"Isn't this the same as before? Fine, you're making things easy for me," Sang Yan said leisurely, a hint of amusement threading through his voice. "Every time, the wish is something I want to do anyway."
The memory of last year's birthday surfaced, and Wen Yifan couldn't suppress her retort. "Last year, my wish was related to my work."
"Hm? You're mistaken," Sang Yan replied without a shred of shame. "You said you wanted me to be your boyfriend."
"…"
They continued walking along the street, the city lights casting long shadows behind them.
Sang Yan's curiosity hadn't waned. "Anything else?"
"Are you giving me three wishes?" Wen Yifan paused, considering. She didn't have many wishes—at least none she could easily articulate. Her gaze lingered on his tall, broad back, tracing the line of his shoulders before she finally spoke. "Then carry me on your back."
The moment the words escaped, reality crashed back. He'd just had his stitches removed that morning. "Never mind, I'll just—"
But Sang Yan had already bent down, cutting off her protest with action. "Get on."
"…"
Wen Yifan hesitated for only a heartbeat before climbing onto his back, her arms wrapping carefully around his shoulders. "Just for a little while, then."
Sang Yan straightened with practiced ease, adjusting her weight as he resumed walking. His voice carried that same patient curiosity. "Anything else?"
A realization dawned on Wen Yifan—he seemed genuinely willing to grant her however many wishes she desired. She studied his profile, the strong line of his jaw, the way the streetlight caught in his dark eyes, and couldn't help but smile. Being the birthday girl truly was something to savor. "Then smile for me."
He turned his head just enough to meet her gaze.
With playful boldness, Wen Yifan reached out and gently hooked his chin, her gesture deliberately theatrical, like someone teasing a proper gentleman. "I want to see your dimples."
Sang Yan's smile came reluctantly, forced. "I don't have those."
"Why won't you admit you have them?" Genuinely puzzled, Wen Yifan poked at the exact spot where she'd memorized his dimples appearing. "They're so cute. I wish I had them too."
"…"
Cute.
A muscle twitched near Sang Yan's brow, his discomfort evident. "Wen Shuangjiang, don't use that word to describe me."
His tough-guy act only made her laugh harder. She started pinching his cheeks with determined playfulness, her touch calibrated somewhere between gentle and insistent, as though she could manually summon those elusive dimples. "Sang Yan, I like your dimples."
Like a child resigned to his fate, Sang Yan endured her ministrations, this time tacitly acknowledging what he'd previously denied—yes, he had dimples.
"Is there any part of me you don't like?"
"You're right." Inspiration struck, and Wen Yifan made another wish, her tone turning possessive. "Then don't let anyone else see your dimples."
Sang Yan's footsteps halted abruptly. A laugh escaped him, surprised and genuinely amused. "Wen Shuangjiang, how did you become so autocratic?"
Her eyes curved into beautiful crescents, her words coming slowly but with absolute conviction. "Isn't this what you asked me to do? Make wishes?"
"Alright." Today, Sang Yan was particularly agreeable, as if his usual boundaries had dissolved, replaced by an endless willingness to indulge her. "From now on, these dimples will only appear for you."
Satisfaction softened Wen Yifan's features as she withdrew her hand.
Sang Yan, it seemed, wasn't finished. "Anything else?"
She fell into quiet contemplation.
They happened to pass a milk tea shop, its doors open to the evening air. Inside, a familiar melody drifted out—S.H.E.'s "You Were Once Young," the notes bittersweet and nostalgic.
Many years ago, you had a pair of clear eyes...
When you ran, it was like a flash of lightning in spring...
Falling in love with someone, not afraid to give your whole life...
Wen Yifan's eyelashes fluttered. She looked up at the man carrying her, really looked at him.
He was focused on the path ahead, his black hair and darker eyes creating sharp contrasts against his profile—angular, smooth, carrying an edge of intensity that years had honed. Time had matured his features considerably, yet something youthful persisted around his eyes, an energy that refused to fade.
The image transported her back—to a young boy placing a basketball in her hands before running off to borrow money on her behalf. Back then, he could swallow his pride for her sake. Now, years later, he remained fundamentally unchanged, patiently asking about her birthday wishes one by one.
And fulfilling them, one by one.
Emotion swelled unexpectedly. Wen Yifan felt her nose tingle, her vision blurring slightly. She turned her head, looking back the way they'd come.
