“Lu Yicheng — do you think I was truly in the wrong?”

Lu Yicheng heard the question and remained silent.

On this matter, it was not his place to offer any judgment. Whether Jiang Yan was right or wrong was not something he could weigh in on.

Jiang Yan wasn’t bothered by Lu Yicheng’s silence — he had expected nothing else. He settled himself a short distance away, leaning back against the wall and tilting his head upward, his entire body like a bow that had been strung too long and finally let go of all its tension. He kept his voice low. “I know — you all think I was wrong, that I shouldn’t have brought Lin Kexing here. But you don’t know the whole story. Lin Kexing to me is truly just like a little sister.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “If Du Yu were here and heard me say that, he’d probably blow up again. But whatever you all believe, to me, she is a sister.”

“Her mother has always looked after me and my mother. She and her family did something for us that we can never repay, and all these years, I’ve been living in their home. Mrs. Lin has been good to me. Mr. Lin too. If not for them, neither my mother nor I would have gotten through these years as easily as we did — when my father had his accident, if the Lin family hadn’t taken us in, those people wouldn’t have let my mother and me go. The ten years of stability and peace we’ve had were given to us by the Lin family. So tell me — can I just cut Lin Kexing out of my life? If I acted as though I had no connection to the Lin family anymore, would I still be a decent person? Would I still have a conscience?”

Lu Yicheng had no interest in hearing any of this.

He had no curiosity about whatever past history existed between Jiang Yan and Lin Kexing.

He had no desire to hear Jiang Yan’s reasons or extenuating circumstances.

None of this had anything to do with him.

Lu Yicheng rose to his feet, considering whether it was time to go back inside. Siyan’s call with her should be finished by now.

But then, without warning, a single sentence from Jiang Yan stopped him dead in his tracks.

In the moonlight, Jiang Yan seemed to be speaking to no one in particular. “If you were me, you’d have done the same.”

Lu Yicheng’s footsteps halted. He turned his head. In the shadows, it seemed as though half of him stood in light, and half in darkness.

Jiang Yan gave a wry, self-mocking smile, straightened up, and turned to leave.

Lu Yicheng called after him. His tone was as unhurried and level as ever. “I wouldn’t.”

Jiang Yan stopped. He looked over at him. “What?”

“I said, I wouldn’t.” Lu Yicheng stood in his white T-shirt and loose, pale grey sleep trousers that fell past his knees. His expression was composed and still. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. The things I know would bother me, I wouldn’t do to someone else. Even though a romantic relationship doesn’t carry the same legal protections as a marriage, I think any relationship — from the moment it begins — ought to carry a certain moral weight. If I were unable to remove a person like this from my life, someone who occupies the role of a non-blood-related sister — then I simply would not pursue a romantic relationship with any other woman, because that would be unfair to her.”

Jiang Yan was visibly caught off guard.

By Lu Yicheng’s words. Lu Yicheng rarely offered an opinion on anything — his most frequent refrain was that he wasn’t the one involved, didn’t have the full picture, and that passing judgment would be one-sided and therefore inappropriate.

After speaking, Lu Yicheng himself felt a trace of regret.

It had nothing to do with him. What was there to say?

But if he were truly asked to say something, then this was what he wanted to say.

The Lin family’s gratitude was owed to Jiang Yan and Jiang Yan’s mother — not to Jiang Ruoqiao. She had nothing to do with the Lin family or Lin Kexing, and had absolutely no obligation to accept it, let alone any reason not to refuse or even break things off.

Lu Yicheng said: “If it were me, I would not ask my girlfriend to share my sense of obligation to the Lin family alongside me. It has nothing to do with her, and nothing to do with our relationship. Nor would I ever let what happened tonight happen. Jiang Yan — you asked me. That is my answer.”

Jiang Yan dropped his head in long silence, then finally said: “You’re right. I… overstepped.”

He shouldn’t have — shouldn’t have let the so-called weight of indebtedness bleed into what he had with Ruoqiao.

That was on him. The one who owed a debt to the Lin family was him and his mother — not Ruoqiao.

On what grounds had he expected Ruoqiao to carry that gratitude alongside him?

Ruoqiao not understanding, Ruoqiao refusing to accept it — she had every right.

It was him. He was the one who was wrong.

