Chapter 51 Night Conversation
Xieli Road.
The last time Wen Bairan came here was with Qiao Yi to help Zhong Yu view apartments.
Right in this vicinity.
A luxury apartment with a river view, that Song Xu paid for himself.
He had said that adults don’t dwell on the past, only on gain.
What Zhong Yu could bring him far exceeded the value of that apartment—by a lot.
Wen Bairan had once asked him, if she could hand over the entire Dayun to you, wouldn’t you have to become a live-in son-in-law?
Song Xu caught the sarcasm, smiled, and replied with stunning candor: You can call me a businessman, but not a petty one.
Wen Bairan didn’t know why she suddenly thought of him. The coffee in her cup was turning cold. She took a sip, and a bit of coffee stain ended up at the corner of her mouth. She wiped it off with a tissue.
Ke Shumin noticed her zoning out and put down her spoon discontentedly with a sharp clatter: "Are you even listening to me?!"
Wen Bairan had actually caught a few words of what she was saying.
She replied softly, "I’m listening. Continue."
Since their last conversation where they cleared the air, Ke Shumin no longer had that sycophantic, protective mindset toward her. They hadn’t been in touch for months, but after all, they had once been friends. As Wen Bairan softened, Ke Shumin didn’t push to make things awkward either.
"Anyway, I’ve told you. Give me a clear answer so I can reply to Jiang Shijin." She picked up her coffee cup. Though it was the same as Wen Bairan’s, it just didn’t taste the same.
They were sitting under a large white umbrella on the outdoor patio of the café. String lights on the wooden fence created an urban camping vibe.
Wen Bairan’s edgy, cool black leather jacket didn’t quite match her delicate, soft features, but the wind casually blew strands of her hair forward—relaxed and effortless, absolutely gorgeous.
Ke Shumin felt disheartened.
After not seeing her for months, witnessing how Wen Bairan had become more carefree and poised since leaving Zhou Lin, Ke Shumin finally admitted to herself the jealousy she’d felt all these years.
Her beauty and composure were something no one could ever imitate.
Zhou Lin wasn’t blind—how could an ordinary person stay on his mind until now?
These past few months, he’d been like a different person, rarely showing up at social events. Jiang Shijin said he’d gotten serious, focusing on building something, and might even go back to inherit the family business. His father had recently praised him for making progress.
Ke Shumin had gone to great lengths to re-enter their circle without involving Wen Bairan, only to find she couldn’t even see Zhou Lin. Unwilling to let it go, she finally got her chance when Jiang Shijin took the initiative to reach out—only to ask if she’d seen Wen Bairan lately.
Ke Shumin couldn’t let them know they’d had a falling-out. She asked what it was about—was Zhou Lin coming back?
It suddenly occurred to her that Wen Bairan’s birthday was in two weeks. Could he be coming back to celebrate it?
Wen Bairan stared at the dark grain patterns on the wooden table—concentric circles, like tree rings.
Counting them, there were exactly eight.
What a coincidence.
Ke Shumin’s tone was sour, almost wistful: "It’s been so long since you broke up, and he still remembers your birthday. Honestly, even though you’re smarter than all of us, haven’t you ever been wrong about someone? If change comes from loving someone, do you think Zhou Lin still loves you now?"
The question was too sentimental.
Wen Bairan hadn’t dwelled on such things for a long time.
Love or not is a subjective judgment—maybe in a moment, maybe over a period, maybe for a lifetime.
She knew for sure she had loved Zhou Lin, and he had probably loved her too. Now? She wasn’t sure.
Lately, because of Ye Zi and Ye Qian, she had indeed been thinking about Zhou Lin more often.
After Li Yuan left, they occasionally kept in touch.
Some lukewarm check-ins.
Less than friends, more than acquaintances.
Someone once said exes who were in love can never be friends.
If that’s true, then he probably doesn’t love her.
Ke Shumin scoffed at her perspective. "You seem so clear-headed, yet when it comes to emotions, you’re more confused than anyone. Then again, you’ve only had one relationship. All your insights about love are based solely on Zhou Lin."
