Chapter 35

Her finger hovered over the screen for a long time, but she ultimately didn’t press another key.

Fearing that Xiang Feiran might see “Typing…” on his end, Shang Mingbao didn’t dare stay on the chat page for more than a few seconds and quickly exited.

She wasn’t in a hurry. Today was the last day of the exam week. After finishing the group report in the afternoon, her final exam also concluded. She walked out of the teaching building, and her group of classmates high-fived each other in celebration. They strolled onto the street illuminated by evening lights, blending into the Manhattan rush hour.

The wind was strong today, and the snow was heavy. Shang Mingbao opened a thick, straight umbrella and stood under the dim snow for a while, declining their invitation to dinner and smiling as she watched them walk into a restaurant diagonally across the street.

When she raised her gaze from beneath the umbrella, she still had some hopes.

He had said yesterday that he planned to come to the school today. Although they had met early at the bar last night, he didn’t have a reason to come over. But what if he still showed up?

At this moment, she found herself disliking NYU’s open campus environment, where buildings were scattered along the street, marked only by purple flags. With the sky so dark, who could tell which building was which? Amidst the crowd, it would be hard for him to find her.

Shang Mingbao took out her phone from her coat pocket, just to check out of habit. She knew he hadn’t sent any new messages.

Xiang Feiran was a straightforward person. If she only replied with “Hmm,” he wouldn’t waste time coming up with a new topic.

Imagining a chance encounter with him somewhere, she even started to pose, waiting for the bus, gazing at the traffic lights, feeling a self-consciousness as if being watched.

Soon, she felt foolish again. Xiang Feiran didn’t even know which building she had classes in or which one she was taking exams in. How could he find her?

After a traffic light turned red and green, a sports car stopped in front of Shang Mingbao.

Wu Baiyan got out of the car and opened the door for her. “Get in.”

Shang Mingbao held her umbrella and didn’t move, asking, “What’s going on?”

Wu Baiyan took the umbrella from her and tossed it into the backseat. “There’s a cocktail party tonight. Wendy and some of her friends will be there. I’ll introduce you to them.”

Shang Mingbao, feeling drained, replied, “Not today. I don’t have the energy for socializing.”

Ignoring her protests, Wu Baiyan put an arm around her shoulder and pushed her gently into the car. “Come on, I’ll take care of you.”

Shang Mingbao clutched her bookbag tightly and stayed silent. After a couple of blocks, she spoke up, “Can’t you see that I’m having a bad day? Aren’t you worried I’ll embarrass you?”

Wu Baiyan, focusing on the street signs in the dusk, asked, “What can I do? Just tell me.”

Wu Baiyan, though only eighteen, had mastered the art of being effortlessly charming. Despite his youth, he had a knack for navigating social situations with ease.

Shang Mingbao suddenly asked, “Do you, like, not believe in marriage?”

“Not necessarily,” Wu Baiyan replied nonchalantly. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. If it happens, great. If not, it’s not a big deal.” He glanced at her and added, “Why? Is there someone who doesn’t believe in marriage?”

“Not really.”

“Oh,” Wu Baiyan said, steering the car. “If someone told you they don’t believe in marriage and it upset you… let me guess, it’s Xiang Feiran?”

Shang Mingbao was taken aback by his perceptiveness. “We’ve only met once. Why would you be so fixated? Who told you I’m with him?”

At a red light, Wu Baiyan smirked and said, “Come on, he made a bigger impression on you in a few seconds than my expensive fireworks ever did. It’s obvious.”

Shang Mingbao remained silent.

“Still denying?” Wu Baiyan said with a smirk. “It would make me feel better if you’d just admit it.”

Shang Mingbao muttered, “Stop bothering me.”

Wu Baiyan laughed to himself, “Does he tell you he’s not into commitment? That’s just a tactic to avoid complications. Basically, he wants to have fun with you but doesn’t plan on sticking around. He’s trying to avoid making things messy by setting clear expectations upfront. You get that, right?”

