“Huh? Really?”

Shi Xue’er was only mildly surprised by the answer before her attention was quickly pulled back by Zhu Qisen’s voice on the phone. “It’s nothing. I’m having dinner with Teacher Zhu.”

Zhu Wenshu looked again at the photo on her phone screen.

It was clearly the most ordinary photo imaginable, not even showing a face.

She glanced sideways at Shi Xue’er.

She suddenly wanted to ask her why she’d said that.

But Shi Xue’er obviously had no time to pay attention to her right now.

While Zhu Wenshu was still hesitating, Ling Chen sent another message.

[c]: Awful.

Perhaps it was the impact of the word “boyfriend” from Shi Xue’er’s mouth still ringing in her ears — Zhu Wenshu stared at Ling Chen’s message in a daze, her heart beating faster than usual.

Sitting in the noisy little snack shop, she felt as if she could hear Ling Chen whispering to her from within the mundane bustle around him.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Well, it’s a foreign country after all.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Honestly all dumplings taste more or less the same, I’ve never thought any particular place made especially good ones.

[c]: When I’m back, I’ll take you somewhere good to eat.

Zhu Wenshu fell into a daze again.

She held her phone, and it was a good while before she replied.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Does Yuanyuan want to eat too?

[c]: ?

[c]: What does it have to do with him if I’m treating you to a meal.

A long pause.

[Zhu Wenshu]: …Oh!

Ling Chen said nothing more, and Zhu Wenshu didn’t put her phone down either.

When Shi Xue’er hung up the call and turned to look over, she seemed a little puzzled.

“Teacher Zhu, what are you spacing out about?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Zhu Wenshu came back to herself, and just as she reached for her chopsticks, her hand froze halfway. She turned to Shi Xue’er and said quietly, “By the way, why did you say that was my boyfriend just now?”

Shi Xue’er, busy typing a message on her phone, let out a snort of laughter at that, but didn’t look at her or say anything, her fingers flying across the screen.

“Say something.”

Zhu Wenshu poked her arm. “Don’t just focus on chatting with Zhu Qisen.”

Shi Xue’er did stop then, but only turned to stare at her, smiling knowingly.

Then her eyes dropped to the dumplings sitting in front of Zhu Wenshu.

“Your dumplings are getting cold from all this chatting,” Shi Xue’er said slowly, raising her eyes and arching a brow at Zhu Wenshu. “If that’s not a boyfriend, what is it?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

She immediately picked up a dumpling and put it in her mouth, mumbling, “They’re clearly still hot.”

Shi Xue’er found this funny and propped her chin on her hand, watching Zhu Wenshu.

“You’re not a kid anymore, why is Teacher Zhu so shy?” she said. “You’re pretty, it’s perfectly normal to have a boyfriend or admirers, no need to hide it.”

It was perfectly normal to have a boyfriend or an admirer.

But if that person was Ling Chen, it wasn’t normal at all.

After a while, the phone Zhu Wenshu had set down beside her buzzed twice.

Before she could react, Shi Xue’er beside her shot her a teasing glance.

She said nothing, but somehow that look seemed to carry a great deal of implication.

It left Zhu Wenshu feeling a little nervous even as she picked up her phone.

She opened it and saw it wasn’t a message from Ling Chen.

She should have felt relieved, but the relief was so complete it left an odd, hollow feeling.

[Xu Guangliang]: Teacher Zhu, busy lately?

[Xu Guangliang]: I’ve finally cleared my schedule. I didn’t get to properly host everyone at the wedding — free this weekend for a meal?

[Xu Guangliang]: Just us high school classmates here in Jiangcheng, think of it as a little reunion I’m throwing. What do you say?

Strictly speaking, Zhu Wenshu and this group of high school classmates weren’t locals of Jiangcheng — their hometown was Huiyang, a prefecture-level city under Jiangcheng’s jurisdiction, seventy or eighty kilometers away.

Over the years everyone had scattered in different directions; some stayed in Huiyang, and some had come to Jiangcheng.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Sure, no problem.

[Xu Guangliang]: Great, Saturday evening. I’ll book a restaurant and let you know.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Okay.

After eating a couple more bites of dumplings, Zhu Wenshu remembered something and picked up her phone again.

