Nan Hong - Chapter 12
As their conversation continued, Wen Yifan felt as if Sang Yan was slowly brainwashing her.
She had long heard whispers of the famed courtesan at this establishment—a man said to be unmatched in charm. She had traveled thousands of miles to see him herself, and even when she discovered this man was none other than her old pursuer, her heart still wavered. From then on, every word and gesture she showed him was deliberate, aimed at drawing his attention.
Suppressing her impulse to retort, Wen Yifan kept her tone steady:
[So that’s where it ended up.]
[Sorry to trouble you again. Let me know when you’re free, I’ll come pick it up.]
After thinking it over, she added another message to avoid meeting:
[Or, you could just leave the key at your bar. I’ll pick it up from the counter. Would that work?]
This time, his reply didn’t come right away.
Wen Yifan wasn’t anxious. She returned to her draft, making revisions and sending it to her editor. When her phone finally chimed, she glanced at the screen.
Sang Yan: [I’m busy these days.]
She typed back patiently: [When do you think you’ll be free?]
A voice message followed almost instantly. His tone was lazy, unhurried:
“Saturday night, I suppose.”
Saturday night… She considered it.
Her Sunday was clear. If she retrieved the key then, she could return it to her old landlord the next day. The timing worked perfectly.
[Alright,] she replied.
[Would Jiaban Bar or somewhere near your place work? I don’t want to trouble you too much.]
Half a minute later, two more voice messages came through.
The first was a low chuckle, followed by two languid words drawn out deliberately:
“My place?”
“…” Wen Yifan’s eyelids twitched.
The second followed immediately. His voice carried unspoken mockery, as though he had already read her thoughts:
“Hmm? Better not. Just come to Jiaban’s entrance.”
“…”
She had thought that once their masks were dropped, things would be simpler between them. But Sang Yan had been admired too much, too often. It left him with a constant, effortless superiority—as if everyone harbored ulterior motives toward him.
At that moment, Wen Yifan realized she needed to measure every word carefully in front of him. Any careless remark might be twisted.
She sighed softly and sent back: [Okay.]
Afterward, she set the phone aside.
The editor had just emailed feedback. As she scanned the notes, her gaze drifted to the clock at the corner of her screen.
She suddenly recalled—it had been almost a week since she last saw Sang Yan, two days after New Year’s. That must have been when the key was lost.
But why had he only mentioned it now?
Had he deliberately waited for her to reach out first? It seemed plausible.
Still, Wen Yifan let the thought pass without much weight.
––
Later that evening, when she returned home, she found Wang Linlin sprawled on the sofa with a face mask on, watching TV, humming idly, a fruit salad beside her.
“Back already?” Wang Linlin mumbled.
“Mm, not much work today.”
Wang Linlin rambled on about overwork and poor pay, but Wen Yifan only smiled gently: “It’s alright.”
Then Wang Linlin asked if she had gotten up in the middle of the night. Wen Yifan denied it, though the question tugged at a memory of an old habit she didn’t bother explaining.
Just as Wen Yifan was about to excuse herself to shower, Wang Linlin stopped her. “Sit down first. I need to tell you something. Promise you won’t be mad.”
Wen Yifan agreed.
Wang Linlin confessed she had resigned and would soon move out to a new job farther away. Her voice softened with guilt: “I thought we’d still be sharing rent, but now… it’s inconvenient.”
Wen Yifan only nodded with her usual calm. She had already considered this might happen. “It’s fine. I’m happy for you. Don’t worry about finding me a roommate, I’ll manage.”
Relieved, Wang Linlin clung to her arm in exaggerated affection. “You’re too good, Xiao Fan! My last roommate fought with me over this.”
Wen Yifan smiled politely but said nothing.
Still, Wang Linlin insisted on helping her find a new roommate, though Wen Yifan didn’t press the matter.
––
By the weekend, Saturday night came.
Knowing Sang Yan wouldn’t contact her first, Wen Yifan sent him a message before leaving work. Near 8 PM, his reply arrived: [Come over.]
She packed up, hurriedly said goodbye to her colleagues, and left for Decadence Street.
When she reached the narrow passage, she saw him already waiting outside, leaning against a lamppost. The cold light sharpened his pale skin and expressionless face, his dark clothes making him appear even more distant.
Wen Yifan hadn’t expected him to deliver the key personally.
She quickened her pace. Just as she was about to call out, Sang Yan noticed her, tilted his chin lazily, and flicked the key toward her.
She caught it instinctively. “Thank you.”
He gave a slight nod.
Putting the key in her pocket, she prepared to leave. “Then I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll head back.”
He said nothing.
To fill the silence, she added politely: “I’ve troubled you too much recently. Let me treat you to a meal sometime, whenever you’re free.”
A soft laugh escaped him. “How many times do you plan to repeat that?”
Before she could answer, his eyes caught hers, sharp and knowing. His lips curved faintly. “Won’t you stop until I agree?”
“…”
“Fine.” His tone was edged with impatience, yet mocking. “Then tonight it is.”
Wen Yifan blinked, momentarily thrown off.
He noticed her surprise and tilted his head, amused. “What? Regret already?”
“Nothing.” She managed a steady reply. “What do you want to eat?”
“Anything.”
She hurried to keep pace as he began walking. “Do you have any allergies?”
“Many.”
“…Hot pot?”
“No.”
“Barbecue?”
“Smells bad.”
“Sichuan?”
“Too spicy.”
“Claypot porridge?”
“Don’t eat it.”
Wen Yifan sighed inwardly. She had never met anyone so difficult. “Then you choose. I’ll eat whatever.”
Just as he opened his mouth, his phone rang.
The voice on the other end was loud enough for her to hear clearly: “Sang Yan! Your house exploded!”
His brow furrowed. “Speak properly.”
“No, seriously—the floor below your place exploded! The fire’s spreading up! Everything’s burning! Get back here quick!”
Silence fell around them.
Wen Yifan looked at him, stunned.
Sang Yan, however, calmly pulled the phone away, waited out the shouting, then brought it back to his ear. “Oh. Call 119.”
With that, he hung up.
He turned to her as if nothing had happened. “Let’s go.”
“…Your house is on fire. Shouldn’t you go back?”
He arched a brow. “Am I a firefighter?”
“…”
After a pause, Wen Yifan asked cautiously, “May I ask where your house is?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
She pulled out her phone, her voice steady: “I want to go there and do a report.”