Wei Zhi’s flight was scheduled for early the next morning. As dawn broke, she hazily sensed the man getting out of bed. Half-asleep, she reflexively reached for the space beside her, her pale arm falling limply onto the covers when she found nothing.
The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Her arm twitched, and a tousled head emerged from under the blanket. Her sleepy face still bore faint teeth marks from last night’s passionate encounter.
She had told him not to bite, but he had said, “It’s fine. You’ll be wearing a mask on the plane all day tomorrow anyway.”
Rubbing her face, Wei Zhi grabbed her phone and checked WeChat while still lying in bed. She replied to messages she had missed due to “sleeping too early” the previous night and scrolled through her friends’ updates.
She rolled over. The shower was still running.
Having exhausted her usual social media routine, Wei Zhi opened Weibo, which she hadn’t checked in a day. To her shock, she discovered she had lost about two to three thousand followers due to that oddly-angled “official announcement video.”
This was absurd. She wasn’t even a skiing content creator, yet people had unfollowed her overnight because her skiing form was supposedly ugly.
Sitting up in bed while Shan Chong was in the bathroom, Wei Zhi stared at her phone, feeling distressed. She glanced between her phone and the closed bathroom door, contemplating whether to demand compensation from her boyfriend—or perhaps from Lao Yan, or even Bei Ci. After all, none of her instructors were blameless.
Grimacing, she opened her private messages. Amidst the usual comments like “Hey, if you’re going to Chongli this year, can you recommend a ski instructor?” she found a couple of unusual ones that provided an answer: “How dare you date someone? Have you no shame? Unfollowing.”
Clicking on the profile, she saw: Gender: Male.
Wei Zhi: “…”
Ten minutes later, when Shan Chong emerged from the bathroom toweling his hair, he found his girlfriend curled up in bed, clutching her phone with a shocked expression. She looked up at him and exclaimed, “I have male fans!”
“What about Bei Ci doesn’t seem male?” he replied nonchalantly.
“No, you don’t understand—I have male fans who are cursing me for lacking integrity and unfollowing me because I announced I’m in a relationship!” Wei Zhi’s face lit up with pride. “Isn’t that something only female idols experience?”
Shan Chong paused his hair and leaned over to look at her phone. The male fan’s insults were illogical and quite rude. He couldn’t have imagined that the target of these insults—his otaku girlfriend—would be as thrilled as if she’d won the lottery.
He reached over and closed the private message screen. As he was about to suggest creating a fake account to defend her, two delicate hands grabbed his arm.
The young woman tossed her phone aside and clung to his bent form, swinging his arm. “Did you lose followers when you made our relationship public?”
Shan Chong thought for a moment. His posts about Wei Zhi had always been popular, attracting attention even from outside their circle. Each time, he’d gained a wave of new followers. He hadn’t paid attention to whether anyone had unfollowed him.
Besides, no one would dare criticize him for dating in the comments—they’d be torn apart by his supporters. Their social circle was small; who would risk such social suicide?
Moreover, whether out of arrogance or living in his world, he had never paid much attention to his follower count.
So, with the young woman still hanging onto his arm, he shook his head, about to say “I didn’t notice,” when she suddenly let go and fell back onto the bed.
Wrapped in the blanket, she kicked her feet and proudly huffed, “I lost a lot of followers.”
“?”
Shan Chong hesitated, unsure how to interpret her meaning for the first time. If she had been crying and feeling wronged, he might have started to question whether his possessiveness and meddling were hindering her career.
But her tone suggested something entirely different. That proud “hmph” sounded as if she had just won a Nobel Prize in manga.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She replied with an “Oh” and said, “You’re not good enough.”
“…”
Standing by the bed, the man’s lips curled slightly, revealing pearly white teeth—his reaction mirroring that of a celebrity known for their looks being called ugly by a hater, a mix of indifference and disdain that seemed to say, “Are you blind?”
Tired of this pointless conversation, he glanced at his phone for the time and said coolly to the person in the blanket, “Get up. Stop burrowing into the covers.”
“I’m a female idol now,” came the voice from the blanket, only a smooth forehead visible. Perhaps emboldened by not showing her face, she continued shamelessly, “You should speak to me more politely. Use ‘please.’ I’ll give you another chance to say it properly.”
