Chapter 21: Day Eight
Eight o'clock.
Dinner time had just ended.
The bar was starting its warm-up for the night.
The manager by the counter was notified that Jiang Shijin had arrived. He quickly put down his work and personally went to greet him, obsequiously offering to arrange a seat. But Jiang Shijin impatiently pushed him aside, saying he wasn’t there to drink.
Half an hour earlier, Su Yi had called him in tears, saying Zhou Lin had cut things off with her—ruthlessly. Now he wasn’t answering her calls or WeChat messages. She didn’t know where to find him and asked if he could help.
They had only been together for a couple of days. Just the night before, Su Yi had shyly mentioned that Zhou Lin wanted to celebrate their "one-week anniversary."
One week.
Anniversary.
Jiang Shijin couldn’t help but laugh when he heard.
These days, even a bottle of drink from a convenience store had a six-month expiration date. Since when did a mere week deserve to be celebrated?
He had long predicted their relationship wouldn’t last.
Over the phone, he comforted her briefly, advising her to take it easy. Zhou Lin was just like that—he wasn’t the type for long-term commitments. *But honestly, given her circumstances, being able to date him, even for three days, could be considered lucky.*
His seemingly balanced critique was actually full of contempt for Su Yi. It was as if she were an ant on the side of the road, and Zhou Lin glancing her way was already a charity.
Su Yi knew that these self-proclaimed high-class types were the most cliquey. It had taken his ex eight years just to get them to occasionally mention her name.
But she couldn’t figure out how she fell short compared to Wen Bairan. In a moment of recklessness, she had hoped Jiang Shijin would take her side.
"Today... we ran into his ex, that woman with the surname Wen. She was outside with a client, and Zhou Lin acted like he was under a spell when he saw her. There were so many people in the store, but he just left me there alone. That woman was tussling with him, and everyone was laughing at me. I know they were together for a long time, and it’s understandable that he still has feelings for her. But I’m the one with him now. Don’t you think he’s being too harsh on me?"
Su Yi was just a piano arts major with mediocre academic scores—her college entrance exam total was only 300 points. On the phone, she was sobbing and sniffling, clearly taking out her anger on Wen Bairan, and her word choice became even less refined.
After hearing the whole story, Jiang Shijin immediately understood. His expression darkened as he warned her, "You’ve already broken up. What right does he have to be excessive? Also, if you have any self-awareness, keep these thoughts to yourself. If A-Lin hears even a word of this, he’ll show you what real excess means."
After hanging up, he headed straight to the bar, checking booth after booth. Sure enough, he found Zhou Lin at a solitary table in the corner.
The bar staff mostly knew him. He usually came with Jiang Shijin and their group, but today was different. He didn’t sit in a booth, choosing instead an isolated table where he wouldn’t be disturbed, and started drinking. By now, there were ten or so empty bottles in front of him—a mix of beer and hard liquor—and cigarette butts were scattered all around his feet. He was just asking someone to clean up.
When Jiang Shijin arrived, he saw Zhou Lin slumped over the table, clearly drunk but still vaguely conscious. He waved for the manager and others to step aside, sat down on a chair, and let out a sigh of relief.
"I say, *oh great Casanova*, you’re at it again? Planning to land yourself in the hospital? This time, there’s no one to make you soup or bring you food, is there?"
Hearing his voice, Zhou Lin cracked his eyelids open. His drunken eyes were red, as if he’d been crying.
His first words upon seeing Jiang Shijin were: "Get Wen Bairan here."
"..."
Jiang Shijin was exasperated. *If only he had known it would come to this, why did he act the way he did?*
He wanted to chew him out, but Zhou Lin looked too pitiful now. He wanted to lecture him with some profound wisdom but felt he wasn’t in a position to do so.
Ultimately, he hated his lack of refinement. He had plenty of life philosophies in mind, but when it came to speaking, only a few clumsy phrases made it out.
"Lin, let it go. We’re not from the same world as her. You can get drunk here until dawn today, go home tomorrow and crash, then get up in the evening to hang out with us again. But she has to work the next day. It’s only in recent years that I’ve come to understand—we always think life doesn’t require much effort, never considering that some people don’t even have weekends. After all, energy is limited. We’re all pushing thirty, and she’s a woman on top of that. No matter how hard she tries, there will always be times when she can’t handle everything."
He slapped Zhou Lin heavily on the shoulder and sighed. "You have to understand her. She can’t take care of you anymore."
