Meng Fuyuan saw Chen Qingwu’s expression freeze and realized he might have spoken out of turn.

He was merely standing in an older brother’s position, criticizing areas where his younger brother fell short, but it sounded like he was sowing discord.

Making Qingwu unhappy had never been his intention.

As if trying to make up for it, he said: “Though for Qiran, this already counts as thoughtful. He often even forgets our parents’ birthdays.”

Chen Qingwu smiled slightly, accepting Meng Fuyuan’s comfort: “That’s just how he is.”

Meng Fuyuan placed the glass cup back on the display shelf and raised his wrist to check his watch. “Tidy up a bit more, then come with me for dinner.”

“Let’s tidy up after we eat and come back.”

Chen Qingwu clapped the dust off her hands, walked to the sink by the work table to wash them, and asked Meng Fuyuan to wait—her clothes had gotten dusty, so she was going to change.

Meng Fuyuan moved to the display shelf on the other side, where what should be Chen Qingwu’s own satisfactory works were placed.

Cups, plates, saucers, dishes—all types of vessel forms were there. Misty pink, bean-tip green, water-washed blue—the glaze colors were light and soft, making those vessels seem to have warmth just from looking at them.

Apart from that set of white porcelain tea ware now at the Meng family home, the last time he’d seen her work was at the graduation exhibition.

At that time he’d been on a business trip in Munich and made a detour to London.

What Qingwu exhibited at the graduation show was a drinking cup, very simple in form and glaze color—like diluting the purple from freesia petals a hundred times, then melting it into water.

That misty, moist quality made one feel at a glance that using the cup for daily drinking would be perfectly suitable—not obtrusive, not scene-stealing, yet every use would bring quiet pleasure.

Chen Qingwu had named that cup “Flowers and Mist,” and later gave it to Meng Qiran.

Meng Fuyuan had never seen Qiran use it. Later, when fetching something from Qiran’s room once, he saw that he had placed it alone in a glass-fronted wooden display cabinet.

Behind the cabinet was hidden lighting—soft, pure white light shining on the cup, perfectly displaying its glaze color without reservation.

Meng Qiran had once been extremely fond of a Polish striker on the Dortmund team and had gone through great lengths to obtain his autographed soccer ball, yet merely placed it together with other collectibles.

This showed how much he treasured that water cup.

Meng Fuyuan heard footsteps coming from behind him and came back to his senses.

Chen Qingwu had changed clothes—a tight short top paired with loose wide-leg pants, casually carrying a tote bag.

She didn’t labor over her outfits; her own temperament was sufficient to carry any clothing.

Along the way, lights were already glowing everywhere.

The atmosphere in the car was somewhat quiet, but noticeably less awkward than last time.

Chen Qingwu spoke up: “Brother Yuan, which district is your company in?”

Meng Fuyuan gave the address.

“Seems not too far. By car probably…”

“Twenty minutes. Half an hour with traffic.” Meng Fuyuan glanced at her. “You can come visit sometime when you’re free.”

Chen Qingwu nodded: “Sure.”

They chatted lightly about various topics, and soon arrived at the restaurant.

Hidden in the deepest part of a quiet alley, it was very hard to find.

Meng Fuyuan had reserved a table in advance, a window seat. On the tablecloth sat a lamp with a paper shade, its orange-red light hazy and serene—the overall atmosphere reminiscent of Sargent’s oil painting “The Dinner Table at Night.”

The server handed over the menu. Meng Fuyuan passed it smoothly to Chen Qingwu. “See what you’d like to eat.”

Chen Qingwu didn’t stand on ceremony. She scanned the menu once, ordered two items, then passed it to Meng Fuyuan.

Meng Fuyuan added two more dishes and said to the server: “Please note the nut allergy.”

The server nodded: “Understood. I’ll place the order for you both.”

Chen Qingwu picked up her glass and took a small sip of lemon water, then raised her eyes to look at Meng Fuyuan.

“Brother Yuan.”

When Chen Qingwu could first speak as a child, the elders had her address him this way, and she’d continued using it ever since.

Whenever she called “Brother Yuan,” her tone was soft and clear. Meng Fuyuan only felt his uncontrollable heartstrings stirring slightly—it seemed utterly shameful.

“Mm?” Meng Fuyuan’s expression tightened slightly as he responded.

