Chapter 25: When Past and Present Collide

 

The atmosphere hung heavy between them, thick as the steam rising from the bubbling hotpot.

In the sudden quiet, only the gentle gurgling of soup broke the silence. Wisps of smoke curled upward, creating a hazy veil that softened Sang Yan's sharp features into something almost ethereal.

"I never intended to choose that major originally." Wen Yifan's voice came out softer than intended as she lowered her gaze, the lie rolling off her tongue with practiced ease. "There was an issue with my predicted scores. I couldn't get into what I really wanted, so they reassigned me to New Media."

Sang Yan's eyes lingered on her face for a heartbeat longer before he turned away, raising his glass with deliberate casualness.

Sang Zhi glanced between them, sensing undercurrents she couldn't quite grasp—like watching a conversation conducted in a language she didn't speak.

Seemingly oblivious to the tension crackling around them, Wen Yifan continued with forced brightness. "But these days, students can see their actual scores before applying. You can reference previous years' cutoff lines to get a realistic sense of your chances."

"Got it," Sang Zhi replied obediently, grateful for the lifeline. "Thank you, Sister Yifan."

The conversation drifted toward safer shores, the earlier moment of raw tension carefully buried beneath polite small talk.

After dinner, Sang Yan—having fulfilled his cooking duties—retreated to the living room with the air of nobility avoiding menial labor, phone already in hand.

Sang Zhi automatically started toward the sofa, but paused when she noticed Wen Yifan beginning to clear the table. Something in the older woman's quiet efficiency made her turn back.

"You should go study," Wen Yifan said with a gentle smile. "I can handle this."

"It's really no trouble," Sang Zhi insisted, already stacking plates. "It'll be quick with two of us."

"Then could you help me gather those dishes?"

"Of course."

They worked in comfortable silence for exactly thirty seconds.

"Sister Yifan?" Sang Zhi's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, curiosity finally getting the better of her. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"What is it?"

"Feel free to ignore me if this is too nosy," Sang Zhi said, her cheeks pinking with embarrassment, "but did you and my brother ever... date? In the past?"

The question hung in the air like a soap bubble, fragile and shimmering.

"No," Wen Yifan replied, her voice carefully neutral. "We didn't."

The answer didn't surprise Sang Zhi. "I was wondering because my parents mentioned he had some kind of premature romance in high school. And then when I remembered how I 'got lost' and ended up meeting you that time..." She trailed off meaningfully.

"..."

"So he tried to pursue you but didn't succeed," Sang Zhi mused, her detective instincts kicking in. "And then later he moved on to—"

"Kid." Sang Yan's voice cut through her speculation like a blade.

Sang Zhi spun around. "What?"

"Time to go." He was already shrugging into his jacket, his tone brooking no argument. "I'll take you home."

"But I haven't finished—" Sang Zhi's expression crumpled with disappointment. The gossip had just been getting good.

"Weren't you desperate to get back to your practice questions?" His eyebrow arched skeptically. "Or was that just for show?"

Defeated, Sang Zhi turned to Wen Yifan with an apologetic smile. "We'll continue this conversation next time, Sister Yifan. I'm leaving now."

Wen Yifan looked up from the dishes, her expression unreadable. "Safe travels."

Outside the apartment complex, Sang Yan flagged down a taxi.

Once they were settled in the backseat, Sang Zhi couldn't contain herself any longer. "Brother, your attitude toward Sister Yifan is terrible. She's so nice, and her voice is so gentle too."

Sang Zhi had met most of her brother's friends—a rowdy collection of guys who seemed to compete over who could be the most obnoxious. Sang Yan treated them all with equal disdain, his words cutting and arrogant, often leaving them ready to throttle him on the spot.

But his treatment of Wen Yifan was different. Colder. More distant. Each word delivered with icy precision.

Having no other female acquaintances of his to compare it to, Sang Zhi wasn't sure if this qualified as normal behavior.

"Is this seriously your idea of flirting?" she continued, studying his profile with the intensity of a researcher. "Because honestly, just looking at you two, you seem like you're from completely different worlds."

Sang Yan's gaze flicked toward her, unreadable.

"Girls don't like that kind of attitude, you know," Sang Zhi pressed on, warming to her role as relationship advisor. "They prefer gentle guys. Good-tempered ones. Attentive ones. Not someone who acts like they're invisible half the time. Family background doesn't matter as much as—"

She paused, thinking of his extended unemployment streak. "You just need ambition and work ethic. Not to be some unemployed couch potato."

"Is Duan Jiaxu your ideal type?" Sang Yan's question came out flat, cutting.

The effect was immediate. Sang Zhi's mouth snapped shut like she'd been slapped.

The rest of the ride passed in merciful silence.

When they reached her building, Sang Zhi climbed out and was startled to see Sang Yan remaining in his seat.