“…”
Before she could bask in her pride any longer, the blanket was yanked away. Wearing jeans and shirtless, the man dragged her out of the covers and hoisted her over his shoulder.
The young woman let out a shriek, her waist folded over his shoulder, her smooth, round toes searching for purchase against his abs. Her toenails tapped against the open button of his jeans, making soft “click” sounds.
Finally, her feet found a hold on his hips, and just as she managed to steady herself in this ungraceful position, a large hand came down with a “smack” on her round bottom, causing her to lurch forward.
She flailed her arms in the air before grabbing onto his waist. “I lost two or three thousand followers for you! How can you treat me like this?”
“You seem pretty happy about losing followers,” he remarked.
“Well, since I’ve already lost them, shouldn’t I find a positive angle instead of crying about it?” she retorted.
Her feet slipped between his hips and lower back, kicking out a couple more times—she couldn’t find her balance, but she certainly managed to stoke his fire.
It was strange; despite all the skiing, while others ended up covered in bruises or calluses, she remained unscathed. From the moment she learned to put on her board, aside from some blisters from new boots and one fall when she was tricked into the park, she had managed to stay “safe and uninjured” to a tee. Her feet were so soft it made one wonder if she had been practicing diligently.
Shan Chong said nothing. Before the fire could become uncontrollable, he carried her into the bathroom and unceremoniously deposited her in the shower stall before leaving.
She opened the door and poked her head out like a little puppy, asking sweetly, “Will you take me to the airport later?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Why else would I be up before dawn? To operate the snow groomer?” he replied sarcastically. “The ski resort doesn’t open for another four hours.”
“Oh.”
The head poking out from the bathroom door quickly retreated.
…
Since Shan Chong had agreed to take her, Wei Zhi naturally assumed he’d drive them in his old car. So after dawdling through her shower, she arranged to meet Jiang Nanfeng and Jiang Chao in the hotel lobby.
When the two women dragged their luggage out, they were surprised to find the familiar, unwashed Beijing vehicle already parked in front of the hotel.
Wei Zhi turned back in confusion to look at the car’s owner, who had just walked out with her.
As she turned back, the driver’s door opened, and a young man with his arm in a sling jumped out. In the freezing weather, he stood by the car and glanced at them from a distance.
Chongli had received plenty of snow this year. It had been snowing since midnight.
Now, snow was falling on his shoulders. He stood motionless like a statue, his hair tinged white, before finally turning and climbing into the back seat.
Wei Zhi blinked in disbelief and asked, “How did he shift gears and drive out of the parking lot?”
No one answered her question, so she turned to look at Jiang Nanfeng, intending to suggest they take a taxi instead.
To her surprise, Jiang Nanfeng made a gesture that Wei Zhi probably hadn’t made since her second year of middle school. She rubbed her eyes somewhat childishly, then lowered her hand and stared at the dirty car’s back seat.
She showed no sign of reaching for her phone to open a ride-hailing app.
Unsure of Jiang Nanfeng’s intentions, Wei Zhi looked at Shan Chong. Faced with his girlfriend’s silent gaze, Shan Chong seemed to feel a bit guilty and succinctly said, “Five people. It’ll be a tight fit, but we’ll manage.”
He was usually a man of few words, but when feeling guilty or trying to justify himself, he became even more terse.
After loading the luggage, Shan Chong took the driver’s seat, and Wei Zhi climbed into the passenger seat. They turned around in unison—
Lao Yan was curled up silently in the corner of the back seat;
Jiang Chao and Jiang Nanfeng stood outside the car, evidently engaged in a silent debate over who would sit in the middle…
Finally, Jiang Chao pushed his sister into the back seat, closed the door, and announced that since five would be too cramped, he’d take a taxi.
Wei Zhi’s first thought was that she hadn’t expected Jiang Chao to be so considerate.
As the car quieted down, she realized the atmosphere was so awkward you could cut it with a knife. She began to regret not taking a taxi with Jiang Chao.
Glancing at Shan Chong, she pulled out her Bluetooth earphones and put them on.
Shan Chong, with his impressive composure, lowered his eyes slightly and started the car.
About fifty meters down the road, Jiang Nanfeng broke the silence with “Are you catching a flight too?” and Lao Yan chuckled briefly, saying “Did you see any luggage with me?”, Wei Zhi quietly turned the volume of her music to its lowest setting, maintaining a calm expression as she stared ahead.