“There’s a question I want to ask you.”

“Go ahead.”

Chen Qingwu came straight to the point: “Did you help subsidize part of the studio rent?”

Meng Fuyuan paused: “Teacher Qian told you?”

“No, I guessed it myself.”

Since she’d already guessed, Meng Fuyuan didn’t deny it: “Setting aside the rent, are you satisfied with the environment and conditions?”

Chen Qingwu nodded.

“Then that’s fine.” Meng Fuyuan’s tone was calm. “I did indeed subsidize some for you. When Qiran first started racing, I also subsidized him. Being a few years older, taking care of younger siblings is proper.” He deliberately embellished his words to sound particularly righteous.

Chen Qingwu couldn’t find words to refute. Declining would seem affected, and given the relationship between the Chen and Meng families, there was no need for such formality.

Meng Fuyuan looked at her. “If you feel you owe me a favor, you can actually help me with something.”

Chen Qingwu quickly said: “Tell me!”

“I have a friend who runs a tea room and wants to commission a tea set.”

Chen Qingwu smiled: “How is this me helping you? This is you helping me. I haven’t even opened yet and already have an order.”

Meng Fuyuan added: “Pro bono.”

“The first order upon opening should get a discount anyway. If I do it well and it’s displayed in the tea room, that’s advertising for myself too. I have no problem with it—I’m just afraid your friend won’t think much of my craftsmanship.”

“That won’t happen.”

Chen Qingwu said: “Then if they don’t mind, I can chat with them first.”

Meng Fuyuan nodded. “I’ll arrange it.”

Chatting away, the dishes had all arrived, and the two began eating.

Meng Fuyuan casually asked: “Does the studio still lack anything?”

Chen Qingwu set down her chopsticks. Just as she was about to speak, she saw Meng Fuyuan raise his eyes to look at her.

“Qingwu, you don’t need to be so proper when eating with me. You can speak freely—I’m not your elder.”

Chen Qingwu was stunned.

She didn’t know whether it was because of Meng Fuyuan’s words, or because of the gaze behind his lenses—a distinct, tolerant gentleness.

How strange—why had she never noticed before that Meng Fuyuan was actually a gentle person?

Chen Qingwu then picked up her chopsticks, serving herself food while saying: “For now I haven’t discovered anything missing.”

“If you need anything, you can tell me. I’m somewhat more familiar with East City than you are.”

His tone wasn’t particularly warm, but somehow made her feel that she truly had someone reliable to depend on in East City.

—No matter how much she’d feared Meng Fuyuan in the past, she had to admit that when it came to being reliable, no one could surpass Meng Fuyuan.

Chen Qingwu nodded.

After that, they chatted about Aunt Qi and Mother Chen taking the two elders on their Thailand trip.

In her memory, since Meng Fuyuan went to university, they’d rarely talked one-on-one like this.

The atmosphere was far more relaxed and pleasant than she’d imagined, and before she knew it, the meal had ended.

Reflecting back, although Meng Fuyuan didn’t speak densely, he basically never let her topics fall flat. He could always provide a guiding sentence or two at key moments, allowing her to continue expanding naturally.

They didn’t drink at dinner, so Meng Fuyuan still drove her back to the studio himself.

On the return journey, they continued the topics from the dinner table.

When Chen Qingwu looked up, she could already see the giant sign of the Cultural Creative Park standing by the roadside in the distance—it felt like they’d arrive in the blink of an eye.

The car stopped at the studio entrance.

Chen Qingwu unbuckled her seatbelt. “Wait a moment, I have something for you.”

Meng Fuyuan nodded and raised his hand to press the hazard light button.

He watched Chen Qingwu open the car door and get out, jogging into the studio.

A moment later she ran out from the main door, a paper bag now in her hands.

She walked to the driver’s side. Meng Fuyuan immediately rolled down the window.

She handed in the paper bag, smiling as she said: “This is a porcelain plaque painting from the last firing I did before leaving the Porcelain Capital. That whole batch was ruined—only this one piece survived. Thank you for taking care of me.”

Meng Fuyuan paused before reaching out to accept it.

Chen Qingwu smiled and lightly touched her nose. “Actually I used to… always feel like you disliked me a bit.”

Meng Fuyuan didn’t know whether to ask “Really?” or “What about now?”

