The next day, before dawn had fully broken, the shabby rental apartment was bathed in a cold, grayish-blue light.
Xu Anran left earlier than usual.
He stood at the door changing his shoes, moving with extreme care. Even the sound of his keys brushing against the metal door panel was deliberately suppressed to near silence.
Shen Yuan slept on the worn-out sofa in the living room.
The sofa was too narrow, so she could only curl up her legs, folding herself into a tiny ball.
The thin blanket she had casually draped over herself the night before had slipped off most of the way, revealing a stretch of wrist so pale it was almost blinding.
Xu Anran’s hand, tying his shoelaces, paused.
He hadn’t meant to look at her.
But sometimes people are just pathetic like that—the more you tell yourself not to look, the more your gaze uncontrollably drifts toward her feet, exposed outside the blanket.
A band-aid was stuck to her heel, its edges wrinkled, the dark red bloodstain already dried, standing out starkly against her fair skin.
The blood-stained band-aid from last night flashed through his mind again.
Irritation.
Deep irritation.
Xu Anran stood up, his hand already gripping the mottled door handle.
The next second, his movement halted.
After standing in silence for a few seconds, he released the door handle and reached into the inner pocket of his cheap suit jacket, pulling out a few neatly folded red banknotes.
A thousand yuan in total.
This was part of the wages he had just gotten advanced yesterday.
The corners of the bills were pressed flat, still carrying a faint scent of car leather.
He walked to the dining table, placed the money in the center, and picked up a glass cup that had been washed until it was faded white, pressing it firmly on top.
He had been doing this for six months.
On the first and fifteenth of every month, he would put the money there on time.
Most of his income went to her.
Almost like an offering.
Almost like repaying a debt.
Xu Anran utterly despised this habit. Despised it so much that every time he set the money down, his chest felt tight and suffocating.
He always felt like he was being priced and labeled, using money to buy the lingering warmth of that life he owed, using money to trade for the remaining six months of peaceful coexistence.
But now, he still set the money down.
He stared at the stack of red bills, his jawline taut.
Yesterday, Shen Yuan had worn those ill-fitting thin-heeled shoes and walked around outside all day.
The old her—she would have complained about being tired even walking downstairs to take out the trash, would have taken a cab rather than walk an extra step, would have ordered him around rather than lift a finger herself.
But yesterday at the bus stop, she hadn’t asked him to see her off.
She had even pretended not to see him.
She was looking for a job.
She had really walked until the backs of her heels were rubbed raw.
Xu Anran withdrew his hand from the glass cup, his knuckles curling slightly.
He coldly found himself a reason.
It’s just responsibility.
Until she found a job, he couldn’t stand by and watch her starve.
After all, he owed her a life.
He turned and left, gently pulling the door shut behind him.
“Click.”
The sound of the lock engaging was soft, yet it landed clearly in Shen Yuan’s ears.
The moment the door closed, the person on the sofa immediately opened her eyes.
Shen Yuan had actually been awake for a while.
This broken-down sofa was both narrow and hard. After a night on it, she felt like she’d been beaten up inside a sack—her waist ached so badly it felt like it might snap.
She had heard Xu Anran get up.
Heard him wash up.
And heard him walk to the dining table, the soft thud of the cup pressing down on the bills.
She hadn’t moved.
Not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t want to start the early morning with a tug-of-war with Xu Anran—”Here, take the money.” “No, I don’t want it.” “You have to take it.”
Her feet hurt, her back hurt, her head hurt—she simply didn’t have the energy for that kind of high-intensity sport.
Only when the footsteps in the stairwell faded completely, until they could no longer be heard, did Shen Yuan let out a long breath and slowly sit up.
The thin blanket slipped from her shoulders.
Rubbing her sore neck, she turned her gaze toward the dining table.
That thousand yuan sat neatly beneath the water glass.
A glaring, eye-searing red.
Shen Yuan sighed inwardly.
In Xu Anran’s eyes, she was probably still the original owner—the one who only knew how to ask for money, spend it like water, and had a temper bigger than the sky.
Her running around yesterday.
Her promise to “pay it back.”
Her determination to drag herself out of the original owner’s mess.
None of that carried any weight with Xu Anran right now.
No wonder, really.
If she were in Xu Anran’s shoes, she probably wouldn’t believe it easily either.
Someone who’d been a disaster for six months, causing chaos left and right, suddenly pops up one day claiming they want to turn over a new leaf?
Honestly, it sounded no different from a scam text.
The cheap mass-broadcast kind that started with “Dear user, you’ve won the grand prize.”
Shen Yuan gave a bitter smile.
She gripped the edge of the sofa and stood up. The moment her right foot touched the ground, a piercing pain shot through her heel.
“Hiss—”
She sucked in a sharp breath and quickly lifted her foot.
Good grief.
The skin on her heel had apparently officially announced it was leaving home.
She had to hop on one foot, limping her way over to the dining table, and picked up the water glass.
The stack of bills lay quietly on the table.
Shen Yuan lowered her lashes, stared at them for a few seconds, and didn’t reach for them.
Instead, she turned and grabbed her phone, opening the banking app she hadn’t touched in a long time.
The screen loaded for two seconds.
Balance: ¥2,345.76.
Not a tragically pathetic number, but definitely not enough to live comfortably.
Rent, utilities, food, transportation—and the money she owed Xu Anran.
Every single one was lined up, waiting for her to deal with.
Shen Yuan stared at the balance for a while, and oddly enough, she felt herself calming down.
Yesterday’s resume submissions and interviews had already delivered a resounding slap to her face.
Finding a high-paying job immediately and paying off all her debts in one go? That was about as likely as winning the five-million-yuan lottery on the spot.
But she really couldn’t take Xu Anran’s money anymore.
Shen Yuan exited the banking app and opened the transfer screen, typing in Xu Anran’s phone number from memory.
A contact name popped up on the screen.
Xu Anran.
Those three characters sat quietly on the display, but they made her fingertips pause.
She transferred that thousand yuan back, exactly as it was.
Not a cent more.
Not a cent less.
With a soft “ding,” the transfer confirmation sounded in the quiet room.
Shen Yuan didn’t stop there.
She immediately created another transfer.
Amount: ¥200.
That was the absolute limit she could spare without affecting her basic living expenses for the next few days.
Not much.
Pathetically little, even.
But it was the first step she could take right now.
When she reached the memo field, Shen Yuan stared at the screen, unable to type a single character for a long time.
What should she write?
“Repayment”?
Too stiff.
“Thank you”?
That felt weird too. The messy debt between her and Xu Anran couldn’t be settled with a simple “thank you.”
Finally, her fingertips landed on the virtual keyboard, tapping out the words one by one.
【What I owed you before, I’ll slowly pay back in the future.】
Confirm.
Transfer successful.