“Divorced?” Bao Chenggong’s round eyes grew even rounder. “You’re really divorced?”
Shi Ran took a small sip of her drink and said nothing. Aili’s palm immediately came down: “Why would I lie to you?”
Bao Chenggong took the solid smack, his thin frame swaying, his tone turning mournful: “I know Cheng Zimiao wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but you two were such a perfect match in high school… so happy when you got married… I thought you’d grow old together.”
“Hey, as long as the happy part happened, that’s enough. The ending’s the same either way.” Chen Anke glanced at Bao Chenggong, then knocked on the table to liven up the mood. “Comrades, let’s give a warm round of applause to welcome our returnee from abroad—”
The group laughed and clapped, then started chattering away, tearing open various takeout bags—roast duck, roasted goose, braised pig trotters, spicy crayfish… Following the must-eat list for returnees, a table full of fragrant, spicy, steaming dishes was spread out.
Then Bao Chenggong, while eating a skewer of fried food, asked: “Shi Ran, why did you get divorced?”
Aili glared at him.
Bao Chenggong pretended not to see, taking a sip of his milk tea: “It’s not like he did you wrong, is it?”
Chen Anke drew in a sharp breath.
Bao Chenggong picked up a fried chicken leg: “Did he cheat? Cheng Zimiao seems like the type who’d cheat.”
The room gradually fell silent.
Almost everyone shot fierce glares at Bao Chenggong, their looks like countless knives. His fried chicken leg froze mid-air, nowhere to flee.
Shi Ran couldn’t help but laugh, letting out a soft chuckle.
The living room lights were bright, soft music flowing gently. She smiled and said: “After all these years, I thought people would change.” Her smiling eyes tilted slightly as she looked at Bao Chenggong. “How are you still the same as before?”
Do people… really change?
Chen Anke looked up.
Shi Ran’s villa still had its original decor. A piano stood in the center of the living room, and against the wall, display shelves held many of the trophies and certificates she had won over the years.
In the photos, the girl smiled gently, from the layered white dresses of early childhood, to the elaborate satin princess gowns of her teenage years, to the sheer embroidered long dresses, the beaded strap dresses…
Every one showed magnificent skirts, every one showed a poised posture.
The photos had blurred with time, the young girl sprouting and growing into the woman of today.
Shi Ran wore a baseball cap, a simple, clean black hoodie, and soft, faded jeans. Her long hair was loosely tied at the back of her head, with a few stray strands falling by her ears.
She lounged half-leaning against the sofa armrest, legs casually curled, swirling her glass. A faint flush of wine colored her cheeks, her smile relaxed and at ease, revealing two shallow dimples.
Nothing had changed, and yet everything seemed to have changed.
“Some people don’t change.” Aili suddenly spoke up. She snatched the glass from Shi Ran’s hand and set it down, asking with great seriousness: “Shi Ran, you know what your good friend here does for a living now, right?”
“I know, I know, of course I know,” Shi Ran laughed. “That classmate Aili who used to whisper with me in class and got made to stand as punishment by the teacher has become a shining, brilliant lawyer.”
“Ha!” Chen Anke looked at Shi Ran and chimed in: “Such good flattery. Now it’s my turn to be praised.”
“Alright,” Shi Ran summarized. “That classmate Chen Anke who cried and made a fuss about dropping out over a face full of acne back then is now a famous dating blogger! Advocating for freedom in love, freedom in marriage, freedom in childbirth—”
“Too much, too much. Even though we old classmates haven’t seen each other in a long time, you don’t have to lay it on this thick.” Bao Chenggong scratched his head. “Aili was just complaining last time that she couldn’t get any cases, and Chen Anke’s traffic isn’t all that impressive either…”
Aili delivered another slap: “Who said it was your turn to talk? Just because you’re a reporter, you think you’re all that.”
“So,” Chen Anke took a deep breath, turning to Shi Ran, and asked, “Did he change?”