Chen Qingwu had already answered on her own: “Now I think that must have just been my misunderstanding.”

Meng Fuyuan looked at her, thinking: Of course that was your misunderstanding.

“Dislike” has only one antonym.

“I won’t take up more of your time.” Chen Qingwu smiled and stepped back. “Drive safely on your way home.”

Meng Fuyuan placed the paper bag on the passenger seat’s leather upholstery and nodded.

He drove the car forward to a wider area to turn around. When passing the studio entrance, the figure that had been heading toward the main door turned back and waved at him once more.

Whenever he didn’t know how to handle the uncontrollable emotions in his heart, he always chose to show no expression—just like now.

Reaching the park gate, he pulled the car to the side and fished out cigarettes and a lighter from the glove compartment.

He lowered his head to light one, exhaling heavily before feeling his irritation ease slightly.

He reached over to take the paper bag and removed what was inside.

Mounted in a wooden frame was an ink landscape painting on a porcelain plaque—hazy mist seeming to seep out layer by layer from indistinct mountain ranges.

Although given under the pretext of “thanks,” this was the first time he’d received a work she’d made herself.

What more could he be dissatisfied with?

/

Over the following days, Chen Qingwu stayed at the studio doing final organizing.

When she had time, she even went “into the city” with Zhao Yingfei to shop for soft furnishings.

By the time the studio was tidied to the point where she felt ready to begin work, checking her card balance revealed funds were tight.

Zhao Yingfei “generously” treated her to dinner at the food stalls behind campus and made the “grand declaration” that she’d never let her bestie go hungry—the campus cafeteria’s three-dish-and-soup meal could support her for a month or two, no problem.

With Meng Qiran’s race approaching, he sent a message asking if she would come watch.

Previously, as long as there were no special circumstances, she basically attended both the opening and closing races of Meng Qiran’s competitions. But with a pile of trivial matters still needing handling, she found herself quite hesitant.

She said she’d check her schedule first. After leaving the message for a while, Meng Qiran directly sent screenshots of flight and hotel bookings, saying that for the opening race, having her waiting at the finish line would put his mind more at ease.

Chen Qingwu delayed her work plan by two days and set out for the city hosting the opening race.

After getting off the plane, it took another three-hour bus ride to reach the city.

With the race tomorrow, Meng Qiran didn’t have much free time. The two met hurriedly for a bit, ate dinner together, then Qiran went to a meeting with the team.

It wasn’t until ten at night that Meng Qiran came to knock on her door.

Chen Qingwu had already showered and was sitting on the bed with her laptop, checking her to-do list.

She set aside the computer and went to open the door.

The night air was still somewhat cool, but Meng Qiran wore only a black short-sleeved T-shirt.

Chen Qingwu smiled and asked: “Meeting finished?”

Meng Qiran didn’t enter the room, just crossed his arms and leaned slightly against the doorframe, nodding. “Didn’t expect it would run this late. I thought I’d still have some time to keep you company.”

“It’s fine. I was browsing Taobao the whole time anyway.”

“What are you buying? Send me the order to pay for.”

“Things for the studio. It’s okay, I already placed the order.”

The entire team was staying on the same floor. At that moment, the team coach about to enter his room in the distance called out: “Meng Qiran, get some rest early!”

Meng Qiran responded, but then turned and asked Chen Qingwu in a low voice: “Want to go out for some late-night snacks?”

“What time do you need to get up tomorrow?”

“Seven.”

“Then you should sleep early.”

“Just half an hour. The night market nearby is quite lively—you’d be bored staying in the hotel the whole time.”

Chen Qingwu changed clothes and walked out of the room to find Meng Qiran already waiting in the hallway with his phone, having put on a black athletic jacket.

Going downstairs in the elevator, they ran into people from the team, who smiled at Meng Qiran: “Your girlfriend came to cheer you on, huh?”

“She came to watch the race.” Meng Qiran’s tone was flat, as if correcting the person’s slightly suggestive tone when saying “cheer you on.”

The nightlife of a small city was lively with an added touch of earthly warmth.

Leaving the hotel, it was only about two hundred meters on foot to a snack street. Looking through the cobalt-yellow lighting, cold blue smoke swirled above the barbecue stands.

Chen Qingwu stopped in front of a grilled cold noodle stand. Meng Qiran asked: “Want to eat this?”

“Looks kind of good.”

