Nan Hong - Chapter 5
Wen Yifan still remembered that moment vividly.
After she'd casually mentioned her name, Sang Yan had drawn out a lazy "Ah" and fallen silent. Even now, she could practically trace his thoughts: Let's hear how masculine this name is shifting to Wen Yifan? and finally settling on Oh. Nothing special after all.
That arrogant, dismissive attitude was identical to the one he wore today.
Perhaps age had taught him to mask his emotions better than he had as a teenager. Or maybe years of separation had simply made them strangers. Either way, the coldness he radiated now seemed to swallow everything else about him.
They reached the subway station, and Wen Yifan dug through her bag for her transit card while her phone buzzed with a WeChat message from Zhong Siqiao. As she typed a quick reply, a thought struck her—she might actually have Sang Yan in her contacts.
Years ago, when WeChat became popular, she'd imported all her phone contacts without thinking twice. Since his number had still been saved in her phone then, she'd sent him a friend request on impulse.
He'd probably accepted without realizing who she was.
From that day to this, they'd never exchanged a single message.
She suspected he hadn't known it was her when he'd accepted the request—by then, she'd already switched to using Yi He's number.
Curious now, Wen Yifan scrolled through her contacts to the S section and tapped on his profile. His Moments feed was completely empty—either hidden from her or deleted entirely. Maybe she'd added the wrong person. Maybe he'd changed his number long ago.
Her finger hovered over the delete button for several seconds before she backed out instead. Since she couldn't be certain, and deleting contacts wasn't really her habit anyway, what harm could there be in letting his name gather digital dust in her phone?
Back home, Wen Yifan called her landlord about terminating her lease early.
He was more understanding than she'd expected. Having heard about her situation before and sympathizing with a young woman living alone, he readily agreed to refund her deposit and prepaid rent if she wanted to move immediately.
She thanked him profusely, then opened her laptop to browse rental websites.
After an hour of searching, her optimism began to wane.
Finding a decent apartment in Nanwu was like hunting for a needle in a haystack. A furnished one-bedroom in a safe neighborhood, convenient to Shang'an District—the cheapest options still ran three to four thousand yuan monthly. For her current financial situation, it might as well have been asking for the moon.
A headache began building behind her temples.
She messaged Zhong Siqiao: [Qiaoqiao, I'm planning to move.]
[When you get a chance, could you ask around if anyone knows of decent rentals?]
Her phone rang almost immediately.
"What's going on?" Zhong Siqiao's voice was sharp with concern. "Why are you suddenly moving? Didn't you just pay three months upfront?"
"Neighbor harassment," Wen Yifan replied matter-of-factly, then recounted the morning's events in measured tones. "I called the police around dawn. We all ended up at the station, and he's been detained for five days. But I'm worried he might try something when he gets out."
Silence stretched across the line before Zhong Siqiao found her voice. "Are you hurt? Why didn't you call me?"
"I'm fine. Before today, he'd only knocked on my door—annoying, but not dangerous. By the time we got to the station it was nearly 4 AM, and with police there, I was safe. No point dragging you across the city in the middle of the night."
"God, I'm so sorry." Guilt colored every word. "I thought that place was perfect—cheap and close to your work..."
"Don't apologize," Wen Yifan laughed softly. "If you hadn't helped me find it, I might be sleeping under bridges right now. The apartment really was great. If it weren't for him, I would've happily stayed long-term."
Zhong Siqiao sighed heavily. "So what's your plan? You could stay with us for a while?"
"Thanks, but didn't your sister-in-law just have her second baby? I'd just be in the way." Wen Yifan's voice remained steady. "It's fine. I'll move once I find something suitable."
She knew Zhong Siqiao's situation—a crowded household with her married older brother, his family, their parents, and a younger sister still in high school. After work, Siqiao usually helped with childcare and homework. Adding another person to that chaos would be unfair to everyone.
Understanding the unspoken reasoning, Zhong Siqiao didn't push, though her sigh was audible. "What about your mom's place?"
"I haven't told her I'm back in Nanwu yet."
"Why not?"
"Been too busy. I'll tell her eventually." Wen Yifan shifted topics with deliberate lightness. "Actually, seeing my neighbor today made me reconsider my impulse decision. His legs were thick as tree trunks—would probably take half an hour to hack through with a machete."
"..." Zhong Siqiao's voice went flat. "That's a genuinely terrifying thing to say."
"That's exactly why I'm scared," Wen Yifan continued with mock seriousness. "If he holds a grudge and comes for revenge, there's a real possibility that—"
"What?"
"I might not be able to take him down even with a chainsaw."
"..."
After hanging up, Wen Yifan tried another rental website, but the results were equally discouraging. She finally closed the laptop and headed for the shower.
Moving couldn't be rushed, urgent or not. Hastily choosing something no better than her current situation would just waste time and energy. If she couldn't find anything decent within five days, she'd figure something out then.
December 31st, 2013—the last day of the year.
The Nanwu City Government, partnering with Nanwu Radio and Television, had organized a New Year's Eve fireworks spectacular with viewing areas at Huaizhu Bay Resort and East Nine Square. Free tickets required advance online reservations and a lottery system.
