After viewing the exhibition, Chen Qingwu strolled around the nearby old street and took some photos.

Close to five in the afternoon, she had the driver take her to the livehouse.

The lounge was exceptionally noisy. Staff went in and out, and band members were putting on makeup.

Meng Qiran sat in front of the mirror, being held by the chin by a makeup artist applying false lashes. Behind him to the side sat a girl.

Early March—spring cold hadn’t diminished. The girl wore only a black spaghetti-strap dress with a bomber jacket on her knees.

The girl scrolled on her phone while Meng Qiran chatted idly with her.

The girl said: “Never noticed before—your lashes are quite long.”

Meng Qiran said: “Long lashes can’t be eaten as food.”

The girl said again: “Meng Qiran, look at this Weibo post, it’s hilarious.”

Meng Qiran said: “I’m getting eyeliner done right now.”

“Just a glance won’t take much time.”

Meng Qiran then opened his eyes. The girl turned her phone screen toward him. He glanced at it and gave a light, amused huff.

Chen Qingwu didn’t walk over immediately.

But the girl saw her in the mirror, stood up and grabbed her jacket. “Meng Qiran, I’m leaving first.”

Meng Qiran casually said “mm.”

Chen Qingwu walked to the mirror, just about to hand over the iced Americano she’d bought nearby, when she saw there was already an unopened cup of coffee on the table.

Meng Qiran glanced in the mirror. “You bought this for me?”

“Mm.”

Meng Qiran reached out. Chen Qingwu handed him the coffee. “Why aren’t you drinking that one?”

“Can’t get used to hot drinks.” Meng Qiran lazily took a sip, explaining offhandedly: “A friend from the racing team, came to support the show.”

Chen Qingwu lowered her eyes slightly and made an “mm” sound.

Meng Qiran raised his eyes to look at Chen Qingwu in the mirror. “How was the exhibition?”

“Average. The exhibit quality wasn’t very high.”

As Chen Qingwu spoke, she took out her phone and opened the camera, aiming at Meng Qiran.

Meng Qiran cooperated, sitting up a bit straighter, smiling as he asked: “Posting to Moments after taking it?”

“Auntie asked me to help take a few photos. She said when she video calls you, you always hang up after saying two sentences.”

“Been busy lately. Everything’s piling up. She’s in Thailand where the signal’s bad—after two sentences it freezes.” After Chen Qingwu finished taking photos, Meng Qiran resumed his somewhat lazy posture.

Chen Qingwu lowered her head to confirm the photos once, opened WeChat and casually sent them to Aunt Qi. “Isn’t Brother Yuan coming to watch the performance?”

“Invited him. Whether he comes or not, who knows—you know his temperament.”

Staff came over to rush the schedule.

Chen Qingwu felt stifled and said: “You put on your makeup first. I’ll go out for some air.”

Meng Qiran said: “Saved you a front-row seat. When you come back, just have staff take you there.”

Chen Qingwu went out for a stroll. Twenty minutes before the performance started, she returned to the venue.

Staff handed her a paper bag and led her to sit in the audience area.

Front row center position—excellent view.

After sitting down, Chen Qingwu opened the paper bag to look. Inside were hair accessories, a small light board, and glow sticks.

The audience gradually entered. Before long, Chen Qingwu saw that girl who’d been chatting with Meng Qiran backstage earlier walk out from the backstage passage door.

She counted seat numbers all the way until stopping beside Chen Qingwu, looking at the number behind her chair. “I’m sitting on your left.”

Chen Qingwu angled her legs to make way. “Can you get through?”

The girl nodded.

After sitting down, the girl looked at the light board Chen Qingwu held in her hand. “Where did you get this?”

“Staff gave it to me.”

Chen Qingwu’s gaze swept around and she pointed toward a staff member by the entrance.

The girl immediately stood up and waved her arm at that person.

The staff member saw her, walked closer a few steps and called out: “Is there anything you need help with?”

