Six winters ago.
Friday evening laid neon over Liangcheng like silk. Damp cold pressed up from the river; breath hung like pale thread. Lanterns and signs blinked in puddles the afternoon rain left behind, and steam rose from street stalls as if the city were warming its hands.
Between a karaoke bar of glass doors and a small pharmacy, Xianghe Noodle House buzzed under a red sign. Modest place. Always full. Locals swore by its wonton noodles and its late-night kindness.
"Trust me—unbeatable," Xu Hao said, grinning as he shouldered open the door. A wash of broth heat rolled over them; the windows were fogged, and the door's glass exhaled when it closed. Tall, broad-shouldered, laugh that travelled faster than he did—he had the easy charm of someone who never tried too hard and still won a room. "But the real reason it's packed? The waitress. Everyone calls her Sunny. You'll see. Cute, friendly, unforgettable. Half the regulars come back for her."
Gu Ze Yan followed, skeptical, amused.
He was not the kind of man who vanished in a crowd. Six feet, clean lines, the neat cut of hair that framed a youthful, sharp profile; that dangerous mixture—refined confidence with boyish lightness. At banquets and in boardrooms, attention slid toward him without effort. Admiration followed him like a second shadow. He wore it lightly. He rarely thought about it.
But as the warmth of broth and soy closed around him, he was unprepared for her.
She moved quickly between tables, balancing two bowls in one hand as if the noise knew to part. Lin Qing Yun. Medium-length black hair brushed her cheek when she leaned; her skin was pale, the kitchen heat putting a faint winter-rose in her face. The cold outside had nipped her ears; the warmth gave them back their color. She needed no makeup; her lashes were dark and long, and her eyes—bright, almost sparkling—caught the fluorescent glare and turned it soft. She did not try to be the center; the room simply curved to make space for her.
"Two wonton noodles—warm you right up, please enjoy!"
Her voice was clear, lilting, warm enough to ease office shoulders and untie commuting jaws. Laughter rose where she was. Under her smile, the diner felt brighter, as if the red neon outside were only echoing something she carried in.
Ze Yan's gaze followed before he noticed it had moved.
"See?" Xu Hao's elbow found his ribs, grin wide. "Not just wontons."
So that's the name she uses here—Sunny.
He had seen her before. The bookstore café near his office—the same cheerful smile, the same tidy warmth. There, the name tag read Lin Qing Yun. She had hummed as she stacked paperbacks, arranging them as if shelves were puzzles and she knew where the corners hid. Now, caught between steam and neon, she seemed even more radiant.
Qing Yun reached their table, pen poised, the brightness she gave everyone landing on them like light.
"Welcome. What would you like to order?"
Before Ze Yan could speak, Xu Hao leaned forward, confident. "Sunny, right? You remembered me last time—extra chili oil on the wontons."
Her eyes lit in recognition. "Ah! The spicy-noodles guy. Of course." She tapped her notepad against her chin, playful. "You almost gave the chef a heart attack with that much chili."
They laughed together. Xu Hao basked, pleased to be remembered.
Something shifted under Ze Yan's ribs.
She remembers him.
His gaze flicked to Xu Hao, then back. Xu Hao was attractive, open, easy—but Ze Yan was not accustomed to being second in anyone's notice. Women usually looked at him first—the elegant one, the smile that dissolved distance. Yet here, Xu Hao held the advantage; her laughter bent toward him as if pulled.
Qing Yun scribbled their order, eyes passing briefly over Ze Yan before she turned away. He told himself that brief touch of gaze was different, that her smile softened—just a fraction—when it landed on him.
The bowls arrived fast, steam curling rich and fragrant. She set them down with practiced care, then slid condiments nearer to Xu Hao with a conspirator's grin.
"Chili oil's on the side this time. I promised the chef I'd protect his broth."
"You saved him," Xu Hao laughed easily.
Ze Yan said nothing. His chopsticks hovered; his attention didn't. He was used to catching eyes like stray coins. But this girl—this Sunny, this Lin Qing Yun—seemed more interested in the friend at his table. The thought slipped under his skin like a fine thorn.
When they were finished, she returned to clear bowls, humming a tune that didn't need a name. Neon from the window painted her face in color; for a moment she looked almost unreal—bright, warm, untouchable.
He reached for his phone to scan the code at the counter. She glanced up as he slid it from his pocket; her eyes caught his. For the briefest moment, her smile shifted—smaller, gentler, as if recognizing something she couldn't place.
His heartbeat quickened. He couldn't leave with that small unease still stirring.
He stepped closer, lowered his voice so only she could hear. The tone was steady, edged with something unfamiliar even to him.
"Do you remember me?"