A clarity washed over him. He turned to Lu Yicheng. “Thank you. I’m going to go apologize to Du Yu — I was too heavy-handed today.” He paused, then added: “I’ll apologize to Ruoqiao too. I’ll work to win her back, and I hope she’ll give me another chance. And with Kexing — I’ll be more mindful of the boundaries going forward, cut back on how much time we spend together. Nothing like this will ever happen again.”

Of course he also owed Kexing an apology.

When it came down to it, the fault in this entire matter lay solely with him. Not with Ruoqiao, and not with Kexing.

It was just that… things could never again be the way they once were between him and Kexing.

Lu Yicheng made no reply. In that moment, as the light shifted, his entire figure was swallowed by shadow.

—

The following morning, Jiang Ruoqiao was up early, dressed in a smart, semi-formal wrap dress with a carefully done face of makeup. She gathered her prepared materials, hailed a cab, and set off for the translation company.

The company was located in a high-rise office building in the heart of the CBD.

The location had excellent transit access — a subway station and bus stop within five hundred meters. The company occupied the fifteenth floor of the building. She watched sharply dressed office workers streaming in and out of the lobby and felt a stirring of aspiration rise in her chest. Standing here, it became clear just how small a thing a breakup was in the grand scheme of one’s life — it didn’t even come close to matching the importance of the interview she was about to face.

She went up to the fifteenth floor. The receptionist, informed that she was there for an interview, handed her a form to fill out, led her to a conference room, and then took her certificates and identification away to make copies.

It was only at that point that Jiang Ruoqiao discovered today wasn’t technically a formal interview — it was a preliminary written exam.

In a city like Jing Shi, talent was everywhere, and competition for a single position at a good company could be fierce.

Under normal circumstances, a university student who hadn’t yet graduated — like her — wouldn’t even make it to this stage. The company’s job listing was explicit: even for part-time positions, the minimum requirement was a full-time undergraduate degree. She hadn’t finished her degree yet, but the company’s owner happened to be close friends with the owner of the hanfu shop, and she was also a student at A University — both of which had earned her this special exception. After a short wait in the conference room, the receptionist brought her the written exam. It was titled “written examination,” but it looked and felt exactly like an academic exam paper.

For a moment, she felt as though she were sitting in an exam hall.

From her perspective, the difficulty level was considerable — harder, even, than her university exam papers. She took a breath and steadied herself. The good thing was that she had never been the type to coast after getting into university. She had always believed in continuing to push herself, knowing that she couldn’t let her grades slip — she’d built her reputation as a high achiever, and consistently failing exams would shatter that image entirely. So while her academic results weren’t in the same stratosphere as Lu Yicheng’s impossibly brilliant scores, they were more than respectable.

She focused completely and worked her way through every question.

The final question asked her to write a short essay in English outlining her professional goals.

Today had caught her off guard, but she wasn’t discouraged.

After all, they had made an exception for her out of consideration for the shop owner and the fact that she was an A University student — and yet they had still upheld their own standards by insisting on a written test first. She would only truly get to the formal interview stage if her results were strong enough to satisfy the hiring manager. If anything, that actually put her more at ease.

She had looked up information about the company online. Its headquarters weren’t in Jing Shi but in Shencheng, and it had a solid reputation within the industry. Even for a part-time role, having it on her resume would be a notable line.

When she came out of the building, whatever lingering thoughts she’d had about Jiang Yan or Lin Kexing seemed to fade into insignificance. Jiang Ruoqiao also understood now — regardless of how the story continued to unfold, regardless of whether there would be a butterfly effect, none of it was within her control. The best thing she could do was keep her attention on the present.

In the original narrative, the story had put her through every kind of suffering — brought her to her lowest point, made her the most pitiable of figures. But it hadn’t destroyed her. She had still been alive at the end of it.

So no matter what came next, it couldn’t possibly be worse than what the original story had put her through.

Back at the rural retreat.

Yun Jia and the other two girls wanted nothing to do with any of the four boys and had gotten up early, finishing breakfast in their room.

The four boys gathered in the courtyard, looking at each other in sullen silence. Everyone’s mood was off. They had arrived full of laughter and anticipation, and now this was how they were leaving. Jiang Yan had gone to Du Yu with an apology the previous night, and Du Yu, blunt as he was, was not unreasonable — he’d steeled himself and apologized back, and the two of them had made their peace. Jiang Yan had no appetite for breakfast. He was deeply worried about Jiang Ruoqiao. He reached out now, a little sheepishly, and said to Du Yu: “Little brother, can I borrow your phone? I just want to call Ruoqiao.”

