go up to international students on the street and start talking?”

“Hi. Today is the so-called end of the world. I’m at the library catching up on assignments. What about you?”

“Hi. Another new year. Wishing you a happy new year.”

…

The summer night wind of Bincheng carried a faint trace of the sea, leaving a layer of warm, damp air on the skin.

He felt instead as though he had breathed in a gust of cool wind.

From the distant past, it had blown through the corridor and arrived.

“Hi. Today I received an offer from a major company in Beicheng. Only three people were accepted from our department.”

“Hi. Beicheng got its first snow of the year. You didn’t lie to me — it really is beautiful. But it’s so cold. I almost lost my phone.”

…

“Hi. I spent the entire day at Caltech and didn’t run into you. I’m leaving tomorrow. I don’t know when I’ll have the chance to come to Los Angeles again.”

“Hi. Did you know? The Underwater World in Singapore has closed.”

“Hi. Last night I had a fever and dreamed about you. I think this might be the first time I’ve dreamed about you in all these years. But I couldn’t see your face clearly — I only felt like that blurred figure resembled you. Actually… I feel like I’m starting to forget what you specifically look like.”

“Hi. This is the last message I’m sending you.

Wherever you are in this world — may your life be forever as bright as daylight.

And if the night should come, may the moon hold a light for you.”

Yan Sishi had listened to the waves through an entire night before.

He’d returned in the hours before dawn, driving alone down an empty road, and in that vast, desolate silence, its loneliness and emptiness had been so absolute that for one passing moment he had wanted to simply close his eyes and let go of the wheel.

But he hadn’t.

He didn’t know what had driven him — only that even with that depth of pain in his heart, he had persisted, and had returned to the apartment as the sky began to break.

Now, he thought: it must have been because a girl’s blessing had somehow reached the ears of something far beyond.

That in some unseen way, he had been guided through that darkest passage.

The wind that had blown through the corridor passed through his heart, leaving behind a slow and lingering ache.

Yan Sishi quickened his pace.

He wanted to hold her, right now.