Friday night, 9 p.m., Beiwan Airport.

Driver Chen had parked the Maybach early at the pickup point. As Fu Yingcheng emerged from the airport, a light snowfall began to drift from the sky.

The man, tall and lean, walked without an umbrella, with a few stray snowflakes landing on his broad shoulders.

Driver Chen opened the car door for him and keenly noticed that his mood was very sour.

It was the kind of mood that came from nonstop work, lack of sleep, and a string of frustrating events. It’s a cold, icy bad mood.

Once in the car, Fu Yingcheng made a call to Han Wentao. With just a few curt sentences, he ordered him to return from Germany immediately. From that moment on, the European Project Division would be fully handed over to Zhang Jian.

The person on the other end of the line was urgently and loudly defending himself, but Fu Yingcheng coldly interrupted, saying only one sentence: “I warned you last time. How many more chances do you think you’ll get?”

After hanging up, Fu Yingcheng called Secretary Wen, instructing her to arrange a senior management personnel meeting for the next morning to go through the formalities of a job handover.

The two phone calls caused the temperature in the already well-heated car to drop significantly.

Fu Yingcheng sent a few short messages and then pressed his fingers against his brow. “Driver Chen, the items…”

“They’ve already been delivered,” Driver Chen replied. “I left them on the doormat at your door.”

“Good.”

Driver Chen hesitated for a moment before carefully speaking up, “…When I was delivering the items, I also ran into Miss Ji.”

The atmosphere in the car subtly but unmistakably shifted.

Fu Yingcheng raised his eyes, silently glancing at Driver Chen through the rearview mirror.

Driver Chen continued, “She was carrying a bag of pomegranates. It seemed like she intended to give them to you.”

“She left it at the door as well?”

“No, since you weren’t home, she took it with her,” Driver Chen added. “I noticed she might have trouble going back alone, so I gave her a ride.”

Fu Yingcheng responded with a simple “Mm,” his gaze shifting to the window, seemingly indifferent.

Driver Chen’s words weren’t meant to seek credit. With Fu Yingcheng away on his business trip to Shanghai, he didn’t have much else to do anyway. Driving was just part of his job, and he mentioned it casually without any ulterior motive.

Fine snow fell onto the windshield, only to be swept away rhythmically by the wipers.

After passing through two traffic lights and driving for about fifteen minutes, a soft, almost casual sigh came from the back seat. It drifted faintly, as if spoken absentmindedly:

“…She’s just someone who borrowed money from me, trying to repay a favor.”

Driver Chen was taken aback.

Was he talking to him?

Still thinking about this matter?

Driver Chen mulled over it for a while, unable to figure out what conclusion Mr. Fu was drawing. After some hesitation, he cautiously said, “But I feel like Miss Ji is genuine. If it’s just borrowing money, paying it back should be enough, right?”

“You don’t understand her,” Fu Yingcheng’s voice was calm and emotionless, like still water without a ripple.

“—She’s the kind of person who only wants to settle the score with others.”

By all accounts, with Fu Yingcheng saying this much, Driver Chen should have kept quiet.

But after driving for twenty years since his youth, Driver Chen had become quite sharp. Subtly, he picked up on a certain something in Fu Yingcheng’s words that seemed… special.

Sometimes, when a person outwardly argues with others, deep down, they might desperately wish to be contradicted.

“But,” Driver Chen said, “it was past eleven at night. Making a trip at that hour couldn’t have been easy. If it was just for fresh fruit, she could have waited until her day off to come.”

The car fell into silence.

The heavy silence weighed on Driver Chen, making him feel uneasy. At a red light, he shifted the gear into park and discreetly glanced at the rearview mirror.

The man, dressed in a long, jet-black coat, wasn’t working in the back seat as he usually did. Instead, he sat with his profile turned toward the window.

The interplay of night lights filtered through the dark-tinted windows, casting a stark and chilly outline on his face, highlighting his sharp, refined features. He looked like a silent, noble statue.

His lips were tightly pressed together.

But at the corners of his mouth, there was the faintest, nearly imperceptible upward curve that lingered for a long time, refusing to fall.

Driver Chen: “…”

Is he… happy?

For the first time, Driver Chen realized that Mr. Fu could actually be quite easily pleased.

As soon as Fu Yingcheng shifted slightly, Driver Chen immediately withdrew his gaze.

The man remained silent for two seconds before speaking: “Head to Jixing Street.”

Driver Chen: “Understood, Mr. Fu.”

Beiwan Airport was located in the suburbs, so by the time they arrived at Jixing Street, it was already past ten.

A light, thin snow was falling from the sky. The street was quiet, most of the customers had left, and the servers were finally enjoying a rare moment of leisure, some watching videos in the corner, others eating fried rice at the tables.

The girl at the front desk had been idly playing on her phone, half-asleep. But the moment she saw Fu Yingcheng’s face, she instantly perked up and energetically greeted, “Hello, how many of you?” Without responding, Fu Yingcheng glanced briefly around the interior, then turned and stepped out through the curtain.

