The evening breeze shook snow from the branches above. Jiang Wanju looked into Chen Zhouren’s eyes—he was still just as handsome and composed.
It was as if time had stood still for this man.
Jiang Wanju turned her face slightly and said politely, “Long time no see.”
Chen Zhouren was still holding the silver wolf figurine. The vendor gave a price, and he paid without hesitation.
Jiang Wanju turned to leave without staying to listen to their conversation. She had walked several steps when Chen Zhouren caught up to her and called her name: “Wanju.”
Standing in the snow, Jiang Wanju turned slightly. The wind blew her hair loose, and she tucked it behind her ear as she asked, in a courteous tone, “Mr. Chen, is something the matter?”
Chen Zhouren asked, “Don’t you want to grab a drink?”
Jiang Wanju smiled faintly. “After all this time, Mr. Chen’s pickup lines are still the same.”
“After all this time,” Chen Zhouren replied, “so is the person I say them to.”
Colorful lights twinkled all around. In the square stood a giant, brightly decorated Christmas tree. The air was filled with the delicious aroma of mulled wine, spiced with fruit and creative blends of herbs. Storefronts glittered with light, and strings of tiny bulbs lit up the night like day.
Not far away, an outdoor skating rink was buzzing with laughter and cheer, its sounds mingling with holiday music drifting from the shops, carried gently on the cold breeze.
Jiang Wanju asked, “Are you here alone?” This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Chen Zhouren shook his head. “I came with my cousin to visit our grandmother. We just stopped by here for fun.”
Jiang Wanju didn’t respond. Behind her, someone called Chen Zhouren’s name. She turned and saw a man about his height, though with a slightly gentler demeanor. Their eyes looked strikingly similar.
Chen Zhouren introduced them—his cousin’s name was Wen Chongyue. The two were born in the same year, though Wen’s birthday came earlier, in February.
It was rare luck to run into familiar faces abroad. Naturally, Wen Chongyue suggested they have dinner together. Jiang Wanju didn’t feel comfortable refusing, so she agreed.
The three dined in a restaurant designed like a 17th-century timber-framed house. A spiral staircase led up to the second floor. In the elegant, vintage setting, Wen Chongyue ordered some classic Alsatian dishes. He seemed to be a foodie and fairly knowledgeable about wine. Jiang Wanju, only half-listening, thought absentmindedly: yes, they really are family.
By the time dinner was over, night had fallen completely, like a dark curtain draped across the sky. Perhaps because of the cold, the Christmas market had ended, and people were slowly dispersing—only a few drunkards and idle wanderers remained.
Wen Chongyue suggested that Chen Zhouren walk Jiang Wanju back. She didn’t decline.
A thick layer of snow had already blanketed the streets, even covering the path they’d taken earlier. Jiang Wanju preferred to walk where no one had yet stepped, leaving behind a line of crisp footprints. From behind her, Chen Zhouren asked:
“How’s work here?”
“It’s been good,” she replied.
“You’ve lost a lot of weight.”
Each step crunched slightly in the snow, like something being gently squeezed. Jiang Wanju walked along the path, and Chen Zhouren followed beside her at a steady pace.
No one would bother them here. Those looking to cause trouble would know better than to mess with them.
The place where Jiang Wanju lives is about a fifteen-minute walk from here. On the way, she and Chen Zhouren chatted calmly about recent events—work, life—just like talking to an old friend.
They really were friends who hadn’t seen each other in a long time. Jiang Wanju knew clearly what was in her best interest. In a foreign country, she didn’t mind having a chat with someone who had once been a failed crush. After all, on a lonely island far from home, even a little warmth and comfort was enough.
Chen Zhouren walked Jiang Wanju all the way to the entrance of her hotel. After exchanging goodnight, Jiang Wanju suddenly stopped in her tracks. She turned slightly and asked Chen Zhouren,
“Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”
As she said this, the night was quiet and snow had settled. The tips of her lashes, exposed to the air, were lightly damp from her breath, and the tip of her nose was tinged red from the wind.
Come in for a cup of tea.
They both knew very well what that meant.
Chen Zhouren smiled and asked,
“How many men have you invited in for tea?”
Jiang Wanju pulled the scarf slipping off her shoulder back into place. That line sounded familiar.
She replied, clearly and gently,
“Why is Mr. Chen so interested in my personal matters?”
Snow blanketed the ground, and Chen Zhouren stood tall like a pine tree.
Chen Zhouren answered calmly,
“Maybe because I want to be the only man who’s ever touched you.”