Wen Yu finished cleaning up the kitchen and saw a message on her phone: “My brother’s already downstairs. Let’s go, come meet him.”
When the two of them went downstairs, they saw two cars—a black Bentley and a dark blue SUV.
Fu Sinian was talking to a tall man, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. His face was expressionless.
Wen Yu walked over and saw Fu Sinian. “President Fu, what are you doing here?”
Fu Sinian’s tone was indifferent. “Just passing by.”
Wen Yu linked arms with Xia Ran and looked at the other man. “Brother, let me introduce you—this is my good friend, Xia Ran.”
“Xia Ran, this is my brother, Wen Yuan.”
Wen Yuan smiled politely. “Hello.”
With that, he pulled Wen Yu along. “It’s getting late. I’ll take my sister home first. We won’t disturb you. Let’s go.”
Wen Yu was tugged along for a couple of steps, then turned back to glance at Fu Sinian. He stood under the streetlamp, the hem of his coat lifted by the wind, his gaze fixed on Xia Ran.
As she opened the car door, Wen Yu couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Brother—”
“Get in the car.” Wen Yuan’s voice wasn’t loud, but the tone made Wen Yu shut her mouth. She sat in the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt. Wen Yuan started the engine, and the headlights came on, illuminating a small patch of ground ahead. He didn’t drive off right away. He gripped the steering wheel and was silent for a moment.
“Wen Yu, listen to me.” His voice was so soft, so soft it seemed meant only for her ears. “Don’t try to set me up with Xia Ran anymore.”
“Why?” Wen Yu’s voice carried a hint of grievance. “You’re single, and she’s single—”
“She’s not single.”
Wen Yu froze. Wen Yuan stared through the windshield at the two figures under the streetlamp.
“She’s Fu Sinian’s woman,” Wen Yuan said.
The car fell quiet for a moment. Wen Yu lowered her head, twisting her fingers around the seatbelt. “But—they’re not even together—”
“That’s their business.” Wen Yuan’s voice finally rippled with something—not anger, but a patient, big-brother-to-little-sister helplessness, afraid she wouldn’t understand and afraid she would. “You can give them a nudge, but you can’t push blindly. Fu Sinian is not someone to mess with.”
Under the streetlamp, Fu Sinian looked at Xia Ran quietly, saying nothing.
Xia Ran broke the silence. “Why are you here?”
“Why did she introduce you to Wen Yuan?” Fu Sinian didn’t answer her question.
“It was just a coincidence—”
“I think she had ulterior motives, trying to set the two of you up.” Fu Sinian lowered his head.
“Probably,” Xia Ran said, her voice softer now.
“Ran Ran, are you trying to spite me?” Fu Sinian’s voice was muffled.
Xia Ran looked at him. “You haven’t answered my question.”
Fu Sinian was silent for a moment. “Just passing by.”
Xia Ran turned around, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, and started walking as she spoke. “Alright then, I’ll head up first. Get some rest, President Fu.”
Fu Sinian followed behind her. “Ran Ran, I haven’t eaten yet.”
Xia Ran stopped in her tracks and bit her lip. “President Fu, if you don’t mind, I still have some dumplings left at my place…”
“I don’t mind. I’d love some…” The moment the words left his mouth, Fu Sinian closed the distance in a few steps, naturally falling into step beside her. His demeanor had completely shed the cold hardness from their earlier standoff, replaced by a hint of easy, opportunistic stubbornness.
At the door of her apartment, Xia Ran pulled out her keys and unlocked it. As she pushed the door open, she turned back to remind him, “There’s only some leftovers at home. Just enough to fill your stomach.”
“Anything you make is good enough for me.” Fu Sinian stepped inside, casually draping his coat over the chair by the entryway.
He bent down and took a pair of dark gray men’s slippers from the shoe cabinet. New ones—the tags were still on, and the size was exactly his. He looked down at them for two seconds, said nothing, tore off the tags, and put them on.
Xia Ran walked into the kitchen, set the pot on the stove, filled it with water, and turned on the flame. Her movements weren’t practiced, but every step was done with care. She turned on the range hood, and the light came on, casting a warm orange glow across her profile—soft, quiet.
