The kitchen was square and neatly arranged, with enough room to move around. An L-shaped dark countertop stretched along one side, leaving space for the refrigerator, while cream-colored cabinets hung overhead. With all the new appliances crammed in, however, the space felt more crowded than before.
Wen Yifan walked over, glancing at the pot of noodles already bubbling. After a pause, she rolled up her sleeves, turned on the faucet, and washed her hands. Then she pointed to the items on the counter.
“Should I put these back in the fridge?”
Sang Yan shot her a sideways glance. “Leave the vegetables out.”
“Okay.”
She picked up the box of meatballs, but before she could move, Sang Yan suddenly asked, “You’re not eating the meatballs?”
Wen Yifan paused. “If you want them, we can add some.”
“What about the dumplings?”
“Just put a few in then.”
“Oh.” Sang Yan reached for the soy sauce, adding casually, “Hand me two eggs.”
“…” Wen Yifan was almost speechless at his insistence on throwing everything in. She finally couldn’t hold back and reminded him gently, “Sang Yan.”
He looked over. “What?”
“You’ve already cooked the entire package of noodles.”
“…”
In the end, only a few vegetables and mushrooms made it into the pot, while Wen Yifan tucked everything else back into the fridge. She took out two bowls from the cabinet, one large and one small, and handed him the bigger one.
Sang Yan accepted it and began scooping noodles.
Standing beside him, Wen Yifan eyed the pot, nearly overflowing with noodles. She worried that if she ate too little, Sang Yan might try to make her finish more. With his personality, he was more than capable of that.
“I probably won’t be able to help you much,” she said suddenly.
“What?” He looked up, mid-motion.
Wen Yifan handed him the bowl in her hand, her tone tactful. “I’m not particularly hungry.”
“…” Seeing her expression, Sang Yan immediately understood. He replied flatly, “I know.”
—
The Spring Festival Gala was still playing, and since neither of them had much to say, they carried their bowls back to the living room.
The noodles were steaming hot. Wen Yifan set her bowl down on the coffee table and turned her attention to the TV. A comedy sketch was halfway through, but since she’d missed the beginning, she watched with mild confusion.
After a while, still not getting the joke, she lowered her head and scooped up some broth.
She hesitated for a few seconds before finally sipping it.
The taste was unexpectedly good.
Wen Yifan let out a small sigh of relief.
When she looked up, she caught Sang Yan watching her.
“…” She quickly swallowed and offered a polite compliment. “These noodles turned out pretty tasty.”
Sang Yan hadn’t even touched his chopsticks yet. Leaning back, he said lazily, “Your face looked like I’d slipped poison in.”
“…” Wen Yifan protested, “I just didn’t expect you to cook anything.”
He gave a short laugh, his voice both amused and arrogant. “Is there anything I can’t do?”
Wen Yifan answered earnestly, “Plenty.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“For example…” She thought for a moment. “Cooking a single portion of noodles.”
“…”
Perhaps it was the holiday, or maybe because of Sang Yan’s little blunder in the kitchen, but the atmosphere between them felt more relaxed than usual.
Wen Yifan had originally planned to cook herself a simple New Year’s Eve dinner. But when she got home, too lazy and not very hungry, she let the thought go.
Now she found it almost unbelievable.
Who would’ve thought that her New Year’s Eve dinner would end up being cooked by the young master Sang Yan?
She ate slowly, yet before long her bowl was empty.
As the sketch ended, she stood to get more.
Noticing her movement, Sang Yan asked casually, “Where are you going?”
“To get some more noodles.”
“…”
Though he’d only cooked too much by accident, Wen Yifan still felt obliged to offer. “Do you want me to bring you some too?”
“If you’re full, don’t force it,” Sang Yan said leisurely, giving her a quick glance. “If you end up sick from overeating, I’ll be the one blamed.”
Wen Yifan blinked, then said honestly, “I just want to eat more.”
“…”
Since he still had plenty left in his own bowl, she didn’t press him and headed to the kitchen. This time she only half-filled her bowl with noodles, topping it off with broth, careful not to overeat.
Back on the sofa, she stole a glance at him.
At some point his usual sharp expression had softened, his posture lazy, his mood surprisingly light. His gaze was fixed on the TV.
Wen Yifan followed his line of sight. The magic act had ended, replaced by a song number, a group of popular young actresses smiling brightly as they sang.
“…”
Oh.
Wen Yifan instantly understood.
—
She hadn’t planned to linger in the living room, but before they knew it, midnight had passed.
Neither of them returned to their rooms. They simply sat on opposite ends of the sofa, quiet, watching the Gala. Once in a while Wen Yifan made a small comment, to which Sang Yan replied with a noncommittal “mm.”
And just like that, they’d welcomed the new year together.
Her phone buzzed with messages—New Year greetings from Zhong Siqiao and Xiang Lang. She was about to reply when she noticed Sang Yan glancing down at his own phone.
Rising, she said gently, “I’m going to bed. Happy New Year.”
Sang Yan looked up at her.
She hadn’t expected him to respond and was ready to leave, but his attitude tonight was unexpectedly good.
He looked away and answered, his tone still perfunctory but not unfriendly. “Mm, Happy New Year.”
Back in her room.
Wen Yifan lingered over a few messages before setting her phone aside, letting her body sink into the quiet of the night. She switched off the bedside lamp, and the room fell into a hushed darkness. Her eyes stayed open, tracing the void while her thoughts drifted restlessly.
Her mind circled back to what had just happened.