“Is there more merch? Get me a set too!”

A moment later, the girl received the same paper bag and happily took out the hair accessory, immediately putting it on.

The accessory was a headband with a cartoon figure of Meng Qiran standing in the middle.

Chen Qingwu looked at the identical headband in her own hand and expressionlessly put it back in the paper bag.

Without waiting long, the performance began.

The band was called Neon Wholesale.

During freshman year, Meng Qiran participated in a campus singing competition and won first prize. Before long, someone came looking, saying he played guitar and wanted to form a band, asking him to be lead vocalist.

Later the keyboardist, bassist, and drummer joined successively, forming the embryonic form of Neon Wholesale. After that, personnel changed twice. By second semester sophomore year, the lineup was completely set. In junior year, the band’s fame reached its peak.

But after graduation, under pressure from reality, everyone gave up plans to be full-time musicians—continuing education, finding jobs, going abroad… each going their separate ways. The band was basically equivalent to existing in name only.

But Meng Qiran was someone who loved to persist against the odds. Through his efforts alone, he pushed through all the processes and facilitated this long-absent performance.

Confirming the performance venue, getting sponsors, contacting ticketing agents… even helping everyone book hotels and flights. Big and small matters—whenever needed, Meng Qiran personally handled everything.

Besides the band, Meng Qiran played with many things—skiing, racing, surfing… When he was twelve, he nearly drowned. After that, the family doted on him. Though they nagged verbally, actually they neither needed him to manage the family business nor urged him to pursue his own career.

Meng Qiran’s involvement in all these things was absolutely not casual dabbling. He invested one hundred percent enthusiasm and responsibility into each one.

His world was a city with lights that never went out for twenty-four hours—forever lively, forever brilliant.

All the venue lights went out. In the darkness, a guitar solo sounded, breaking through the silence.

The intro to Neon Wholesale’s signature song, *North Harbor*.

The guitar sound weakened. A beam of light came on. Below stage, screams immediately erupted.

Meng Qiran wore a black leather jacket, sitting sideways on a high stool in the center of the stage, head slightly lowered. Light illuminated his sharply defined profile and the row of silver studs on his ear cartilage.

Someone born for the stage—handsome with extreme aggression and danger. Just sitting there without saying a word could draw countless devotees to worship, yet he himself was so indifferent he wouldn’t deign to give the audience half a glance.

Chen Qingwu understood better than anyone why he was so popular with girls.

Neon Wholesale was a very niche band, but over the past few years of activity, they could still fill a small venue of three hundred people.

Those cheers continued without stopping, like raising a wave. Three hundred people shouting with the momentum of thirty thousand.

Meng Qiran raised his hand in a “shh” gesture, yet the shouting didn’t cease—instead it became deafening.

Meng Qiran seemed helpless with everyone, chuckled once, raised his hand to adjust his in-ear monitor, and just like that, along with the guitar accompaniment and cheers, sang the first line.

That voice seemed to have magic. The venue instantly quieted, only glow sticks waving in order.

The atmosphere grew hotter and hotter. By the chorus section, everyone spontaneously sang together in unison, sound waves almost lifting the roof.

Chen Qingwu’s eardrums throbbed faintly with pain because the girl was too close and her singing voice almost drowned out all other sounds.

The opening song ended. Meng Qiran walked back to sit in the chair, pressing the microphone back onto the stand, then taking the guitar handed over by staff.

Meng Qiran’s guitar was self-taught—not particularly excellent, but when the band needed it, occasionally taking on the deputy guitarist role was manageable.

Strumming the strings twice, he lowered his head. “This song is for Miss Chen.”

The slightly low voice, amplified through speakers, also had an effect of overwhelming from all directions.

The audience erupted in cheers.

Almost a regular program for the band—every time after the opening, the second song was always Meng Qiran’s solo. The opening line was always identical: *This song is for Miss Chen.*

Same script, but the song was newly composed. Someone had tallied—the songs Meng Qiran had “given to Miss Chen” were enough to make a separate album.

