As the group settled back into an easy rhythm—Su Wanyan still needling Shen Guoxing about the finished ice cream, Shen Guoxing pointedly maintaining vocal rest by refusing all eye contact related to dairy.
Conversation drifted. Someone refilled a glass. Mo Yan remained asleep in the stroller with the absolute commitment of someone who had clocked out of the adult agenda hours ago.
Then two noisy individuals arrived.
"Yo!"
The call cut across the table with zero interest in subtlety. Heads turned in unison. A short distance down the path, Qin Yuran was already waving, one arm high, energy apparently undimmed by forest, bus aisle, or whatever unsupervised medical practice had filled the gap since anyone last saw her. Zhao Yichen trailed in her wake, looking marginally more travel-worn, slightly stained in places that did not invite immediate questions, and significantly less triumphant.
