Perhaps it was the sincerity in the person before her. Even though his eyes lingered with a playful slant, a careless charm, Zhong Nian felt that Shen Fang was someone trustworthy.
Yet she knew intuition wasn’t a reliable standard—but she still chose to believe it.
Shen Fang grinned. “If something’s wrong with him, why don’t you ask him? Why come ask me?”
His teasing was childlike, almost like a rebellious seventeen- or eighteen-year-old, a smirk of mischief on his face.
Zhong Nian shook her head helplessly. Realizing she had misspoken, she met his provocation with calm detachment.
“If nothing else, Mr. Shen, I’ll take my leave.”
“Hey—” Shen Fang called lazily. “Do you have a heart at all?”
His tone was half-serious, half-joking, yet under the brim of his cap, his eyes shimmered with some fleeting emotion. For an instant, his gaze drifted like a wandering peach branch.
Zhong Nian’s reply was like mist, soft and ephemeral, floating in the air: “No.”
“……”
She quietly walked away, her figure graceful and slender. Watching her leave, Shen Fang couldn’t help but mutter a curse: “Crazy girl!”
·
Once out of Shen Fang’s line of sight, Zhong Nian’s tense shoulders finally relaxed.
Different people required different approaches. Someone like Sui Yu could be talked to casually, about anything—but only that; with someone like Shen Fang, she had to constantly guard against the hidden meanings behind every word, matching his tone in an equally carefree, unpredictable way.
Over the years, her interactions with Liang Yifeng had been the simplest.
She had nothing to hide—he knew her family completely.
She had nothing to say—their interactions were always wordless, silent.
It was because of Liang Yifeng that she could truly be herself.
People subconsciously gravitate toward two types: someone the complete opposite of themselves, complementary; or someone who is their other self.
Liang Yifeng was quiet, reserved, low-profile—and so was she. In his presence, she felt most like herself.
She couldn’t quite explain why. Liang Yifeng, so calculating, so practiced in hiding emotion, trained from childhood with endless lessons and discipline—yet he didn’t have to force it.
He was naturally cool, his expression unreadable.
Yet somehow, beside him, she felt at ease.
Sometimes fate was strange—leaving you at a loss, yet perfectly timed.
Zhong Nian stood beneath a wisteria-covered corridor. The thick branches drooped along the stone steps, delicate petals scattered to the ground. In the blurred spring-summer light, sunlight poured down like shattered gold.
She stopped, the breeze carrying the scent of flowers, standing in the green light. She took out her phone and called Liang Yifeng.
The call rang for a long time, unanswered. She waited patiently, right up until the last moment before a busy signal would kick in—then someone picked up. The familiar low, husky voice sounded through the line, electric and magnetic in tone.
Liang Yifeng: “Hmm.”
Calm, emotionless, without waves or ripples.
Zhong Nian fluttered her lashes and sat on a stone bench. “Where are you?”
“At your place.”
Quickly, she understood. “Your mother’s?”
“Mm.”
“I’ll come to you,” she said.
“No need.”
“Why?”
“I’m about to head back to the company.”
“I’ll come to the company to find you.”
She heard him sigh on the other end—not sure if it was resignation or helplessness—but ultimately he let her come to him: “I’ll wait for you at your place.”
“All right, I’ll be there,” she replied.
After hanging up, Liang Yifeng looked around. A white bed met his eyes, sheets patterned with green flowers. The room was clean and orderly: a desk, a wardrobe, lace curtains fluttering in the sunlight.
On the desk was a framed photo: a fifteen-year-old girl, cool and pale as moonlight, standing next to a boy with a lazy smile, the left corner of his mouth slightly upturned in a mischievous grin.
Liang Yifeng’s gaze was like tempered ice.
“小梁,” a voice called from outside the door. “I wanted to show you some more photos of Nian Nian as a child, but I couldn’t find them.”
“No matter,” he replied.
“What are you looking at? Ah—this photo,” Zhong Nian’s mother laughed, holding it up. “Before Nian Nian returned abroad, I tidied her room and found it in a drawer. Look, Sui Yu and Nian Nian together—don’t they look like a perfect match?”
