Chen Qingwu was slightly startled.

Hearing footsteps from inside, she turned to look. Meng Fuyuan walked out carrying a kraft paper bag.

Pei Shao turned first and headed toward the parking lot.

Meng Fuyuan lagged two steps behind, walking to Chen Qingwu’s side and slightly behind her.

He asked in a low voice: “What were you two just talking about?”

MBTI personality tests had suddenly become popular these past two years. Pei Shao was that typical “extrovert” type, and he worried Pei Shao’s excessive familiarity might make Qingwu uncomfortable.

Chen Qingwu smiled. “Nothing, just chatted casually for a bit.”

A flashy bright yellow sports car was parked in the lot. Chen Qingwu had noticed it earlier.

She hadn’t expected that car to be Pei Shao’s.

Meng Fuyuan pressed his key fob to unlock his SUV, glancing at Pei Shao. “New car?”

“Just picked it up yesterday. How about it, cool, right?”

Meng Fuyuan: “I can’t agree with your aesthetic.”

Pei Shao: “…”

Chen Qingwu laughed softly, finding it novel—she rarely saw Meng Fuyuan banter with anyone.

Pei Shao opened his car door, preparing to get in, and teased: “President Meng, after you drop the young lady off, remember to come back to the office to review reports!”

Meng Fuyuan’s hand paused.

He leaned toward Chen Qingwu in the passenger seat, who was fastening her seatbelt. “Wait a moment, I need to say something to Pei Shao.”

Meng Fuyuan gently closed the door he’d just opened and walked toward Pei Shao on the other side.

Pei Shao’s arm was braced against his sports car door, somewhat puzzled.

Meng Fuyuan walked up to him and lowered his voice: “Do you know who she is?”

“She said your two families are longtime friends.”

Pei Shao knew Meng Fuyuan’s consistent rigorous propriety, and seeing his expression even more serious than usual, he also restrained his joking attitude.

Meng Fuyuan’s voice was quiet and cold: “Qiran is her boyfriend.”

The implication: stop making inappropriate jokes.

Pei Shao froze, opened his mouth. “…You should have said so earlier.”

Meng Fuyuan frowned slightly. “What did you say to her?”

“What could I say… You can’t blame me for this. When I heard her name, my mind went in the wrong direction. Plus during that whole meal, your eyes were glued to her half the time—couldn’t tear them away even if you tried.”

In daily life, Meng Fuyuan lived like an ascetic monk. In terms of observing rules and precepts, he could directly shave his head and become a monk.

This time, bringing a girl out to socialize for the first time and looking after her at every turn—he couldn’t help but make bold assumptions.

Meng Fuyuan took a deep breath internally. “What exactly did you say?”

“I just told her what tea you like to drink.”

“You even know what tea I like? My own parents don’t know.”

“…” Pei Shao nearly jumped. “What are you implying? I’m not that kind of person!”

“What kind of person?”

“…”

Fighting fire with fire. When it came to being calculating, Pei Shao admitted defeat. He bent down and slipped into his car, too lazy to engage further.

Meng Fuyuan returned to the car and started it.

He looked straight ahead, never glancing toward Chen Qingwu, his voice as calm as an ancient well: “Pei Shao likes to joke around. If he said anything, don’t take it seriously.”

“Mm.” Chen Qingwu nodded.

It made sense—perhaps Pei Shao felt her name had a coincidental similarity to the tea Meng Fuyuan had just drunk and casually made a joke.

In the Porcelain Capital, people who understood tea and ceramics were everywhere. When she worked there, following Teacher Zhai to visit other kilns, others would joke when serving her tea: “Your name is Qingwu? Then let’s brew you some Mist-Shrouded Green.”

She understood Meng Fuyuan’s character and felt that in their interactions, he had never once crossed any boundaries.

Fortunately, she hadn’t dared think even a trace in the direction Pei Shao’s joke implied.

—This was Meng Fuyuan, after all. Even her father Chen Suiliang sometimes had to show him a measure of respect.

The atmosphere on the return journey was somewhat silent.

Chen Qingwu could only speculate that perhaps Pei Shao’s joke had made Meng Fuyuan unhappy, so he was deliberately avoiding suspicion.

When the car arrived, Meng Fuyuan handed her the kraft paper bag, saying: “Sister An bought honey from a beekeeper in the mountains. She has too much to finish. You take it.”

She didn’t dare be polite and refuse now, accepting it directly.

Meng Fuyuan glanced at her and added: “If you have any questions during the process, you can communicate directly with Sister An via WeChat.”

These words indeed sounded like avoiding suspicion.

Chen Qingwu smiled and said “okay.”

Having troubled Meng Fuyuan so much, it wouldn’t be good to continue having him relay messages.

Chen Qingwu reached to open the car door. “I’ll head in then. Brother Yuan, drive safely going back.”

Meng Fuyuan nodded.

Hearing the car door close, only then did Meng Fuyuan turn to look.