*Yes.*
*She couldn’t take care of him anymore.*
*Work, clients, that damn pride of hers, and her so-called sense of independence as a woman.*
*She cared about all of that—everything except him.*
*Why?*
*When she loved him before, did she care about all these things too?*
*If she didn’t back then, why should he take a back seat for these things now?*
Wen Bairan had never begged him, never shown that kind of flustered, nervous expression. She was proud, distant and cold as the moon in the sky—hanging there, out of everyone’s reach.
But today, she actually begged him?
She said, "Please, don’t make this difficult for me."
In her eyes was something he had always wanted to see the most.
But it wasn’t for him.
Zhou Lin was arrogant. Even dead drunk, he held his head high.
He shoved Jiang Shijin away, grabbed a liquor bottle, and smashed it against the table—CRACK!
Glass shards scattered everywhere.
Fragments from the table cut his hand.
Blood dripped down his wrist.
Jiang Shijin was stunned. "Are you insane?!"
Zhou Lin roared, "Call her! Get her here!"
//
At Lingang Bay.
After returning home, Wen Bairan sat alone on the sofa.
The lights were off, and she didn’t speak.
In the fish tank in the living room, two small betta fish swam together.
She didn’t have the energy to keep pets, but the house was truly too empty—once night fell, everything felt dead.
The owner at the flower and bird market had said this type of fish was among the easier ornamental fish to care for. As long as she changed the water and fed them regularly, they would thrive. It suited her needs perfectly.
The sky gradually darkened. Under the glass, a mysterious purple light drifted across the water’s surface. From certain angles, the silver-white fish bodies revealed an iridescent, pearl-like glow, similar to that of seashells. Fins and tails, twice the size of their bodies, fluttered freely in the warm water, their silky texture like paint dissolving in water.
On the ceiling, faint purple water patterns swayed quietly.
A silent scene, dreamlike and shimmering.
The doorbell rang abruptly.
The person who came was Song Xu.
The man's face was pale and cool to the touch in the dimness of the hallway.
He carried a takeout bag in his hand, with a bottle of red wine nestled quietly in the crook of his arm.
The door opened, met Wen Bairan’s surprised gaze. His thin eyelids gently folded, his gaze not warm, yet soft enough to make her eyes prickle with emotion.
"I thought you might need a drink today," he said.
Rationally, Wen Bairan resisted his arrival, but for some reason, her eyelashes fluttered, and she turned her face away, wordlessly letting him follow her inside.
The house was unlit.
It was dark.
The two large windows facing them framed perfectly the moonlight of the night.
Gleaming white, chilly and clear, like her silent face.
Wen Bairan sat down on the sofa, surrounded by a few open assorted books that seemed untouched for a long time, somewhat in disarray.
Among them was a copy of *The Garden of Eden*.
Half-read and abandoned.
The wife, who had inherited a substantial fortune, believed in the principle of living for the moment, creating a philosophical divide with the protagonist, who made a living through creative work. Their lives were turned upside down from then on, until the wife left him.
Coincidentally, the middle part of the book involved a ménage à trois.
Song Xu was a materialist; he didn’t believe in so-called fate or predestination. But sometimes, the signs life offered were strikingly coincidental.
He placed the food and wine on the coffee table in front of her. Wen Bairan asked him, "Why did you come?"
He said bluntly, "Zhong Yu told me about what happened this evening. She said you were in a bad mood. I came to check on you."
Wen Bairan looked up. Song Xu’s height seemed somewhat uncomfortable in this low-ceilinged space. Pulling over a single chair nearby, he sat down directly, appearing very aware of his guest status yet carrying himself with the air of a host.
This was the first time they had appeared together somewhere other than a work setting or a hotel.
The apartment she bought herself.
Her home.
Her own private sanctuary.
She no longer needed to hide her edges.
"Check on me? To see the consequences of my willfulness? Or did you think I’d be hiding at home crying alone? I’ve already cried—didn’t you see? I went to you in tears, and you were the one who brought me into the room. Have you forgotten? We each got what we needed. Don’t you already know all this? What else is there to see?" Her voice was rushed, as if slowing down even a second would make these words unspeakable. "Yes, that’s right, my ex-boyfriend is living it up after the breakup, but it’s not like I’ve done nothing."
"You should have come in a step earlier back then. I could have let him see you." She laughed coldly, with a hint of sorrow, but more than anything, heartache. "You’re so much better than him."
Who said the one who got dumped in a relationship suffers the most?
