Evening.
Xia Ran had just finished showering, her hair still dripping as she toweled it dry, when she heard her phone vibrating on the nightstand like a mini earthquake. The name “Miss Wen” danced cheerfully across the screen. The moment she swiped to answer, a voice came barreling through: “Change your clothes. I’m taking you somewhere.”
Xia Ran didn’t pause her towel-drying. “Where?”
“There’s a new bar near Workers’ Stadium. I heard the male models there are top-tier.” Wen Yu’s tone was utterly unapologetic.
“You got a huge shock during the day, so you need to come out and unwind tonight. I’ve already booked a booth. No arguments. I’ll see you downstairs in half an hour.”
“I wasn’t shocked—”
“Xia Ran, you can fool everyone else, but not me. When you saw that news today, you nearly snapped your chopsticks in half.” Wen Yu paused, her tone shifting from brash to gently persuasive. “Just come out. A little look-see won’t hurt anyone.”
Xia Ran was silent for two seconds.
Then she glanced down at the old T-shirt she’d worn for three years, and at the face in the mirror that even she was tired of looking at.
She tossed the towel over the back of a chair.
“I’ll be there in half an hour.”
At ten o’clock that night, MUSE Bar, Workers’ Stadium.
Wen Yu leaned out of the passenger window and waved at her. When Xia Ran got close, the young miss gave her a once-over and frowned. “You’re wearing that?”
Jeans, a white T-shirt, canvas sneakers.
“What about it?”
“…Fine. You look good in anything.” Wen Yu hooked her arm and pulled her inside, leaning in to whisper, “I did some research—this place has a male model show every Saturday night. We’ll get there just in time. Look all you want. My treat.”
Xia Ran let herself be pushed along, a helpless smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
The bar was indeed newly opened, decorated in the current industrial style—raw concrete walls interwoven with warm lighting, creating an ambiguous, hazy atmosphere. The music was deafening, and figures swayed in the dance floor’s shadows.
Wen Yu had clearly arranged everything in advance. A server led them through the crowd straight to a booth. The spot was excellent—directly facing the stage with an unobstructed view, yet not too conspicuous.
“How’s this? Great spot, right?” Wen Yu shoved the drink menu at her. “Order whatever you want. It’s on me today. If you see a male model you like, just tell me—I’ll go get his WeChat for you.”
“Didn’t you say we were just taking a look?”
“Taking a look and grabbing a WeChat aren’t mutually exclusive.”
In the VIP private room on the second floor, Fu Sinian lounged at the center of the sofa, swirling a glass of whiskey. Seven or eight people sat around him—all notable names in the Beijing circle who’d gathered specifically because they knew he was back in the country today.
“Lord Fu, you’re not leaving again this time, are you?” His childhood friend Zhou Shixu clinked his glass over.
Fu Sinian didn’t take the toast, merely raising his own glass slightly in acknowledgment. His tone was indifferent: “No rush.”
Zhou Shixu set his glass down and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Lord Fu, I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Go on.”
“Xia Ran is in Beijing too.”
The music in the room suddenly seemed too loud. Fu Sinian’s hand paused on the glass for a split second—just a split second. He set the glass down on the coffee table, his face expressionless.
“That’s it?”
“Don’t you want to know how she’s doing? I heard it from someone—not long after she left you, she moved to Beijing with her uncle’s family. Lives in Fengtai, I think. Not sure what she does exactly.”
Lu Yan leaned over and chimed in: “Xia Ran? The one who dumped our Lord Fu five years ago? She’s still in Beijing? I thought she’d have fled somewhere far away by now.”
“Enough.”
Fu Sinian cut him off, picked up his glass, and took a sip. When he set it down, the force was heavier than usual—the base hitting the marble tabletop with a dull thud. “How she’s doing has nothing to do with me.”
“You’re really not going to see her?”
Fu Sinian leaned back into the sofa, his voice low but loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
“Her? Is she worthy?”
He lounged lazily against the backrest, raising his glass for a sip, his expression cold and detached. “I don’t have that kind of time. No need to go begging for humiliation.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Zhou Shixu said, clearly unconvinced. “I’ll be waiting for you to eat your words…”
And who was it that ended up in the hospital with a bleeding stomach from drinking after being dumped?
The table fell silent for a beat. Lu Yan was the first to raise his glass: “Exactly! Our Lord Fu is who he is—why even mention her? Bad luck. Come on, let’s drink.” The atmosphere warmed back up.
Fu Sinian stood. “I’m stepping out for some air.”
Downstairs, the male model show had just begun. The music switched to something more explosive, the lights dimmed, and the crowd erupted. Wen Yu excitedly slapped Xia Ran’s arm. “It’s starting, it’s starting! Quick, look at the tallest one—”
Xia Ran followed her pointing finger, but her gaze was intercepted halfway.
A man stood by the railing on the second floor. A dark gray shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms, a cigarette pinched between his fingers. The lighting was too dim to make out his features, but the build, the silhouette—she could recognize him with her eyes closed.
Her heart slammed hard against her chest.
“Wen Yu, I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back,” Xia Ran said, turning to leave.
She had barely reached the frosted glass door of the restroom when a tall, straight figure suddenly stepped out from the shadows at the side.
Caught off guard, their gazes collided head-on.
Xia Ran’s steps came to an abrupt halt, her breath freezing for a moment.
It was Fu Sinian.
Seeing him again after so long, the sharp-edged aggression of his youth had faded, replaced by a far more composed and restrained demeanor. Dressed in black, his bearing was elegant and still, his eyes no longer holding the frivolous cruelty of before—only a heavy indifference and restraint.