She braced the long-handled transparent umbrella against the ground and lightly stepped up to the entrance platform.

He started the car, turned around ahead, and passed the studio entrance again on his return. Chen Qingwu was just stepping through the doorway.

The next instant, she disappeared behind the door.

He was always seeing her off from the shadows, so most chapters of his memories were of her back.

One hand on the steering wheel, he reached for cigarettes in the gear shift storage compartment.

He shook one out and lit it with the car’s lighter.

The window wasn’t closed. Wind carrying mist blew in, ash scattered, but he was too lazy to brush it off.

As the saying goes, some things are like coughing—impossible to conceal.

Even covering your mouth and hiding under three layers of blankets in darkness, it would still leak through trembling shoulders.

He thought he’d concealed it perfectly, yet Pei Shao saw through it at a glance.

He’d managed to muddle through today, but what about going forward?

What didn’t belong to him—he should never have approached from the start.

/

Three weeks passed, and East City entered early summer with lush greenery.

Meng Fuyuan came out of the laboratory and received a WeChat from Sister An saying she was at the tech park entrance with something for him.

Meng Fuyuan asked Sister An to wait and walked to the entrance.

Sister An was carrying a basket of pastries, saying it was thanks for him connecting her to contacts who could write recommendation letters for her child. “I’ll treat you to dinner sometime.”

Meng Fuyuan said: “You’re welcome.”

Sister An smiled: “How’s that tea set your young friend is making for me? She hasn’t asked me about it on WeChat either—she hasn’t bailed on the order, has she?”

“That won’t happen. Her personality is rather introverted and slow to warm up. If she hasn’t contacted you, it should mean things are progressing smoothly.”

Sister An nodded: “True, artists are all a bit socially anxious.”

Sister An handed him the pastries. “I baked them myself, take them and try.”

“I won’t take the pastries—you know Pei Shao and I don’t care for these.”

“Then help me deliver them to young Qingwu to try. When she had tea at my place last time, I noticed she quite enjoyed eating them. Consider it encouragement, and it’ll help me check on progress too.”

Meng Fuyuan hesitated briefly before accepting.

He dealt with lunch casually in the park. After an afternoon meeting, around four o’clock, Meng Fuyuan left the company and drove toward the Southern Suburbs Cultural Creative Park.

When he arrived, he saw a mid-size pickup truck parked at the studio entrance.

Behind the truck was a small cart. Chen Qingwu was unloading things from the truck bed.

White woven sacks, packed full.

Chen Qingwu hoisted one onto her shoulder and steadily tossed it onto the small cart.

Meng Fuyuan quickly parked and got out, walking over with quick steps.

Chen Qingwu saw him. Her movement paused slightly as she smiled and greeted him: “Long time no see.”

An ordinary phrase, yet it made his heart tremble slightly.

Long time no see.

Meng Fuyuan walked closer in two steps and rolled up his sleeves. “Such heavy things—why didn’t you find someone to help?”

“It’s fine, I can carry them.” Chen Qingwu smiled. “I’m actually quite strong.”

When entering middle school, Chen Qingwu basically stopped getting sick.

That was when she’d begun deliberately strengthening her constitution—meat, eggs, and milk at every meal, regular exercise, running and swimming… she’d even signed up for a boxing class.

Though slender, her body fat was low—she wasn’t weak.

After starting work, exercise time decreased, but she still tried to maintain the habit of running five kilometers or more twice a week.

Meng Fuyuan looked into the truck bed. One cardboard box remained. He directly reached out his arms to lift it out and stacked it on the cart.

Chen Qingwu was about to reach out when Meng Fuyuan grasped the handle first. “I’ll do it.”

Chen Qingwu let him.

“New car?” Meng Fuyuan glanced at the pickup. The tires hadn’t fully shed their factory coating—clearly a new vehicle.

Chen Qingwu smiled: “When I finished grad school, my parents were planning to give me a car, but later when I worked in the Porcelain Capital I didn’t really need it, so we never bought one. Now that I need to haul things and it’s really inconvenient, I asked them for some financial help.”

The pickup was a black Jeep Gladiator, very rugged.

He wasn’t surprised Chen Qingwu drove such a car—in fact, he felt this was exactly her style.

Fragility was merely her outward appearance.

The cart was pushed into the studio. Chen Qingwu directed Meng Fuyuan to unload the items one by one and place them in their designated locations.

She tried several times to do it herself, but was refused by Meng Fuyuan each time.

He wore a dress shirt and slacks—formal attire. Such a distinguished, exceptional person coming to help her move heavy objects… it gave a sense of wasting something precious.

But Meng Fuyuan himself seemed completely unbothered.

“Raw materials for making ceramics?” Meng Fuyuan asked.

“Natural glazes—quartz stone, wood ash, things like that.”

“Wood ash can be used for glaze?”

