“Both rooms are on the fifth floor. Breakfast is from 7 to 10 AM, the restaurant is on the second floor. Here are your room cards and IDs. The elevator is ahead and to the right. Enjoy your stay.”

Meng Fuyuan took both room cards and IDs from the front desk clerk, glanced at the room numbers, then handed Chen Qingwu hers.

Exiting the elevator, Chen Qingwu looked up at the room number signs on the wall.

Meng Fuyuan’s voice came from behind her: “Turn left.”

This guesthouse hotel must have opened only a few years ago—the facilities and decor style were all very new. The wood-toned corridor had low-illumination pale yellow lighting that only created tranquility without seeming dim.

Chen Qingwu stopped at the door of room 523. The word “Yuan” didn’t leave her mouth before she swallowed it back, “…Which room are you in?”

The address “Yuan gege” she’d used from childhood somehow had become difficult to say.

Meng Fuyuan picked up his own room card and seriously confirmed it, saying: “525.”

…He might as well have just said “next door to you.”

Chen Qingwu swiped her card to open the room door.

Meng Fuyuan said: “Rest early.”

Chen Qingwu nodded.

The room was a high-end suite. Chen Qingwu found a set of white thin silk pajamas in the closet and changed into them after showering.

Only after lying down on the bed did she pick up her phone.

It turned out that before that call, Meng Qiran had made a video call to her—she probably didn’t notice because she was saying goodbye to Mai Xunwen at the time.

After that declined call, Meng Qiran had sent her a short video he’d filmed.

He was at the second-to-last competition stop, and that city was currently holding a lantern festival. The video was a segment filmed at the lantern festival—gorgeous colors on the ground, brilliant lights adorning the sky, lively and beautiful.

Qiran’s video call was probably to let her see the lantern festival scene.

Chen Qingwu lay prone on the bed, typing a reply: Sorry, I was busy with something just now and it wasn’t convenient, so I declined.

Meng Qiran: No problem.

Meng Qiran: Still not asleep?

Chen Qingwu: About to sleep.

Meng Qiran: The last competition is next week. Wuwu, do you have time to come watch?

Chen Qingwu hesitated for a moment before replying: Is it the finals?

Meng Qiran: Sort of. It’s a points system—once the last round ends, the rankings are locked in.

Chen Qingwu thought for a moment and was typing when Meng Qiran’s reply popped up: No rush to decide. If you can come, just let me know and I’ll book your flight and hotel.

Chen Qingwu had to reply: I’ll confirm my schedule tomorrow and then get back to you.

Meng Qiran: Okay. Rest early.

Chen Qingwu sent a “good night” emoji.

About to set an alarm, she remembered she hadn’t yet agreed with Meng Fuyuan on tomorrow morning’s departure time.

She sent Meng Fuyuan a WeChat message: What time are we leaving tomorrow?

Meng Fuyuan: Anytime. Depends on when you want to sleep until.

Chen Qingwu: Nine o’clock?

Meng Fuyuan: Good.

Chen Qingwu: I’m going to sleep now. Good night.

Meng Fuyuan: You sleep first. Good night.

Chen Qingwu stared at those three words “you sleep first,” unable to resist asking: You’re not sleeping yet? You’re not still working overtime, are you?

Meng Fuyuan’s reply was a photo.

It was an illuminated courtyard—the sky ink blue, amber lamplight reflecting in the pool at the courtyard’s center, bringing to mind scattered fishing lights floating on a nighttime river.

Chen Qingwu: Did you go out?

Meng Fuyuan: No. On my room’s balcony.

Chen Qingwu immediately climbed out of bed.

She pushed open the door and walked onto her own room’s balcony.

Leaning out to look, that courtyard was at the building’s southwest corner—from here she could only see a distant corner of it.

Chen Qingwu wasn’t sure if Meng Fuyuan was “luring” her: he understood her weak spots too well. Such a beautiful night scene—there was no way she could resist not going to see it.

After hesitating and hesitating again, Chen Qingwu typed in the dialogue box: Can I come over to look? I can’t see the whole view from here.

Her finger hovered over the send button for a moment, then pressed down.

Meng Fuyuan: Come over.

Gray carpet covered the corridor floor, making footsteps nearly soundless.

Chen Qingwu walked to the neighboring room’s door, hesitated for an instant, then finally raised her hand and knocked lightly.

After a moment, she heard footsteps approaching from behind the door.

The instant the door opened, a citrus-scented fresh fragrance with moisture wafted over her face—exactly the same as what she wore.

Her thoughts short-circuited for a flash.

Perhaps she still had an ingrained trust in Meng Fuyuan as an elder, such that only now did she truly realize what kind of situation it was to knock on a man’s hotel room door late at night.