Meng Qiran lowered his head and said in a low voice: “This one’s just so-so. Let’s go to that one up ahead.”

As if afraid the owner would hear and beat him up.

Chen Qingwu’s lips curved slightly.

The two walked forward for a bit to the one the team had tried before.

Meng Qiran scanned the code to pay, and the two stood in front of the stand waiting.

The spring evening breeze was slightly cool.

“How’s the studio tidying going?”

“Pretty much done. I should be able to start work when I get back. Brother Yuan introduced me to a client—I’m planning to visit in a few days.”

“My brother introduced one?”

“Mm.”

Meng Qiran said with a laugh: “He treats you even better than he treats me.”

“Not at all. He’s just verbally strict with you.”

Chatting away, the grilled cold noodles were ready.

Chen Qingwu took the paper bowl and used chopsticks to pick up a piece, bringing it to Meng Qiran’s mouth first.

Meng Qiran smiled: “The coach instructed us to try not to eat outside food before the race, to avoid getting sick.”

“Oh, so it’s fine if I get sick, is that it?” Chen Qingwu joked.

The next second, Meng Qiran leaned over to eat from her hand. She quickly pulled it away, laughing: “This bowl is mine. After the race you can buy your own.”

Even a one percent possibility—she didn’t want him to actually have an accident.

After browsing a bit more, Chen Qingwu checked the time—half an hour had already passed—and urged Meng Qiran to hurry back and rest.

Meng Qiran laughed that she was stricter than the coach.

The hotel corridor was already quiet and still.

Chen Qingwu stopped at her room door, swiped the card to push it open, paused slightly, then turned to smile at Meng Qiran: “Rest well. Good luck with tomorrow’s race.”

Meng Qiran nodded. “You rest early too.”

The next day at seven, Chen Qingwu got up.

The team members had also risen. While eating breakfast in the restaurant, Chen Qingwu saw the girl who’d come to support Meng Qiran’s performance last time. She wasn’t a racer but seemed to be management staff, responsible for scheduling racers’ events and such.

After breakfast, the team members each took their equipment and headed to the race venue.

Another staff member came over to distribute guest passes to spectating relatives and friends and introduce the viewing area locations.

With limited funding, meals and transportation for relatives and friends were handled by the racers themselves or the individuals. Chen Qingwu returned to her room to get her bag and took a taxi to the race venue herself.

When she arrived, the team was making entrance preparations. Meng Qiran had already put on the team’s uniform racing suit—black and silver, somewhat fitted, but on him it made his tall figure even more evident.

While the coach was speaking, Meng Qiran pulled over a backpack from the side.

He felt around inside, suddenly frowning, pulling the zipper fully open and rummaging some more.

Finally, he simply dumped everything inside onto the table.

Everyone noticed his movement and hurriedly asked: “What’s wrong?”

Meng Qiran pawed through the pile of items. “Has anyone seen my wallet?”

Chen Qingwu knew what he was looking for—the year of his first race, she’d gone to a temple to get him a protective amulet. He wore it at every race and had never had an accident. For him, this amulet was essentially a lucky charm that provided psychological reassurance.

Most of the team knew about this habit of his. Everyone began opening their own backpacks to search.

No results. Someone asked if he’d left it at the hotel.

At that moment, the girl responsible for race scheduling squeezed to the front: “It’s with me! You left it in my room last night—I meant to give it to you before leaving but completely forgot.”

The girl handed the wallet to Meng Qiran.

Meng Qiran exhaled deeply in relief, took the wallet, and pulled out that bright yellow protective amulet from the inner compartment, stuffing it into the chest pocket of his racing suit.

Race time was approaching. The coach notified everyone to go queue for registration.

All bags were set down and left together, watched over by team staff members.

Before leaving, Meng Qiran walked to Chen Qingwu and pointed at the viewing stands. “Go watch from there in a bit—I had them save a front-row spot.”

Chen Qingwu smiled. “Okay. You go ahead, don’t worry about me.”

After the team left, Chen Qingwu turned around, about to go to the viewing area through the back passage, when that girl walked over.

She said directly: “I’m afraid you’ll misunderstand, so I’ll explain on Qiran’s behalf. Last night the meeting was held in my room. Midway through, Qiran needed to supplement an ID photocopy—he took out his wallet and forgot it on the table.”