From this angle, she could just barely see the corner of the coffee shop they'd left behind. It seemed to be disappearing from view, fading into the distance.
Zhao Yuandong was nowhere to be seen.
The negative emotions she'd been holding at bay finally surfaced, arriving fashionably late to her own birthday. Her heart felt hollow, carved out—she was truly bidding farewell to the past, wasn't she?
It was as if something had been forcibly excavated from deep within her chest.
On this day. Her 25th birthday.
She turned back and buried her face in the curve of Sang Yan's neck, seeking refuge.
Sensing the shift in her demeanor, Sang Yan glanced over. "What's wrong? Haven't decided yet?"
The realization hit her with unexpected force—she wasn't as indifferent as she'd pretended to be. Her eyes gradually moistened, tears cooling against his skin. "Sang Yan."
He stopped walking. "What is it?"
"Except for you," Wen Yifan's arms tightened around his neck, her voice trembling despite her efforts to control it, "no one loves me anymore."
"…"
At some point, they'd wandered away from the bustling commercial street into quieter territory.
Under the dim glow of streetlights, Sang Yan came to a complete stop. Light and shadow played across his features, softening the usual sharpness, but his gaze remained fixed on Wen Yifan, dark and inscrutable.
When he spoke, his voice emerged so soft it barely disturbed the air. "I only love you."
From the heart flutter of youth, continuing until now, and into every moment of the future.
I will only love you.
"…"
Wen Yifan lifted her head, meeting his gaze through tear-blurred vision.
"Wen Shuangjiang," Sang Yan raised his eyebrows, a smile touching his lips as he tilted his head to kiss her chin. His words came slowly, weighted with sincerity. "Make another wish."
Her voice remained thick with unshed tears. "What?"
The night sky stretched endlessly above them. A warm wind swept along the street, carrying the scent of late autumn. The world had gone utterly quiet, devoid of other souls. It seemed to contain only them—two people suspended in this moment.
They looked only at each other, as if there was no room for anyone else.
Make another wish.
Besides me.
There will be many more people who love you.
After Frost's Descent passed, it seemed to take the lingering warmth with it. Winter settled over Nanwu City with quiet determination. Time flowed forward, and Sang Yan's wound gradually healed, leaving behind only a faint scar—a ghost of that night.
Wen Yifan threw herself into research, investigating various scar removal methods with the dedication of a doctoral candidate. After days of careful application, the scar faded a bit more, becoming almost invisible.
The year rushed toward its conclusion.
One afternoon, returning to the station after an interview, Wen Yifan found herself summoned by Gan Hongyuan. The conversation turned to the upcoming annual party, and somewhere in her resume, he'd discovered a detail she'd nearly forgotten herself—ten years of dance experience. He wanted her to prepare a performance, to "bring glory" to the Convey program group.
Wen Yifan felt ambushed. "Director, I danced for ten years, but it's been almost ten years since I last danced."
Gan Hongyuan smiled benevolently, sipping tea from his ever-present thermos. "It's fine, having some experience is better than none. Besides, it's all for fun. We don't have many young ladies here, mostly old men, and no one likes to watch them perform."
She attempted a diplomatic retreat. "But I don't have time to practice, and my basic skills are rusty. I also have a lot of follow-up reports to…"
"You don't need to report topics to me recently." Gan Hongyuan nodded, radiating consideration while simultaneously bulldozing her objections. "Focus on preparing the performance. Don't make it too festive; our group needs to stand out, you know? Do something more artistic."
"…"
Several more attempts at refusal met the same fate—polite but absolute rejection.
In the end, she found herself conscripted into this task.
Back at her desk, Su Tian materialized with barely contained curiosity. "What did the director want? Was it about the annual party?"
Wen Yifan looked at her colleague with newfound understanding. "Were you asked too?"
"Yes, but I don't have any special talents. I rejected every suggestion he made." Su Tian's relief was palpable, her grin sympathetic. "Last year when Sister Lin was here, she volunteered to organize it. This year, with no one to take charge, the director must be worried. I saw him talking to several people just now. Looks like he's settled on you."
A headache began forming behind Wen Yifan's temples.
