After driving for a while, Sui Yu finally remembered to ask where she was heading.
“I’m going home—to my mother’s,” Zhong Nian replied.
Sui Yu’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, veins standing out as he paused, trying to suppress a surge of agitation. “Why suddenly decide to go there?” he asked.
“Liang Yifeng is there,” she said simply.
Sui Yu’s grip on the wheel faltered slightly. He clenched his fingers harder, struggling to control the restless feelings rising in him. “Do you keep in touch with him often?”
Zhong Nian thought for a moment. “Somewhat.”
“Somewhat” meant roughly two or three times a week.
If they weren’t in regular contact, she would have said “rarely.” She didn’t lie—she only chose whether or not to answer.
Sui Yu frowned. “Does he reach out to you first?”
Zhong Nian slowly rolled up the window. Once the warm wind no longer circulated inside the car, she replied: “Kind of.”
She rarely added tone particles to her speech. Her years at The Times had taught her to speak plainly and truthfully, leaving little room for uncertainty in her words. Whenever she spoke ambiguously, it was usually just to brush someone off.
Sui Yu knew he had overstepped. Friends should maintain some distance, and she rarely pried into his private matters.
Half an hour of driving passed in unusually quiet silence.
When they reached the countryside, Zhong Nian got out. Standing outside the car, she hesitated for a moment. “Aren’t you coming down?”
“No,” Sui Yu glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting this afternoon.”
She didn’t insist. “Take care on the road.”
Hearing his reply, she felt an inexplicable sense of relief. She had been secretly worried about Sui Yu meeting Liang Yifeng—perhaps because in her memories, the two had never clashed directly, yet there was some unspoken tension between them.
Sui Yu had always been the good guy—popular at school, likable, outgoing, generous, unpretentious.
Liang Yifeng, on the other hand, was his polar opposite: silent, reserved, with a face that confused others, and a distant personality. In everyone’s mind, he was the aloof top student, hard to approach.
Their seats in class were on opposite diagonal ends—Sui Yu near the podium, Liang Yifeng in the second-to-last row. With the boarding-school system, they didn’t even share dorms. So Zhong Nian could never understand why they didn’t get along.
Old memories, revisited after years, always left a hollow feeling.
Zhong Nian opened the iron gate and stepped inside the yard.
The house door wasn’t closed. She pushed it open and immediately saw Liang Yifeng standing by the living room window, on the phone.
She lowered her footsteps, careful not to disturb him. Turning quietly, she slipped into the kitchen to help her mother serve the mung bean soup.
By the time she returned, Liang Yifeng had ended his call.
Zhong Nian placed the soup on the dining table. “I added only a little honey. Taste it and see if it’s just right.”
Liang Yifeng wasn’t fond of sweet flavors, but for something like mung bean soup, a bit of sweetness made it better. Her mother had added only one spoonful of honey for him.
He approached slowly and tasted it. “It’s fine,” he said.
Zhong Nian smiled lightly. “Then that’s settled.”
She went back to the kitchen for another bowl, and the two sat facing each other, finishing a bowl of soup together.
Her mother hurried off on a phone call, reminding them to eat lunch while she was gone. Zhong Nian wiped her mouth. “I still have things to do this afternoon.”
Her mother chuckled: “You rarely come home. What could be so important?”
“Just organizing news content,” Zhong Nian replied.
Her mother nodded kindly toward Liang Yifeng. “Little Liang has time, right? You said company matters don’t concern you anymore?”
“Yes.”
“Then fine. I’ll cook something delicious for you when I return!”
She rushed out, leaving Zhong Nian and Liang Yifeng alone.
Zhong Nian seized the thread of their conversation. “Company matters don’t concern you anymore?”
“Mm,” he replied.
The Shen Corporation had three general managers: Shen Fang, Liang Yifeng, and Lu Cheng’an. Lu Cheng’an had spent years abroad chasing a wife, finally returning triumphant—so Liang Yifeng no longer had to go to the office regularly.
Zhong Nian felt relieved. “That must make things much easier.”
“Perhaps,” he said.
Only the crisp sound of ceramic clinking broke the silence.
After finishing his soup, Liang Yifeng pushed the bowl forward, folded his hands across his chest, and looked at her calmly.
“What brings you to see me?”
Zhong Nian paused mid-sip, then looked up. “I met Shen Fang today.” She hesitated a moment but decided to speak plainly. He was a smart man, and she knew that beating around the bush wouldn’t work.
“And…?” Liang Yifeng prompted.
“He said you were angry.”
