The next morning, when Song Wanyi woke up, her gaze drifted to the towel hanging on the balcony to dry.
She thought of the man’s reminder from last night.
After a moment of hesitation, she gathered her courage and picked up her phone.
“Sir, this is Song Wanyi. I’d like to return your towel and umbrella—when would be a convenient time for you?”
She chose to send a message. She still felt a little intimidated by the idea of speaking to him directly.
After sending it, she opened her wardrobe, picked out a dress, and got ready for the day.
Soon, she arrived at the mall on time.
Shuqing was already preparing to open the shop.
Song Wanyi put on gloves and joined her in making ice cream.
The store manager arrived late, reminding them to stay fully alert throughout the day.
“Oh, right—Song Wanyi, come find me after your shift to collect your salary for this month,” the manager said.
“Okay.”
After work, Song Wanyi looked around for him.
She had been waiting for this—finally getting paid.
But the manager was nowhere to be found.
“Manager, where are you?” she messaged him.
“I had to step out. Come find me at 9 p.m. tonight,” he replied quickly, attaching a location.
It was a bar near the university town—somewhere Song Wanyi had never been.
“9 p.m. is a bit late. Could it be earlier?” she hesitated before asking.
“If you come tonight, I’ll count your attendance as perfect for the month.”
“Okay.” That final bit of hesitation disappeared. The perfect attendance bonus alone was worth 500.
Since she couldn’t check her phone during the day, her inbox was now filled with unread messages.
As she scrolled, her finger suddenly paused.
There was a reply from a contact saved as “Kind Gentleman.”
“Tonight. I happen to be passing by the university town.”
It had been sent at 10 a.m.
“Would 8 p.m. work? I have something at 9.”
“Sure,” came the quick reply.
By late August, the night air was still heavy with heat.
The bushes along the road looked lush and full under the streetlights.
The air felt thick, almost scorching—even the wind carried a burning warmth, as if it could melt everything in its path.
When would summer end?
Though, truthfully, she disliked winter even more.
Song Wanyi stood waiting at the entrance of Block B, glancing down the road from time to time.
She looked up at the streetlight above her.
It flickered on and off, probably from years of neglect.
Just like her thoughts—uncertain and wavering.
Lost in her own mind, she suddenly noticed a sleek black Maybach pulling into view.
The rear window rolled down, revealing a sharply defined, elegant profile.
Song Wanyi froze for a moment.
“Get in.”
Just two simple words—but clearly meant for her.
She opened the door and got into the car.
He was still dressed in the same shirt and trousers from earlier, though now he carried a faint air of fatigue.
Perhaps he had been drinking—he looked like he had just stepped away from a lively business dinner.
“Here are your towel and umbrella,” Song Wanyi said, handing him the neatly folded towel she had carefully placed in a box, while setting the umbrella by her feet.
“Mm.” Shen Yuxun didn’t seem particularly concerned about them. “You have something at 9?”
“Yes. I need to collect my salary from my manager,” Song Wanyi replied, lowering her gaze.
In the dim car, Shen Yuxun could only make out the faint outline of her fair profile.
“Are you short on money?” It seemed like she was constantly taking on part-time jobs.
“Yes… I still haven’t gathered enough for my tuition,” Song Wanyi said lightly, even sticking out her tongue in a playful gesture—yet there was no hint of complaint in her tone.
Shen Yuxun’s hand, resting on his knee, paused slightly.
“What’s your major?”
“Cultural Relics and Museology. It’s a pretty niche field,” Song Wanyi said with a self-deprecating smile.
For someone in her situation, she probably should have chosen something more practical—something with better job prospects.
But back then, driven by passion, she had ignored her uncle and aunt’s objections and insisted on choosing this path.
She would rather earn her own tuition than choose a popular major just for practicality.
With her grades, she had plenty of options.
But she chose this path simply because she loved quietly admiring ancient artifacts—
as if they were a secret language through which she could communicate with people of the past.
Yet as time passed, doubt began to creep in.
She saw how difficult it was for seniors in her field to find jobs.
Many of them ended up working in areas completely unrelated to their studies.
For a brief moment, she questioned her original decision.
But no matter what, she was determined to finish this major seriously—without slacking off.
In the quiet car, his voice broke the silence.
“I have a private collection gallery. Would you like to come? I happen to need help,” Shen Yuxun said, turning slightly toward her. His voice was calm and pleasant.
“Really? That would be amazing—thank you so much.”
“I’ll have my assistant contact you tomorrow.”
“Alright. I won’t disturb you any longer then, sir,” Song Wanyi said as she reached for the door.
“Where are you going? I’ll take you,” Shen Yuxun said. Then added, “It’s on the way.”
Song Wanyi hesitated for a moment, but still gave him the name of the bar.
The car came to a smooth stop at the entrance.
Shen Yuxun glanced at the flashy neon-style sign. A fleeting memory crossed his mind—of a provocatively dressed young woman he had seen there a few days ago. He frowned slightly.
“Here?” he asked.
“Uh… yes. Thank you, sir.” Song Wanyi turned and gave him a sincere smile before getting out.
She stepped into the bar.
After passing through security and lifting the curtain into the main hall, a wave of smoke, alcohol, and heavy music hit her all at once.
The pounding noise made her head spin for a moment—she had almost forgotten she was still recovering from a cold.
It took her ten minutes to find the manager in the dim, chaotic environment.
He was drinking with several middle-aged men.
“Manager,” Song Wanyi called out, raising her voice over the music.
“Come, sit,” he said, lifting his glass.
“No, I’m in a hurry to get back to the dorm. Curfew’s coming,” she replied, unwilling to stay any longer.
“What’s the rush?” a bald man beside him said. “Little sister, have a drink with us.”
“But I don’t drink,” Song Wanyi said. The deafening music made her ears ache, and her head felt increasingly dizzy.
“It’s fine. If you get drunk, we’ll take you home,” the manager chimed in.
“I really can’t drink.” All she wanted was her pay so she could leave.
“How about this—you finish this drink, and I’ll transfer your salary,” the manager said, pointing to a small glass in front of him.
Song Wanyi looked at it. She didn’t know what was inside.
But it was such a small glass… she figured she could endure it long enough to make it back to the dorm.
“Hurry up, we’re all waiting,” the bald man urged impatiently.
Song Wanyi took a deep breath, picked up the glass, and drank it in one gulp.
A burning sensation shot down her throat into her stomach. It tasted awful.
“Manager, I’ve finished it. Please transfer my salary,” she said, setting down the empty glass.
“Alright, I’ll do it now. Seems like you can handle your liquor,” he said casually.
After confirming the money had been transferred, Song Wanyi turned and left the bar.
Her head spun badly—she didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the overwhelming noise.
She staggered toward the entrance when suddenly a force grabbed her arm and pulled her back.
She turned—it was the bald man.
“Little sister, you’re drunk. I’ll take you home,” he said with a leering smile.
“No, thank you,” she said, using the last of her strength to shake him off.
But he grabbed her again, refusing to let go.
Passersby only assumed it was drunken pulling and didn’t step in to help.
Song Wanyi felt helpless. Why did she always end up in situations like this?
If her mother were still around, she wouldn’t have to struggle like this…
The thought made her eyes sting with tears.
But did she even have the right to cry?
For someone like her, just surviving already felt like a luxury.
“Let her go.”
A low voice rang out, carrying a hint of suppressed anger.
Song Wanyi turned and saw Shen Yuxun walking toward her, his expression dark.
“Sir…”
In the final second before her consciousness faded, she felt a strange sense of relief.
Because his presence made her feel safe.