Shang Mingbao didn’t respond, and Wu Baiyan continued, “Honestly, I’ve used that line before. Pair it with some sob story about a troubled past, and it’s a surefire hit. The more innocent the girl, the more likely she’ll fall for it. I could use it on Liao Yunuo, and she’d probably come up with a sadder story than mine. It’s all just a game…”

He glanced at Shang Mingbao, intending to say something more harsh, but noticed the tear rolling down her cheek. He immediately fell silent, cursing under his breath and pulling the car over to the side of the road.

Though he was skilled with women, this time he was at a loss, calling her name softly, “Babe?”

“Don’t talk,” Shang Mingbao said as she pulled out a tissue and began to calm herself. “You’re so annoying, with all your nonsense.”

Wu Baiyan watched her tears, feeling awkward and unsure how to comfort her. “Don’t be like this,” he said earnestly. “It’s not worth getting hurt over someone like that.”

Shang Mingbao unfolded the tissue, catching her tears, which were stark and vivid like unexpected autumn rain leaving dark spots on white concrete.

After a moment, she buried her face in the damp tissue, allowing herself to sob quietly, her shoulders shaking with the release of her emotions.

Xiang Feiran said the same thing last night.

He said, “If you think I’m worth playing a game with, then you can.”

Wu Baiyan helped her unfasten her seatbelt. After a few seconds, he heard her take a deep breath and ask, “Why only a simple game? Is it because I’m not good enough?”

The emotions that had been building up since she learned of Xiang Feiran’s commitment phobia were finally released in this cry of pain, revealing her crumbling inner self beneath her previously composed and detached facade.

Wu Baiyan was stunned. He pressed her face into his chest through the center console and said firmly, “You’re really great, you’re really great.”

By the time they arrived at the club building where the party was held, Shang Mingbao’s expression had returned to calm.

After getting out of the car, Wu Baiyan warned her, “From now on, don’t get confused.”

Shang Mingbao combed her hair into a low bun, took a deep breath, and gave him a red-eyed glare.

When they entered, Wu Baiyan presented his membership card and led her into the lounge, where a pressed dress and matching jewelry were hanging.

Shang Mingbao changed into the gown and applied a light makeup. When she stepped out, she attended the party as Wu Baiyan’s companion and was introduced to familiar socialites by him and Wendy.

In this social tier, it’s crucial to be recognized as one of their own. The socialites are more likely to trust people recommended by others at lunch or cocktail parties rather than those who are sought out through agencies. Wendy’s high praise of Shang Mingbao led to a significant increase in followers for her account, “gloria_stone,” with several genuine fans. Shang Mingbao’s detailed knowledge of each lady’s attire for the evening also won their hearts.

“You should start your own channel,” Wendy suggested privately after a few rounds of drinks. “Once you have hundreds of thousands of followers, with my recommendation letter, you can expand your business from the Upper East Side to Beverly Hills, or anywhere you want.”

The study-abroad circle is almost becoming a realm of influencers. Everyone around Shang Mingbao, regardless of gender, is used to pulling out their phones and taking photos anytime and anywhere. Flaunting wealth has become their quickest way to gain followers. By just lifting a corner of the opulent curtain, they can naturally enjoy admiration, yearning, and worship.

Shang Mingbao’s personal account already has a substantial number of followers, but she hasn’t updated her status much in the past six months, leading to a significant drop in engagement.

Wendy’s advice was very reasonable, and she nodded, indicating that she would consider it carefully.

Wendy squinted and asked skeptically, “You’re not going to just run off halfway through, are you? If you dare make me look foolish, I’ll make sure you can’t move a step in the New York fashion and art scene.”

Shang Mingbao sweetly laughed, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Wendy still scrutinized her, “To be honest, I’m very skeptical about your background. No poor student could handle this situation as effortlessly as you do. I watched you all evening, and you didn’t make a single mistake.”

Shang Mingbao thought to herself that the details of these parties are nothing compared to those her mother used to handle.

