Nan Hong - Chapter 19
Meanwhile, Su Hao’an had already opened the rear door of the car.
Noticing Wei Yifan and Sang Yan still standing frozen in place, he urged, “What are you two waiting for? If you’ve got something to say, say it in the car.”
Wei Yifan drew back her gaze. “Coming.”
Xiang Lang’s car only had five seats, and the two remaining spots were in the back.
Wei Yifan reached for the handle on her side. But before she could slide in, Sang Yan leaned against the doorframe first, hand braced casually against the glass. He paused, lowering his eyes to look at her with the faintest arch of his brow.
“Thanks.”
“…”
As if she existed for the sole purpose of opening doors for him.
Without another word, Sang Yan slid into the middle seat, Su Hao’an taking the spot beside him. Zhong Siqiao, riding shotgun, turned back and called, “Fanfan, hurry up and get in!”
Wei Yifan murmured an “okay” and climbed in, settling by the window.
The door clicked shut. Su Hao’an, already grinning mischievously, leaned forward. “So, what were you two whispering about just now? Let me in on it too.”
Wei Yifan glanced sideways at Sang Yan’s unreadable profile, then said matter-of-factly, “He told me not to brag everywhere.”
Zhong Siqiao perked up. “Brag about what?”
Wei Yifan: “About living together with him.”
The car fell into a sudden, heavy silence.
A few seconds later, Su Hao’an broke it with a curse.
“Bro, I know you’re shameless, but this is a new record,” Su Hao’an shot back. He turned to Wei Yifan, tone full of exaggerated sympathy. “Don’t take him seriously. He’s had a foul mouth since high school. Normal people mellow out as they age, but him? The older he gets, the worse he gets—”
Sang Yan finally shifted his gaze, voice flat but edged. “You seem awfully cheerful today.”
Su Hao’an froze, words cut off clean.
Zhong Siqiao chuckled to diffuse the tension. “Sang Yan’s still as funny as ever.”
From the driver’s seat, Xiang Lang added calmly, “Yifan only told the two of us. No one else will know.”
Sang Yan half-lifted his lids but didn’t bother replying.
Wei Yifan, watching this play out, felt the usual mix of speechlessness and resignation. Every time he spoke like that, her first thought was always—wow. Either his words were twisted beyond logic, or his ability to deliver them with a straight face was impressive in itself.
So when she’d repeated him earlier, she hadn’t thought much of it. No embellishment, no shame. If he could say it, she could repeat it. Simple.
But now, with everyone’s reactions echoing in the cramped car, she couldn’t help feeling as though she’d just tattled.
“By the way, Wei Yifan.” Su Hao’an shifted the topic with a half-apologetic smile. “About the lease. I thought the house contract was signed separately per tenant. Didn’t realize how shared renting worked. Once the original tenant agreed, I figured I could move in. So when Sang Yan asked, I just handed him the key. Didn’t mean to give you a scare. My bad. Tonight’s meal is on me as an apology.”
Wei Yifan tilted her head toward him, surprised by the explanation.
Between them, Sang Yan sat like a wall—aloof, not even pretending to listen.
“What’s her name?” Wei Yifan asked instinctively.
Su Hao’an paused. “…Wang Linlin.”
His clipped tone suggested a fallout. But for Wei Yifan, the matter was already over. She didn’t hold grudges, and she didn’t pry into broken relationships. “It’s fine. Everything worked out. Just be more careful next time.”
Zhong Siqiao turned her head, interest piqued. “Wait—you said before your roommate at work was named Wang Linlin, right?”
Wei Yifan: “Yes.”
Xiang Lang: “And you, Su Hao’an… how do you know Wang Linlin?”
Su Hao’an was quiet for a beat before answering flatly, “…She’s my ex.”
The car rippled with surprise.
Zhong Siqiao blinked. “What a coincidence.”
Wei Yifan was also startled—mostly by the word ex.
Xiang Lang chuckled. “So when you gave the key to Sang Yan, you didn’t realize Yifan was the other tenant?”