"Aren't you coming up?" she asked, confusion evident.

"You can go alone."

Reality dawned. "You're not coming home tonight?"

"Mm."

"Aren't you afraid Mom and Dad will murder you?" Sang Zhi stared at him in disbelief. "You need to call them yourself. I'm not covering for you when they ask where you are."

Sang Yan made a dismissive sound. "What's wrong with making something up for me?"

"I—"

"Later." The taxi was already pulling away, leaving Sang Zhi standing alone on the sidewalk.

Back in her room, Wen Yifan sat at her desk, phone in hand. Several messages from Zhao Yuandong waited for her—the usual reminders to take care of herself during the busy holiday season, invitations to visit when she had time.

She typed back a simple "Okay."

Opening a drama on her phone, she tried to focus on the screen, but her mind kept drifting back to Sang Zhi's casual revelation.

"My parents mentioned that my brother had a premature romance in high school."

If her memory served her correctly, they were talking about her.

The teachers had called them both in twice—once in their first year, once in their second—convinced they were secretly dating. The embarrassment of those meetings still made her cringe.

Her phone's shrill ring jolted her back to the present.

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" Zhong Siqiao's voice came through tinged with exhaustion.

"Mm."

"God, I haven't seen you in days."

Wen Yifan smiled despite herself. "We'll have other chances."

"Why do we have to live so far apart..." Zhong Siqiao's dramatic sigh carried through the phone. "I've been making the rounds with relatives. It's exhausting and mind-numbing. Half of them want to know if I'm dating anyone, the other half are trying to set me up. It's like they coordinated their interrogation tactics."

"How are things with your crush?"

"I thought we were making progress, but he still hasn't made a move." Frustration bled through Zhong Siqiao's voice. "Is he keeping me as backup? Waiting for some grand romantic moment to declare himself?"

"There's nothing wrong with taking the initiative if you like him. But you need to be sure about what kind of person he—"

The sound of the front door opening and closing made her pause mid-sentence.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just heard something in the living room." Wen Yifan hadn't expected him to return tonight. "Probably Sang Yan coming back."

"He's not staying home on the third night of New Year?"

Before Wen Yifan could respond, Zhong Siqiao continued, "I still think it's weird that you two are roommates. Didn't he used to like you? Nothing's happened between you?"

"We barely see each other," Wen Yifan answered honestly.

"Fair enough. It has been years, after all."

The university conversation from dinner crept back into Wen Yifan's thoughts. "Qiaoqiao, was Xiang Lang really planning to apply to Yihe University? I don't remember him mentioning it."

"He did bring it up a few times early in our first year," Zhong Siqiao said, understanding immediately. "You're thinking about what he said during that truth-or-dare game, aren't you? I wanted to call him out on it too, but I held my tongue."

"..."

"He was just being a complete ass. Those words were deliberately aimed at Sang Yan. They had bad blood when they ended up in the same class senior year." Zhong Siqiao's laugh held no humor. "Oh, I forgot to tell you—after we dropped you off, the idiot accidentally let something slip. He said he was so used to getting under Sang Yan's skin that he forgot how much time had passed. Apparently Sang Yan's gotten too cold now, takes all the fun out of provoking him. Back in the day, comments like that would've started epic wars of sarcasm."

"..."

They talked for another twenty minutes before hanging up.

Wen Yifan stood, intending to shower, but found herself picking up her phone again. She opened her chat with Sang Yan and began typing slowly: [About what Xiang Lang said regarding going to Yihe University with me]

Her fingers hovered over the screen, the cursor blinking accusingly.

Minutes ticked by.

Finally, she exhaled and deleted every word.

Forget it.

How much time had passed since all that? Bringing it up now would seem strange, forced. Besides, she hadn't handled the situation well back then either.

Even if she wanted to explain now, what reason could she possibly give?

The brief three-day holiday ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Wen Yifan returned to her relentless routine—eyes opening meant preparation to leave, eyes closing meant immediate sleep after the bare minimum of washing up. The tentative warmth that had emerged between her and Sang Yan seemed to evaporate along with the holiday spirit.

They reverted to their previous dynamic: daily sightings, minimal conversation.

Still, Wen Yifan couldn't call their coexistence unpleasant. At most, it maintained the status quo—fulfilling their original agreement of non-interference, each living their separate lives within shared walls.

February slipped away almost without notice.

As if overnight, winter's bitter grip loosened, and spring's gentle touch began warming the world back to life.

Wen Yifan had skipped visiting Zhao Yuandong during the Spring Festival, and perhaps because of this abandonment, her adoptive mother's contact frequency had increased dramatically. Daily conversations that inevitably circled back to the same refrain: "When will you find time to visit Mom?"

Growing tired of the persistent guilt trips, Wen Yifan finally decided to rip the band-aid off. One meeting to put an end to it. Surely after that, the constant messages would decrease.