But she composed herself and smiled slightly, “Before college, I had a good life. Later, I found out that my father had another family outside. As his legitimate daughter, I need to prove that I can inherit everything. Although I am only twenty-two and everything is difficult, I believe I can do it.”

This was a direct hit to Wendy, who was the type of high society lady sensitive to such backgrounds. Wendy indeed softened her usual aloofness, showing a hint of gentle sympathy, “Oh, sweetie.”

She even touched Shang Mingbao’s face—then went to wash her hands.

By the time they left the party, it was already past nine.

Afraid she might be cold, Wu Baiyan wrapped his scarf around her, seemingly intentionally, wrapping it several times, messing up her neatly done hair. Shang Mingbao gave him an irritated glance and tightened her coat’s collar, her glamorous gown shimmering under the moonlight.

“I say…” Wu Baiyan assessed her appearance, which was now neither fashionable nor down-to-earth.

“Don’t say anything.” Shang Mingbao was too tired to engage.

“What do you like about Xiang Feiran?”

Shang Mingbao’s heart skipped a beat, and she turned to look at Wu Baiyan, not quite understanding.

Her lips parted as if to speak, but Wu Baiyan interrupted, “Forget it, don’t say anything. He’s too experienced; don’t use your genuine feelings to test an expert.”

Wu’s Rolls-Royce glided to a stop around the fountain roundabout. Shang Mingbao got into the back seat, sitting beside Wu Baiyan. The ride wasn’t far, and after a night of social maneuvering, she remained silent, keeping her eyes closed to rest.

Bathed in the moonlight reflecting off the snow outside, Wu Baiyan watched her for a long time.

A woman’s affection for a man marks the beginning of her misfortune, and a man’s affection for a woman marks the beginning of his misfortune—damn it. Wu Baiyan retracted his gaze and cursed inwardly.

When they arrived at Shang Mingbao’s new villa, Wu Baiyan, breaking from his usual attentive manner, didn’t bother to get out of the car and simply said, “See you on Christmas Eve.”

Back home, Sophie attended to her with hot soup and water, then led her to see the newly bought Christmas tree.

The tree was so tall, standing proudly in the center of the ten-meter high back hall, emitting the fresh scent of leaves and bark, with a shining star on top.

Shang Mingbao looked up for a moment, then followed the tree’s trunk down. It was already adorned with countless colorful lights, ornaments, and stars, the twinkling lights creating a shimmering effect. The cold snowflakes carried by the wind from the yard tinkled the bells hanging from the tree.

It was too lively.

Tears welled up in Shang Mingbao’s eyes.

She didn’t want Sophie to notice, so she lowered her head, took a few steps to the base of the tree, and knelt down. There were boxes of various sizes there, with Santa Claus driving his reindeer-drawn sleigh, standing proudly among them.

Why did she insist on making Xiang Feiran buy that Christmas tree back then? It was so dull and plain, and once bought, it only brought her a moment of freshness.

Yet, that moment when he plugged it in in the living room was more splendid than all the glittering lights here.

Shang Mingbao packed the gifts she had chosen into the boxes one by one. The tradition was to reunite for the Spring Festival; Christmas was just a casual celebration. Sophie, the driver, and the house’s servants were her companions for the holidays. She had carefully selected gifts for them and childishly told Sophie, “Don’t peek here.”

Sophie closed the door behind her, blocking the wind and snow.

Once she was gone, Shang Mingbao sat there holding the gift boxes, lost in thought for a long time.

Outside the apartment on West 56th Street, a man leaning against the wall with crossed arms was illuminated by the building manager’s flashlight. The motion-sensor lights here were broken and had not been repaired for a long time, making the night feel even darker.

The face illuminated by the light was strikingly stern, with deep features on a pale face, thin lips pressed together, and a faint trace of impatience between his brows.

In the light, he opened his eyes and understood the building manager’s request—he needed to show identification.

Xiang Feiran took his wallet from the pocket of his parka and showed his driver’s license. After several confirmations, the building manager recognized him from his distinctive fashion style.

“You forgot your key?” the building manager asked, turning off the flashlight and making small talk, “How was the long holiday?”