Because of this, within Neon Wholesale’s fanbase, everyone basically knew that the lead vocalist who seemed cold and distant to outsiders and didn’t like dealing with people was actually extraordinarily affectionate. He’d even once done something that drew criticism for this reportedly childhood sweetheart Miss Chen:

Someone followed Miss Chen’s Instagram to find the school where she was doing graduate studies, staked out and took photos. Meng Qiran directly called them out publicly with particularly forceful wording—*Delete it, or see you in court.*

The new song was called *Misty Miss*—rarely so fresh and clean, like a foggy morning, walking alone along a dew-covered path.

Meng Qiran sang with his head lowered, basically never looking up.

Chen Qingwu had once asked him why he never looked at her when giving her songs. He said he was nervous.

But the rhythm he casually strummed out and his relaxed voice clearly carried a bit of casual ease with room to spare.

Chen Qingwu’s face held a smile, but her thoughts were somewhat detached.

When this song was nearly over, the girl suddenly turned to glance at her. That gaze held not a trace of provocation, instead carrying a bit of sincere, sorrowful envy.

Chen Qingwu stiffened slightly, waving the glow stick and directing her gaze toward the stage.

Suddenly feeling movement beside her, Chen Qingwu turned to look.

It was actually Meng Fuyuan taking his seat.

As if he’d just rushed over from the office—somewhat formal white shirt and black trousers. In this kind of venue, so proper it seemed out of place.

Chen Qingwu leaned her head slightly in Meng Fuyuan’s direction to greet him, smiling: “Qiran thought you wouldn’t come.”

Meng Fuyuan simply stated: “Meeting just ended.”

At this moment, Meng Qiran on stage suddenly looked up, looking toward Chen Qingwu’s direction.

Chen Qingwu immediately showed a smile, raising the light board in her hand toward him.

Meng Fuyuan looked at Chen Qingwu, expressionless, deliberately ignoring the burning pain that instantly arose in his chest.

That small light board waving in her hand—blue neon light, a dazzling character: “Qi.”

/

After finishing the scheduled songs, the band encored three more times before finally taking their bows and leaving the stage.

The audience gradually left. Chen Qingwu and Meng Fuyuan walked backstage together.

Under the corridor’s bright lights, Meng Fuyuan’s steps paused slightly. Only now did he see clearly—Chen Qingwu wore a black top and black casual pants, with a coffee-colored trench coat draped over her arm.

The one he’d sent this morning.

Chen Qingwu and Meng Fuyuan entered the lounge but didn’t see Meng Qiran. They were told he’d gone to the washroom to wash his face.

After a while, Meng Qiran came out of the washroom, face covered in water droplets, a few damp strands of hair hanging over his forehead.

He’d already removed his makeup and taken off all the flamboyant ear studs from his ear cartilage. Wearing a loose black hoodie, he showed a few degrees of clean, youthful handsomeness.

Meng Qiran first greeted Meng Fuyuan: “Bro.”

Meng Fuyuan nodded slightly.

“How was it?” Meng Qiran raised his chin.

Meng Fuyuan had always been “other people’s child”—self-disciplined, excellent, advancing as top of his grade into a first-tier university, studying at an Ivy League school, then returning to China to start a business.

Therefore, from childhood, whenever Meng Qiran did anything, he naturally had a psychology of wanting to gain his brother’s recognition.

Meng Fuyuan was serious but not harsh. He’d always acknowledged that Meng Qiran was excellent in another sense—outstanding in a world he’d never set foot in.

He nodded and said: “Not bad.”

Meng Qiran smiled: “It’s really hard to hear a ‘really great’ from your mouth.”

Everyone was packing up equipment. Meng Qiran couldn’t very well just stand there. “We’re going for late-night food. Bro, are you coming?”

Meng Fuyuan said: “Still need to go back to work overtime.”