“What are you doing up so early instead of sleeping?” Jiang Nanfeng asked.
“What do you think?” Lao Yan replied.
Students taking Lao Yan’s classes these past few days must have been suffering. They probably imagined Shan Chong had switched to freestyle skiing even with their eyes closed.
“Zhao Keyan, I think we’re just one step away from being WeChat friends,” Jiang Nanfeng said. “What are you up to?”
It was the first time Wei Zhi had heard Lao Yan’s full name, and coming from Jiang Nanfeng’s mouth, it sounded murderous. She couldn’t help but glance at the back seat through the rearview mirror…
Neither of them noticed her look. She hastily averted her gaze.
Turning to look at the driver, she caught him lazily glancing at her with a hint of amusement. This look made her blush, and she raised her hand to tap his hand on the steering wheel in a warning.
Gently. Afraid of disturbing the two in the back. But it seemed they weren’t disturbed at all.
At that moment, the young man called by his full name wore a carefree expression. With the air of a playboy and his lineage’s trademark sarcastic smile, Lao Yan asked, “What’s wrong? Did you see I changed my status on the short video platform and removed the pin?”
He should have let the naive girl off the hook and said he hadn’t.
Jiang Nanfeng didn’t. Under Wei Zhi’s gaze, full of trust in her intelligence, she said nothing, silently turning her head to look out the window.
The corners of her eyes were slightly red.
Wei Zhi saw Lao Yan’s smile falter as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, no longer daring to stare at Jiang Nanfeng. His forceful attack had backfired spectacularly.
The young man finally dropped his smile and said quietly, “I didn’t delete it. I just made it private.”
Jiang Nanfeng remained silent.
Lao Yan lowered his head, fiddling with his fingers. After a moment, he added, “When you agree, I’ll make it public again…”
At a red light, Shan Chong smoothly braked.
In the suddenly silent car, without even the engine noise, Lao Yan’s voice was crystal clear as he said—
“When the time comes, everything that should be there will be, nothing missing.”
The young man’s voice carried a thick nasal tone.
After several seconds, the person staring out the window turned back. She tilted her head and looked at him for a while. As the driver restarted the car and the engine rumbled to life, she let out an almost inaudible “Mm,” barely reaching his ears.
The traffic light turned green.
…
The airport always seemed particularly busy before the New Year.
On the day Shan Chong took Wei Zhi to the airport, he couldn’t say he was in a good mood. Looking at the sea of people, he frowned continuously, annoyed by the Spring Festival travel rush and the crowding.
In previous years, they had always flown on New Year’s Day when the airport was practically deserted.
He carried Wei Zhi’s suitcase into the airport, watched her check-in, exchanged her ticket, and escorted her to the security checkpoint. With his hands in his pockets, he said, “Go on then.”
Above his mask, his dark eyes were calm, showing no reluctance. He appeared as composed as if they were merely parting ways at the top of a ski slope, with her heading to the K trail and him to the park…
As if they’d be huddled together eating lunch in just a few hours.
Wei Zhi couldn’t even imagine such a scene. The thought made her insides ache with longing. She sniffled, suspecting this man might not have a heart at all.
Outside the airport, the sun had just risen above the horizon. It wasn’t glaring and provided no warmth, hanging in the sky like a fiery red fake sun.
Wei Zhi turned her head to see Lao Yan slightly bowing his head, adjusting Jiang Nanfeng’s beret. The atmosphere between them seemed harmonious; they hadn’t ended up “deleting each other from WeChat” after all.
Turning back to face her serious boyfriend, the young woman felt deeply resentful, thinking she seemed more likely to be the one deleting contacts once on the plane.
She flicked the rabbit ears on her waist bag.
At that moment, the man finally moved. He stepped forward, his large hand pressing on her shoulder as he leaned down to place a light kiss on the side of her face. Through the mask, she felt his warm touch.
This bastard had kissed where he’d left teeth marks last night.
“Does your face still hurt?” he asked in a low voice.
She wanted to say “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” but her voice caught in her throat. Instead, she let out a coquettish whimper and buried herself in his embrace. “Why don’t you seem to miss me at all?”
Her soft hands clung tightly to his waist.
Shan Chong’s eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a hint of a smile. He stroked her head, promising to video call her in the evening and on the cable car if he had time. He agreed not to take female students if possible, and if he had to, he wouldn’t casually support their waists. He’d even avoid hands-on teaching for now…
And so on.