“Mm.” Chen Qingwu nodded. “The main components of glaze are silicon dioxide, aluminum oxide, and flux. All of these can be found in wood ash. For instance, rice husk ash is rich in silicon dioxide. Kelp that we commonly eat, when burned to ash, also contains water-soluble salts—sodium chloride. Sodium is one type of flux.”

Chen Qingwu wasn’t usually talkative, except when it came to her field.

Her voice had a clarity like jade beads falling on a porcelain plate—very pleasant to hear.

Having finished speaking, she suddenly glanced at him, as if abruptly realizing this speech resembled a chemistry lesson and worried he found it boring.

Meng Fuyuan lowered his eyes and said: “I understood. Fortunately my chemistry isn’t too bad.”

Modest words.

Chen Qingwu knew that in high school, his comprehensive science scores were basically perfect every time.

This was also Aunt Qilin’s enduring conversation topic at family dinners—more impressive to show off than any rare leather Hermès bag.

After easily finishing the unloading, Meng Fuyuan went to wash his hands at the sink by the work table, then returned to his car to fetch the pastries Sister An had sent for Chen Qingwu.

Chen Qingwu accepted the pastries somewhat anxiously: “Is Sister An pressing me about progress?”

“No. She said she’s sending them to encourage you.”

“That’s good… I am working a bit slowly, because I’ve been experimenting with glaze colors.”

Meng Fuyuan noticed that next to the work table on the floor was spread a felt cloth with many circular porcelain chips neatly arranged on it.

Chen Qingwu noticed his gaze. “These are all test tiles.”

She crouched down and picked up two from the upper left corner. “Perfect timing. I can’t quite decide between these two colors—which do you think looks better?”

“My opinion might not be authoritative.”

Chen Qingwu smiled and shook her head. “If beauty had authoritative standards, that would be disastrous.”

Meng Fuyuan took the two test tiles and walked a couple steps toward the window.

Both were grayish-white. Only by comparing them side-by-side could one see the subtle differences.

Chen Qingwu also walked over. “These two are from grain straw ash and iris ash respectively.”

Meng Fuyuan held his breath for a moment, because when she approached, that instant of cool-toned fragrance brushed past.

He lowered his gaze and examined them carefully by natural light.

After a moment, he raised his right hand.

Chen Qingwu: “You prefer this one?”

Meng Fuyuan nodded: “The color seems to have richer layers, and it doesn’t look dirty.”

Chen Qingwu smiled: “My first impression was also that this one looked better! Seems I should trust my intuition after all.”

Meng Fuyuan made a sound of acknowledgment, suppressing the ripples in his heart.

Chen Qingwu took the test tiles from his hands and returned them to their place.

Meng Fuyuan looked at those test tiles and asked: “Are these all going to be used on Sister An’s commission?”

“Mm. I think compared to commercial glaze, she’d prefer natural glaze more.”

Meng Fuyuan asked about the difference between the two.

“Commercial glaze has a fixed formula and more stable color results, but it lacks some of the randomness produced during the firing process.”

Meng Fuyuan nodded.

It was difficult to restrain himself from letting his gaze fall on her.

When talking about things she loved, she had a kind of bright, shining radiance.

All along the way here, he’d been planning to leave right after delivering the items. Yet now he seemed trapped in a swamp.

That feeling of despair while watching himself consciously sink was no different from drinking poison to quench thirst.

Chen Qingwu suddenly made a sound of realization.

Meng Fuyuan looked at her.

She smiled somewhat embarrassedly. “I haven’t even gotten you water yet.”

Before he could say “no need,” she’d already walked quickly toward the refrigerator.

Chen Qingwu opened it, took out a bottle of purified water, walked over and handed it to him.

Meng Fuyuan accepted it and thanked her.

Chen Qingwu’s gaze swept across his sleeve and paused. She reached out and pointed.

Meng Fuyuan raised his sleeve to look. There was some dust on it.

He placed the water bottle on the counter and raised his hand to brush it off lightly.

His finger bones were distinct, fingers long, cool-toned fair skin making the greenish veins especially have an ascetic texture.

Chen Qingwu’s gaze fixed on his left pinky finger. “Brother Yuan, are you opposed to marriage?”

She asked this because she suddenly remembered a family dinner when Aunt Qilin had playfully pressed him about marriage.

At that time, Meng Fuyuan’s tone had been flat, as if joking: If you keep pressing, I won’t plan to marry in this lifetime.

Meng Fuyuan looked where her gaze fell.

The silver pinky ring on his finger.

“No.” He said in a deep voice.

Chen Qingwu raised her eyes to look at him.

“It’s a precept I’m keeping for someone.”

“For whom?” Chen Qingwu asked casually.

A moment of silence.

Meng Fuyuan’s gaze was like cloud and mist, lightly and briefly brushing across her cheek before falling to empty space.

So light, yet Chen Qingwu caught it.

Like hearing distant, faint thunder in an empty mountain valley.

“I can’t tell you.”