This was not the first time their skin had touched.
Her palm was soft, yet her fingertips carried hard, thin calluses that scratched against his palm with a faint tickle.
Familiar.
Taking a step forward, a moment of daze, time and space spun backward.
Shen Lizhou remembered the day Shi Ran first came to school.
Shi Ran had only arrived at Lianshi No.1 High School in the second half of her freshman year.
Shen Lizhou clearly remembered that snowy day. Before Shi Ran had even arrived, news of her had already spread throughout the entire class.
Bao Chenggong was excitedly chattering in the back, saying that a "piano goddess" was about to join their class. He also mentioned hearing that she had rarely attended school since childhood—her family had previously hired a team of private tutors to design customized courses for her, blah blah blah. Before he could finish, a boy in the front row cut him off, impatiently calling him a nouveau riche and a country bumpkin, telling him to shut up and go home.
Lianshi No.1 High School was the top private high school in the city.
There were scions of old money, second-generation nouveau riche, and academic elites from middle-class families. And there were those like Shen Lizhou—top three in the city-wide unified exams, tuition fully waived, a living advertisement for "education changes destiny."
Shen Lizhou understood even then.
Some people were born to inherit the world; some were born to squeeze into it; some might be able to break it apart; and some simply intended to take a look at it.
He propped his chin on his hand, gazing blankly at the heavy snow outside, when he heard a crisp, clear laugh.
"Hello everyone, I'm Shi Ran."
After a pause, his gaze turned back.
The girl stood before the podium, greeting everyone with a slightly shy expression.
Her smile was a little nervous, and her school uniform looked strange—as if it had been soaked through with snow, then dried again, carrying a wrinkled warmth.
She seemed sincere and generous, candidly admitting that she had rarely participated in group life since childhood, and that she really hoped to make friends with everyone—very, very good friends.
Immediately during the next long break, she treated everyone to the trendiest, hardest-to-buy viral milk tea of the moment. Several large paper bags were carried in, and she distributed them one by one. Shi Ran smiled apologetically, saying she didn't know what flavors everyone liked, so she'd consulted a friend's opinion and bought a bit of everything.
Cheese green yan, full-cup red grapefruit, soy milk Oreo… Some cups emitted wisps of white steam, while others had fine beads of condensation on their walls—clearly iced.
"That friend was me." Cheng Zimiao stood lazily beside her. "The classroom heating is way too hot. Guys drink the iced ones, girls drink the hot ones."
Everyone voiced their agreement. Some took the initiative to grab their drinks, while others remained motionless. So Shi Ran took it upon herself to distribute them. Cheng Zimiao tugged at her arm, telling everyone to grab their own, but she pulled free. He muttered something indistinctly before sitting down with a grumble, letting her go ahead and hand them out herself.
When she reached Shen Lizhou, he watched the pearls bobbing up and down in the iced cup, murmured a quiet "thank you," and reached out to take it—when her fingertips accidentally brushed against his.
He instinctively tried to pull his hand back, but her reaction was even faster. She actually stepped forward and smoothly grasped his fingers.
Before he could react, the girl had already furrowed her brows and, with complete naturalness, pressed the back of her hand against his forehead.
"You're burning up," she said. "You have a fever."
It was a hand that had never known hardship. Beautiful, and very soft.
The touch was like silk, like snowflakes, like something that had never touched anything before. There was a thin layer of callus on her fingertips, but even that callus was soft.
Shen Lizhou quickly stepped back—but didn't succeed.
The chair legs scraped against the floor, colliding with the desk behind him, producing a somewhat harsh sound.
The noise drew the attention of Cheng Zimiao, who had been chatting and laughing with some girls in the front row. He glanced over, his smile freezing on his face.
Shi Ran's hand had not yet been lowered.
She pressed it against Shen Lizhou's forehead with a gentleness that brooked no resistance, then pressed it back against her own.
Out of the corner of his eye, Shen Lizhou saw Cheng Zimiao's expression turn slightly cold and dark.
The girls around him subtly shifted away, falling silent. The atmosphere grew awkward and stifling. The small space between them was like a plastic bag slowly filling with water—the level rising inch by inch, the air growing thinner and thinner.
Yet Shi Ran maintained her gentle smile, as if she hadn't noticed anything at all, and said to Shen Lizhou, "You have a fever. Let me switch yours to a hot one, alright?"
Those black-and-white cat-like eyes were innocent and cunning, blinking at him with feigned guilelessness.
Later, the iced fruit tea on his desk was replaced with a scalding hot taro milk drink, and a packet of fever-reducing medicine was stuffed into his pencil case.