Shi Xue’er was beside her, head down eating noodles, not looking at her, but pressing her lips together to hold back a smile.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Xu Guangliang’s treating everyone to dinner this Saturday, are you coming?

A while later.

[c]: I won’t make it in time.

[c]: I’ll be back Sunday.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Alright then-

She set down her phone. Ling Chen stared at the half-cooked dumplings in front of him, thought for a moment, and decided to just make do.

Australia was two hours ahead of home time, and dusk had already fallen there; the restaurant was gradually filling with more guests.

Ling Xingyan sat across from him, and between cutting his steak he glanced at Ling Chen and clicked his tongue.

“If you can’t eat it, don’t force yourself. If you don’t finish, people will think I’m mistreating you — let me order you a steak.”

“No need.”

The server had just brought over chopsticks; Ling Chen took them and put his head down to eat. “No point wasting money.”

Ling Xingyan had nothing to say to that.

As a child, his family’s circumstances had been average — he was never left hungry or cold, but it had only ever just reached the line of adequate; he’d never eaten anything particularly good. In recent years he’d made a lot of money, and he indulged himself generously, having sampled all manner of rare delicacies from around the world.

He thought this was only human nature — once conditions improved, people wanted to make up for the regrets of childhood.

But Ling Chen’s circumstances back then had been far worse than his own, and yet the extreme swing Ling Xingyan had expected — the “backlash effect” — never showed up in him.

Nowadays even a mildly famous performer expected to be coddled and catered to — five-star hotels, big-name clothing brands, and food went without saying. Not long ago he’d heard colleagues in the industry privately complaining about an actor who’d demanded the crew provide Michelin-restaurant lunches every day while filming; one night the abalone he ate wasn’t quite fresh, and the next day he threw a fit and refused to shoot.

Yet Ling Chen was the opposite. He could eat the finest delicacies, and he never turned his nose up at plain porridge and simple dishes either. When left to himself, he was even more casual — a dish or two with a bowl of white rice was enough to satisfy him.

And he almost never left leftovers, which, if word got out, people might think was just an act.

At first Ling Xingyan thought he was simply used to being frugal. Later, it started to make his heart ache a little.

After a disaster, rebuilding from the ruins wasn’t guaranteed. And extremes didn’t always swing back the other way — sometimes they just became a scar that never faded.

But since Ling Chen himself never seemed to have any complaints about it, Ling Xingyan didn’t push the matter further.

Just then, Ling Siyuan called him on video.

“What are you up to?”

The child’s face appeared on the screen. Ling Xingyan smiled. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah.”

Ling Siyuan answered glumly, then said nothing more.

Ling Xingyan could tell his son was unhappy, so he asked, “What’s wrong? Did your teacher scold you?”

“No, my teacher gave me a cookie as a reward today.”

Ling Siyuan pouted, sounding aggrieved. “I went downstairs to play on the slide and could never get a turn.”

“If there’s no turn, go play something else.”

Ling Xingyan laughed. “That’s not worth being upset about.”

“Guoguo kept hogging the slide and wouldn’t let me play! I went to find his dad, and his dad was just like an idiot—”

The fork and knife in Ling Chen’s hand suddenly froze.

Ling Xingyan, who had been chatting relaxedly with his son, instinctively glanced at Ling Chen’s reaction the moment he heard that sentence. Seeing it, he shouted almost without thinking.

“Ling Siyuan!”

The child, startled by his father’s sudden outburst of anger, went bright red on the small face visible in the camera, not understanding what he’d done wrong.

Ling Xingyan took a breath, then fixed a frown on the person on the screen.

“How could you say that about his father?! Who taught you to talk like that?”

The child on the phone was too frightened to speak; the nanny behind him also fell silent, not daring to make a sound.

Ling Chen glanced at Ling Xingyan, then reached over and took his phone away.

“I wasn’t even mad, why are you snapping at him.”

He turned the screen around and tilted his chin at the child in the frame.

“Once uncle’s house is finished being decorated, I’ll set up a slide for you — you can play by yourself, no one to fight you for it.”

“Go do your homework, or your teacher will be upset with you again tomorrow.”

He hung up the call and handed the phone back to the person across from him.

“What are you looking at me for, not eating anymore?”

