Nan Hong- Chapter 11
The moment the words slipped out, Wen Yifan caught the flicker of displeasure on Sang Yan’s face. She instantly realized what she had said was no different from: Your face is unbearable to look at.
And it wasn’t even the first time tonight she had said something like that.
Like an ungrateful wolf biting the hand that fed her.
Trying to salvage the moment, Wen Yifan rushed to amend her words:
“But even if your face is ruined—” halfway through, she winced and forced a quick correction, “Even if it’s just temporarily marred, it doesn’t affect your handsomeness at all.”
Sang Yan’s expression didn’t change.
Just then, her phone buzzed with a WeChat reply from Wang Linlin. It was only an “ok” emoji, but relief washed over her. She lifted her head and said, “My friend replied to me, so I’ll head in now.”
Sang Yan gave no answer, just tugged faintly at the corner of his mouth.
“By the way,” Wen Yifan added seriously, remembering everything that had happened tonight, “even if you think it was nothing, I owe you a favor. If you ever need help, you can ask me.”
Sang Yan only grunted and waved her off, slipping back into the car.
His gaze fell briefly on the medicine bag in the passenger seat, then out the window. He watched as Wen Yifan stacked her luggage onto the suitcase and dragged it slowly toward the residential entrance. The bags were clearly heavy, her steps slow.
She never once looked back.
Only when her silhouette disappeared completely did Sang Yan shift his gaze. He was about to start the car when her clumsy pause earlier—fumbling over her friend’s address and apartment number—flashed in his mind. He stopped.
Lowering the window, he rested his elbow on the frame, not driving away just yet.
His thoughts drifted to high school.
Back then, Wen Yifan’s beauty and quiet reserve made her seem unapproachable. Classmates thought her proud, hard to get along with. Her relationships weren’t great. Yet her temper was so good it was as if she had none at all.
Over time, as people grew familiar, they realized she wasn’t aloof at all—just gentle. But gossip is cruel. They mocked her behind her back, nicknaming her “Vase.” She couldn’t do anything well, they said, useless except for being pretty and knowing how to dance.
Would the Wen Yifan of those days have cried if faced with what she endured tonight?
He wasn’t sure. But he was certain she wouldn’t have been like this—speaking to him calmly, as if nothing had happened. These days, he hadn’t seen her seek comfort from anyone. She only ever expressed gratitude.
As if all other emotions had vanished.
Sang Yan lowered his eyes, cigarette between his lips, when his phone rang.
“Still coming to ‘work overtime’ tonight?” Su Hao’an’s voice crackled through. “If you are, bring my car back. You’re driving mine—what am I supposed to use to pick up girls?”
“Alright,” Sang Yan replied, “I’ll return it in a bit.”
“Why did you suddenly leave?”
“You don’t know?” Sang Yan sneered. “Is it my place to tell you?”
Silence stretched for three beats. Then Su Hao’an caved, “Fine, fine, I won’t bring them next time, okay? They’ve already taken turns mocking me.”
Sang Yan said nothing.
“I mean, is it wrong that I like coquettish girls? That’s just my type!” Su Hao’an defended.
“Are you finished?”
“Not yet. Can’t you be a little patient? Just treat me like your future girlfriend and comfort me, okay? I’m feeling complicated.”
“Hanging up.”
He ended the call, pulled out his cigarettes, and was about to light one when Su Hao’an called again. Sang Yan answered absently, switching on the interior light and rummaging in the glove compartment.
“You’re so heartless,” Su Hao’an whined. “I only got a chance to call you because my date went to the bathroom. How could you hang up?”
“Oh,” Sang Yan said flatly. “I can hang up a second time.”
“…”
Su Hao’an sighed. “Coaxing women is exhausting. I thought Linlin was cute, but today she’s just irritating.”
“Then stop dating her.”
“No way. Dating’s too much fun.”
“…”
“You’re asking for trouble,” Sang Yan muttered.
As he spoke, something shiny under the passenger seat caught his eye. He leaned down and picked it up, his expression tightening as he turned the object over in his hand.
It was a set of keys.
—
At Wang Linlin’s door, Wen Yifan waited for two hours.
It wasn’t until midnight that Linlin returned. Spotting Wen Yifan, she blinked in surprise. “Xiao Fan? What happened? Why do you look so disheveled?”
“There was a problem with where I was staying,” Wen Yifan explained. “So I came over suddenly and interrupted your date. I’m sorry, Sister Lin.”
“It’s fine.” Linlin sighed as she unlocked the door. “I could’ve come back earlier, but my boyfriend kept clinging to me. Sorry to make you wait so long.”