Chen Qingwu smiled: “I understand.”

The girl scrutinized her, as if trying to judge her true thoughts at that moment.

Chen Qingwu maintained an unchanging expression throughout and pointed ahead. “Is the viewing area through the right side?”

The girl nodded.

Chen Qingwu walked through the passage and entered the team’s exclusive viewing area from the back door.

She sat down, habitually searching for Meng Qiran’s figure among the vast crowd at the registration area.

Thinking back to middle and high school, whenever there were sports meets, Meng Qiran was always the center of attention. She would sit under the blazing sun, using her school uniform as a sunshade over her head, with a book on her knees, writing cheering speeches for him.

Every time after a race, a bunch of girls would rush over to hand him water. He never accepted any, but would cross classes directly to come to her class’s area and drink her water.

Even the homeroom teacher would sometimes joke with him, saying he visited other classes so much he might as well transfer.

Qiran never actively flirted with any other girls.

Everyone thought they were a couple.

But somehow it didn’t prevent those girls who truly targeted Meng Qiran from knowing, with an amazing intuition, that she and Qiran weren’t as solid as outsiders thought.

So there was Zhan Yining, and there was this girl’s “explanation on Qiran’s behalf”—these words might not carry any malice.

She didn’t even have standing to blame Qiran. First, because she refused to accept him outright; second, because he’d truly never actively pursued anyone else.

What could she blame him for?

The result would merely be Qiran’s declaration that “if you’re not at ease, he could block all other females.”

And this would in turn make her further reflect on whether she was being too sensitive, too insecure.

The accumulated troubles between them couldn’t be solved by blocking one person, or a hundred people.

Before long, the racers in the same group took the starting line.

The starting gun fired.

Chen Qingwu looked toward the speeding-away figure, then closed her eyes against the blinding sunlight.

She couldn’t deceive herself.

Her feelings for Qiran, which amounted to one-sided pursuit, had perhaps reached their limit.

Meng Qiran placed first in his group, third in overall points—very impressive results.

With victory in the opening battle, the team naturally had to gather for a meal.

Chen Qingwu sat beside him, smiling the entire evening until her face felt somewhat stiff.

After eating, they went to KTV.

They kept going until past midnight before everyone finally returned to the hotel.

Chen Qingwu swiped her card to open the door. After pushing it open, she paused slightly as she had the previous night.

Turning her head, she raised her eyes to look at Meng Qiran, her tone very calm: “Do you want to come in and sit for a bit?”

Having drunk some alcohol in the evening, Meng Qiran’s reaction was slightly slow. After a moment he said: “My head hurts a bit. I’ll go back and rest first. Wuwu, you sleep early too.”

Chen Qingwu smiled. “Okay. Good night then.”

Her self-respect wouldn’t allow her to issue a second invitation.

Meng Qiran nodded. “Good night.”

Chen Qingwu showered and lay down.

All night, those noisy songs from the KTV kept echoing in her mind, churning so she couldn’t fall asleep no matter how she turned.

She got up, threw on a jacket, and went to the fire escape at the end of the hallway to smoke a cigarette.

Early the next morning, Chen Qingwu took a bus to the airport and caught the earliest flight back to East City.

Meng Qiran had presumably slept until he woke naturally. When he woke and saw her WeChat message, he called her several times via voice call, but she was on the plane then and didn’t receive them.

After landing, she proactively called him back, saying the studio had matters to attend to so she’d returned first.

Meng Qiran sounded somewhat regretful: “I was planning to take you out to explore.”

“Maybe next time there’s a chance.” Chen Qingwu said on her end of the call, then asked him: “Are you returning to East City soon?”

“The car needs to be transported back for maintenance first. I’ll come find you in a few days.”

Chen Qingwu said okay.

/

After that, about a week passed.

After dinner, Chen Qingwu scanned a shared bike and rode back to the park.

She returned the bike at the park entrance and walked to the studio.

Head down, rummaging through her canvas bag for keys, she suddenly heard a laugh from the doorway: “Finally back.”

Chen Qingwu was so startled her bag nearly slipped from her hands. “…Qiran?”

The suburbs had no light pollution, and the moonlight was bright enough. Who else could be leaning against the wall by the door with arms crossed but Meng Qiran?

“Why didn’t you tell me in advance?”

