The bookstore on Haiyun Road wasn't large, but winter made it a refuge. Wooden shelves drank the lamplight; the air smelled of paper and a faint hint of heater dust. Lamps shaped like old lanterns threw warm pools that pushed the damp cold back from the door. A small reading corner sat by the window, where two armchairs faced the street's fog-touched glass.
The bell chimed as Gu Ze Yan pushed the door open. A small draft followed him in; the pane breathed a thin fog before clearing. Outside, traffic pressed on; inside, the hush wrapped around him like a second skin.
At the register, Lin Qing Yun sat with her elbows on the counter, chin lightly propped, a thick English novel open before her. She turned the page with care, lips moving almost imperceptibly as if tasting the words. The faded blue cover read Great Expectations. A paper cup of warm water sat by her elbow; between paragraphs she wrapped her fingers around it.
Her hair was tied back loosely, one strand falling over her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear without looking up.
"Sunny, can you help me shelve this?" a coworker asked, approaching with a stack of books.
"Sure," she said easily, slipping a scrap of paper into the book as a marker before rising. She lifted half the stack with both hands, moving toward the nearest shelf.
Sunny. Always Sunny. Yet on her apron, the name tag still read: Lin Qing Yun.
Ze Yan felt a faint curve tug at his mouth.
He drifted toward nonfiction, pulling a few titles from the shelf. To anyone watching, he looked like a serious reader, weighing spines and flipping through indexes. In truth, he was only half-focused, scanning words that blurred together: "artificial intelligence," "neural networks," "future society." Useful for his company, perhaps, but not tonight's pursuit. In a dark wool coat, he looked taller in the narrow aisles; winter light filed his profile to clean edges.
The bell chimed again; a pair of college girls tumbled in, scarves still looped. Their chatter softened when they spotted him. They lingered near philosophy, pretending to browse while glancing more at him than the books. He ignored it, turning a page, posture straight and elegant—only making him more conspicuous.
"Sunny!" a man's voice boomed. A regular customer waved a receipt toward the counter.
"Coming!" Qing Yun returned with a small smile, setting down the books she'd just shelved.
Her gaze swept the room—and landed on him. For a flicker of a moment, her eyes widened in recognition. Then the easy brightness returned.
"Ah," she said, walking toward the counter, "you're… chili-guy's friend."
Ze Yan closed the book he hadn't been reading and looked up at her. "So you do remember me."
"Of course." Light, polite, as if stating the obvious. "You came with him last night."
"Not me?" he asked, feigning injury.
Her lips tilted. "You didn't nearly poison the chef."
From the corner, the two college girls giggled. One finally mustered courage, stepping forward with her phone. "Excuse me… could we add your WeChat?"
Ze Yan blinked, faintly amused. "Why?"
The girl flushed. "Because—well—you seem… interesting."
Behind the counter, Qing Yun straightened receipts, expression unreadable.
He glanced at the phone, then back at the girl, and let his smile turn gentle. "I'm sorry. I can't."
The girl hesitated. "Why not?"
"I'm already pursuing someone." Light tone, final edge.
Their eyes widened. The other tugged her sleeve, whispering furiously as they retreated toward the door, scarves bobbing.
When he turned back, Qing Yun was watching him with a look he couldn't read. Then she blinked; calm smoothed her features.
"You're good at turning people down," she said.
"I'm better at pursuing," he answered, letting the words hang just long enough.
Her brows lifted a fraction, but a customer arrived with a stack of books, pulling her away.
Ze Yan returned to the shelves, flipping through another thick volume. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.
Xu Hao: At the bookstore yet?
Gu Ze Yan: Yes.
Xu Hao: Did she faint at your beauty?
Gu Ze Yan: She remembered you.
Xu Hao: Ah. As she should.
Gu Ze Yan: She called me your friend.
Xu Hao: Ouch. Respect my aura.
Gu Ze Yan: She reads Dickens. In English.
Xu Hao: …What?
Gu Ze Yan: Never mind.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket, lips twitching.
At the counter, Qing Yun reopened her book during a lull. Her lips shaped the words silently; her eyes narrowed as if weighing meaning. That faint crease appeared between her brows again, focus tugging at him strangely.
She wasn't performing now. Not smiling, not radiating light—just still, absorbed, face calm and bare. That expression made him want to stand there longer than he meant to.
When she noticed him approach with two books in hand, she closed hers quickly and straightened.
"Did you find what you wanted?" she asked.
"For now." He placed them on the counter.
She scanned the codes, fingers swift. "Do you need a bag?"
"No."
"Receipt?"
"Yes."
She handed it over. Their fingers brushed for half a second—enough to make him aware of how steady hers were.
"Sunny," her coworker called from the back, "can you help with stock?"
"I'll be there in a minute." She glanced at him again. "Enjoy the books."
He nodded. "Enjoy Dickens."
For the first time, something flickered across her face—quick, unreadable. Then the brightness returned.
He stepped out into the evening air. Knit caps bobbed past the window; the damp-cold pressed its face to the glass and left a brief mist. His phone buzzed again.
Xu Hao: So? Victory?
Gu Ze Yan: She remembers me as your friend.
Xu Hao: Brother, take what you can get. Next step: upgrade to 'regular customer.'
Gu Ze Yan: Tomorrow, maybe.
He pocketed the phone, turning down the street. Behind him, lamplight fell over Lin Qing Yun, her head bent once more over her book, lips moving silently over a foreign language most of the city would never read.
For a moment, the corners of her mouth eased downward. The brightness slipped away, leaving a calm, blank face—serene but empty, like a curtain lowered when the stage is dark.
It lasted only a breath. A coworker spoke her name; the smile sprang back as if it had never left.
But Gu Ze Yan had seen it.
He stood on the sidewalk longer than he intended, the hum of traffic blurring around him. He'd been admired enough to know when something was real and when it wasn't.
And this girl—this "Sunny"—was too bright. Too perfect.
He adjusted the strap of his bag, a decision forming before he admitted it aloud.
Xu Hao's last message buzzed:
Xu Hao: Careful, brother. If you chase too hard, she'll run faster.
Ze Yan didn't reply. He slipped the phone away, eyes lingering on the bookstore's warm window.
He didn't want to chase anymore.
He wanted to catch up.