The real suffering is when the person is gone, but the feelings remain.
Not only do you have to constantly reminisce about the past, but you’re also forced to witness his recklessness and promiscuity.
Wen Bairan comforted herself, thinking this was actually a good sign.
At least, at the very least,
she wasn’t pining for Zhou Lin personally.
She wanted to act tough in front of Song Xu, to prove she wasn’t some foolish woman bound by love, but the shattered light in her eyes scattered like snow.
The man in the chair watched her expressionlessly for a long time.
When he spoke again, Song Xu’s voice was cold.
"Given what happened today, I’ll forget what you just said."
"But I suggest you stop talking. Otherwise, I’ll leave immediately."
He stood up, giving her space to collect herself, and asked where the wine glasses were.
His tall outline loomed like a giant in the darkness.
His unreadable expression was deeply intense.
"..."
Wen Bairan’s lips trembled slightly as she pointed toward the kitchen.
Song Xu fetched two glasses and opened the red wine.
This time, it was Lafite.
The vintage was unclear.
Not that it mattered to Wen Bairan—to her, they all tasted the same.
He walked to the sofa, bent down, bringing his face level with hers, their breaths intertwining. "Here."
Placing the wine glass beside her hand, his gaze drew closer.
Wen Bairan instinctively lowered her head, grabbed the stem of the glass, her knuckles turning white from the grip. "I’m not in the mood."
She thought he was going to kiss her.
And refused.
The light in Song Xu’s eyes dimmed, his voice deep and mellow as a cello, filled with tolerance. "It’s fine. I won’t do anything."
He straightened up, putting distance between them.
His left hand reached into his pants pocket.
Then, an object appeared before her.
A small white leather horse with dark red wings, round and soft, very storybook-cute.
Wen Bairan recognized it wasn’t the one Zhong Yu had said she would give her but the one Song Xu had chosen instead at the register.
She froze.
"A gift."
This time, Song Xu sat down next to her.
They weren't sitting close together.
There was even enough space between them for another person.
But he was tall, and his slightly parted long legs took up most of the space next to her.
With another person’s presence nearby, Wen Bairan seemed to calm down.
She gazed at the little white horse, the corners of her eyes softening.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She shouldn’t have spoken to him like that earlier.
Song Xu reached out and gently clinked his glass against hers.
He said, “Don't worry about it.”
//
Jiang Shijin couldn’t talk sense into Zhou Lin.
No one could persuade him.
The argument spilled from inside the venue to outside.
The wounds on his hand hadn’t even been bandaged yet.
Rideshare drivers waiting for fares outside the bar swarmed over as soon as someone emerged.
Zhou Lin casually pulled the nearest one, gave an address at Lingang Bay, and named his price: “You in?”
Hearing such a high fare, the driver quickly nodded: “Yes, yes, yes!”
“Go where? Where do you think you're going?” Drunk people are surprisingly strong; Jiang Shijin couldn’t hold him back and was instead pushed aside. By the time he steadied himself and chased after them, they’d already gotten into the car. The orange-gold supercar had powerful horsepower and disappeared with a press of the accelerator.
Zhou Lin was really off today. Jiang Shijin was afraid he might make a scene at Wen Bairan’s place, to the point where things would become irreparable between them.
He quickly took out his phone to call Wen Bairan, hoping to give her a heads-up, but she’d even blocked his number.
He then called Zhou Lin.
Unsurprisingly, the call was sent to voicemail.
“Dammit!”
Why were these two so on the same page at critical moments?!
Jiang Shijin was worried sick. While driving after them, he kept calling.
The traffic light at the intersection seemed to take forever, stopping him abruptly.
Frustrated, he laid on the horn.
“Shit!”
In the other car.
Zhou Lin’s phone wouldn't stop vibrating. He answered without waiting for the other person to speak.
“…Hello? A Lin? Oh my god, please don’t do anything stupid, listen to me…”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“…”
Zhou Lin seemed to have sobered up some.
His voice sounded clearer than Jiang Shijin’s.
“You were right. We’re from different worlds. What I give, she doesn’t want. What she wants, I can’t give.”
“Then why are you…”
“A Jin.”
“…” It was the first time Jiang Shijin had heard him call his name so seriously.
The night wind seemed lost in the roar of the speeding sports car.
Reaching out a hand, it felt as if he could catch the wind.
In the rearview mirror, the haze in Zhou Lin’s eyes dissipated, replaced by an intense focus that seemed to burn through the night.