Did Cheng Zimiao change?
That famous playboy, Shi Ran’s family’s old family friend—handsome, rich enough, and smart beyond belief.
He was the unavoidable legendary figure for several cohorts of students.
Chen Anke still remembered a Monday morning flag-raising ceremony. Cheng Zimiao had just been publicly criticized by the dean of students for being late, skipping class, and not wearing his uniform properly, and then immediately praised by the principal for his outstanding competition results.
The dean’s embarrassment at that moment was still vivid in her mind.
And Cheng Zimiao, usually lazy and carefree, had looked extremely well-behaved at the time, flashing the principal an innocent “I don’t know what I did” smile that infuriated the dean even more.
Cheng Zimiao, admired by countless girls. Cheng Zimiao, whose desk was always stuffed with love letters.
Girls from the neighboring school came in groups for “chance encounters.” He would just narrow those peach-blossom eyes and give a lazy smile, making a whole crowd blush speechless.
Did he change?
“Hmm.” Shi Ran thought for a moment, then said: “He didn’t change. He’s still the same as before.”
She paused, considering: “The one who changed… I guess it was me?”
Before anyone’s gaze could turn evasive, Shi Ran hurried to explain, “I didn’t wrong him. Of course, he didn’t wrong me either… We just weren’t compatible.”
She sighed. “Fighting, fighting, fighting. Every day we fought until our heads were about to explode.”
“…You? Shi Ran?” Aili could hardly believe it. “You actually fight with people?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Shi Ran said, spreading her hands with a smile. “People change.”
“Why did you fight…”
Bao Chenggong wanted to keep asking, but Chen Anke stuffed a burger into his mouth, and the conversation shifted to other topics.
Shi Ran had drunk a bit too much tonight.
She curled up in the soft sofa and dozed off, dreaming of the her from before and the Cheng Zimiao from before.
“The sea is so beautiful,” she said softly, propping her head up to gaze out the car window as the sea breeze lifted her long hair. “The sunrise should be even more beautiful.”
“We’ll come watch it together when we have time.” Cheng Zimiao drove with one hand, kneading her hand in his, speaking in a low voice.
She turned her head to say something, but Cheng Zimiao’s phone rang.
He let go of her hand and answered the call.
The window rolled up, sealing the sea away.
The coastal road stretched on endlessly.
Shi Ran blinked her eyes open, still hazy.
The clock hand already pointed to five in the morning.
The window had been left open, the sheer curtains swaying, the night breeze cold against her skin, sending a chill through her body. She shivered and instinctively reached toward the space beside her—
Empty. Cold.
Not even a trace of warmth remained.
No familiar man.
No familiar cat either.
She called out in a hoarse voice, “Panghu?”
The room was empty, with no echo in response.
The cat had vanished to who knows where.
After all the drinking and talking tonight, her throat and stomach were dry and burning, as if scorched by fire. Shi Ran felt both cold and hot at once. She propped herself up to sit, intending to go to the kitchen for a glass of water and look for the mischievous cat along the way.
The living room was a mess too chaotic to bear looking at. Her old classmates had all gotten thoroughly plastered tonight, and no one had thought to clean up.
And they’d insisted with such conviction that people don’t change.
Shi Ran yawned and headed to the kitchen, poured a glass of hot water, then walked around calling “Panghu” as she searched for her adorable tabby cat.
Panghu was a stray she’d picked up while studying abroad.
Bold, clingy, and fairly well-socialized—when she had free time, she’d even take him out for walks, just like a little dog.
But he’d just crossed the ocean with her and wasn’t yet familiar with the new home. With too many people in the house today, Shi Ran had worried he might get stressed, so she’d kept him upstairs.
She went from the first floor to the second, calling Panghu’s name, searching every nook and cranny he loved to hide in—nothing. She couldn’t find him at all.
Strange.
Panghu was the kind of cat that came running the moment you called.