Xiang Feiran deduced from his casual question that Shang Mingbao hadn’t been here for a long time.

He assumed they were cohabiting here and had been thought to be on a long holiday because he hadn’t entered the building for a while. He had waited here all night because he had forgotten his key.

“It was okay.” He answered the building manager noncommittally, lifting the corner of his mouth slightly.

He had, naively, believed she would really be living here.

This small, budget apartment of only thirty-five square meters, where he helped her move in, clean, confessed his feelings, and kissed her.

As the elevator descended, the motion-sensor lights in the distance went out again, and the hallway returned to darkness.

Xiang Feiran stayed a few more minutes, holding onto a delusional hope that even heaven wouldn’t favor. Then, he straightened up from his wall-leaning position and left the door he had waited at for five hours.

Outside the apartment building, he composed a message and sent it: 【Are you done with your work?】

Shang Mingbao took a while to reply: 【Done, already asleep.】

There was no signal in the subway, so Xiang Feiran only read the message half an hour later. The words “Good night” had already lost their meaning; he typed a reply but then deleted it.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand her avoidance; it was just hard to believe her decision came so quickly, thinking that their meeting still held some significance.

Knowing there was no outcome and that he would never harass her, she still didn’t want to start anything with him.

Was he really that inadequate, unable to make any progress no matter how hard he tried?

This was the most difficult problem he had ever faced, the toughest test he had ever answered. From discussing the moon, he learned not how to identify five or six thousand plants in the wild, but the impossibility of forcing love. Love isn’t a matter of addition and subtraction of variables; it’s not a chemical reaction that will inevitably occur just because all the effective factors keep accumulating.

For example, Shang Mingbao simply couldn’t like him anymore. Before the arranged marriage, she had ample freedom to love someone and experience a fulfilling relationship, but that choice did not fall to him. That was all there was to it.

As he walked into the apartment building under the moonlight, Xiang Feiran understood everything and decided to put down the pen. Just like in the final question of the last international competition, he put down the pen, knowing clearly that he was right. It was the calm acceptance of an intelligent person standing at a crossroads of fate.

Simon’s flight was tonight, heading back to Milan to celebrate with his family. By the time Xiang Feiran returned to the apartment, Simon had already left for the airport.

The apartment was quiet. Simon had left a small lamp on for his pet turtle, casting gray shadows over everything. Compared to the chaos of the previous night, this place was eerily quiet.

At dinner, Xiang Feiran had gone directly to 56th Street from school. Now, returning to the apartment, he found that the sandwiches he had left for Shang Mingbao in the morning hadn’t been touched, and the note about the cherry tomatoes was still intact.

Xiang Feiran cleaned out the fridge, threw the contents into the trash, and removed the sheets and duvet from the bed she had slept in last night.

Why did body wash smell more fragrant when used by a woman? He couldn’t figure it out. With a half-folded duvet forming a small mountain of shadows, Xiang Feiran knelt on one knee, paused for some reason, and then slowly bent down to bury his face in the pillow that had once cradled her sleep.

These were three quiet minutes, during which he softened his breathing and heartbeat.

The scent was more enduring and reliable than any memory.

Let him remember.

On the 23rd, Christmas Eve, with university on break, Xiang Feiran still went to school and worked in his office until six in the evening, then had dinner with Fang Suining.

Fang Suining mentioned their chance meeting and asked Xiang Feiran when he was free so the three of them could meet up. Xiang Feiran responded indifferently, so Fang Suining dropped the subject. She was planning to spend the whole day with her on-again, off-again boyfriend and left him a Broadway ticket.

On the 24th, Christmas Eve, Xiang Feiran ordered a pizza and spent the day reading literature in the apartment. By the time he realized, the performance had already started, so he gave up on going.

The dusk filtered through the octagonal window, casting a golden hue in the corner of the room.

Actually, he could also see the Hudson River from here. The river he saw was the same one as on 56th Street. He walked out onto the balcony, looking through the angles of the buildings, and observed the golden scales on the river’s surface, quietly smoking a cigarette.

