“…”
Wen Yifan truly hadn’t expected that after days of silence—after being treated as though she were invisible—the reason Sang Yan finally opened his mouth was to solicit business for his bar.
She paused for a few seconds before asking, half incredulous, “Has your bar fallen on such hard times?”
“It’s not making much money, so we need to put some effort into promotion,” Sang Yan replied lazily. “So, are you coming? If you do, I’ll be generous and give you a roommate discount.”
Only then did Wen Yifan seriously consider it. “Exactly how much of a discount?”
If she could save a little while helping his business, that would be perfect—a win-win.
Sang Yan tilted his head, dragging out his words as if savoring the moment. “Let’s say… one percent.”
“…”
Wen Yifan stared at him, stunned. “How much?”
Completely serious, Sang Yan repeated, “One percent.”
“…”
No wonder his business wasn’t profitable. He was practically asking to go bankrupt.
After staring at him for a long while, Wen Yifan finally said dryly, “That’s… quite generous.”
She didn’t refuse outright. “I’ll think about it.”
“Alright. Let me know in advance if you’re coming,” Sang Yan said, already glancing back at his phone. “I’ll reserve a table for you.”
“Okay.” After a moment, Wen Yifan added, “While promotion is important, you should also consider the bar’s appearance.”
He looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Your signage is too inconspicuous. It doesn’t look like a bar at all. Honestly… it looks more like a…” She hesitated, worried she might offend him, “…barbershop.”
“…”
“The first time I went, it took me forever to even find ‘Overtime,’” Wen Yifan admitted. “And once I did, it didn’t exactly make me want to step inside.”
The living room fell into silence.
Afraid she’d gone too far, Wen Yifan drained her coffee and added lightly, “That’s just my opinion.”
“If it’s so hard to find,” Sang Yan said at last, his voice calm but tinged with something playful, “and there’s so little appeal to enter—”
He paused deliberately, eyes glinting with mischief. “Then why did you come the first time?”
“…”
Wen Yifan was stumped, unable to answer.
Because the truth wasn’t exactly pure.
Sang Yan, uncharacteristically considerate, didn’t press her further. He turned away and said casually, “I’ll consider your suggestions.”
Wen Yifan exhaled in relief. “Then—”
“However,” Sang Yan interrupted, arrogance dripping from his tone, “I don’t plan to change anything.”
“…”
Wen Yifan suddenly felt she’d wasted her time. She finished her cookies, put on her coat, and left.
—
By the time she arrived at the office, it was nearly lunchtime.
Su Tian spotted her and asked, “Why are you so late today?”
“Not much going on—just an interview this afternoon,” Wen Yifan said. “Compared to work, life’s more important. If I don’t get enough sleep, I won’t make it to next year.”
“True. Whenever I have time off, I don’t even want to leave my room,” Su Tian groaned. “I just want to lie in bed all day. Can time hurry up? I want the New Year holidays already.”
Then she suddenly sat up. “Oh right! I forgot to tell you.”
“What?”
“Wang Linlin just messaged me on WeChat asking you to reply to her,” Su Tian said. “Didn’t you answer her? She even came to me. Seemed urgent.”
Wen Yifan turned on her computer. “I’ll check later.”
Her calm demeanor never wavered, so Su Tian didn’t notice anything unusual. “You’re too nice, Yifan. She moved out right after you moved in. If it were me, I would’ve moved too.”
“After all, she rented the place. Now she gets to leave early and still pocket her deposit,” Su Tian rolled her eyes.
“It’s not a big deal. I like the apartment,” Wen Yifan said.
“That’s why you’re too nice,” Su Tian muttered.
—
That afternoon, Wen Yifan was assigned a follow-up report on a serious case.
A woman had been attacked on the 17th while walking home—dragged into an alley at knifepoint. Fortunately, a street vendor passing by intervened, saving her. But in the struggle, he suffered severe nerve damage to his hand.
Carrying her equipment, Wen Yifan went to the hospital.
The vendor was a man in his thirties, honest and plain. He answered carefully, never daring to meet her eyes. If by chance he did, his face flushed red.
After the interview, Wen Yifan thanked him and left to find his attending physician.
But as she stepped into the corridor, someone called out:
“You… hey, Wen Yifan?”
She turned. A young woman, carrying a fruit basket, stood a few meters away. She looked vaguely familiar.
“When did you come back to Nanwu?” the woman frowned. “How come Mom didn’t mention it?”
Recognition struck.
Zheng Kejia.
Her stepfather’s daughter.
The last time Wen Yifan had seen her, she’d been a spoiled, willful middle schooler. Now she’d grown up, polished, almost unrecognizable.
“No, I’ve moved back to Nanwu,” Wen Yifan said evenly, shifting her heavy camera. “I still have work. Let’s catch up another time.”
Zheng Kejia scoffed, “Who wants to catch up with you?”
“That’s fine,” Wen Yifan said. “It saves us both time.”
Zheng Kejia was briefly stunned. “Why did you come back?”
“Do I need something to be wrong to return?” Wen Yifan smiled faintly. “Don’t worry, I’m not living at home. Let’s pretend we didn’t see each other. If you don’t mention it, no one will know.”
“…”
They went back and forth briefly—Zheng Kejia defensive, Wen Yifan calm but distant. Finally, Zheng Kejia blurted, “Aren’t you coming home for New Year? Don’t you want to see Little Brother?”
The boy Zhao Yuandong had after remarrying.
Wen Yifan had never met him.
“No,” she said softly. “I don’t have time.”
When Zheng Kejia tried to apologize, Wen Yifan cut her off gently but firmly: “I didn’t come back for anyone. I’m just living my own life.”
And with that, she left.
—
Later, washing her hands in the hospital restroom, the cold water jolted memories loose. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind:
—Shuangjiang is a girl, don’t always touch cold water.
Her chest tightened.
Back then, she’d been loved. Pampered. The only daughter of Wen Liangzhe and Zhao Yuandong. Protected, carefree.
Until her father’s death, her mother’s remarriage, and Zheng Kejia’s jealousy left her shuffled from one relative’s house to another.
That was when she learned what it meant to feel unwanted.
She thought of a memory she’d buried deep—losing a twenty-yuan note her aunt had given her to buy food.
It was just twenty yuan. But she’d been terrified. Terrified she’d be cast out again, passed to the next unwilling relative.
So she’d sat alone at a bus stop at dusk, too afraid to go home.
And then—
Sang Yan appeared, sweaty from basketball, a ball under his arm. He bent down, looked at her, and teased:
“Wen Shuangjiang, what are you doing here?”
She looked up silently.
“What’s with that face?” he asked, nudging her with the basketball.
Finally, she whispered, “Sang Yan, can you lend me twenty yuan? I lost the money I was supposed to use.”
He froze. “I don’t have any on me right now.”
Her head dropped. “Then never mind…”
“What do you mean never mind?” Sang Yan scoffed. “I don’t have it now, doesn’t mean I won’t in five minutes. Sit here. I’ll be back.”
Before she could protest, he shoved the basketball into her arms and jogged away.
Minutes later, he returned, panting, sweat dripping. He squatted in front of her, held out a crumpled bill. “Here. Pay me back later.”
Her hand trembled as she took it. “Thank you.”
Sang Yan looked up, grinning despite his sweat. “Why do you look like you’re about to cry? No need to be that moved—it’s just twenty yuan.”
“…”
“Next time you lose money, call me. I’ll lend you however much you need, okay?”
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