Shi Ran felt cold all over, an inexplicable unease creeping into her heart.
Frowning, she hurried through the house, and finally made her way back to the kitchen—
That was when she noticed the glass door to the backyard was cracked open just a sliver.
Her head buzzed, going completely blank.
The glass door on the second floor connected to this one. Someone must have carelessly forgotten to close it properly. The gap was wide enough for a small cat to slip through.
Dawn hadn’t broken yet. The darkness outside was thick, almost alive, seeping through the crack into the brightly lit room, dimming the entire world in an instant.
If Panghu got lost…
Shi Ran’s heart pounded fast and urgent. She threw the door open and stumbled out, her steps unsteady—
And heard a familiar, pleading “meow.”
It was Panghu!
Her suspended heart was quickly pulled down by the cat’s continuous, clinging cries. She ran toward the sound, realizing her whole body was trembling.
Branches were brushed aside, dew crushed underfoot. Shi Ran finally spotted Panghu—and beside him, a strange, tall man.
He was dressed all in black, wearing a black mask, nearly blending into the night itself. She couldn’t make out his features.
But Shi Ran didn’t have time to feel afraid.
Because when he looked up and met her gaze, there was clearly a hint of bewilderment that didn’t match his imposing frame.
That rascal Panghu was practically tangled around the man’s pant leg, meowing, pawing, rubbing against him, crying “meow meow meow” without end.
Shaming his owner completely.
“Um, sorry about that,” Shi Ran said, scratching her head as she walked over to him. “This is my cat.”
The man remained silent, not responding. She ambled closer, scooped up Panghu—who was rolling on the ground showing his belly—and made small talk to fill the awkwardness: “Do you happen to have a female cat at home?”
…
A female cat?
Shen Lizhou’s reaction was several beats slow before he thought of the little calico that had been tangled around his pant leg at Sheng Sheng Manor during the day.
So that was it.
He lowered his gaze, saying nothing.
He didn’t know what to say.
He didn’t even know why he had come here.
To be honest, from the moment he saw the message to the moment he appeared here—through nearly an hour of driving—his mind had been almost completely blank.
By the time he came to his senses, he was already standing at the door of that villa.
It was too late for regret.
The clock had already struck midnight, so let’s hold on for one more day.
Just live one more day.
Shi Ran’s house was exactly as he remembered it.
The iron gate was slightly ajar, the brass butterfly ornament a bit older but polished to a shine. The plane trees along the driveway had grown more lush, their branches interwoven, casting fragmented shadows under the streetlights. All their classmates had arrived, cars parked in a congested jumble, forcing him to circle around to the back.
Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched from the second floor down to the first, sheer curtains drawn, warm light glowing through.
Like a giant picture frame.
Figures moved within, laughter and chatter spilling out, lively and warm.
The early spring night breeze carried a chill, sharpening the senses.
Time slipped by unnoticed as Shen Lizhou stood alone by the villa, until this inexplicable little cat appeared inexplicably at his side.
Shi Ran’s gaze was fixed on the little cat, and she didn’t recognize him.
That was fine.
But she looked a bit tired.
Waking up at this hour, then searching for her cat.
Shen Lizhou raised a hand and pressed it against his chest.
“Sorry to trouble you,” she said, head bowed, absently stroking the meowing kitten. “It doesn’t know it’s lost its function yet.”
Shi Ran smiled faintly as she spoke, pressing her lips together.
He curved his own lips slightly in response.
And in that moment, she lifted her face toward him.
Night mist drifted, the streetlight diffusing into soft pools of warm amber, falling over both their eyes.
He should look away.
He should turn and walk off.
He had already been prepared to embrace death.
Reason kept sending warnings to Shen Lizhou, yet his gaze couldn’t tear itself from her, and neither could his body—unresponsive, frozen in place, letting her study him.
Shi Ran blinked, then said, “…Shen Lizhou?”