Liang Yifeng: “Do they?”
“Yes, and they get along so well. I always thought Nian Nian could end up with Sui Yu,” her voice grew wistful. “But unfortunately, she wasn’t so lucky.”
Liang Yifeng: “She will meet someone better.”
Her mother smiled, thinking he was consoling her. She waved him off, saying she’d made a bowl of mung bean soup to drink outside.
Liang Yifeng nodded. Behind her, he stepped forward a few paces, then returned, placing the photo facedown on the desk.
·
Zhong Nian waited and waited but no taxi arrived.
Instead, Sui Yu showed up to pick her up for the anniversary.
Today he drove a flashy convertible. Sunglasses perched on his nose, wearing a floral shirt and matching shorts—a full beach-vacation outfit, obnoxiously flamboyant.
He stopped before her, whistling. “Beautiful, get in. Shall we go?”
Zhong Nian stared, expressionless.
Sui Yu hooked his sunglasses down with a finger, winking. “Cut me some slack, will you?”
She sighed silently.
Resigned, she smiled faintly and opened the door, sliding in.
Those waiting for a ride nearby were astonished—she actually got in his car?
Sui Yu grinned triumphantly, weaving the car through traffic.
Zhong Nian thought him childish—almost thirty, yet still so irresponsible. But then she realized everyone had their own way of living. His life was messy, yet more fun than hers.
At least, she could draw joy from him.
After a short drive, Sui Yu opened the convertible top, letting the sun stream outside.
He glanced at her. “I thought you weren’t coming to the anniversary? Why show up?”
“News assignment—I have to.”
“One school anniversary and it makes the headlines?”
“Who knows?”
At a red light, Sui Yu grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to her, teasing: “Need me to open it for you?”
“…No.”
She easily twisted the cap herself and drank a few sips.
Sui Yu sighed. “Other women—always whining, ‘Oh, it’s too hard to open! Can you help me?’ You, though, do everything yourself.”
Zhong Nian pressed her lips. “Being independent isn’t bad.”
“Not bad, just… too independent.” He emphasized “too.”
Zhong Nian: “Is that bad?”
Sui Yu: “Men don’t like women like that.”
She frowned. “Should I be the kind of woman men like? Why can’t men become the kind of men women imagine?”
“What kind of men do women like? Rich, handsome, considerate, gentle, loyal?”
Zhong Nian had never known love, but if she had to pick one reason to feel attracted to someone, it would be: “At least loyal.”
“Whether men are loyal depends on whether the woman is attractive.”
“…Ridiculous.”
She fixed him with a long look. “Women aren’t beautiful just to marry, you know.”
Sui Yu: “Women are beautiful so they can marry better.”
“And what about men being handsome?”
“So they can… embrace everything better,” he teased.
Zhong Nian lowered her window, letting the wind lift her hair.
Through the roaring wind, she said: “So love is all unreal.”
Sui Yu was slightly stunned. “Love isn’t forever—it’s ‘seize the day while the wine flows.’”
Zhong Nian shook her head, smiling. “Would you change yourself for a woman you liked?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
She glanced at him hesitantly; his jaw tensed, lashes fluttered beneath the glasses, revealing his inner state.
Finally, in his usual lazy, carefree tone, he said: “Is there any woman in the world who doesn’t like me?”
He was rich, handsome, considerate, gentle. When he loved, his affection was genuine. But that was all he could give. He could speak endless words of love, describe eternal devotion beautifully, yet the love he gave was all that existed.
Carpe diem. Love is only what is present under the moon tonight.
His tone lazy, tailing upward; Zhong Nian shook her head with a helpless smile. What he said was true—men like him, love is everywhere.
Yet she only heard the superficial romance, never the depth in his eyes.
Gradually, his gaze grew sad.
He proclaimed love for her, but never considered changing for her. He continued living extravagantly, surrounded by ever-changing women…
So what use is love?
Zhong Nian was right. Love was all unreal.
Even his love for her—was false.