Du Yu: “…”

Jiang Yan explained: “I just want to make sure she’s alright.”

Du Yu had no good argument to make. He handed over the phone.

Jiang Yan’s heart was in his throat as he dialed. But within seconds, a mechanical female voice informed him that the line was currently in use — and without any doubt, Jiang Ruoqiao had taken one look at Du Yu’s number and immediately rejected the call.

Du Yu: “…”

He let out a long, pained sigh. “Right. So we’re all casualties of this too, huh. Jiang Ruoqiao won’t even pick up my calls now.”

Jiang Yan looked toward Wang Jiangfeng, the yearning in his eyes impossible to miss.

Wang Jiangfeng had no choice but to pass him his phone.

Jiang Yan quickly dialed again. The result was the same.

It was at this point that the reality of the breakup truly began to sink in for Jiang Yan. Anyone could see it — Jiang Ruoqiao was serious. She had genuinely, thoroughly broken up with him.

Jiang Yan looked frantically toward Lu Yicheng, who was sitting nearby quietly eating congee.

Lu Yicheng inwardly let out a long, quiet sigh. He had managed to avoid this yesterday. Today, it was clearly unavoidable.

Jiang Yan asked to borrow Lu Yicheng’s phone. Lu Yicheng looked down. “One moment — I need to reply to an important message first.”

With that, he unlocked his phone and opened his contacts. He deleted Jiang Ruoqiao’s number.

Then he returned to the message interface. He probably should have deleted all their text exchanges as well — but… after a few seconds of hesitation, he left them. He trusted that Jiang Yan only wanted to make a call and wouldn’t go looking through anything else.

Lu Yicheng handed his phone to Jiang Yan.

Jiang Yan knew Jiang Ruoqiao’s number by heart. He dialed quickly.

…

Jiang Ruoqiao was standing in the queue at the coffee shop on the ground floor of the interview building, waiting for her Americano, when she impatiently rejected two calls — one from Du Yu, one from Wang Jiangfeng. When her phone rang again, she was already wearing an expression of weary annoyance — but the name on the screen was Lu Yicheng. She paused. Lu Yicheng?

It could easily be Jiang Yan borrowing his phone. But then again, it could genuinely be Lu Yicheng calling on his own.

If Lu Yicheng was reaching out to her, could it be something important? Something to do with Siyan?

She hesitated for a moment — and then pressed answer.

Before she could say a word, Jiang Yan’s urgent voice came rushing through: “Ruoqiao, where are you?”

Her face went blank. She hung up immediately.

What bad luck.

…

Back in the courtyard of the rural retreat, Lu Yicheng had been following the sounds from the other end of the call. He heard Jiang Yan speak. His lashes dropped. She had actually answered.

But the next instant, Jiang Yan’s face fell again. She had hung up.

Du Yu looked up with an expression of fascinated bewilderment. “Hold on — Jiang Ruoqiao actually answered? That’s some serious discrimination! She picked up for Lu Yicheng but rejected both of us!”

Lu Yicheng’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly.

Wang Jiangfeng spoke up dryly: “Are you dense? Both of us exchanged numbers with Jiang Ruoqiao ages ago — she saw our names on the display and knew immediately it was us calling. Lu Yicheng never swapped numbers with her, so she would’ve seen an unfamiliar local number, and of course she’d pick up an unknown number.”

Du Yu made a sound of understanding. “Right, of course.”

True enough — he had gotten Jiang Ruoqiao’s number in the first place because of his whole plan to pursue Yun Jia.

And Wang Jiangfeng had been in the same student council as Jiang Ruoqiao, so naturally they’d exchanged contact details.

Jiang Yan hadn’t caught that detail. Looking utterly lost, he handed the phone back to Lu Yicheng. His voice had gone rough in a way that didn’t sound like his own, and there were faint shadows of blue-grey beneath his eyes — he hadn’t slept all night. “Thank you.”

Lu Yicheng’s jaw was tight. After a long moment, he gave a quiet, low sound of acknowledgment.

—