Here, she felt she finally had one up on Wen Bairan.
At least she had plenty of experience, and her exes were all like they’re dead who didn’t need her worry. If even one of them had been half as good as Zhou Lin, she wouldn’t have lived in Wen Bairan’s shadow all these years.
The thought made her feel pathetic.
Damn.
Wen Bairan didn’t know why she suddenly became irritated again and said calmly, "Tell them not to bother with this. I won’t be going."
"Do you think Zhou Lin will listen to me?" Ke Shumin rolled her eyes. "He said he owes you this. I don’t get it—what does he owe you?"
Wen Bairan didn’t get it either.
Whatever was owed was settled the moment they broke up.
She never thought about taking it back.
/
That evening, Song Xu came over.
From the phone call to the doorbell ringing, only ten minutes had passed.
Wen Bairan wondered if he’d called her from downstairs.
He brought wine and cake.
To celebrate her proposal’s success.
Wen Bairan went to the kitchen to get glasses. He’d brought champagne this time.
She looked around but couldn’t find champagne flutes.
Considering whether to make do with regular wine glasses, she suddenly remembered someone had gifted a set of barware once. Zhou Lin hadn’t taken it back; it was placed on top of the cabinets.
She got it down—a large set, all made of Austrian crystal.
Just looking at it was a delight.
She’d never really noticed it before.
Unlike Zhou Lin, Song Xu had no particular rules when it came to drinking—whether something tasted good or not depended entirely on his tongue’s mood at the moment.
He wasn’t picky about vessels either. If he could chug straight from the bottle, he wouldn’t bother pouring it out—too fussy.
Wen Bairan once said that in this regard, he didn’t act like a young master but more like a reckless brute.
Later, she thought about it and realized he was just adapting to circumstances.
After all, when you already possess a treasury, who would bother carefully selecting while shopping?
She took out two champagne glasses and turned to go out.
Song Xu had already cut the cake.
The living room was lit by a small lamp, and the TV was on, playing an old black-and-white movie—chosen by him.
He took the glasses from her hands. The crystal was of good quality, gleaming with even, clear brightness.
Song Xu pulled her to sit down.
“Next time, can’t you just come in yourself?”
Wen Bairan had been so busy lately she was tired. Once she snuggled into the sofa, she didn’t want to move. Those few steps to the door weren’t far, but she saved it where she could.
He opened the champagne—the sound of the cork popping was sharp yet muted.
A puff of white mist escaped, carrying a fruity scent.
He poured her a glass first. “Okay.”
Wen Bairan took it, turning her head, which was nestled against the sofa back, toward him.
Okay.
And then?
It felt like there should be more to follow.
She took a sip, pursing her lips to savor the refreshing burst of bubbles in her mouth, squinting in enjoyment.
Song Xu glanced at her, as if chiding her for drinking first.
Wen Bairan blinked, with a hint of innocence—you never said we had to wait.
He smiled tolerantly, clinking her glass slowly and deliberately. The wine shimmered like flowing gold in the light refracting through the crystal, countless tiny bubbles rising and popping from the movement. Even the black-and-white light and shadow were tinged with this gold.
“I don’t make a habit of remembering another man’s birthday through a woman,” he said.
He always spoke in such an indirect manner.
Wen Bairan took a moment to realize he was referring to the door lock password.
0728.
Zhou Lin’s birthday.
As for what 05 stood for, she’d forgotten.
This guy was really petty.
She glanced at him.
Song Xu drank with extreme elegance, almost to a disturbing degree.
He always wore an unfathomable demeanor, as if he knew everything yet concealed it even deeper.
Wen Bairan had long given up trying to see through him. Restlessly, she placed her foot on his leg.
“Why are you so jealous?”
Her feet were dainty, with plump, round toes like fruit carrots, her nails a healthy shade of pink.
She mischievously grinded against his suit pants, slowly moving, slowly moving, until she reached the belt at his waist—trying to slip beneath, but couldn’t.