Chen Qingwu said: “I’m not going either.”

Meng Qiran looked at her. “That won’t do.”

Chen Qingwu said: “My alcohol tolerance is terrible. If I’m there, you definitely won’t have as much fun.”

The guitarist chimed in: “Just drink juice! Qingwu, come along—we haven’t had a good chat in so long.”

The drummer said: “If we get drunk, Qingwu, you’re in charge of driving.”

Meng Qiran reached out to shove him. “I’ve never bossed Wuwu around like that.”

The drummer laughed heartily.

Meng Fuyuan caught sight of Meng Qiran taking a step toward Chen Qingwu and imperceptibly moved aside to make way.

Meng Qiran raised his eyebrows slightly, looking down at Chen Qingwu: “If you don’t come with me, aren’t you afraid I’ll get drunk senseless?”

“Then I’ll tell them to go easy on you?”

“…” Meng Qiran seemed somewhat helpless, his voice dropping two degrees as he smiled: “Come with me. The band rarely gets together. I still hope you’ll be there.”

Thus, Chen Qingwu nodded.

Meng Fuyuan raised his wrist to check his watch, expressionlessly reminding Meng Qiran: “I’m leaving first. You all have fun.—Tomorrow at noon I’m treating you and Qingwu to lunch.”

Meng Qiran nodded.

“Still, be careful. Drink less.”

Meng Qiran swept his palm forward from his forehead like a non-standard salute. “Got it.”

Meng Fuyuan walked to the door and was about to open it when the door was pushed open from outside.

He stepped back. A girl wearing a spaghetti-strap dress and bomber jacket walked in carrying a large bouquet of orchids.

“Congratulations on a successful performance!” She walked close in a few steps and unceremoniously stuffed the bouquet into Meng Qiran’s arms.

Meng Qiran: “…Such a hassle.”

“You absolutely can’t throw them away. These flowers were expensive.”

Meng Fuyuan couldn’t help glancing at Chen Qingwu. Her expression was bland and calm—couldn’t tell anything, but he inexplicably felt that gaze was somewhat empty.

After pausing, he pulled open the door, turned and left.

The band packed things while discussing where to eat late-night food.

The girl asked: “You’re going for late-night food? Can I come along?”

The drummer smiled: “Having a pretty young lady join us for late-night food—of course we’d love that.”

After Meng Fuyuan left backstage, he went to the parking lot.

In the car, he took a lengthy work call. Just about to start the car, he caught sight of Meng Qiran and his group coming out carrying instruments.

All the equipment was loaded into a light pickup truck. Meng Qiran clapped his hands clean and moved close to Chen Qingwu. Chen Qingwu dug out a small pack of wet wipes from her bag, tore one out and handed it to him.

While he wiped his hands, Chen Qingwu helped brush dust from the sleeves of his black hoodie.

It seemed there was a barrier separating them from their surroundings.

No one else could step in.

Meng Fuyuan withdrew his gaze, started the car, and silently drove into the night.

After loading the equipment, the band group walked toward another direction of the parking lot where a business van to take them to the bar was parked.

Who knew that around that car stood a circle of seven or eight fans.

The moment Meng Qiran appeared, they held up phones and surrounded him screaming: “Qiran, help us get an autograph!”

Meng Qiran suddenly extended his arm, pulled Chen Qingwu into his embrace, his palm pressing down on the back of her head, hiding her face against his chest.

At the same time, he reached up to remove the baseball cap from his own head and put it on hers, saying to those fans: “Autographs are fine, photos are not.”

Meng Qiran’s movements were so swift that Chen Qingwu hadn’t even reacted in time. She practically crashed directly into his embrace.

That palm pressing the baseball cap down on her head—an entirely protective posture.

Chen Qingwu listened dazedly to the heartbeat in his chest—one beat after another, making her own chest swell.

The few accelerated beats that came belatedly were from herself.