A peculiar thought surfaced.
So, the Spring Festival Gala could actually be… enjoyable.
Pulling herself from that train of thought, she was about to close her eyes when another memory stirred. She had just eaten a bowl of noodles. With a start, she pushed herself up, brushed her teeth, and went through her nightly routine. When she finally returned to bed, she realized belatedly that her stomach still felt comfortably full.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had fallen asleep with such a feeling.
And the small indulgence made her feel a little guilty.
It was, after all, the first meal they had shared alone since reuniting.
Strangely enough, it had been calm. Peaceful.
The air between them felt lighter—maybe softened by the warmth of the holiday.
It was a familiar sensation.
As if she had slipped back into that time between the second semester of their second year of high school and the lead-up to the college entrance exam.
Back then, she had only just moved to Beiyu City. After a few months in this new place, she had grown quieter, more withdrawn. Boarding school life kept her confined; she only returned home once every two weeks.
Every day, her world revolved around studying.
Her phone stayed mostly silent—except for the occasional glance.
Perhaps it was because of that one text she had sent Sang Yan, updating him about her grades.
After the final exams that semester, a few days later, a message appeared from him.
Sang Yan: [Are you free now?]
When she saw it, a strange intuition told her—he might be coming.
Wen Yifan: [What’s up?]
Sang Yan: [First time in Beiyu, don’t know the way.]
Sang Yan: [It’s fine if you’re not free.]
The trip from Nanwu to Beiyu wasn’t long—barely an hour and a half by train.
She hadn’t expected him to actually come. The message left her stunned for a long moment. But after asking for his location, she hurried out the door.
It had been raining for days then, leaving Beiyu chilled.
Sang Yan hadn’t known her address—only the name of her school. He stood waiting at the gate, dressed in nothing more than a short-sleeved shirt, seemingly unfazed by the cold. When he spotted her, he lifted an eyebrow and smiled.
“You came so quickly?”
They hadn’t spoken in so long.
Not since before her transfer—and even then, they had drifted into silence, strangers passing in the same hallways.
So when she simply answered with a quiet “mm,” the air between them fell into wordless pause again.
After a beat, Sang Yan suggested: “Want to get something to eat?”
She agreed, leading him to a nearby noodle shop.
They ate in silence. His presence was heavy beside her—impossible to ignore.
At last, she spoke first, softly: “When are you going back?”
He looked up. “When do you have to go home?”
“Six, maybe.”
His chopsticks paused. A smile tugged at his lips. “Then I’ll leave at six.”
…
That was the beginning.
After that, Sang Yan would occasionally come to Beiyu to see her. The visits weren’t frequent. He never stayed long—just long enough for a meal—never prying, never taking up too much space in her life.
They didn’t talk about much, as if they met simply for the sake of seeing each other.
For no other reason.
–––
Over the next few days in the present, Sang Yan maintained his peculiar rhythm—leaving each morning, returning around seven or eight at night.
The timing was so precise it felt like he was being shooed out of his own house at set hours.
Wen Yifan once asked him when his relatives might leave. His expression didn’t shift; his reply was nothing more than a flat, “don’t know.”
She tried to imagine herself in his place. Being pushed out during the New Year holidays. Pitiful.
After that, she didn’t press the matter again.
On the third day of the New Year, just after stepping out of the bathroom, she checked her phone. Ten minutes earlier, messages from him had come in.
Sang Yan: [I’m coming back this afternoon.]
Sang Yan: [Might bring my sister.]
A few minutes later—
Sang Yan: [Is that okay?]
They had agreed on this before living together—advance notice if either wanted to bring someone home.
Wen Yifan: [That’s fine.]
She didn’t think much of it afterward. Opening her computer, she immersed herself in a drama until the evening slipped by. Around dinnertime, she left her room to grab a yogurt from the fridge.
Just then, the sound of a key turning came from the door.
She glanced over and saw Sang Yan walk in, arms laden with shopping bags. His face remained indifferent as he addressed the person behind him: “Go barefoot, there are no shoes.”
A moment later, Sang Zhi stepped into view.
She didn’t take off her shoes right away, nor answer her brother. Her eyes swept across the apartment, and when they landed on Wen Yifan, she froze.
“Brother,” Sang Zhi asked bluntly, “is this sister your girlfriend?”
Sang Yan stayed silent.
Wen Yifan smiled, answering instead: “No, we’re just roommates.”
“Oh.” Sang Zhi blinked, studying her with curiosity. Then she muttered under her breath, “She’s so pretty… guess she can only be a roommate then.”
“…”
Wen Yifan decided not to linger. She turned to fetch her yogurt, but Sang Zhi spoke again, her tone carrying sudden recognition.
“Sister, were you and my brother classmates in high school?”
Wen Yifan stopped in surprise. “You still remember me?”
She hadn’t seen Sang Zhi often back then. The girl had been small, almost childlike. So many years had passed—Wen Yifan assumed she would have long since forgotten her. Being recognized now felt unexpected, even a little touching.
Seeing the little girl from then grown into this tall, graceful young woman, Wen Yifan found herself smiling as memories stirred. “Back then, you got lost and asked me to help you find your brother. Later, you said you wanted to treat me to ice cream. You remember that?”
Sang Zhi thought about it seriously, then shook her head. “No.”
Wen Yifan blinked. “Hm?”
“I wasn’t lost,” Sang Zhi explained slowly. “But my brother said I was.”
“…”
“So I could only be lost.”
“…”
Previous/Next
.jpeg)
.jpeg)