Shang Mingbao would no longer contact him. His phone had been silent for two days.

He wanted to wish her a Merry Christmas. Maybe next year.

By evening, various祝福 messages and calls came in. Xiang Feiran replied one by one, politely declining a few invitations from professors for vacations or dinners, then began packing his bags.

He decided to walk the New York section of the Appalachian Trail. Though winter hiking seemed a bit crazy, it wasn’t without its charm. Setting up a fire in the snow and drinking tea while reading literature should be more focused than eating pizza and reading in this apartment.

Yes, in this room where she had once stayed, he couldn’t concentrate.

After securing the sleeping bag rated for minus thirty degrees on the top compartment of his backpack, Xiang Feiran glanced at the time: it was just past nine in the evening.

He put on a more windproof and cold-resistant jacket, tightened the laces of his high-top hiking boots, and after slinging the heavy backpack over his shoulder, he took a final look around the room, turned off the lights, and locked the door.

The atmosphere of the city streets was starkly different from the apartment. The melted snow made the asphalt roads wet, reflecting the ubiquitous Christmas lights.

In the cold air, various Christmas songs intruded relentlessly, leaving no respite for a solitary person.

Xiang Feiran went to Grand Central Station, deciding to take a train to New Jersey, and then backtrack to the New York section from there.

At the Christmas market in Grand Central Station, he bought a Christmas ornament made of Denmark Nobesson, juniper, sumac berries, pine cones, cinnamon sticks, and dried lemon slices. It had a red bell on it, which he found annoying and promptly removed.

As the train arrived, the crowd surged.

At the moment he was about to board, his phone vibrated continuously.

He ignored it and boarded the train, his tall figure and large backpack creating a sense of pressure. Fortunately, his glasses, which he hadn’t taken off while reading, softened the coldness of his demeanor but also accentuated his loneliness.

The phone kept vibrating, not allowing him to pretend he hadn’t heard. Xiang Feiran had no choice but to find his seat while pulling out his phone from his work pants pocket.

Having read tens of thousands of words of literature that day, he felt dizzy when he saw the incoming call.

But Xiang Feiran still didn’t answer. Instead, he first put his backpack on the luggage rack.

Once seated, the call naturally ended when the call time expired.

He opened WhatsApp and calmly typed: “Not convenient, will explain here.”

Before he could send the message, the call came in again.

The announcement for the last train departure blared over the station speakers.

With his thumb hovering over the screen for two seconds, he finally chose to swipe right to answer.

“Hello.”

Shang Mingbao called out to him: “Feiran-ge.”

It was very quiet on Shang Mingbao’s end, unusually so, not matching the festive atmosphere she should have had today.

Xiang Feiran, after digesting the term “gege,” adjusted himself to the position of an older brother and said, “Merry Christmas, Mingbao.”

In the dark apartment room, Shang Mingbao was huddled into a small ball, repeatedly pressing the white switch. On, off, on again. But the light never turned on.

Her long party dress trailed elegantly on the floor, its hem illuminated under the building lights outside the window.

“That tree is broken,” she said, her fingers stubbornly pressing the switch, her voice thick with tears.

The noise from the party was loud, interspersed with sharp whistles. Xiang Feiran thought he must have misheard. After a pause, he asked patiently, “What’s broken?”

“The Christmas tree,” Shang Mingbao repeated, biting her lip and struggling to keep the tears at bay. “The Christmas tree is broken.”

“If the Christmas tree is broken, you should call a repairman or the building manager, not me, because my time is more valuable,” his half-serious words echoed in his mind.

“I can’t find anyone,” Shang Mingbao wiped her eyes with her arm, just like she used to do when she cried as a child.

The Christmas tree from the 56th Street apartment you gave me is broken.

She tried hard not to let any hint of distress leak from her voice. Crouched in front of the artificial Christmas tree Xiang Feiran had bought her, she repeatedly and dependently, like a child, said, “I can’t find anyone to fix it, Feiran-ge… I can’t find anyone.”