A moment later, seeing Ling Chen lower his head and go back to eating as if nothing was wrong, Ling Xingyan said nothing more.

“Finish up and go rest upstairs early — you haven’t slept since you got off the plane.”

“Okay.”

He hurriedly finished eating, and seeing Ling Xingyan still had untouched salt-baked snails and grilled foie gras in front of him, said, “Take your time, I’ll go up and sleep first.”

“I’ll come with you, wait a second.”

Ling Xingyan hastily set down his fork and knife and stood up without even wiping his mouth.

But he saw that Ling Chen, hat already on, had already turned and walked off.

He watched Ling Chen’s retreating back and let out a heavy sigh, then sat back down.

Ling Chen kept his eyes lowered the whole way, his expression showing nothing unusual, but his steps were quick.

Even across different ethnicities, people had a keen sense for an especially striking figure and appearance.

Quite a few guests turned their gazes toward Ling Chen.

But he was completely unaware of it.

Not until he passed a group of Asian faces and caught a familiar language.

“Was that just now… was that Ling Chen?”

“I thought so too, is it really him?”

“Huh? Ling Chen? He’s here?”

Hearing his own name, Ling Chen’s attention briefly returned, and his gaze fell — only then did he realize the mask was still balled up in his hand, forgotten.

He frowned and instinctively quickened his pace.

Normally, if he were recognized in public and asked for a photo, he wouldn’t refuse.

But right now he really wasn’t in the mood; he couldn’t force out a smile.

Yet this group of people was determined not to let him have his way.

Just as Ling Chen’s figure was about to vanish from their sight, he heard a deep male voice, one that sounded somewhat familiar.

“Ling Chen?”

Ling Chen’s steps stopped abruptly. He turned around.

November in Australia was the height of spring-summer, the most pleasant time of the year.

The man wore a loose short-sleeved shirt and trousers, his features refined and clear, standing out plainly among the trendily dressed people around him.

“So it really is you.” He stepped forward and reached out with a smile, teasing, “Big star. I was just telling Xu Guangliang — since you’re not coming to the class reunion, I figured I’d never get the chance to see you.” –

After Zhu Wenshu finished her dumplings and was about to pay, she found that Shi Xue’er had already covered the bill.

She felt a little embarrassed and meant to transfer the money to her. But when she opened WeChat, her attention was seized by a message Xu Guangliang had sent her a few minutes earlier.

[Xu Guangliang]: Oh right, I should probably ask you first — Yin Yueze is coming too, do you mind?

Zhu Wenshu sent back a question mark.

Why would Yin Yueze be coming?

[Xu Guangliang]: He was in Australia before, so he missed my wedding. He’s coming back this week, and he insisted on treating me to a meal.

[Xu Guangliang]: I figured since I was already planning to treat everyone this week, it’d be awkward not to invite him?

[Xu Guangliang]: But I still wanted to ask what you think — if you mind, I can just host you two separately, that should be fine too.

Oh, I see.

Zhu Wenshu typed a few words, expressionless.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Did you ask him?

[Xu Guangliang]: I did, he said he doesn’t mind either.

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

She could have told Xu Guangliang she’d just skip it.

But on second thought, why bother.

It had been so many years. Yin Yueze himself had said it didn’t matter — perhaps whatever memories he had of her had long since dissipated in the winds of a foreign land.

There was no need for her to be coy about it either, or trouble Xu Guangliang into hosting separate dinners.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Then it’s fine, I don’t mind either.

[Xu Guangliang]: Then… see you Saturday?

[Zhu Wenshu]: Okay.

“Oh come on, what money?”

Shi Xue’er gathered her things and stood. “Just buy me a milk tea sometime, that’s enough.”

“Okay.”

Zhu Wenshu didn’t insist further, but after only a few steps out, her phone rang again.

She suddenly felt a little irritated — what now.

She opened her phone and saw it was a message from Ling Chen.

[c]: Wait for me at home Saturday.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Huh?

[c]: I’ll come pick you up.

[Zhu Wenshu]: Wait… pick me up for what?

[c]: Isn’t it the class reunion?

[Zhu Wenshu]: Aren’t you not coming?

[c]: I am now.

[Zhu Wenshu]: ??

[c]: See you Saturday.