She prodded his waist.
Deliberately wrinkling her nose, she said, “You’re so sour, Song Xu.”
Song Xu paused mid-sip, the corners of his eyes instantly shadowed.
His gaze traveled up from her foot. Wen Bairan’s silk nightgown had slid to her knees, her slender calves glistening with a soft, luminous white in the dim light.
“The whole company knows you have a lavish suitor, but I didn’t,” he said, his voice cooling, his sharp gaze scraping over her skin like a blade.
Wen Bairan’s heart jumped. Instinctively, she tried to pull her leg back, but he grabbed her ankle and pulled.
...If she said she hadn’t meant to provoke him, would he believe her?
Probably not.
Her ankle joint flushed a faint, pitiful red in the cool air, warmed by his palm. She unconsciously curled her toes. Song Xu had once attended a few anatomy classes—his thumb wandered over the top of her foot, finding the hollow where the tibia met the outer ankle, and pressed down hard.
A sudden, sharp ache of soreness and numbness shot through her, and Wen Bairan shuddered uncontrollably.
“Who is he?” he asked darkly.
Wen Bairan didn’t know who it was either—all she knew was that it wasn’t him. There were only so many men around her. With his cunning, couldn’t he just use process of elimination?
...She didn’t dare say it, whimpering instead for him to release her.
Song Xu pulled her closer. Both of them had been drinking, their mouths sharing a similar, cool taste. Hers now held a note of orange blossom—not too sweet, very faint, and even sweeter paired with the champagne.
Whoever it was, it didn’t matter. For now, she was his.
Wen Bairan was kissed until breathless, realizing his hand had somehow slipped past her calf and was kneading her hip, sending tingling waves deep inside.
She immediately understood—he’d probably already guessed.
She felt it was a bit unfair.
Why?
He knew all about the people around her, yet aside from Zhong Yu, she knew almost nothing about his world.
By the time the kiss ended, she was already in his lap.
Wen Bairan leaned against his shoulder, gasping for breath. Feeling him leaning in again, she quickly pressed her forehead against his. “Wait.”
Her voice carried the playful, tipsy sweetness that made his heart melt. Song Xu couldn’t resist kissing the top of her head.
"Tell me about your past loves," she demanded.
There were no stories.
Nor was there love.
Unlike her, love was something that came to him later, growing slowly.
Wen Bairan didn’t believe it.
She believed some people were unfaithful, and some were heartless, but she absolutely refused to believe that Song Xu’s ease with women was purely innate.
Just look at Zhong Yu.
They must have slept together.
A woman’s intuition was sharp—she could tell from the lingering look in Zhong Yu’s eyes that he had surely rocked her world in bed.
Song Xu found her assumption amusing. "Then how come you’re still all here?"
"Guess you put more effort into sleeping with her," she said offhandedly, without any particular meaning, but he seemed to have misunderstood.
He chuckled lowly, delightedly, kissing her face and neck lightly. "As long as you don’t beg me to stop, I can keep going, too."
Wen Bairan caught the loophole in his words, grabbing his hair as she said it. "Too? So you did sleep with her!"
He said no. Song Xu took her hand from his head and kissed the back of it under her skeptical look. "I have no reason to lie."
True.
Who was as shameless as him?
Beast, scum—he could switch between the two just like that.
Song Xu’s eyes darkened, and showed her just what she meant by those two words, until she cried, "Stop, stop, stop! I was wrong, I was wrong!" Only then did he let up.
The black-and-white movie on TV was only halfway through. The excited female lead, upon learning her beloved actor had a girlfriend, hid in the bathroom. After so long, she ended up falling asleep.
It was still early. Wen Bairan climbed out of his embrace and wriggled back to where she was, facing him, draping both legs over his. The cool, comfortable autumn air was cool but not cold. In the small loft, the two relaxed against each other.
A rare, cozy moment.
Finishing the last of the champagne, Wen Bairan’s eyes were hazy, but she persisted, "How many serious relationships have you had?"