She chose the day after Arbor Day for her visit.

Following Zhao Yuandong's directions, Wen Yifan took the subway to an upscale residential complex. Her adoptive mother was waiting at the entrance, resplendent in a flowing dress, her makeup subtle but perfect, her waist-length hair styled in elegant curls.

Time had been impossibly kind to Zhao Yuandong. She looked virtually unchanged from years past—breathtakingly beautiful with the sophisticated charm that came with age.

Wen Yifan had inherited most of her looks from this woman.

"Ajian, you're here!" Zhao Yuandong's excitement was palpable as she approached, her movements awkward with barely contained emotion. She settled for lightly touching Wen Yifan's arm. "You're wearing so little—aren't you cold?"

"It's fine." Wen Yifan lifted the bag of fruit she'd picked up on the way, managing a smile. "The weather's not bad."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with years of distance.

Zhao Yuandong's eyes traced her face hungrily, as if trying to memorize every detail. Gradually, tears began to gather, and she turned away. "Look at me, getting emotional..."

"Let's go inside first." Wen Yifan disliked emotional scenes and felt her patience already fraying. "I have things to do later, so I'll need to leave after dinner. I can't stay long."

"Of course, of course. Come home with Mom." Zhao Yuandong dabbed at her eyes. "I don't want to interfere with your work and rest. In the future, if you're not free, I can come to your place. If you ever want something special to eat, just call Mom and I'll come cook for you."

"I'm sharing a place with someone. I'd rather not disturb my roommate."

"Then visit more often when you have time." Zhao Yuandong looked her up and down with maternal concern. "Look how thin you are—there's no meat on your bones at all. Have you been eating properly?"

"I eat."

"Our Ajian has grown up so much," Zhao Yuandong sighed, studying her face. "So much prettier than before."

Wen Yifan offered another polite smile.

They entered the building together. The apartment was in a much more luxurious complex than Wen Yifan remembered—clearly Zhao Yuandong had moved up in the world since her remarriage.

In the elevator, Zhao Yuandong chatted nervously. "Oh, you haven't met Xinxin yet." Her smile brightened. "He's almost three now."

Xinxin—Zheng Kexin—was Wen Yifan's half-brother.

"Your Uncle Zheng is still at work," Zhao Yuandong continued as they reached their floor. "Jiajia isn't home either—she only comes back once every few weeks since starting university. She told me once that she was too young before and held too much malice toward you, but now she's matured and feels bad about it."

Wen Yifan made a noncommittal sound.

As Zhao Yuandong unlocked the door, she suddenly remembered something. "Oh, Ajian—your aunt is here too. When she heard you'd come to Nanwu, she specially came over from Beiyu today just to see you—"

The words hit Wen Yifan like cold water.

Through the doorway, she saw Che Yanqin emerge from an inner room—the same permed hair, the same coarse features that made her look older than her years, the same grating voice.

"Oh, Shuangjiang is here!" Che Yanqin approached with arms outstretched. "Come, come, let auntie have a good look at you."

Wen Yifan felt her body go rigid.

"How many years has it been?" Che Yanqin continued with false warmth. "You ungrateful child—after going off to university, it's like you forgot where home was. Not even coming back to see your aunt once."

Wen Yifan's expression went carefully blank as she turned questioning eyes toward Zhao Yuandong.

"Where's Xinxin?" Zhao Yuandong asked, oblivious to the tension.

"Sleeping. He ran around all afternoon and wore himself out." Che Yanqin's attention returned to Wen Yifan. "Shuangjiang has grown even more beautiful."

"Yes, she's absolutely stunning," Zhao Yuandong agreed, guiding Wen Yifan to the sofa. "Come sit with Mom and chat."

Che Yanqin settled on the opposite couch with practiced familiarity. "What kind of work is Shuangjiang doing now?"

When Wen Yifan didn't respond, Zhao Yuandong answered for her. "Same as when she was at Yihe—news reporting."

Che Yanqin frowned disapprovingly. "Doesn't that pay poorly? And it's such hard work."

"As long as Ajian enjoys it," Zhao Yuandong said diplomatically. "She doesn't need much, just enough to live comfortably."

"I suppose." Che Yanqin's hand shot out to pat Wen Yifan's arm, her voice taking on a scolding tone. "Shuangjiang, why don't you greet your aunt properly? Has all that studying made you forget your manners?"

Wen Yifan met her eyes but remained silent.

"Ajian's personality has become more reserved," Zhao Yuandong said quickly, her smile strained with embarrassment. "She doesn't talk much anymore... Ajian, what's wrong? Why won't you greet your aunt? She's been so good to us—she even helped take care of you for years."

Che Yanqin's expression softened again. "That's right, I treated Shuangjiang like my own daughter."

The voices felt like bombers circling her head, the noise threatening to split her skull open.