“How could I have known?” Su Hao’an sighed dramatically.
“I see.” Xiang Lang’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, studying Sang Yan’s reflection. “Still, I didn’t expect Sang Yan to share a place with anyone. I heard your bar’s doing well—business must be good?”
Su Hao’an, prepared to give a modestly boastful answer, opened his mouth—
—but Sang Yan spoke first, his voice cold and sardonic.
“Not really.”
“…”
—
They arrived at a trendy hotpot place Xiang Lang had booked earlier. The table was meant for four, so the five of them had to squeeze in.
The two girls shared one side. The three men each claimed their own seat.
Wei Yifan ended up between Xiang Lang’s quiet attentiveness and Sang Yan’s watchful indifference.
When Xiang Lang rinsed his chopsticks with tea and smoothly exchanged them with hers, Wei Yifan accepted it without protest. A gesture so natural, it felt like muscle memory.
Sang Yan’s gaze lingered for two seconds before he looked away.
Su Hao’an, unfiltered as always, remarked, “You’re treating her like your girlfriend.”
Zhong Siqiao laughed. “Basically. Yifan always burns herself, so we’ve been protective since we were kids. Either I help her or Xiang Lang does.”
Su Hao’an clapped the table in realization. “Right—the three of you grew up together.”
As the teasing and reminiscing carried on, Wei Yifan’s childhood nickname surfaced. Embarrassed, she lowered her head, only to catch Sang Yan watching her again.
Their eyes met.
“….”
Wei Yifan blinked first, retreating behind the rim of her cup.
The meal carried on, lively thanks to Su Hao’an’s chatter. But beneath the laughter and stories, undercurrents simmered quietly—Xiang Lang’s subtle warmth, Su Hao’an’s careless probing, and Sang Yan’s unreadable silence.
Later, at the bar, with dice cups rattling and dares flying, those undercurrents finally surfaced.
When Wei Yifan was dared to compliment each man, she called Xiang Lang attentive, Su Hao’an enthusiastic, and after a long hesitation—Sang Yan wealthy.
The corner of his mouth curled, not quite a smile.
By the time Xiang Lang admitted he regretted going abroad instead of attending Yihe University with her, the air around the table shifted.
Sang Yan, dice cup in hand, broke the moment with a flat, “Let’s continue.”
The words caught in Wei Yifan’s throat. She turned to look at him.
His profile was stark in the dim light, head slightly bowed, shoulders relaxed in that careless way of his. Half his face was swallowed in shadow, the other half brushed by the glow of the lamp. Black, untamed hair fell across his forehead, hiding his expression, leaving only the outline of sharp features that refused to soften.
Wei Yifan lowered her gaze and took a slow sip of her drink.
Fifteenth round.
The numbers climbed higher and higher until Su Hao’an called fifteen fives.
Sang Yan didn’t challenge.
A ripple of nerves passed through Wei Yifan. It would be her turn next.
Sang Yan sat silent, staring at the dice cup in front of him. Then he lifted his eyes to her. His lids were thin, his gaze dark as ink—deep, unreadable, as though it might swallow her whole.
“Eighteen fives.”
The room fell still for a beat.
Su Hao’an shot up from his seat, palm slamming the table. “Open!”
“…”
“You’ve lost your damn mind! Eighteen? Who the hell would believe that?!”
But when the dice were revealed, seventeen fives lay on the table—just one short of Sang Yan’s impossible call.
Double punishment.
He chose truth, and, with a brief flick of his wrist, accepted the extra drink as well.
Su Hao’an gleefully drew the card.
—The city he had flown to most recently.
“…”
Su Hao’an’s face crumpled with disappointment. “Seriously? Of all times for you to lose, it had to be now? What kind of boring question is this?”
Unbothered, Sang Yan poured himself a glass of wine and tipped it back. His Adam’s apple shifted with the swallow. For several seconds afterward, he sat in silence, glass in hand, as if weighing something against the back of his throat.
Finally, his voice came low, flat, carrying no hint of hesitation.
“Yi He.”