He only tilted the corners of his mouth slightly, giving no reply.
“Because of what happened the other day?”
“Not really,” he said.
For some reason, his words left a hollow in her chest.
She blinked. “Then… why?”
Liang Yifeng sighed silently, hands resting on the table, eyes on her as if trying to see through her completely. Calm, measured, yet somehow weighty. “I wasn’t angry. I was thinking about something.”
“What?”
Adjusting his glasses, he said: “I was thinking—after all these years, Zhong Nian, why have you not grown?”
Instinctively, she wanted to retort, but couldn’t find the words.
She had indeed not grown. Still unable to trust anyone, she believed the world was dark and corrupt, that nothing and no one was trustworthy—like the day she and her mother argued with the police, insisting her father hadn’t used drugs, while the report said otherwise.
Even after crying themselves hoarse, the evidence said it all: her father had committed suicide.
He was a model husband, working diligently, praised by neighbors, with an almost-perfect daughter—how could he have taken his own life?
Yet the police insisted otherwise.
Evidence did not equal truth.
…
Zhong Nian closed her eyes slowly, letting her hair fall over her face.
Liang Yifeng could only see her pressed lips.
After a long pause, she spoke, her voice hoarse. “Liang Yifeng, you can’t ask so much of me.”
“Am I asking too much?”
“Yes.”
“I only want you to trust me. Is that too much?”
“….”
She remained silent, lifting her head slowly. Her eyes drooped, weary.
“Isn’t it good to try trusting someone?”
As a journalist, Zhong Nian had honed the ability to pick apart and refute others’ words.
“Why should I trust anyone?” she shot back, chin raised, eyes bright, tone firm, as though a protective barrier had formed around her. No one could enter, and she could not escape.
Liang Yifeng felt helpless, even sorrowful. This heart of hers—how could it ever be untangled?
Continuing would only lead to confrontation. He had come this far; he could not let small matters derail him.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “Forget it. Let’s not talk about this.”
Fine by her—Zhong Nian didn’t want to discuss it either.
Regaining composure, she said, “The newsroom was satisfied with the fire drill report. They said it deserves a large feature.”
“Thanks to you,” he replied.
After finishing their meal, Zhong Nian collected the dishes and washed them.
Returning, she grabbed her bag. “I’m heading out. Will you stay here or…?”
“Where are you going?”
“Back to school.”
“Back…?” he emphasized, puzzled.
“I was recording the school anniversary coverage, but… I need to get back now.”
He didn’t overthink it. Picking up his coat from the sofa, he gestured, “I’ll go with you.”
“Huh?” Zhong Nian followed him. “You’ll come with me?”
He stopped by his car, one hand on the roof, the other in his pocket. His profile sharp, turning to look at her—stunning.
“Not allowed?”
He opened the passenger door.
They said cars matched their drivers.
Sui Yu’s car—a flashy sports car—was high-profile, loud, even the curves matched the wind; the engine roared. Liang Yifeng’s SUV—low-profile, ordinary among a sea of cars, yet its engraved emblem commanded awe.
“Will this be too much trouble?” Zhong Nian asked.
With Sui Yu, it never felt like trouble—but with Liang Yifeng, she worried she might inconvenience him.
He hated her using such a distant tone with him.
To put it bluntly, they had lived under the same roof for half a year—how had she never thought of inconveniencing him then?
Besides, he liked being bothered by her.
Liang Yifeng chuckled softly, then, calm and collected, said: “Since you think it’s troublesome, just make me more meals in the future.”
Her step paused as she climbed in. The SUV’s chassis was high; one foot on the step, the other still on the ground, upper body bent slightly. From the side, her well-developed chest filled the white blouse.
A glance back—captivating.
Yet she didn’t smile. Just that posture alone, in his eyes, read as seductive.
Others had tried to seduce him before. Men—either for money or women—Liang Yifeng lacked neither, so women were often sent to charm him. The most extreme instance: a slightly drunk night, returning to a hotel, spotting a lump in the sheets under neon lights.
Opening the door, he found a completely naked woman on the bed.
He stayed cold, shouting at Shen Fang to deal with it.
That collaboration naturally failed, and the company was blacklisted.
Times changed. For Liang Yifeng, even with her fully clothed, he would still obsess over her endlessly.
Zhong Nian was his destined undoing.
His Adam’s apple moved. “What, unhappy?”
She settled into the car, still shorter than him.
Looking up at him, she sighed. “Fine.”
Two simple words, lightly landing in his chest.
Like clouds after rain, like birds through the forest.
The whole world seemed alert to her.