The girl sat upright at a diagonal angle in front of him, listening attentively to the lesson.
Occasionally she would lower her head to take notes, then tuck the few loose strands of hair that had fallen behind her ear.
That was the first time Shen Lizhou ever drank milk tea.
Pinkish-purple, scalding hot, cloyingly sweet, sliding down his throat all the way to his chest.
He coughed lightly, unaccustomed to it. Shi Ran, who had been listening to the lecture ahead, seemed to sense something and turned her head to look at him. Their eyes met, and she curved her lips slightly, pointing at his pencil case to remind him to take his medicine.
Cheng Zimiao, standing beside her, turned sideways, his deep, abyss-like gaze falling upon Shen Lizhou from above.
Once the two of them were out of Cheng Zimiao's line of sight, Shi Ran released Shen Lizhou's hand and stepped back to a safe distance.
"I'm really sorry…" The brief sharpness faded as she apologized sincerely and earnestly. "I don't know if you're married or have a girlfriend now?"
Shen Lizhou remained silent, giving a slight shake of his head.
Shi Ran apologized again: "I'm sorry. I was impulsive just now and caused you trouble…" Before she could finish, Shen Lizhou interrupted her.
"Get in the car."
He opened the car door.
It was a sleek luxury car, worth around three to four million.
Shi Ran paused for a moment and asked, "Where are we going?"
"To watch the sunrise."
She couldn't help but laugh a little: "You're actually going?"
"Not going?" Shen Lizhou paused, then said, "…I thought you'd want to see it."
Shi Ran did actually quite want to see the sunrise. She had never watched one before.
But she felt a bit embarrassed: "Are you sure it's convenient? I've already troubled you so much…"
"It's convenient."
Shen Lizhou said.
Shi Ran got into the car holding Panghu, and the vehicle quickly started. Shen Lizhou turned on the heater, then set the navigation, saying, "…I have work to go to, and it happens to be in the direction of the coast."
During the Beginning of Spring season, the sunrise at the seaside was around 7 a.m.
And before sunrise, the sky would brighten first—that was when the glow of dawn was most beautiful.
They needed to arrive before 6:30.
As the adrenaline slowly faded, Shi Ran let out an "Oh," feeling her mind grow groggy and dazed.
What kind of work required going this early?
What kind of work could earn this much?
The car was so empty inside—no decorations, no personal items, no signs of use.
Like a brand-new car. But it was a model from a few years ago.
Shi Ran glanced at the quiet profile of the man beside her.
He didn't seem inclined to share much about his current situation. And after the awkward scene they'd just encountered, he didn't seem inclined to ask about it either.
And she happened to have no desire to explain.
It had just been so long since they'd seen each other—the two of them were so unfamiliar now. An awkward atmosphere slowly spread through the car. Shi Ran propped up her drowsy head, feeling she should try to find a topic of conversation.
Just as she was racking her brains, Shen Lizhou's car began to slow down and pulled over to the side of the road.
"Sorry," he said. "Wait for me a moment."
Shi Ran let out a confused "Mm," holding the cat as she watched him get out of the car.
His legs were long, and he walked with some urgency, quickly disappearing into the night. She had no idea where he was going.
She sat quietly in the car, paused for two seconds, and opened her phone.
The phone was silent. No messages at all.
Of course there would be no messages.
After all, Cheng Zimiao was just as proud as she was.
The pinned chat on WeChat still read "Husband." Cheng Zimiao's profile picture was a little cat holding an orange that she had drawn on a whim once.
She wasn't very good at drawing—the picture could be called childish, or even ugly. It was very inconsistent with the image of the renowned businessman Cheng Zimiao, which caused him to receive strange looks every time he attended banquets and added people on WeChat.
She had once ordered Cheng Zimiao to change it, but he only wore a nonchalant expression and said, "Too lazy to keep changing it," and then, "Who would dare say anything about me?"—acting as cocky as some big-tailed wolf.
The chat page was also quiet.
The last message was her sending a divorce agreement she had already signed, saying "Sign it." He had signed it and sent it back within five minutes, saying "Satisfied?" She hadn't replied. Time had come to a complete halt at that point—just like their marriage.
It had ended almost hastily.
The little cat let out a "Meow" in her arms.
Panghu hated being held the most. Shi Ran would force it every time, battling it for dozens of rounds, sometimes even needing Cheng Zimiao's help.
Later, she came to understand that cats, like people, have their own temperaments and personalities. You should respect them, not try to change them.
She thought about this, then buried her face in Panghu's belly and took a fierce inhale.