“Then how could I surprise you?” Meng Qiran said with a laugh.

Chen Qingwu used the key to open the door and felt for the master switch at the entrance to press down.

The space instantly lit up. By the light, she could see Meng Qiran wearing a light gray hoodie, holding a black backpack in his hand, with an abrasion on his arm that still bore what seemed like recently congealed bloodstains.

Chen Qingwu grabbed his arm. “How did you get injured?”

“Crashed while test-driving. Normal.” Meng Qiran lifted his backpack and pushed her shoulder to walk inside.

“Have you eaten?”

“Had something on the plane. Your place is too far—coming out of the city and then hitting traffic, the ride here almost made me carsick.”

“You race cars though.”

“Racing cars can’t go faster than taxi drivers.”

Chen Qingwu laughed.

Meng Qiran tossed his bag on the table surface, then collapsed onto the sofa.

Chen Qingwu asked: “Do you want something to eat? I’ll order you takeout.”

“Got water?”

“Yes. Wait a moment.”

Someone had delivered a case of bottled water during the day that she hadn’t yet opened.

Chen Qingwu went to the wall corner to open the case and handed him a bottle.

Meng Qiran drank several gulps, then tightened the cap and placed it on the coffee table.

He leaned against the sofa back and looked around. “All tidied up?”

“Pretty much.”

“Still missing anything?”

“No.” Chen Qingwu spoke while opening a food delivery app and ordering a KFC combo—this nearby branch was closest and delivered fastest.

After ordering, Chen Qingwu sat down beside him. “When’s the next race?”

“A week from now.”

“Are you going home for a bit then?”

“Mm. Going back the day after tomorrow.” Meng Qiran turned to look at her. “Go shopping with you tomorrow?”

“Whatever works.”

They chatted casually until the delivery rider called to notify them the food had been delivered to the door.

Chen Qingwu told Meng Qiran to sit and got up herself to fetch it.

When she returned indoors with the food, she saw Meng Qiran had set up an A-frame ladder and was hanging something on the window.

Chen Qingwu walked over and looked up. “What are you hanging?”

She heard a crisp, ethereal sound and froze for a moment.

It was a string of colorful glass wind chimes.

Meng Qiran finished hanging it and held the A-frame ladder to descend. With two steps remaining, he jumped straight down.

He clapped his hands and went to the sink to wash them.

Chen Qingwu followed and unpacked the takeout on the adjacent stone countertop.

Hearing Meng Qiran yawn, Chen Qingwu looked over. “Very tired?”

“Mm. Made a slight adjustment to the wheel hub and kept test-driving to break it in. These past few days I’ve only slept five hours daily. Once the testing was done, I rushed over to find you.”

A soft emotion stirred in Chen Qingwu’s heart, as if those ineffable subtle pains and grievances from her last visit to see him had eased somewhat again.

“…So urgent about it.” She said with a soft laugh.

Meng Qiran didn’t speak, only laughed lightly.

A sound from his nasal cavity, somewhat lazy, yet seeming like a feather brushing directly across her eardrum.

Meng Qiran rolled up his sleeves, preparing to wash his hands.

Chen Qingwu saw that abrasion again and said: “Wait a moment, let me get something to disinfect it for you.”

Chen Qingwu turned to fetch the medicine box from the shelf—she’d become a self-taught medical expert from long illness; living alone, she always had to keep the medicine box fully stocked to feel secure.

She took out a small bottle of iodine from the box, picked up a cotton swab to dip it, and grabbed Meng Qiran’s arm.

As she touched it, she raised her head to ask: “Does it hurt?”

Meng Qiran also lowered his head at that moment.

Without any warning, their gazes collided directly.

Chen Qingwu held her breath, because she hadn’t expected to be this close—his breathing seemed to fall directly on the tip of her nose.

Both froze.

Space and time also seemed to congeal.

Chen Qingwu’s eyelashes trembled uncontrollably, and her heart felt ready to jump out of her throat.

What to do?

She rapidly considered whether to close her eyes or shift her gaze, but saw in Meng Qiran’s dark, clean eyes a flash of panic.

Then he stiffly averted his gaze, lowering his head to turn the already-closed faucet on again, continuing to wash his hands.

The rushing sound of water seemed unable to enter Chen Qingwu’s ears.

She only heard a buzzing sound, blank like the TV static from when the signal cut out on Tuesdays in childhood.