Wen Yifan stared down at her hands, fighting the overwhelming urge to bolt from the apartment immediately.

"Yuandong," Che Yanqin noticed the fruit on the table. "Look, Shuangjiang brought fruit. Go wash and cut it for us—don't let her thoughtfulness go to waste."

"Oh right!" Zhao Yuandong jumped up. "We'll have some fruit and then I'll start preparing dinner."

Once they were alone, Che Yanqin's gaze fixed on Wen Yifan with predatory intensity. "Shuangjiang, you really don't know how to use your advantages. You're so beautiful—you could find a good husband and live comfortably. Why choose such a hard life?"

Wen Yifan might as well have been made of stone.

"Don't think auntie is being nosy," Che Yanqin continued. "I'm looking out for you because I can't bear to see you living so tirelessly. Quit your job and come back to Beiyu with me. I'll take care of you like before."

Her voice grew more animated as she warmed to her pitch. "Your uncle has a business partner who's very wealthy. He's a bit older than you, but he's kind-hearted. Let auntie introduce you—stop living like this. You need someone to pamper you."

Wen Yifan finally lifted her eyes.

"Also," Che Yanqin pressed on, "your brother is getting married this year and needs help with the down payment for a house. We took care of you for so many years—you should contribute. After all, you're just a girl, you don't need as much—"

The "brother" she referred to was Che Yanqin's son, Wen Ming.

"I recently met a company boss," Wen Yifan interrupted, her voice deadly calm. "He's also very wealthy. Coincidentally, he prefers men. Should I introduce him to Wen Ming?"

Che Yanqin's jaw dropped. "How dare you speak like that!"

The raised voice brought Zhao Yuandong rushing from the kitchen. "What's happening?"

Wen Yifan hadn't removed her bag since arriving, and now she stood with fluid grace. Her patience had evaporated completely. "I won't be coming here again."

"What?" Zhao Yuandong looked confused.

"This is the last time I'm coming here." Each word fell like a stone into still water.

The room went silent.

"Originally, I didn't want to contact anyone from the past," Wen Yifan continued, her voice growing steadier. "But my father told me that after he was gone, I should take care of you. I couldn't ignore his final wish."

Zhao Yuandong's face had gone pale.

"So you might as well consider me dead along with him."

By the time Wen Yifan returned home, night had claimed the sky completely.

She changed into her slippers and looked up to find Sang Yan sprawled on the sofa in his usual position, phone in hand. He wore casual clothes, his dark hair falling across his forehead, his posture radiating comfortable laziness.

For a moment, he perfectly overlapped with her memories of the boy who used to sit behind her in class, constantly nudging her chair with his foot to get her attention.

The TV droned in the background, currently broadcasting some comedy that filled the room with canned laughter.

Something in her chest loosened unexpectedly, and she found herself calling out, "Sang Yan."

They rarely spoke at home anymore.

Clearly surprised, he looked up and set his phone aside. "What?"

Words crowded her throat, but she swallowed them back and managed a smile. "I might need to sleep early tonight. Could you turn down the TV volume before nine?"

He studied her face for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. "Sure."

"Thank you."

In her room, Wen Yifan showered quickly, exhaustion hitting her like a physical weight. She felt tired enough to fall asleep standing up, but her mind refused to quiet. Images flashed behind her eyelids—fragments of the afternoon, pieces of her past, emotions she'd spent years carefully burying.

Eventually, dreams and drowsiness worked together to stitch her fractured thoughts back into something resembling peace.

In the living room, Sang Yan had turned off the TV immediately after Wen Yifan's request. Something about her demeanor had unsettled him, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly what.

He tried to focus on his game, but his concentration kept drifting. After finishing a match half-heartedly, he opened his chat with Wen Yifan and typed: [What's wrong with you?]

The message sent before he could second-guess himself. He started another game while waiting for a response, but even after the match ended, his phone remained silent.

Had she fallen asleep that quickly?

As the night grew later, Sang Yan finally gave up on getting a reply. He grabbed his change of clothes and headed for the bathroom, phone volume turned up high just in case.

Even after his shower, there was still no response.

His lips twitched with something between amusement and irritation. Toweling his hair dry, he walked toward the kitchen for a bottle of water.

He'd just reached the dining area when he heard a door opening behind him.

Turning, he saw Wen Yifan emerge from her room, her movements slow and dreamlike, her expression completely unfocused.

"What are you doing?" He draped the towel around his neck, one eyebrow raised.

She didn't answer, just walked toward him with that same disconnected expression.

She stopped directly in front of him.

"You come out right after I finish showering? That's quite the coincidence," Sang Yan said, his tone light and teasing. "Want to see a handsome man up—"

Before he could finish the sentence, Wen Yifan stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

Every muscle in Sang Yan's body went rigid with shock.

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