Warm, soft, familiar—the little cat gave her a comforting scent that made an inexplicable sourness rise in her throat. She held it in for one second, then another. Panghu's paw pad suddenly pressed gently against her cheek, with no force of resistance at all.
Tears spilled from her eyes.
Completely beyond her control.
She bit her lip, desperately suppressing her ragged breathing.
Please, Shi Ran.
You are the precious pearl cradled in your parents' hands, the elegant young lady who graces the circles of fame and fortune, and the piano goddess who once commanded the stage. Don't make it look like you've been abandoned by someone.
The tears still slipped out, soaking the little cat's fur until it was wet and dripping. Panghu tilted its head and began licking it, its tongue scraping against Shi Ran's cheek—a little painful, and a little ticklish.
Shi Ran looked up through tear-blurred eyes and saw Panghu's expression—half disdainful, half tolerant—and couldn't help but laugh.
"You're truly the most adorable, best little cat in the whole world." Her voice was thick with congestion as she praised it, then used its fur to roughly wipe her face. She sat up straight in her seat, took a deep breath, and steadied her emotions.
After a while longer, the car door opened.
Shen Lizhou carried large and small bags, wrapped in the thick and silent night, then handed her a thick fleece blanket.
With a pink kitten head pattern, it was warm and substantial, briefly blocking the line of sight between her and him. Shi Ran was grateful that the other party hadn't seen her with swollen eyes from crying.
"You have a fever." Along with it came congee, a thermos, and medicine. Shen Lizhou said, "Eat some congee first, then take the medicine."
"…I have a fever?" Shi Ran took those things in a daze, repeating his words with some hesitation, only then realizing that she really was chilled all over and dizzy. She said, "…Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Shen Lizhou said.
As if nothing had happened, the car continued driving forward.
Shi Ran blankly opened the congee, and Fat Tiger also came up to sniff. The fresh aroma of crab and shrimp mixed with the fragrance of rice rushed to her face, with shredded ginger and crumbled youtiao mixed in—it smelled wonderful, exactly the taste she often missed while abroad.
The congee wasn't too hot; the temperature was just right. She ate it in small bites, her brain sluggishly turning as she tried again to find a topic.
What should she say?
Before she could think, Shen Lizhou beside her had already reached out and turned on the music.
It was piano music—Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 3.
Notes danced inside the car. At first, single notes tapped lightly, like dense golden meteor showers falling across the night sky, then the melody became denser and broader, surging up layer by layer like tidal waves, nearly rushing over the roof and out the windows.
The city lights were left behind, the points of light growing smaller and smaller. The night sky overhead darkened completely, stars twinkling, the world appearing grand and vast.
Shi Ran was somewhat lost in thought.
This was a piece she had practiced for an entire summer in high school.
At home, in the practice room, on her desk against a blank homework notebook, and even when she went to her grandmother's house on weekends to clear her mind.
Back then, she was proud and arrogant, thinking she was invincible—that there was no piece Shi Ran couldn't play, and no thing Shi Ran couldn't accomplish.
Play, play, play, until her fingertips went numb and hot, losing sensation, until she could finally land the last chord cleanly and decisively, drawing a perfect full stop.
Later, she performed this piece at countless competitions and concerts, receiving endless applause and praise, until the playing became mechanical and numb, no longer able to find its original form.
She hadn't listened to this piece in a long time.
Unexpectedly hearing it now, she inexplicably thought back to that sweltering summer of her youth—the cicadas chirping outside the window, and that pure, peaceful, thoroughly satisfying time.
"You like piano music too?" Shi Ran asked.
"Mm," Shen Lizhou said, "I do."
"I went through a lot of hardship learning this piece back then." Shi Ran smiled. "My hands were small at the time, barely reaching octaves. For over a dozen consecutive measures in the middle, the left hand kept jumping while the right hand couldn't keep up. Every time I got to that part, I'd get stuck—either making mistakes, missing notes, or losing the rhythm. Once I got so angry I cried, tore up the sheet music, and then secretly taped it back together through tears."
Shen Lizhou said, "But you eventually learned it."
"Of course." Shi Ran said.
He said, "So, what you said was right."
Shi Ran was somewhat confused: "What I said… what?"
"You once said something." Shen Lizhou said. "You said, only by letting your tears flow out and emptying your heart can you make room for courage."
The air paused for a few seconds.
"Ah," Shi Ran said, "I said something like that… I'd already forgotten."
"That's a very philosophical saying," Shen Lizhou curved his lips slightly, speaking gently, "quite memorable."
"Don't talk about me." She was a bit embarrassed, starting to make small talk. "Do you still paint now? I remember you painted very well in high school. You single-handedly did the blackboard newspaper every month."
