Chapter 4: Beijing(3)

Jiang Wanju couldn’t understand why she always seemed to run into him when she was at her worst.

Like now—her nose was red from the biting northern wind, which felt like it carried grains of sand. Her cheeks probably weren’t much better off than when she drank alcohol. She had spent the entire day calling factories to cancel printing orders, leaving her lips dry and slightly chapped.

Not to mention her slightly disheveled hair, messy from dozing off on the subway. Her hands and feet were ice-cold, as if she had walked barefoot through the snow.

She looked utterly exhausted and worn out.

Jiang Wanju said, “Thanks, but no.”

Chen Zhouren asked, “Do you need me to call the police for you?”

“Thanks, but no.”

“Or maybe… would you like a hot coffee?”

The following parts of the text will be scrambled to prevent theft from aggregators and unauthorized epub making. Please support our translators by reading on secondlifetranslations (dot) com. If you are currently on the site and and you are seeing this, please clear your cache.

“Mbydjp, cwv ds.”

Wkdyzzu, Ubld Hbswald pxkzle. Mbl pxyzz ekxrzl sd bkp aktbv nbllj ellrldle, xyjkdt bkp lmralppksd nsxl yzkhl. “Ps R zssj zkjl y cye twu? Zsw’al ps sd twyae vbyv usw esd’v lhld oydv vs oypvl lmvay osaep?”

Tso akeknwzswp.

Kkydt Eydfw pvkzz alxlxclale bso vbkp xyd sdnl pxkzle yde vsze bla pbl oyp vbl qkapv rlapsd vs lhla nyzz bkx y tsse twu.

Gde ulv dso, bl bye ds alnszzlnvksd sq bla yv yzz. Tkp xlxsau oyp yp nzlyd yde wdvswnble yp qalpbzu qyzzld pdso.

Vlsrzl sqvld nzykxle vbyv vbl qkapv vkxl oyp yzoyup prlnkyz, vbyv vblu nblakpble vblka qkapv ldnswdvlap. Jwv kd alyzkvu, vbspl osaep olal fwpv lxrvu vyzj—qlo vawzu alxlxclale okvb pwnb nzyakvu.

Kkydt Eydfw vakle vs pvyde wr, qllzkdt y vkdtzkdt dwxcdlpp kd bla zltp. “R esd’v dlle blzr.”

Yyucl kv oyp vbl nsze, cwv lhld yp pbl prsjl, bla hsknl valxczle pzktbvzu.

Chen Zhouren didn’t seem intent on playing the role of a rescuer. Instead, he gave a slight nod, politely bid her farewell, and stepped into a nearby café that was still open.

It was already late.

In the distance, city lights glowed brightly, but the buses had long stopped running. Jiang Wanju shivered as she placed an order on Didi. It was rush hour, so she had to wait in line for a driver.

No one accepted her request for a long time. She was cold, hungry, and exhausted, standing silently in place.

Then, the faint aroma of freshly baked cake drifted over.

And right after that, she heard Chen Zhouren’s voice.

“Where are you headed?”

Jiang Wanju told him the name of her school.

Chen Zhouren smiled. “Perfect timing. I’m heading toward the municipal building, so I can give you a ride part of the way. But I won’t be crossing the bridge—you’ll have to walk back to your school from there. Is that okay?”

Jiang Wanju didn’t hesitate. She nodded firmly.

Chen Zhouren’s car was parked not far away—a low-profile black vehicle, its model just as understated. At first glance, it was hard to tell its exact make. Jiang Wanju hesitated for a moment between the passenger seat and the back seat before ultimately choosing the front.

Chen Zhouren placed the cake he had just bought in the back.

The distance wasn’t exactly far—it would only take about ten minutes by car. But it wasn’t exactly close either. Walking back in the middle of winter would almost certainly result in catching a cold.

Jiang Wanju held onto her vintage-style tote bag, a gift from a relative to celebrate her first step into the working world. According to her aunt, one’s attire should match their work environment. Now that Jiang Wanju was interning at a well-known luxury brand, she couldn’t keep carrying the same bags she used back in college.

Jiang Wanju had wanted to tell her aunt that she was just a lowly intern, spending her days covered in dust, completely out of place in the glamorous world of luxury retail. But regardless, the bag in her arms was the one she used most often. It was spacious, practical, and reliable for fieldwork when needed.

In this industry, appearances mattered. These expensive items were her armor.

Chen Zhouren didn’t talk much, maintaining the polite distance of casual acquaintances. “Just got off work?”