They entered together.
“It’s late. Get settled in first,” Linlin said. “I’m exhausted—I’ll shower and sleep. We can talk tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Wen Yifan nodded quickly.
Linlin walked a few steps, then turned back. “By the way, how did you get back? Dinner was pretty far out. I forgot to remind you when you left.”
“Sang Yan happened to be going the same way, so I asked him for a ride.”
“You asked him?” Linlin burst out laughing as if she’d heard the funniest thing. “Why didn’t he offer himself?”
Wen Yifan blinked, puzzled. “He had no obligation to.”
Linlin shook her head, half amused, half pitying. “Don’t do that again. He must be feeling smug, probably already laughing about it with his friends.”
“Hm?”
“Come on, Xiao Fan. Back then he couldn’t get you, and now if you turn around and throw yourself at him, he’ll play along until he’s bored, then dump you. Be careful,” Linlin patted her shoulder. “Trust me, I’ve seen plenty. Rich boys are all the same.”
Wen Yifan wanted to explain she hadn’t thrown herself at him at all—and she didn’t think Sang Yan was like that anyway.
But she never argued. So she accepted the advice with a quiet, “I understand.”
—
Living with Wang Linlin turned out easier than Wen Yifan had expected.
Mostly because they hardly saw each other.
Linlin went to bed early every night, devoted to her beauty routine, and left quietly in the mornings. Wen Yifan, swamped with chasing stories, often wasn’t home at all. To her, the apartment was just a place to sleep.
Safe neighborhood, close to work, and a roommate who kept her distance—it was the most ideal living arrangement she could ask for.
After hearing about it, Su Tian finally relaxed, no longer worrying over her.
The following Wednesday, after Wen Yifan wrapped up a phone interview, Su Tian returned from the tea room brimming with gossip. She leaned close and whispered, “I heard Wang Linlin is resigning.”
Wen Yifan blinked. “Really?”
“Pretty sure. You live with her—hasn’t she mentioned it?”
“No.”
“Well, she already submitted her resignation. And she’s been showing it—coming late, leaving early, barely working. The director’s annoyed. If she doesn’t quit, she’ll be fired soon.”
“Is it because she doesn’t want to chase news anymore? Maybe she’s switching fields. The base salary isn’t much to live on.”
Su Tian smirked. “Didn’t she hook up with some rich second-gen? I saw her getting into a Ferrari the other day. She brags nonstop now.”
Wen Yifan smiled faintly. “Just let it go.”
“I just can’t stand her attitude,” Su Tian muttered.
Before Wen Yifan could answer, Fu Zhuang suddenly popped his head between them, grinning. “Whose attitude can’t you stand?”
Su Tian startled, then shoved him away. “Who else? You!”
“?”
“Quit eavesdropping, brat. Get lost.”
“What brat! We’re the Fan Fu Su Zi team!” Fu Zhuang protested, brandishing his drink like a mic. “Gossip should be shared. Don’t exclude me.”
Su Tian burst out laughing. “Who came up with that awful name? Certainly not me.”
“Catchy, right?” Fu Zhuang insisted.
Wen Yifan just smiled faintly and turned back to her keyboard.
Silence settled, until Fu Zhuang piped up again: “Sisters, plans tonight? Big Zhuang’s first solo edit made it to air—we should celebrate!”
Su Tian smacked his head. “Go home and drink your milk, little one. I’ve got plans.”
He turned hopefully to Wen Yifan. “Then Sister Yifan—”
She glanced up blankly, as if she’d missed the whole conversation. Noticing his drink, she hesitated, then replied perfunctorily, “Thanks, I don’t drink.”
“…”
Wen Yifan went back to her draft. When it was done, she leaned back for a moment, absently checking her phone.
A message from her former landlord, sent two hours ago:
[Xiao Wen, did you forget to return the apartment keys?]
Wen Yifan froze.
The night she moved, she’d told the landlord. Days later, the deposit and remaining rent had been returned. She hadn’t thought about the keys since.
She quickly replied: [Yes, I’m sorry. When’s convenient? I’ll bring them to you.]
But even as she typed, she realized—she didn’t remember where the keys were.
Had she lost them?
Her mind flashed to Zhong Siqiao’s bracelet at Sang Yan’s bar. Don’t tell me I’m that unlucky…
Two new messages appeared.
The sender’s name made her stomach sink.
She tapped them open.
The first was a photo of her missing keys.
The second:
Sang Yan: [I suggest not using the same trick twice.]