She heard those fans quietly discussing whether she was the legendary “Miss Chen.”

Meng Qiran directly said: “Yes. So sorry, no photos.”

Everyone immediately made “wow” sounds, as if they’d witnessed a real-life public display of affection.

Chen Qingwu felt the palm pressing on her head release. She raised her hand to press the baseball cap down, stepped back slightly, leaving Meng Qiran’s embrace.

The fans had all put away their phones, only handing over gifts and paper and pens.

Meng Qiran took the pen and signed in the notebook the fans spread open, one by one casually signing as he went. While signing, he used his free hand to push away bouquets and gifts. “Can’t accept gifts, sorry.”

The fans became excited. From their somewhat incoherent words, Chen Qingwu discerned that someone had saved up most of a year’s savings to come watch the performance, and someone else had a cold and was currently running a fever.

The girl standing at the very front held a bouquet of orchids—Meng Qiran’s favorite flower. “What about flowers?”

Meng Qiran still smiled: “Sorry.”

“Please! My friend and I wrote you a card, just simple blessings… please please!” The girl was already on the verge of tears.

Meng Qiran still wore a smile on his face, but his tone was already quite cool: “Really can’t accept them. Sorry.”

Chen Qingwu clearly felt the atmosphere stiffen.

“Qiran…” Chen Qingwu softly spoke up.

Meng Qiran turned his head slightly.

“Maybe accept them. The band hasn’t performed in several years. They just want to express their love…”

Before she finished speaking, the girl presenting flowers seized the opportunity and turned to her: “Miss, can you help accept them?”

“I…”

The girl stepped closer and directly forced the bouquet into her arms. If she didn’t catch it, the flowers would definitely fall to the ground.

Seeing this, the others surged forward, piling all their prepared gifts onto the bouquet in one go. After presenting them, they retreated three feet away with swift movements, giving Chen Qingwu no time to react.

As they retreated, they waved: “See you at the next performance!”

Chen Qingwu held a pile of gifts, unable to advance or retreat.

Meng Qiran reached out to take some of them, smiling helplessly: “You’re just too softhearted.”

“What can I do? It’s all their goodwill…”

“Forget it. If we’ve accepted them, we’ve accepted them.”

After this interlude, the band got in the car.

That bar wasn’t far from the livehouse—only about a kilometer. The place was large with industrial-style decor, not too noisy.

With many people, they opened a booth on the second floor.

Not long after sitting down, Chen Qingwu received a call from a studio colleague.

She got up and went to the washroom at the far end to take the call—it was quieter there.

The colleague asked her for a more detailed exhibition inventory. After hanging up, she found it in her email and sent it over.

Walking out of the washroom to return to the booth, she heard conversation on the stairs below. Chen Qingwu’s steps paused slightly.

It was Meng Qiran and guitarist Wang Yu. The two were walking down, looking like they were going out.

Wang Yu was asking: “Speaking of which, are you and Qingwu preparing to get married? Or play around for a few more years?”

Meng Qiran chuckled. “We’re not even boyfriend and girlfriend yet.”

Wang Yu’s tone was surprised: “…No way? Aren’t you two mutually in love?”

“Who knows? She’s never agreed.”

“Why? She clearly likes you quite a bit.”

“Don’t understand her. Sometimes I find it quite annoying too. Forget it, let’s not talk about this…”

The figures moved away. The conversation couldn’t be heard anymore.

The railing was wrought iron. When Chen Qingwu came back to herself, she felt cold—as if it traveled from her fingertips straight to her heart.

Qiran always had this ability to make her feel like she was on a roller coaster. Clearly the moment before, she was still elated by his unhesitating protection in the parking lot. The next moment, plunging into a frozen lake bottom.

Not long after returning to the booth, Meng Qiran and Wang Yu came back carrying KFC bags.

Fried chicken, fries, and various snacks filled the table. Everyone sighed it was like going back to university days when the post-performance work meal was fried chicken and cola.