Jiang Wanju replied, “Mm.”

“You’re just an intern, and they’re working you this hard? Are you in IT?”

Jiang Wanju thought for a long moment before replying, “No.”

The car was warm, and the cold that had clung to her down jacket gradually faded. She turned to look out the window, catching a glimpse of her flushed face in the reflection.

Reaching up to touch her cheek, she found her hands slightly numb—it felt as if she were touching someone else’s face.

“Your boss sounds ruthless,” Chen Zhouren concluded. “Squeezing every last drop out of their workers.”

Jiang Wanju said, “It’s not that bad. Today was just an exception.”

Chen Zhouren sighed. “I’m taking your side here. Why are you sympathizing with the capitalists?”

Jiang Wanju turned to look at him. “Aren’t you a capitalist?”

“Of course not,” Chen Zhouren laughed. “’Capitalist’ isn’t exactly a compliment. I’d rather not end up hanging from a lamppost.”

He finally managed to make Jiang Wanju laugh. She asked, “Then what do you do?”

Chen Zhouren half-joked, “I serve the people.”

He was incredibly tight-lipped, revealing nothing about his identity beyond his name.

Jiang Wanju thought about the relativity of warmth—right now, she felt like she was sitting next to a furnace, comfortably toasting her hands and body in the heat.

This man had a strange kind of charm.

A pleasant mood really did seem to make time fly. In what felt like an instant, the car stopped. They had arrived.

Before she got out, Chen Zhouren took out his phone and asked, “Let’s exchange WeChat. Send me a message when you get back to your dorm safely.”

Jiang Wanju added him and entered her name, but when it came to setting a contact name for him, she hesitated.

Chen Zhouren said, “Chen Zhouren. Chen with the ‘ear’ radical, Zhou as in ‘day and night,’ and Ren as in ‘benevolence.’”

Chen Zhouren—it sounded like the name of a Hong Kong movie villain. The kind who’d be smiling while making business deals one second and pulling the trigger the next.

It suited him.

After exchanging names and contact info, they said their goodbyes.

Chen Zhouren didn’t step out of the car.

Jiang Wanju walked forward for a dozen meters before turning back. His car wasn’t heading toward the municipal building—it was going back the way they had come.

So much for “on the way.”

That had been a lie.

It wasn’t on the way at all.

Jiang Wanju even suspected that the name he had given her was fake.

This brief encounter only lingered in her mind for a fleeting moment. That night, after returning to her dorm, she sent him a message. But even after she had washed up and was ready for bed, his reply never came.

Chen Zhouren’s message arrived the next morning.

It was just a single word.

“Okay.”

Jiang Wanju put her phone down.

The rest of her internship didn’t go particularly smoothly either. Her supervisor was a perfectionist—meticulous to the point of obsession. Even slight variations in font size or subtle color differences were unacceptable. She spent days running between factories, picking up and delivering samples. In the blink of an eye, Christmas was approaching, and she still had to coordinate with beauty influencers, handwrite letters, send out beauty boxes and gifts, revise PowerPoint presentations, proof materials, and move newly arrived samples…

Finally, Christmas arrived, and Jiang Wanju was granted a rare day off.

It was also around this time that she started dating her second boyfriend, Bai Qing—a colleague, though he worked in EC. Calling him insanely busy wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

Bai Qing was a man with exceptionally high standards for life. He was a severe germophobe—his clothes could never have even the slightest stain. He only drank sparkling water, avoided all other beverages, wouldn’t touch instant coffee, never ate street food, and always scheduled dates for dinner—always at Western restaurants.

He was like a perfectly programmed, polite machine.

For Christmas, Bai Qing had made a reservation well in advance, carefully planned the timing, and notified Jiang Wanju about their date.

Surprisingly, the dinner location was different this time—it was Beijing cuisine, tucked away in a secluded hutong. A deep courtyard house with carved beams and painted rafters, an elegant siheyuan. From the outside, it was impossible to tell it was a restaurant.

Bai Qing planned to introduce Jiang Wanju to his family. When she asked about the occasion, hoping to choose an appropriate outfit, he simply said it was just his cousins—people he had grown up with.

Jiang Wanju prepared meticulously. She carefully selected her outfit and, after some hesitation, splurged on a pair of high heels that exceeded her budget.

She thought she had everything covered. But when Bai Qing introduced her, she was completely stunned.

Chen Zhouren extended his hand to her with a calm and composed smile.

“Hello, I’m Bai Qing’s cousin—Chen Zhouren.”