Meng Fuyuan held the door, waiting for her to enter.

Her breathing slowed. She said matter-of-factly: “Sorry to disturb you.”

At a time like this, acting coy would perhaps only make the atmosphere awkward.

The layout of Meng Fuyuan’s room was not much different from hers, except being the last room at the corridor’s end, the balcony occupied a 180-degree view. Standing on the west side, one could take in that entire courtyard.

Chen Qingwu walked over and saw two cans of beer on the outdoor table on the balcony, one of which was open.

Meng Fuyuan looked at her: “Want some?”

“…Mm.”

Meng Fuyuan picked up the unopened can and pulled the tab.

With a “tss,” white foam rose slightly in the beer can.

She took it, her fingers touching the aluminum-plastic can body—it had been chilled, refreshingly cold.

Meng Fuyuan picked up his own already-opened beer can, braced both arms on the railing, and looked out.

The early autumn night breeze was slightly cool. The town’s late night was especially quiet—one could almost hear the rustling sound of leaves falling in the nearby mountains.

Chen Qingwu took a sip of beer and casually started a topic: “Qiran seems to have his last competition next week.”

“Mm.”

Chen Qingwu was about to mention that Meng Qiran had invited her to watch the competition when Meng Fuyuan looked over: “Right now I don’t want to talk about irrelevant people.”

…That’s your brother, hardly an irrelevant person. Chen Qingwu found it funny.

For now she said nothing more, because the breeze at this moment was exceptionally comfortable.

She leaned on the railing, eyes slightly narrowed, lost in thought as the wind blew for a while.

Coming back to herself, she realized Meng Fuyuan was watching her.

That kind of gaze—rather than saying he was stealing glances, it was more accurate to say he was openly watching.

“…What?” she said softly.

“Watching you.”

So frank it made her heart tremble.

“You…” Chen Qingwu was at a loss for words, “…I might still need some time to get used to this.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Meng Fuyuan actually withdrew his gaze.

Chen Qingwu almost wanted to bury her face.

To ease this wordless awkwardness, she raised the can and took another sip of beer.

After a moment, she heard the sound of a lighter wheel sliding. Turning her head, she saw Meng Fuyuan’s palm slightly cupped, head lowered close. The cigarette lit, a scarlet point flickering like breathing.

He wore the hotel’s black thin silk robe. His gesture lighting the cigarette had a touch of casualness. The instant the flame brightened, it cast a warm color on his fair cheek. His high nose bridge was the dividing line—his eyes hidden in still darkness.

She seemed never to have observed him so closely before.

In her impression she only felt his temperament was outstanding; only after careful observation did she realize his features were equally superior. Different from Qiran—Qiran’s handsomeness was sharp as a cold blade, while he appeared more reserved, like myriad ravines and countless cliffs, imperturbable.

A line of poetry came to mind.

Character like white jade, even in fire remains cool.

Before Meng Fuyuan could look up, Chen Qingwu turned her gaze away.

“Want to ask you a question, Qingwu.” Meng Fuyuan exhaled a slow breath of smoke and suddenly said.

“…Mm?”

Meng Fuyuan turned to look at her: “How did you figure it out?”

Chen Qingwu’s fingers gripping the can couldn’t help tightening, “…Do I have to answer?”

“You can also not answer. I’m just curious. I thought I concealed it very successfully.”

Chen Qingwu couldn’t help laughing, “…You have such conceited moments too. Where was it successful? Full of holes.”

“Really? Then tell me about it.”

At this point, there was no not saying it.

Chen Qingwu took a sip of alcohol, turned her eyes away, and said softly: “An employee at your company, when making tea for us, said you… only drink Wuliqing.”

“Just that? Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?”

“…You also bought the first tea set I made under my own name after joining the profession.”

“I said that was coincidence.”

“Do you even believe what you’re saying?”

Meng Fuyuan chuckled lightly.

“…There are many more things, I won’t list them all.”

“Why not?”

Chen Qingwu said nothing.

And Meng Fuyuan looked at her, as if patiently waiting for her answer.

Chen Qingwu simply gave up: “…You’re obviously very good at reading people—can you really not tell I’m very embarrassed right now?”

Meng Fuyuan found her somewhat exasperated expression adorable and couldn’t help laughing softly: “I’m already showing all my cards, and I’m not embarrassed.”

How could he not sense her discomfort? It was just that since she herself didn’t propose leaving, he selfishly wanted to keep her a while longer.

Chen Qingwu didn’t know how to respond anymore and could only turn her gaze away, sipping the alcohol to disguise her awkwardness.

It was her own fault for being unable to resist the temptation of beautiful scenery and insisting on coming over.