Fu Sinian stood before her, his gaze sweeping over her thoroughly—from her gaunt cheeks, to her hollow collarbones, to the calm, unruffled look in her eyes.
He clearly registered the change in her. The girl who loved to laugh was gone, left entirely in the past. The woman before him was steady and reserved, her brows carrying a wall of distance.
He suppressed the churning thoughts within him, his face still covered in frost, his tone laced with biting sarcasm.
“Miss Xia, quite impressive.”
“Looking for a man to amuse yourself, and you had to come to a place like this.”
Xia Ran clenched her fingers at her side, the tips turning faintly white.
Wen Yu, who had appeared beside her at some point, immediately furrowed her brows. She instinctively stepped half a pace forward, shielding Xia Ran behind her, and looked up at Fu Sinian with undisguised hostility. “President Fu, can’t you watch your mouth? We just came here for a drink and to relax. What business is it of yours?”
Fu Sinian didn’t even acknowledge Wen Yu’s words. His gaze remained locked on Xia Ran from start to finish, unwavering.
He leaned forward slightly, his tall frame suddenly looming over her. Warm breath tinged with the faint scent of alcohol brushed past her ear as his voice turned bitingly cold: “A drink?”
He let out a low, contemptuous laugh, each word dripping with venom. “Looks to me like you came specifically to ogle the male models and pick up men. Xia Ran, you never change—always so good at playing games, never settling down no matter where you go.”
She raised her eyes to meet his icy stare, the earlier unease gone, replaced by a cold, stubborn resolve. Her voice was clear, carrying a hint of hardness: “Fu Sinian, where I go and what I do has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m not stealing or robbing. I’m out here having fun in broad daylight, and you have no right to lecture me.”
He lowered his voice, audible only to the two of them, his tone obsessive and domineering.
“Coming to a bar to look at male models—Xia Ran, are you that desperate for a man?”
Those words cut Xia Ran to the core.
She whipped her head around, a thin layer of anger shimmering in her eyes, but she held herself together, refusing to lose composure. “Even if I’m wrecking myself, that’s none of President Fu’s concern. You and I owe each other nothing. My affairs are none of your business.”
With that, she grabbed Wen Yu’s hand and said curtly, “Yu, let’s go.”
Wen Yu stumbled a step as she was pulled along, shooting Fu Sinian a fierce glare over her shoulder. But she said nothing, simply gripping Xia Ran’s hand in return and striding with her toward the exit of the corridor.
Through the noisy dance floor, past the shifting shadows of people, Xia Ran’s pace grew faster and faster. The music pounded until her chest went numb, the lights flashed until her eyes stung. She couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything—only one thought occupied her mind: get out of here, get as far away from him as possible.
Pushing open the heavy glass door of the bar, the October wind hit her face like a knife. Only then did she realize she’d forgotten her jacket, standing on the street in just a thin white T-shirt, goosebumps prickling along her arms.
But she didn’t look back.
“Ran Ran!” Wen Yu chased after her, clutching her jacket and her own bag. Breathless, she draped the coat over Xia Ran’s shoulders. “Why are you walking so fast? I could barely keep up—”
She stopped mid-sentence. Because she saw Xia Ran’s face. The neon lights from the bar entrance cast flickering shadows across her features—her eyes were red, her lips trembling, but not a single tear had fallen.
“Ran Ran…”
“I’m fine.” Xia Ran’s voice was flat, as flat as a frozen lake. “It was just too stuffy in there. I came out for some air.”
At the floor-to-ceiling window on the second floor of the bar, Fu Sinian stood watching as the two figures climbed into a white designated-driver car. The cigarette in his hand had burned down to the filter, singeing his fingertip. He didn’t move.
Zhou Shixu had drifted over at some point, following his gaze to the empty street corner below. He let out a sigh. “They’re gone. Still watching?”
Fu Sinian said nothing. He stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray, his movements slow, as if using the gesture to suppress something churning inside him.
“What did you say to her by the restroom door? She didn’t look right when she came out, and that Wen girl looked ready to breathe fire.”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Lord Fu, do you even believe that yourself?” Zhou Shixu leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You didn’t just have a friendly chat with her, did you?”
Fu Sinian pushed open the private room door and walked back to the center of the sofa, settling into the midst of the raucous crowd.
Lu Yan was in the middle of a heated game of finger-guessing, and when he saw him return, he raised his glass and sidled over: “Lord Fu! Where’ve you been so long? We’ve already done two rounds—”
He picked up the whiskey that had been sitting on the table for a while and took a sip. The ice had completely melted, diluting the whiskey into something thin and tasteless.
Zhou Shixu sat down beside him and also raised his glass, but didn’t press further.
In a rented room on an old street in Fengtai, Xia Ran sat on the edge of the bed, her phone screen glowing.
Wen Yu had sent a message: Did you get home? She replied with a “mm,” then set the phone face-down on the bed. She opened the bottom drawer of her wardrobe and, from beneath a stack of old clothes, pulled out a small iron box.
Inside the box were only a few things. A yellowed photograph—her and Fu Sinian taken at the entrance of the Academy of Fine Arts, him ruffling her hair while she smiled with her eyes curved into crescents.
A plain silver pinky ring, with an “F” engraved on the inside of the band. And a torn note that had been pieced back together, bearing the last words she’d written five years ago—”Fu Sinian, let’s break up.”
She didn’t cry.
She simply flipped the photo over and looked at the line of rounded, still-student-like handwriting on the back—A token of love for my Mr. Fu. She stared at it for a long time. Then she put everything back into the iron box, tucked it back into the bottom of the wardrobe, and closed the drawer.
She closed her eyes, deciding not to think about it anymore. Tomorrow, she still had to go on a blind date…