Song Xu lowered his gaze and said, "Three times."
Only three?
Wen Bairan was surprised but no longer doubtful.
The three he would admit to must have been very serious relationships.
She listened quietly.
The first was a schoolyard romance. High schoolers who knew nothing. It started in a muddle and ended in a muddle. Lasted about a semester?
The second was also at school, university. It was with the same person as the first.
"The same person?"
"Mm."
Song Xu rested his hand on her leg; she was soft there, comfortable to lean on.
Swirling the last drops with their shimmering sediment at the bottom of his glass, his eyes were unreadable. On a whim, he asked, "How about I take you to Paris during the year-end holidays?"
Wen Bairan told him not to change the subject—she was only interested in the one who took up two spots on his list.
She leaned in a little, hugging her knees, as curious as a kid, asking how long they had been together. He said if you add the two times together, about three years? He didn’t remember clearly. He said it lightly, not particularly nostalgic, but somehow soft.
She asked who ended it—did you cheat on her?
Song Xu laughed, setting his glass on the coffee table. As he withdrew his hand, he asked if she wanted cake. She excitedly said no.
He gave a mysterious, complicated smile. It seemed to confirm her guess, yet not quite.
Given his proud nature, if it were true, he would have admitted it outright. This evasive, ambiguous reaction seemed to point to another answer.
Could it be that she dumped him?
Song Xu didn’t answer further, instead moving on to the third relationship, which happened after he started working. A colleague at a partner company, they often met at project dinners, slept together twice, they got along. She wanted to define the relationship, and he just went with it. It lasted half a year. They broke up because he was too cold.
"You're only really present in bed; the rest of the time, you’re more like a faulty relationship machine."
That was her assessment of him.
Her exact words. Didn't change a thing.
Wen Bairan burst out laughing, saying there really were people in the world who felt the same as her.
Song Xu remembered how, the second before Ning Shuang broke up with him, they were wrapped up in each other, and the next second, she said they were over. There was love and reluctance in her eyes, but her decision was resolute.
He admired her clarity and decisiveness, said okay, let's still be friends.
Ning Shuang said with a tearful smile, "See, Song Xu? You really don’t love me. No one who's in love has that reaction when the person they love breaks up with them, and no one wants to be friends with an ex they loved."
At the time, Song Xu hadn't fully grasped her meaning, figuring there was an exception to every rule—who said it absolutely couldn’t work? Now he felt differently now, but still couldn’t claim to fully comprehend it.
He cupped Wen Bairan’s face, which was resting on his knee, and gazed deeply into her captivated eyes.
She was being good, just listening.
Not jealous.
Jealousy was a troublesome thing.
But he inexplicably wanted to see it in her eyes.
Wen Bairan was already used to how he probed, like a knife probing her heart. He turned over every hidden part of her, as if searching for his own shadow. She wasn’t sure if he would find it—maybe there was some, but he’d need patience. Fortunately, he was the most patient.
Her eyelashes fluttered, and her voice was as light as a dream. "Song Xu, do you think we could be friends?"
He said no.
Flatly. Leaving no room for argument.
It seems they only had two paths: either blending as seamlessly as water and milk, or making a clean break.
She asked why.
There are many kinds of friends.
Those who connect deeply.
Those who are superficial.
Those who are passionate.
Those who are distant.
There must be one kind he wanted.
He said no, what he wanted didn’t fall into that range.
The movie was nearing its end.
After several failed relationships, the female lead, now left with nothing, stumbled disheveled out of the woods and ran into a group of carefree, laughing young people. In her eyes bleak with despair, a spark of hope suddenly flared up.
To be loved.
To feel.
To love someone until completely drained, then start all over again with someone new.
Life moves forward in such cycles.
Without realizing it, Wen Bairan lost herself in his deep eyes. The refreshing tingle like waves washing over her skin made her want it to never end. She asked, "Do I have what you want?"
Song Xu said there was.
She asked what it was.
He lowered his head
and kissed her,
saying,
"You."