She rattled off a long list of requests. Finally, the man hooked a finger on the edge of her mask, pulled it down, and pressed his lips, with their familiar scent, against hers in a fleeting kiss—
Her stream of reminders came to an abrupt halt.
Before she could react, her mask was back in place. His slightly rough fingertips pressed the edges to ensure a tight seal against her nose bridge. He smiled and said, “Go on. Call me when you land.”
“What if you’re on the slopes then?”
He lowered his eyes.
“I’ll answer no matter where I am.”
…
After seeing off his girlfriend, the man returned to his apartment at the top of the ski resort.
Initially, his mood was normal.
But when he opened the door and was hit by the lingering sweet scent of shampoo, everything started to feel off.
The apartment hadn’t been tidied yet. The young woman’s towel from the morning was still carelessly draped over a chair. Frowning at the untidiness, the man picked it up and tossed it into the laundry basket.
He made the bed, pushed the pulled-out chair back into place, folded his clothes left on the sofa, and entered the bathroom. He saw his girlfriend’s shampoo bottle still there, picked it up, and noticed it was almost empty as if calculated to last just long enough. The cap was left open, revealing the source of the persistent fragrance.
He made a round of the room, as if on patrol.
Suddenly, the man realized that without someone to chatter away, the room was far too quiet.
Bei Ci messaged him at 8:30 AM, just as he had completed his eight-hundredth aimless circuit of the room.
[CK, Bei Ci: Bro, you back? Little Junior is left?]
[Chong: Yeah.]
[CK, Bei Ci: Perfect timing! Wanna hit the slopes today?]
Calmly, Shan Chong picked up a long, black, slightly curled hair from the pillow. He stared at it for a moment, placed it on the bedside table, and casually replied—
[Chong: Sure.]
That day at the top of the ski resort was, strictly speaking, no different from any other day.
It had snowed yesterday, so today’s snow conditions were arguably the best—thick powder snow. Shan Chong and his group spent the whole morning riding through the small forest…
Shan Chong only felt excited during the first run.
After emerging from the forest on the first run, he felt it was just so-so.
For the next few runs, Bei Ci and the others gleefully whooped and hollered ahead of him like they were reverting to their primate ancestors. He simply assumed the role of cameraman, steadily following behind with his phone, recording their frolicking in the snow.
At lunch, he barely ate, lazily leaning to the side as he edited videos for his disciples.
Bei Ci, being the filial one, noticed his mentor’s low spirits and came over to ask if he wanted to hit the jump park in the afternoon.
The man lifted his eyelids slightly, glancing at the time and wondering if his wife’s plane had landed. Absently, he grunted in response, then thought for a moment and said, “Don’t feel like it.”
This was the first time since Bei Ci had known Shan Chong that he felt his image could be equated with a lovesick Lin Daiyu.
Bei Ci: “…”
Bei Ci: “Then, want to teach? I have a student asking if they can book you.”
Shan Chong: “My back hurts. Can’t support anyone.”
Bei Ci: “…”
Bei Ci: “So what are you going to do this afternoon?”
Shan Chong thought for a moment and said, “Don’t know. Just ski aimlessly, I guess.”
But he didn’t even ski aimlessly properly.
After lunch, he changed into his riding board and stared at the “mach” logo for a full thirty seconds.
Then, hugging his board on the cable car, he gazed down at the slopes below. His interest was piqued when he spotted someone bent over, touching the snow. He turned his head, about to say something, only to meet his disciple’s puzzled eyes.
Bei Ci: “What?”
Shan Chong: “…”
Shan Chong felt he had never so vividly experienced the meaning of “utterly uninteresting” as he did at that moment.
With a wooden face, he muttered “Nothing” and turned away again.
This was perhaps the beginning…
That afternoon, with every backside turn he made touching the snow, he imagined a young woman clinging to his neck, crying, “Just chop off my butt already”…
The usually joyful act of carving turns was giving him PTSD.
So.
After skiing for just an hour that afternoon, the man promptly removed his board. Before he had even steadied himself in the equipment hall, he bought a ticket home—
Joining the Spring Festival travel rush of people squeezing together.
He’d rather go home and face scolding than stay in this desolate ski resort filled with an air of loneliness.