“But I love her.”
“I’m certain of it.”
//
In the living room, the alcohol brought a relaxed mood.
Wen Bairan’s tense nerves began to relax.
She curled up in the corner of the sofa, leaning against Song Xu’s shoulder, drinking one glass after another.
Song Xu didn’t stop her. Instead, he grabbed a nearby cushion and slipped it behind her back.
Wen Bairan couldn’t help but feel touched. “You’re so sweet.”
The praise took him by surprise.
Song Xu’s chin brushed against her forehead, his gaze settling on her elegant nose. “Because I gave you a cushion?”
“Of course not.” Wen Bairan laughed, her eyelashes fluttering.
“Then what makes me so good?”
She thought seriously. “Well, your drinks are always good. And you kept your promise not to sabotage me at work. And the bed in your big suite is really soft, a hundred times softer than mine.”
What kind of reasons were those?
Even Wen Bairan found it amusing as she spoke. Her shoulders hunched slightly, shaking slightly, her temple occasionally touching his arm.
She continued thinking.
“Well, it’s also good that you know when to talk, when to stay silent, when to hug, and when to kiss.”
“Song Xu, seriously though, how many girlfriends have you had?”
The glass touched her lips, its rim turning up the corners of her mouth into a slight curve. The residual wine stain on her lips looked like a layer of clear lip gloss. Wen Bairan tilted her head up, not noticing how close he’d leaned in.
The collar of his white shirt soaked up her tears.
A purplish-red mark was left on the edge.
The lip shape had a cupid's bow and corners.
The slightly parted lower lip seemed a bit swollen.
Wen Bairan stared blankly at the mark, subconsciously touching her own mouth. "Ah, sorry..."
The tipsy woman looked charming, her cheeks warm and flushed with a delicate rosy hue.
Song Xu instinctively kissed her.
She had already said a lot; he firmly sealed her lips, making her stay quiet for a while.
People's differences are likely innate.
Just like when Zhou Lin kissed her, he was more aggressive.
It wasn’t that he lacked experience; he simply never required anyone’s compliance.
What he wanted was always there, waiting for him to claim it.
Song Xu, however, was different.
He was gentle.
At least during foreplay, he was.
Patient, waiting, instructing.
He was like an experienced teacher, knowing how to respect each student’s differences.
Wen Bairan closed her eyes, thinking they had clearly drunk the same wine, yet his mouth had a hint of coolness, like orange blossoms.
It seemed like a very familiar scent.
She couldn’t help but lick his lips, but then the taste vanished.
Not understanding why, she wanted to pull back, but he tightened his hold around her waist. Their breaths mixed together in each other’s mouths, and he took back the lead.
He showed her through action what it truly meant to explore.
Wen Bairan trusted him completely, but he did nothing but kiss her.
He’d promised.
He wouldn’t do anything tonight.
As their breaths separated, Wen Bairan clung to him reluctantly. "Song Xu."
"Hmm?"
His eyes were dark with intensity, his upper body instinctively leaning toward her. He braced himself against the sofa beneath her, holding her weight steady with one arm.
Song Xu’s body heat was just right.
Not too hot.
Not too cold.
She wanted a little more.
She arched her slender neck back slightly, drawing him closer gently.
Song Xu lowered his head and kissed the mole on her chest.
The small crimson mole nestled in the dip of her collarbone; the more she tensed, the deeper his kiss buried itself.
The collar of her loungewear slipped down one shoulder, and she felt Song Xu starting to pull away.
She pleaded weakly:
"Stay with me."
"Right here, please."
The man’s figure pressed down on her heavily, not painful but so close it stole her breath.
She moaned his name, "Song Xu..."
Suddenly, a mechanical prompt shattered the mood.
Beep
Please enter the password.
072805
Beep
Welcome home~
The drunken haze in the living room blended with another’s intoxication.
For a moment, it was hard to distinguish them.
In her peripheral vision, the person at the door seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.
Wen Bairan’s heart lurched violently. "...Zhou Lin?"
Song Xu noticed the intruder before she did, his expression sharpening as he helped her sit up from the sofa. He stood up slowly and turned around.
Not far away, Wen Bairan curled up behind the man on the sofa, with one shoulder bare.
The panic on her face and in her voice seemed surreal.
"What are you doing here..."
In an instant.
Zhou Lin sobered up instantly.
He clenched his jaw so hard it nearly cracked, the air filling with a metallic tang. "You’ve got some nerve."