After eating for a bit, a group of three came over to say hello.

Chen Qingwu didn’t recognize them, but from Wang Yu’s reaction, they seemed to also be an East City underground band.

Among the three was a girl with long straight black hair, dressed coolly. She walked straight up to Meng Qiran and invited: “Come sit at our table?”

“Sorry, my friends are all here. Not convenient to go over.” Though he wore a smile on his face, his attitude was actually quite cold.

“Then after you finish here, I’ll treat you to late-night food alone.”

The implication of this invitation was self-evident.

This time Meng Qiran didn’t even lift his eyelids. “Don’t have the habit of eating late-night food.”

The girl didn’t make any further attempts.

After greeting them, the three left.

Meng Qiran picked up his glass and took a sip of cola, glancing at Chen Qingwu beside him.

Her expression was somewhat distant.

Meng Qiran leaned close, chuckling: “Sulking again?”

Chen Qingwu snapped back. “No.”

“You heard everything. I didn’t pay her any attention at all.”

“It’s not… I really didn’t.”

“Then why aren’t you happy?”

Chen Qingwu blinked. Should she tell the truth? She was very hesitant.

Meng Qiran looked at her. That smile was clearly already somewhat helpless. “Wuwu, if you don’t tell me, how will I know why you’re unhappy?”

Chen Qingwu raised her eyes and looked at him. “So even when I do nothing, you’ll still find it annoying.”

Meng Qiran froze. “No, that was me and Wang Yu just casually…”

“Just now a colleague called me. She urgently needs some materials. I need to go back to the hotel to get my laptop and send it to her.” Chen Qingwu stood up very calmly.

Meng Qiran quickly stood up as well, reaching out to grab her arm.

Chen Qingwu pulled her arm back, not letting him grab it.

The others had already looked over. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s fine.” Chen Qingwu spoke before Meng Qiran could, smiling: “I have a work matter. Have to excuse myself first.”

Wang Yu said: “You just got here a few minutes ago. Sit a bit longer before leaving.”

“It’s really quite urgent. Sorry about this.”

Everyone said it was fine, work was important.

Chen Qingwu nodded and walked outside.

Meng Qiran said: “You all drink first. I’ll see her out.”

Chen Qingwu walked quickly, but couldn’t match Meng Qiran’s height and long legs. In two or three steps he caught up and grabbed her wrist. “Chen Qingwu!”

Chen Qingwu’s steps paused.

Meng Qiran looked down at her. After gazing for a moment, he smiled, his tone carrying two degrees of coaxing: “I said the wrong thing. Let me apologize, okay?”

He was very tall. Whenever talking to her, he always had to lower his head very much. Chen Qingwu had never told him—she actually didn’t like at all the way he lowered his head for her.

The lighting was so glamorous, yet didn’t touch him at all. His features so clear—when looking at her, easily making her heart soften and sink deep.

“…It’s fine. Sometimes I find myself quite annoying too.” Saying one thing while meaning another, highly sensitive. Forever unable to truly be in sync with Meng Qiran.

“That was really me speaking without thinking.” Meng Qiran said: “I don’t find you annoying. If I must say what annoys me, I’m only annoyed about one thing. What I told Wang Yu was the truth—I really don’t quite understand why you always won’t agree to us changing our relationship.”

Chen Qingwu thought of the first time Meng Qiran confessed to her—no, that perhaps couldn’t even be called a confession.

That was still freshman year. She was unhappy because a girl had forcefully hugged Meng Qiran. He coaxed her, casually saying: *Then let’s date, Wuwu. From now on you’ll have the standing to be openly unhappy.*

At that time her tears weren’t even dry yet. Hearing such an informal request, her heart only felt extremely sad.

After that, Meng Qiran’s “confessions” were all the same casualness, as if he viewed it as a kind of bargaining chip to make her happy.

He didn’t know she wasn’t necessarily really that unhappy.