But she couldn’t deceive herself—the most hidden motive deep in her heart was that she was filled with unprecedented curiosity about Meng Fuyuan.

She wanted to know if, removing the elder brother mask, his true face really possessed that kind of calm self-possession, unmoved by the eight winds.

“Have you decided on the studio name?” Meng Fuyuan suddenly asked. As if to ease her embarrassment.

“…Not yet.”

“What do you think of just calling it Wuliqing?”

Seeing Chen Qingwu didn’t immediately respond, Meng Fuyuan said: “No other meaning, just think it’s very fitting. Of course perhaps you have a better choice yourself.”

“…No. I also think this one is very suitable.” Chen Qingwu thought about it some more and finally made the decision: “Then let’s settle on this one.”

Meng Fuyuan nodded.

Chen Qingwu reached up to tuck wind-blown hair behind her ear, still intermittently sipping beer, her lowered gaze looking at the courtyard lights ahead.

Her feelings were so contradictory—clearly sensing this atmosphere was excessively ambiguous, unable to dispel it no matter how she pretended to be frank, yet as if unable to help herself, still wanting to add another spark of curiosity to the fire.

“Can I ask…”

Hearing this, Meng Fuyuan looked up at her: “Ask anything.”

“…When did it start? After I came to Dongcheng?”

She thought of how Meng Fuyuan said that during her senior summer he played chess with her and lost from start to finish because he was distracted the whole time.

But to therefore assume he had developed feelings of “liking” for her at that time would be somewhat presumptuous.

She had never been slow to perceive things, and before coming to Dongcheng, Meng Fuyuan’s attitude toward her had been so indifferent there was absolutely no room for imagination. Therefore, the most prudent speculation was that it began after their contact increased.

“I can’t tell you that yet.”

“…You said I could ask anything.”

“I didn’t say I’d answer everything.”

Chen Qingwu turned her head, immediately met his gaze, and turned back with effort, “…That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?”

“Mm. Seems like it is a bit.” Meng Fuyuan nodded.

What to do. Chen Qingwu realized she was completely no match for him, because their positions determined the current situation—as he said, he was showing all his cards, attacking openly and frankly.

She didn’t know if she should compare.

Having liked Qiran for many years, the time spent alone with him was countless.

But there didn’t seem to be a single time that made her feel that maneuvering with the opposite sex was originally this secretive yet thrilling, completely a battlefield where offense and defense changed in an instant.

Chen Qingwu unconsciously raised the can, discovering it was already empty.

She squeezed it lightly, “…What time is it?”

“Don’t know. My watch is in the room.”

She turned around, “I need to go back…”

Her words stopped abruptly because Meng Fuyuan had suddenly lightly grasped her wrist.

He lowered his head to look at her, his tone exceptionally sincere: “Stay five more minutes, Qingwu. It wasn’t easy to find an excuse to lure you over.”

All clever roundabout methods couldn’t compare to a frank, direct strike.

Her heartbeat immediately skipped a beat.

Chen Qingwu froze, not moving at all.

The next instant Meng Fuyuan released his hand, tossed the unfinished cigarette into the can in his hand, set it on the table, braced both arms on the railing, and looked ahead.

They both stopped talking and didn’t look at each other, just standing side by side.

For a moment there was only the sound of wind and heartbeats.

Had five minutes passed already?

No one knew.

Finally, it was Meng Fuyuan who cleared his throat: “It’s getting late, go back and rest.”

“…Mm.”

Chen Qingwu came back to herself and turned to walk into the room.

Meng Fuyuan followed behind her.

Passing through the suite’s living room to the entrance.

Meng Fuyuan stepped forward, raising his hand to prepare to open the door.

Chen Qingwu glanced at his hand: “That…”

“Mm?” Meng Fuyuan turned his head, following her gaze to his own left pinky finger.

“…That person, is it me?” Chen Qingwu asked softly.

At that time he had said it meant keeping vows for someone.

She regretted asking as soon as the words left her mouth, because the entrance was too narrow—their positions front and back were less than a foot apart. At this distance, saying anything seemed too ambiguous.

“Of course. Who else would it be?”

“…Then why are you still wearing it?”

Meng Fuyuan looked at her, his gaze extremely deep: “Because taking it off myself doesn’t count.”

Holding her breath seemed like an unconscious action. Chen Qingwu didn’t dare say another word, afraid that one more word would exceed the limits of what she could handle.

“Click.”

Meng Fuyuan pressed down the door handle.

The door opened.

Meng Fuyuan held the door.

Chen Qingwu walked out with stiff limbs.

“Good night, Qingwu.” Meng Fuyuan said in a low voice.