Sitting in the car, Fang Tianzhuo felt a surge of excitement. Just months ago, he'd scoured the streets for a bowl of instant noodles; now he had a car of his own. Happiness came too fast, and too late—if only it had arrived sooner, maybe Xu Yanran wouldn't have left.
Staring at the dashboard's buttons, he felt a twinge of insecurity. Driving school had taught him the basics—clutch, brake, gas, gearshift, handbrake—but real cars had so many extra knobs. Gao Tianwei worked as a driver and bodyguard; he could ask him.
He pulled out his phone, but a call came in first—Li Xiaochan.
"Tianzhuo? I'm off tonight. Got time? Let's gather—invite Yanran too." She clearly didn't know Yanran was history.
"Sure. I'll ask Tianwei." He set a time and place, then dialed Tianwei—convenient, since he needed to talk to him anyway.
"Tianwei, we're meeting tonight. Xiaochan's coming."
"Can't. The CEO's keeping me busy. Have fun." Tianwei hung up.
Was Zhengyang planning something? With the recent uproar, they must be desperate. Donghua's press conference had probably thrown them into chaos, but Zhengyang never backed down easily. Fang Tianzhuo frowned.
He arrived at Nanhu Tea House just after 7 PM, stuck in rush-hour traffic on the Yangtze River bridges. His driving skills were rusty, so he'd taken a slow detour around the inner ring road.
Li Xiaochan waited outside, stunning in a thin beige jacket over a tight black sweater, blue jeans emphasizing her long, straight legs. From a distance, her elegance and beauty stood out—but she looked fragile, not the sharp professional he'd seen at Longxiang.
Xiaochan noticed he was alone, confusion flickering.
"Tianzhuo? Where's Yanran?"
Her question hit him like a punch. The past few days' busyness had numbed the pain, but now it rushed back.
For men, besides alcohol, work was the best anesthesia for heartache.
"Tianwei's tied up. As for Yanran… I didn't tell her. We broke up." His voice was flat, but the sorrow seeped through.
Xiaochan froze, mouth hanging open, a silent "oh" trapped on her lips.
"Tianzhuo, I'm sorry—I didn't know. Don't be sad." Guilt colored her tone.
He forced a smile, gesturing to the Passat. "I'm not sad. Life's good. See? My new car. Anytime you need a ride, just ask." He put on a cheerful front, but it felt hollow.
They settled in a quiet corner, ordering Longjing tea, snacks, and dishes. Fang Tianzhuo asked for bitter melon tea—only its sharpness could match his mood. Lately, he always chose corner seats in restaurants, drawn to the silence, to watching the world without being watched.
Over tea and snacks, pressed by Xiaochan's questions, he poured out everything since their last meeting at Longxiang—omitting, of course, the one-night stand with Chen Yuqi. Speaking it aloud lifted a weight; he felt lighter, clearer.
Xiaochan listened, tears streaming down her face. She stared at him, her eyes soft with pity—but more than that, with love.
He knew her feelings well. Back in middle school, she and Yanran had vied for his attention, a rivalry paused only when Xiaochan flunked the college entrance exam. She'd kept in touch during his first two years at university, but vanished once he and Yanran got serious.
Now Yanran was gone, and he was single again.
But he could never return Xiaochan's feelings.
Gao Tianwei was the reason. Since childhood, Tianwei had doted on Xiaochan, fighting countless battles for her—over a stray comment, a lingering glance. He'd even punched Fang Tianzhuo a few times for "flirting" (innocently, he swore). To want Xiaochan would be a betrayal.
A man could be poor, could be loveless—but he couldn't lose his honor.
Xiaochan's gaze made him squirm. In the dim light, their quiet table, her rapt expression—they looked like lovers.
The tension choked him.
He drained his bitter tea, the bitterness burning down his throat. The snacks were nearly gone, but Xiaochan still stared, silent, lost in thought.
"Xiaochan, it's late. Let's go."
"No. We need to drink—celebrate your promotion." Her tone was earnest.
"And toast my escape from the darkness." He meant it, though his voice wavered.
"Perfect. Wait in the car." She dashed outside.
Fang Tianzhuo had just pulled out when Xiaochan returned, lugging two bulging plastic bags. He took them—heavy—and peeked inside: cans of beer, stacked to the top.
He knew she wanted him to drown his sorrows, but last time he'd drunk too much, he'd ended up in bed with a stranger. No harm done, technically, but it left a guilty knot. Drinking with Xiaochan, alone… who knew what might happen? His tolerance was terrible, anyway.
Xiaochan slid into the passenger seat, grinning at his hesitation. "Drive. Let's get some wind by the lake."
The night breeze at Nanhu was mild but chilly. Xiaochan shivered as she popped open a beer. He felt a pang, shrugging off his coat and draping it over her—quick, polite. She teared up, her lower lip trembling.
"Wait here. I'll find firewood—build a bonfire." He said it softly.
"Me too!" She lit up, clearly imagining something romantic.
Winter's dryness made kindling easy; a fire roared to life soon. Its glow flickered over Xiaochan's face, highlighting her unspoken excitement.
They drank by the fire, laughing like old times. Xiaochan was radiant, her eyes bright and soft in the flames.
"Tianzhuo, another toast!" She chugged her beer, grinning.
He stared, then followed suit.
Xiaochan could hold her liquor. Her family had run a distillery in their hometown for generations—her grandfather and father were local legends, both drinkers and connoisseurs. With no sons to carry on the business, it had died out, but Xiaochan had inherited their tolerance.
He remembered a middle school incident: Tianwei had angered her, so they'd bet on drinking. She'd snuck a jar of fresh liquor from home, and Tianwei had passed out cold. Xiaochan? She'd gone to class, stone-cold sober. Maybe that's when Tianwei's adoration had turned into something deeper—something that still burned.
The memory made him smile, nostalgia warming him.
"Tianzhuo? What's funny? I'm glad you're smiling." She looked so happy.
He told her the story. Xiaochan blushed, her ears turning pink.
"Did that make you think I'm not a girl?" She suddenly asked.
"Not at all. I've always thought you're beautiful, gentle—womanly." He was surprised by his own words.
"Then why avoid me all these years? Because of Yanran? Because of Tianwei?" Liquor loosened her tongue.
He nodded, helpless.
"Now you're single. Can you accept me?" She finally said it, her voice steady.
He froze, then shook his head, slowly.
"I get it. I'll talk to Tianwei." She sounded defeated.
"I'm tired. Can I borrow your shoulder?" She asked, tentative.
"Of course." He shifted closer, offering it gently.