Ji Fanling wasn’t there.

Fu Yingcheng stepped into the snow and didn’t see her in the outdoor plastic canopy either. Just as he was about to send a message, he suddenly heard faint voices coming from behind the building.

Following the sound, he looked toward the space between two shops. At the end of a short, pitch-dark alley, under the eaves, a girl sat on a plastic stool with her back to him, absentmindedly playing on her phone.

A high school student wearing a short padded jacket was squatting in front of her, looking a bit exasperated. “Sister, if you have any conditions, you can just say them.”

Ji Fanling sighed.

As Fu Yingcheng approached, he saw her put down her phone and lift her chin slightly. “You want me to say it?”

“Yes, say it, please say it,” the boy replied eagerly.

“Although last time, I did go to Jiang Family Noodles with Fu Yingcheng.”

In the narrow alley, the sound of polished leather shoes stepping on thin snow came to an instinctive halt.

Jiang Baixing didn’t understand why she brought this up. “Yeah, I know.”

“It was a… special situation. Fu Yingcheng helped me a lot, just like he helped you. I also owe him money.”

The girl spoke slowly, her words crisp and distinct in the night breeze.

“But, apart from that,” she said,

“—Fu Yingcheng and I, in truth, don’t have much of a relationship.”

Her voice was distant and indifferent, as cold as the thin snow falling into the narrow alley from the vast night sky above.

It was as if an invisible vortex began to swirl and engulf everything, swallowing the remaining words and unspoken thoughts into silence.

The world suddenly became eerily quiet, leaving only the heavy thudding of a heartbeat, the faint whir of wind and snow filling the ears, and the sound of footsteps retreating slowly.

No one noticed him, and no one followed.

The only thing that caught up to him was his own voice, echoing clearly in his mind, every word cutting straight to the heart.

…

“She’s the kind of person who only wants to settle the score with others.”

Even though he knew this better than anyone, he still allowed himself to be easily swayed by someone else’s casual words, nurturing unrealistic hopes.

It was utterly ridiculous.

Exactly the same as ten years ago.

The scene rewound to a Friday evening in 2011, during his first year of high school.

In the bookstore, Fu Yingcheng picked out a few newly released sets of practice exams for the joint entrance tests and some physics competition books. After paying, he walked out.

The moment he stepped away from the air-conditioned coolness inside, the sweltering summer air rushed at him, making him feel as if he had stepped into a hot, humid steamer.

He disliked this kind of weather. Carrying the plastic bag, he walked quickly along the street, only to catch an unintentional glimpse of a girl on the roadside.

She was wearing a school uniform, hands in her pockets, head lowered as she aimlessly kicked at a pebble beneath her feet while walking forward without purpose.

Fu Yingcheng’s steps instinctively slowed, keeping a distance that was neither too close nor too far, following behind her.

After all, they were heading in the same direction, and he… wasn’t in a hurry.

After walking several dozen steps, Fu Yingcheng finally lifted his lashes and, without drawing attention, glanced sideways.

At that moment, the light from a nearby shop illuminated Ji Fanling’s pale neck.

There, a streak of bright red blood snaked downward, vivid and striking.

Fu Yingcheng’s heart skipped a beat, his eyelids tightening as he quickened his pace and caught up to her, grabbing her arm.

“…You’re bleeding.”

…

Because Ji Fanling refused to go to the hospital, Fu Yingcheng had no choice but to help her treat the wound himself.

In truth, such a serious injury couldn’t possibly be properly dealt with using just cotton swabs and iodine. Yet Ji Fanling seemed quite content, pulling up her collar to cover her neck. “That should do it, right?”

Fu Yingcheng lowered his eyes and handed her the remaining medication and cotton swabs.

Ji Fanling reached out to take them. “Thank you.”

Just as she was about to leave, she seemed to think of something and asked Fu Yingcheng, “What time is it now?”

Fu Yingcheng glanced at his watch. “Almost eight.”

“Do you have time?”

Fu Yingcheng’s brows relaxed slightly, thinking she had finally come to her senses. “Beiwan First Hospital isn’t far from here. If we head there now, we can still—”

Ji Fanling interrupted, “Perfect. Come with me somewhere.”

Fu Yingcheng was momentarily stunned. “Where to?”

“You’ll know when we get there.”

Ji Fanling took two steps forward, then turned slightly, noticing he was still standing in place, she asked, “Are you coming?”

It wasn’t even a particularly sincere invitation.

Amid the bright lights in the background, the girl stood in the bustling crowd, looking at him.

Her slightly pale face, damp with sweat, held eyes that were strikingly clear, black and white distinct, quiet yet fragile.

It seemed that if he said “no,” she would simply go on her own.

…

Fu Yingcheng began walking toward her.

---

Author’s Note:

How could this not count as the first date?

For the sake of Chichi working so hard on updates, go ahead and bookmark Chichi’s author profile!

Red envelopes in the comment section!