Even less did he know that his attitude of not taking their relationship seriously was the real source of her unhappiness.

It was just that after that time, she never cried over the same thing again, and gradually no longer expended mental energy on his lively friend relationships.

She understood him too well. Someone with pride in his bones actually disdained playing ambiguous games with anyone.

He didn’t like any other girls.

It was just that perhaps he didn’t like her all that much either.

Chen Qingwu exhaled and smiled lightly: “…I just feel that if a relationship is one you could have or not have, then actually there’s no need to have it.”

Voice light and ethereal, truly like slightly cool mist. That pair of clear eyes made Meng Qiran think of spring’s thawing rivers—cold and crisp.

Meng Qiran was silent for a moment, only feeling confused. “You still think I’m not doing enough?”

The reason he said “still” was because Chen Qingwu had previously tried to communicate deeply with him, and more than once.

She told him all her various unhappinesses. He accepted them wholesale every time and promised to pay attention next time.

Thus came this Meng Qiran who wrote songs for her, openly drew clear boundaries with all girls, had her accompany him at all important occasions for convenient “supervision” of his performance.

Sometimes Chen Qingwu herself felt—was she being insatiable, demanding too much?

He’d already done so much. What more could she possibly be dissatisfied with?

“…No.” Chen Qingwu sighed inwardly. “Wang Yu and the others are still waiting for you. You should go back to keep them company. It’s been so many years without meeting—it’s not easy to get together.”

After pausing, Meng Qiran asked: “What about you?”

“I’ll call a car back to the hotel.”

“I’ll call a car for you.”

“No need.”

Meng Qiran smiled helplessly, his tone practically gentle: “Wuwu, you really won’t give me even one step down.”

They rarely could get into a fight because usually it was like this—Meng Qiran would always accommodate her “unreasonable troublemaking,” as if without limits, not getting angry, not saying harsh words, only teasing her, coaxing her.

He perhaps didn’t know how condescending this posture was.

She sighed silently, still finding him a step down: “You order late-night food delivery to the hotel for me.”

Meng Qiran seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “Then order what you want and send it to me for proxy payment.”

A brewing storm of an argument just fizzled out like this.

Meng Qiran saw her to the door, personally called a car, and before closing the car door said: “Be safe. Message me when you get to the hotel.”

Chen Qingwu nodded, suddenly remembering something. “Wait, I have something for you.”

She pulled a velvet pouch from her bag and handed it to Meng Qiran.

This thing was somewhat heavy—didn’t know what it was. Meng Qiran held it in his hand, watching the car turn a corner and disappear from view.

He turned and went back inside, returning to the second-floor booth.

“Qingwu went back?” Wang Yu asked.

“Mm.” Meng Qiran responded, and after sitting down, opened the velvet pouch.

Seeing clearly what it was, he froze.

A microphone, painted treasure blue. Obviously used for too long—the paint was already somewhat mottled.

Meng Qiran knew better than anyone the origin of this mic—it had been used by the lead vocalist of his favorite band.

That vocalist had developed nervous anorexia and announced retirement from the scene. These past two years, even more completely vanished without a trace.

He didn’t know how Chen Qingwu had gotten hold of it.

The racing team girl sitting in the seat beside him leaned over curiously: “A gift from fans?”

Meng Qiran didn’t answer, solemnly putting the microphone back in the velvet pouch.

/

Traffic ahead was backed up. The stop-and-go exhausted Chen Qingwu’s patience. She simply told the driver to pull over and got out of the car.

Not far away was a small alley that looked quite secluded at night. She crossed the road and walked over.

Entering the alley, she lit a cigarette in a sheltered spot and walked forward without any particular destination.

When her mood was bad, she always liked walking alone, liked that hidden, small, and safe feeling of hiding herself in a sea of thousands.

Compared to daytime, East City at night was more beautiful—prosperous but no longer so ostentatious, so forbidding.

She held her always-carried film camera, photographing as she walked. Before she knew it, she’d walked nearly a kilometer.