The thing she’d thought had a 99% chance of happening didn’t happen.

Was Meng Qiran “afraid to” or “didn’t want to”?

She couldn’t think anymore.

She mechanically shifted aside a step, threw away the cotton swab in her hand, capped the iodine bottle, then took the burger, cola, and snacks from the already-opened takeout bag. “…Eat while it’s hot.”

She heard what seemed like a voice not her own speaking this way.

“…Mm.” Meng Qiran responded dully.

The water sound stopped.

She didn’t look at Meng Qiran. “Eat first. I’m going to check if the laundry’s done.”

“Mm.”

Chen Qingwu walked quickly toward the back.

She crouched in front of the washing machine and reached out to grasp the lid, but seemed to have lost all strength.

She stayed crouched there for a long while until she heard Meng Qiran calling from outside: “Wuwu.”

She responded, stood up, and walked out.

Meng Qiran had already picked up his backpack. “I’m a bit tired. I’ll go back to the hotel to rest first. Tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll come pick you up to go shopping.”

Chen Qingwu made a sound of acknowledgment.

“I’m leaving.” Meng Qiran didn’t look at her. “Rest early.”

He turned and left.

Chen Qingwu watched his shadow on the cement floor moving away toward the door, her heart and mind both completely blank.

Meng Qiran walked quickly to the studio entrance and stepped down from the platform.

He stopped and took a deep breath.

He suddenly realized that in their past interactions, he’d always been subconsciously avoiding situations like just now.

Yet he didn’t even know why he had such a subconscious reaction.

His head was in chaos, a kind of panic like being about to derail.

/

The food on the counter hadn’t been touched.

Chen Qingwu looked at it, putting each item back into the bag one by one and throwing it in the trash.

She sat down in a corner of the sofa. Hearing her phone vibrate once, she picked it up to look—it was a message from Meng Qiran: I’m in the car. I’ll come find you tomorrow. Rest early.

She didn’t reply, just locked the screen and tossed it casually on the sofa, then fished out cigarettes and a lighter from her bag.

She lit one but only took two drags, then just sat there, silently watching it burn down to the end amid the crisp sound of wind stirring the glass chimes.

The phone rang again. Thinking it was Qiran again, she glanced but found it was a call from Meng Fuyuan.

Chen Qingwu stubbed out the cigarette and picked up to answer.

Meng Fuyuan asked her: “Are you at the studio, Qingwu?”

“Yes.” Chen Qingwu said softly.

“I’m coming over to get something for Teacher Qian.”

“Oh…” Chen Qingwu reacted. “He mentioned it to me.”

She’d received a WeChat this morning—Teacher Qian said he’d left a blue-glazed plate meant as a gift at the studio and would ask a friend to come get it.

Meng Fuyuan said: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Is that convenient?”

“Convenient.”

Meng Fuyuan parked the car at the entrance.

The main door was wide open, light spilling onto the ground before it.

Meng Fuyuan got out and walked to the entrance, lightly knocking on the open wooden door. A voice came from inside: “Come in.”

Walking in to look, he saw an A-frame ladder set up by the window, with Chen Qingwu climbing up it.

He quickened his pace to walk over. “What do you need? I’ll help you.”

Chen Qingwu’s movement paused. She looked down to see Meng Fuyuan grasping the ladder.

“It’s fine. I’ll do it myself.”

Meng Fuyuan didn’t insist, only held the ladder firmly.

After a moment, Chen Qingwu climbed to the appropriate height and took down what was hanging on the window frame.

A series of ethereal “tinkling” sounds.

She turned around, holding up a wind chime in her hand, saying softly: “I don’t like this sound. It’s too hollow.”

Meng Fuyuan was about to speak when he saw her hand release.

The wind chime fell straight down and shattered into pieces on the cement floor.

Meng Fuyuan blinked instinctively, then froze.

Looking at her against the light, he felt her expression at this moment was like that glass wind chime shattered on the floor.

“Qingwu.”

His first reaction was to call her name.

Chen Qingwu’s gaze steadied and met his eyes.

Meng Fuyuan extended his hand. “Come down.”

Chen Qingwu didn’t move for a moment. He directly reached out his arm and grasped her wrist tightly.

In this instant his fingers were trembling slightly from fear.

Afraid she too would fall.