His mask was still on, yet his name was called out of nowhere. Like having his disguise stripped away, his soul struck, his fate seized—his whole body stiffened.
Then he heard his own voice.
“Shi Ran,” he said, low, soft, even natural. “Long time no see.”
“Long time no see!” Shi Ran broke into a delighted smile. “Do you live here too? Out for a morning run? You…”
Before she could finish, a deep male voice came from behind—
“Shi Ran.”
A somewhat familiar voice.
Shen Lizhou turned and saw Cheng Zimiao, whom he hadn’t seen in years.
The morning mist coated him in a cold, shimmering light.
Years had passed, yet Cheng Zimiao remained as handsome as ever—deep-set eyes, sharp jawline, the childhood sweetheart who’d grown up with Shi Ran, a perfect match, just like in the wedding photos she’d once shared on her social feed.
Cheng Zimiao idly spun his watch around his fingertip, his gaze moving to Shi Ran, then shifting to Shen Lizhou.
Arrogant as always, carrying an invisible pressure, sweeping over him from top to bottom like he was looking at an irrelevant backdrop.
Shen Lizhou met his gaze calmly.
“Shi Ran,” Cheng Zimiao said, a faint, elusive smile at the corner of his lips, “would you mind introducing this gentleman beside you?”
Shi Ran seemed dazed.
Fat Tiger wriggled free from her arms, jumped down, and wound himself around Shen Lizhou’s pant leg again, rubbing against him and meowing insistently.
The finger spinning Cheng Zimiao’s watch stopped abruptly.
His gaze sank heavily onto the orange cat nuzzling its head against Shen Lizhou’s pant leg, his smile slowly fading.
Something in the air silently cracked open.
“And also,” he lifted his eyes again, his tone flat, “it’s 5:30 AM Beijing time. What are you two doing together?”
His final syllable trembled almost imperceptibly, then was swallowed by deeper cold, every word edged with frost: “Is this the reason you want to divorce me?”
Shi Ran opened her mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out. So Cheng Zimiao seemed to have his answer. He tugged at the corner of his mouth in a half-smile, but his eyes were icy: “All that talk about incompatible personalities, about not understanding each other—I thought about it for a long time and couldn’t figure it out. So this is it.”
“So, he understands you, understands you better than I do…” Cheng Zimiao stepped closer to her, his voice tightening, almost self-mocking. “Is that it?”
The world fell silent.
The leaves were damp, strung with fine dewdrops, spinning in the wind as they fell to the ground, like someone’s sigh.
He should deny it.
Deny it as quickly as possible.
That’s what Shen Lizhou thought.
Cheng Zimiao wore an expensive dark gray suit, as if he’d stepped away mid-meeting from something important. The tailoring was impeccable, but his collar was slightly wrinkled, betraying exhaustion, even a hint of dishevelment that didn’t suit him.
He must have seen the message in the group chat and caught the first flight back.
No time to arrange a private jet—even this pampered rich boy had taken a red-eye flight.
Nearly twelve hours, nonstop, rushing back to her side.
The words of explanation lingered in his throat as Shen Lizhou turned slightly, looking at Shi Ran beside him.
Then he heard her answer.
“Yes.” Shi Ran said.
She naturally took Shen Lizhou’s arm, tilting her head slightly to lean against his shoulder. “Let me introduce you—this is my ex-husband, Cheng Zimiao.”
“And this is my boyfriend, Shen Lizhou.”
Shen Lizhou could feel her body heat.
It was scorching.
She was running a fever. She seemed to be trembling slightly, too.
But her voice was perfectly steady, carrying a cold, sharp smile: “Half past five in the morning—a perfect time to watch the sunrise, don’t you think?”
Her fingertips pressed gently into Shen Lizhou’s skin, like pressing piano keys, like pulling on strings. So he tightened his grip on her hand, stepped forward, and said politely, “Excuse us, please.”