There was a convenience store by the road. Feeling thirsty, she stopped to go in and buy water when she suddenly heard someone call her:

“Qingwu.”

The voice came from across the way. Through the night wind, it didn’t sound very clear.

Chen Qingwu suddenly looked up to see a small tavern across the street.

A half dark blue cloth curtain hung at the entrance, through which dim yellow light came from inside. Several tables were set up outdoors with black camping lanterns on them. Flickering lamplight—felt beautiful, and also seemed very warm.

Meng Fuyuan sat there. His dark coffee trench coat was removed and draped over a chair beside him. He wore a black shirt, seeming to blend with the silent night.

Chen Qingwu was somewhat surprised. She hadn’t expected to run into him here. Seeing no cars at the moment left or right, she extinguished her cigarette and crossed the small road.

Meng Fuyuan took the trench coat from the chair beside him and draped it over the back of his own chair.

“I thought you’d already gone back.”

“Didn’t eat dinner. Stopped by for some late-night food.” Meng Fuyuan looked her over. After a moment, his knuckles lightly tapped the table. “The ramen here is good. You can try it.”

Meng Fuyuan had been watching her for quite a while.

From the moment she crossed the intersection and suddenly appeared in his field of vision.

Probably due to being frail and sickly since childhood, she was very slender. But she was also tall, so often gave people a feeling of being alone and isolated.

This was the first time he’d seen her smoking—extraordinarily cold and distant, as if she could dissipate into the night at any moment.

Making him feel he had to call out to her.

Chen Qingwu sat down and took off the trench coat.

Meng Fuyuan reflexively reached out to take it, then in an instant reacted, clenched his fingers, and withdrew his hand.

Chen Qingwu draped the trench coat over the chair back. “Is there a menu?”

Meng Fuyuan called over a server who handed over a menu.

As Chen Qingwu looked through the menu, Meng Fuyuan watched her.

“Thought you went for late-night food with Qiran and them.”

“Had something come up. Left early.”

“I remember the band name was one you came up with.”

Chen Qingwu was slightly stunned. His meaning seemed to be asking why she, as someone who could be considered part of the band, would leave early.

Those who knew the origin of the band name were actually only people within the band. She hadn’t mentioned it to Meng Fuyuan, so it must have been Meng Qiran who told him.

“At that time everyone came up with many names. Mine just happened to be one everyone felt was acceptable.” Chen Qingwu held up the menu and pointed to a page. “Is it this ramen?”

Meng Fuyuan glanced. “Mm.”

Chen Qingwu looked at two more small dishes and asked Meng Fuyuan: “Do you need to add anything?”

Meng Fuyuan said: “Sweet pomegranate juice.”

The server took their order and removed the menu.

Meng Fuyuan didn’t speak for a moment, picking up the glass in front of him and taking a shallow sip. Iced alcohol—drinking it down had a kind of violent coldness.

Seeing Meng Fuyuan not speaking, Chen Qingwu also didn’t speak.

She knew Meng Fuyuan’s personality—he rejected all unnecessary social pleasantries.

She felt he probably didn’t want to make small talk with her.

Before long, the ordered food and drinks were all brought over.

Chen Qingwu took chopsticks and first tried the lemon fried chicken.

Suddenly she saw Meng Fuyuan across from her raise his hand and move that glass of sweet pomegranate juice the server had placed in front of him to her side.

Chen Qingwu looked up at him.

Meng Fuyuan’s voice had almost no ripples: “Unhappy people need to drink something sweet.”

Chen Qingwu was slightly surprised. “…Is my expression that bad? People often mistake me for being unhappy.”

Meng Fuyuan raised his eyes. That gaze swept across her face like skimming water.

His next words gave Chen Qingwu a subtle sensation of weightlessness, like walking a tightrope with bitter optimism, then suddenly stepping into empty air.

He said: “I’m not so unable to tell the difference.”