{None of them are even a fraction of her. 1}

Qian Xu wasn’t sure how long Zhao Buhui had been gone, but judging by the time it took him to change a lightbulb or take out the trash in a roundabout way, his efficiency would make even an outsider feel exhausted, let alone Mr. Zhao. If it weren’t his birthday, she might have “said a few words,” like some middle-aged man.

Zhao Buhui’s attitude in admitting his mistakes was excellent; he was very self-aware and lowered his pride, saying, “I might have gone in the wrong direction just now. I barely managed to find the garbage sorting area.”

“It’s just that I have a poor sense of direction.”

In any case, seeing him like this, Qian Xu couldn’t bring herself to say anything harsh, especially considering it was his birthday.
“Now that the trash is dealt with, should we say goodbye?”

“Maybe,” he said, unwilling to admit how much he’d enjoyed spending time together. It was as if he had discovered endless joy in something novel, a joy he knew wasn’t just a passing moment. He lingered in the doorway, noticing she’d stopped paying him any attention. “Qian Xu, I think I’ve had a very special birthday.”

Still working on her MacBook, Qian Xu realized he hadn’t left yet, gave a quick nod, and simply replied, “Mhm.”

After a long moment, she finally heard the soft sound of the door closing.
He was gone at last.

Compared to the “magic snail girl,” he was certainly less efficient, but he was still more diligent than most men who wouldn’t lift a finger.

Gone was gone.

Qian Xu would never have thought herself dependent on Zhao Buhui. Previously, they just played along with each other, only because they were in the same boat and had shared interests. But the moment he left, her rented 90-square-meter apartment suddenly felt emptier. She grabbed a cushion, hugged it to shake off the vague sense of emptiness, and forced herself to focus on the charts and reference data she needed for the New Year’s meeting.

She thought she must be suffering from some psychological issue; otherwise, why else would she work herself to the bone for someone and still celebrate his birthday?

While reflecting on her own indecision, she received a call from an unfamiliar number.

Ever since that call from little Shen Xiyue, Qian Xu had been cautious about picking up calls from unknown numbers. But soon enough, Li Xiyin messaged her on WeChat, complaining, “How come you’re not even picking up my calls?”

Qian Xu called her back, “Hey, Xiyin. What’s up?”

“Qian Xu, aren’t you being a bit too heartless?” Li Xiyin murmured, “I’m one of your best friends from the U.S., and yet you didn’t even reach out after coming back to China?”

“You’re in Jiangcheng, too?”

“I came back to work and have been adjusting to the local work culture, so I’ve been busy and just hadn’t thought to reach out.” Qian Xu didn’t lie; she’d spent her first two weeks back getting her work in order.

Her hometown was only an hour away by train from Jiangcheng, yet she hadn’t even returned for a visit.

Li Xiyin then asked cheerfully, “So how about we schedule a coffee sometime?”

Qian Xu wasn’t sure why, but out of politeness, or maybe her old self would never have refused, she hesitated. Perhaps it was an instinct, or maybe it was how Li Xiyin’s excessive attention to every detail of her interactions with Shen Qi made her less interested in reconnecting right now.

When Li Xiyin had mentioned feeling isolated in the U.S., Qian Xu felt sympathetic. When she complained about a tutoring gig she’d found on Taobao getting canceled due to a complaint from a female parent, Qian Xu had offered her support, even sending her a small token of $500, which wasn’t insignificant for someone with modest means.

But now that they were both back in China, Qian Xu figured Li Xiyin would have plenty of old friends around and didn’t need her company anymore.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’ll have time to grab afternoon tea.”