"I still do." Shen Lizhou said. "Just less often."
They were almost at the seaside. Shi Ran looked at the road sign ahead and said, "You can just drop me off up ahead. Don't you still have work to go to? Don't be late."
He paused for a moment: "What I do now is also painting-related work. Watching the sunrise is also a way to gather inspiration. Let's go together."
Shi Ran thought about it and didn't decline further.
The car stopped at a protruding curve on the coastal road. They couldn't drive any further—below was the sea, a pitch-black expanse, with only the muffled sound of waves crashing against the rocks, one after another, like the heartbeat of the earth.
The engine was turned off, and the world fell completely silent.
Shi Ran leaned her seat back, wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, and looked out through the car window. The sky was still dark, but that darkness was no longer pure—a faint layer of grayish blue was spreading along the eastern horizon, like the moment ink drops into water and just begins to diffuse.
They quietly watched outside together.
That grayish blue grew brighter and brighter, and the dark sea surface began to shimmer with faint ripples of light.
"The timing is just right—the sun is about to rise." She finished the congee completely, then took her medicine with the thermos, and smiled. "I'm really grateful to you today. Let me treat you to a meal another day."
The atmosphere fell into a strange, heavy silence until Shen Lizhou spoke softly, "No need."
At the very edge of the horizon, a sliver of red appeared.
Extremely thin, extremely faint—like someone had dipped a brush in cinnabar and drawn a single delicate stroke across the farthest distance. In the next moment, that line began to thicken and brighten, shifting from red to orange-red, then bleeding into amber. Light poured through that narrow crack, dyeing the clouds gold and crimson, patch after patch, as if they were catching fire.
The sea had awakened.
When the waves surged forward, their crests were edged in gold. Seagulls called out in the distance, sweeping overhead, their wings turned translucent orange by the morning sun.
The moment when the sun revealed just a small fraction of itself was the most beautiful—the semicircular arc like a melting salted egg yolk, its light not yet harsh enough to sting the eyes, still safe to look at directly.
She and he stood side by side, watching. Watching the sun inch upward, watching the golden expanse on the sea grow wider, watching the darkness retreat completely, replaced by a gentle blue.
Fat Tiger was being well-behaved too, paws braced against the front of the car, both eyes wide and round—whether watching the sun or the birds, it was hard to tell.
"It's beautiful," Shi Ran sighed.
Shen Lizhou hummed in agreement, his voice so soft it was nearly inaudible.
She sensed something and turned to look at him, only to see his eyes gently closed, his lashes falling in dense shadows, his breathing growing shallow and slow.
He had actually fallen asleep.
Shi Ran meant to look away, but somehow, she lingered for one extra second.
Shen Lizhou was truly handsome.
His handsomeness was different from Cheng Zimiao's. Cheng Zimiao's was sharp, aristocratic, untouchable—always carrying a careless, faint smile, his gaze drifting over people like a feather brushing past, yet laced with a quiet, penetrating force that pressed down on you without warning.
Shen Lizhou was different. His handsomeness was gentle, soft, quiet. His skin was fair, his irises light in color, and he rarely met people's eyes directly. It was only now that Shi Ran truly looked at him, noticing that when he slept, his brows relaxed, losing a trace of distance and gaining a hint of docility. His nose was high and straight, yet not severe—the line flowing smoothly from the bridge to the tip, like the most meticulous stroke in a fine-brush painting.
He was sleeping deeply, his head dipping slightly, tilting toward her.
The sun had fully risen now, the sea surface glittering with ripples, a few seagulls circling low in the sky.
In the distance, an early-rising elderly man jogged along the shore, a little wagging dog trailing behind him.
The sunlight fell warm on the blanket. Whether it was the porridge or the medicine starting to take effect, that bone-deep chill gradually receded. Shi Ran began to perspire slightly, her body feeling more comfortable, and her mood lifting along with it.
She cracked the car window open a sliver.
The sea breeze drifted in gently—salty, fresh.
Like courage she hadn't felt in a long time.
On the center console, someone's phone buzzed.
Fat Tiger stretched, then leaped down, landing squarely on the phone. Shi Ran reached out and nudged it aside—then froze as her gaze caught something.
Shen Lizhou's phone had no password.
Casually unlocked by a kitten's paw pad, WeChat messages were popping in one after another.
But what drew Shi Ran's attention was the strange lock screen.
The screen was pure white, with several lines of clear black text printed across it—
[I'm sorry for scaring you.
Please don't call the police, don't notify anyone.
This was my own decision…]