Zhong Siqiao had won spots for Huaizhu Bay and invited Wen Yifan along, but work intervened. The station had assigned Wen Yifan to cover the event with a live broadcast from East Nine Square—approved weeks ago, overtime pay included.
She'd requisitioned an interview van, and their small crew set out early: herself, her mentor Qian Weihua as driver, Fu Zhuang as assistant, and veteran reporter Zhen Yu, who would be on camera.
When they arrived, hours remained before the fireworks began. East Nine Square had three entrances—A, B, and C—dividing the space into separate viewing areas. Crowds were already gathering, showing tickets and IDs at the gates before filtering inside.
They were one of several station crews, assigned to Area A alongside reporters from other TV stations and newspapers.
Qian Weihua found them a good filming spot and began setting up equipment. This was a major event drawing diverse crowds—all ages and professions, standing-room-only. The camera drew curious onlookers who gathered in a loose circle, murmuring observations.
The square bordered the sea, high-rise buildings creating a glittering skyline in the distance. Sea breeze carried the night's chill, damp and penetrating, cutting through clothing and settling deep in bones. Wen Yifan hadn't fully readjusted to Nanwu's humid cold, and her period had started that morning, amplifying her discomfort.
She pulled a mask from her bag and put it on.
After standing around for a while, she checked the time and decided to use this lull to find the restrooms. Qian Weihua and Zhen Yu were still coordinating with the control room, so she simply told Fu Zhuang where she was going.
Following signs for about 100 meters, she finally spotted the public facilities. Next to them stood a shabby pavilion packed with people resting or waiting.
The women's restroom had a line extending five meters beyond the door, while the men's entrance stood completely empty. The contrast was almost comical.
Wen Yifan resigned herself to joining the queue.
She scrolled through Weibo idly until a nearby conversation caught her attention. One voice sounded familiar.
Looking up, she traced the sound to the small open area near the pavilion, where harsh white lights created stark shadows.
She squinted against the glare, and as her vision adjusted, she spotted him—Sang Yan, whom she'd encountered just yesterday.
It felt surreal.
From her angle, she could only see his profile. His expression was characteristically indifferent as he leaned against the pavilion in a military green windbreaker that emphasized his tall frame. He was wiping his hands with tissue, apparently having just exited the men's room.
Slightly hunched, he was speaking with a middle-aged woman seated on a nearby bench.
The woman glanced up. "Finished?"
"Mm."
She stood. "Wait here for Zhizhi—she's still in line. I need to find your father."
Sang Yan paused, slowly lifting his gaze. "She needs a babysitter for the bathroom now?"
"It's crowded," the woman said. "Besides, I want alone time with your dad. Why would you tag along?"
"Then why drag me here at all?" His laugh held no humor. "Professional babysitting services?"
The woman patted his arm with obvious satisfaction. "If you'd figured this out sooner, I wouldn't have to keep manufacturing excuses."
Sang Yan fell silent.
Before leaving, she added, "Oh, and have a heart-to-heart with your sister. I've noticed she seems stressed lately—she's lost weight."
Sang Yan's mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. "Me? Heart-to-heart conversations?"
"What's wrong with that?"
"Not only is there an age gap between us," he said, pulling out his phone with casual indifference, "there's also a gender gap. Maybe handle this one yourself."
Three seconds of loaded silence.
The woman's response came in exactly ten words: "So you're saying you won't listen to me anymore?"
"..."
After she left, Wen Yifan realized she'd been eavesdropping the entire time. The line moved forward, drawing her attention back to her own situation as she shuffled ahead.
From this new position, she could no longer see Sang Yan.
About a minute later, three messages from Zhong Siqiao lit up her screen.
[Image]
[I'm shocked.]
[He never replied to my holiday greetings before. I thought he'd abandoned this WeChat account.]
Wen Yifan opened the image—a screenshot of Zhong Siqiao's chat with Sang Yan, showing a message he'd sent.
It looked like a mass text: [Happy New Year.]
Instinctively, she exited the chat and checked her own unread messages.
Nothing from Sang Yan.
But his profile picture matched the one in Siqiao's screenshot, confirming she had the right contact.
So why hadn't she received the mass message?
Could he really be petty enough to deliberately exclude her?
Or maybe it wasn't a mass text after all?
But she'd just watched his mother lecture him not ten meters away—when would he have had time for individual New Year's greetings?
After mulling it over, the most logical explanation remained her original theory: he'd deleted her contact long ago.
Inspired by the mystery, and thinking of all the dormant contacts cluttering her phone, she decided to send her own mass text. A perfect opportunity to identify who'd blocked or deleted her.
Responses flooded in immediately—over a dozen within minutes.
She opened them one by one, occasionally typing replies, working her way from bottom to top.
The final message made her freeze.
Because she'd just discovered, with mounting horror, that the very person who'd inspired her mass-text experiment—the one she'd assumed had deleted her, who was standing mere meters away—had actually responded.
With a single character.
Sang Yan: [?]
"..."