She opened the fridge and took out a plate of dumplings—not the leftover ones, but fresh ones, wrapped and uncooked, neatly arranged on the plate, covered with plastic wrap.
Fu Sinian stood at the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame, watching her. She wore a cream-colored cardigan, her hair loose, with those fuzzy rabbit slippers on her feet. She bent down, took a vinegar dish from the cabinet, poured vinegar, and added a little something—he could smell it. Honey.
“Honey in the vinegar?” he asked.
Xia Ran didn’t look up. “Wen Yu’s secret recipe. Try it—if you don’t like it, no need to force yourself.”
The dumplings were done. Xia Ran scooped them out, arranged them on a plate, and set it on the dining table. Fu Sinian followed and sat down across from her. One plate of dumplings. No other dishes, no soup—just one plate of dumplings. Xia Ran pushed the vinegar dish toward him. “Eat.”
Fu Sinian picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks. The wrapper wasn’t rolled round—thick in the middle, thin at the edges—and the pleats were crooked, the dumpling barely able to stand upright. He took a bite. Chive and egg filling, seasoned just right. He chewed a few times and swallowed. “Did you make these?”
“Yeah. I rolled the dough, and Wen Yu mixed the filling.” She looked at him, waiting for his verdict. He ate another one, then took a sip of vinegar. The vinegar had honey in it—sweet and sour, not too sharp.
“Delicious.”
The corner of Xia Ran’s mouth curved upward. “Good. Then consider this my treat.”
Fu Sinian set down his chopsticks and looked at her. “Didn’t you say you were busy?”
Xia Ran lowered her head, staring at the vinegar dish. “I’m free now.”
Fu Sinian watched her. The tips of her ears were red. She wasn’t looking at him, and her fingers were tracing idle circles on the tabletop. He picked up his chopsticks and continued eating the dumplings. He ate at a steady pace, chewing each bite for a long time, as if savoring some special flavor. It wasn’t that the dumplings were particularly good—it was that she had made them.
Five years later, she had rolled the dough, wrapped the filling, boiled the dumplings, and set them before him.
Saying, “Consider this my treat.” This meal, he had waited five years for.
Xia Ran watched him eat, watched the dumplings in the plate diminish one by one. She suddenly spoke. “What were you waiting for downstairs earlier?”
Fu Sinian looked at her, silent for a moment. “Waiting for you to come down.”
Xia Ran’s fingers tightened. “How did you know I would come down?”
“I didn’t,” he said. “But I’ve waited five years. A few more minutes don’t matter.”
Xia Ran kept her head down, staring at the table in front of her.
“Fu Sinian.”
“Hm.”
“I’m not worth you doing this.”
Fu Sinian set down his chopsticks and looked at her. His gaze moved from her eyes to the slightly reddened tip of her nose, from the tip of her nose to her fingers clutching the hem of her clothes, from her fingers back to her eyes. He looked for a long time—long enough that the wind outside the window made the light sway.
“Whether it’s worth it or not, I’m the one who decides.”
Xia Ran’s eyes reddened. She lowered her head and pushed the vinegar dish toward him. “The dumplings are getting cold.”
After finishing, Fu Sinian stood up and carried the plates into the kitchen. Xia Ran followed behind to help, but he pressed down on her shoulder. “You sit. I’ll wash them.” His palm rested against her shoulder, and through the thickness of her sweater, she could feel the warmth of his hand.
When he came out, Xia Ran was standing on the balcony, looking at the Fu Corporation building across the way. The lights on the twentieth floor were already off. He hadn’t stayed late at work—he was here with her.
“You should go,” she said.
Fu Sinian walked up behind her, stopping a step away. “Mm.”
“Goodnight,” he said.
“Goodnight.”
Fu Sinian turned and walked to the entryway, changed his shoes, and left.
She stood in the entryway, looking at the coat, for a long time. Then she picked up her phone and sent Fu Sinian a message. “You forgot your coat.”
The other side showed “typing…” for a long time. Finally, a message came through. “I’ll come get it next time.”
……