"It's okay, just dance casually. You saw last year's party; hardly any performances were worth watching. It's just for fun." Su Tian's comfort came with pragmatic additions. "Plus, there are prizes and stuff. Oh, you could bring Sang Duck King along."
The suggestion made Wen Yifan sit up straighter, interest piqued.
Su Tian added with a knowing half-smile, "He might want to see you dance."
Something shifted in Wen Yifan's expression as memory sparked. The previous frustration dissolved entirely. She rested her chin on her hand, tongue touching the corner of her lips thoughtfully. "Mm, I'll think about it when I get home."
When she arrived home, Sang Yan hadn't returned yet. She headed to her room for a shower first. Emerging into the living room afterward, she caught the tail end of a voice message he was sending: "Your brother here is a 90s kid, thank you very much."
"…"
The exasperated tone told her exactly who was on the receiving end.
She retrieved yogurt from the fridge and settled beside him on the couch. He launched into another lengthy, deliberately provocative voice message: "You've been beating around the bush without getting to the point. You should at least give me a reason why you don't agree. If it's about being old, I can't do anything about that. After all, your boyfriend is a bit…"
Wen Yifan sipped her yogurt in silence, marveling privately at how Sang Yan had survived this long with his particular brand of diplomacy.
After he finished recording, she asked, "What's wrong with Zhizhi?"
"She wants to bring Duan Jiaxu home for the New Year, but says my parents don't approve of them being together." His tone suggested mild inconvenience rather than concern.
"Ah?" Immediate empathy flooded through Wen Yifan, her words stumbling slightly. "Why don't they approve?"
Sang Yan seemed remarkably unbothered. "Don't know, probably because he's too old."
Alarm bells rang. "Duan Jiaxu and I should be the same age, right?"
"We're 90s kids," Sang Yan declared with complete self-assurance.
"…"
His criteria for "old" remained utterly mysterious to her.
Then he turned to face her fully, using this as a natural segue into his actual agenda. "Wen Shuangjiang, want to come home with me for New Year this year?"
Fresh from hearing about his parents' attitude toward Duan Jiaxu, Wen Yifan felt particularly anxious about this prospect.
"What if your parents don't approve of me either?"
Sang Yan raised an eyebrow, supremely unconcerned. "You don't need to worry about that."
"Why?"
"They don't have high standards for my partner." He stated this as simple fact, apparently seeing no issue with such low expectations. "As long as it's a girl, it's fine."
Wen Yifan privately thought Sang Yan's situation wasn't quite so desperate, yet his mother had seemed remarkably eager about blind dates previously, as if genuinely worried he'd never marry.
The reason remained unclear, but she didn't probe further. Instead, she responded seriously, "Then I'll choose some gifts. Is there anything your parents like?"
"Hm? You don't have to buy anything." His smile suggested genuine pleasure at her acceptance. "If you want to buy something, I'll go with you."
"Okay." Relief settled over her, though she hesitated about mentioning the annual party. Not knowing how well she'd perform by then, she opted for a vaguer approach. "By the way, are you free on the evening of the 22nd?"
"Not sure. Why?"
"Nothing, just the company's annual party." She kept her gaze lowered, deliberately vague. "Family members can come."
Understanding dawned immediately. "You have a performance?"
"…" His perceptiveness caught her off-guard. She attempted nonchalance. "Mm, I'm singing a song with Su Tian. You can come if you want to watch."
Sang Yan accepted this at face value, his response casual. "Alright."
The day before the annual party, Wen Yifan had a scheduled day off. She'd planned to rest well and practice dancing after a good night's sleep, but Sang Yan kept her up until dawn, and consciousness didn't return until late morning.
Her body felt like it had been replaced with lead.
Half-submerged in sleep, she registered his phone ringing persistently.
Later—probably to avoid disturbing her—Sang Yan got up and left the room. Something seemed urgent. She forced her eyes open briefly, watching him go before drowsiness dragged her back under.
Not long after, knocking erupted at the front door.
She buried her head under a pillow, waiting for Sang Yan to answer it.
But after thirty interminable seconds, the knocking continued.
Her morning anger reached critical mass. Frustration propelling her upright, she left the room and glanced around with an expression that could curdle milk. The sound of running water came from the bathroom—he was showering.
She trudged to the front door and yanked it open. "Who is it?"
A delivery person in uniform stood outside. "Your takeout."
Her brain refused to function. She just wanted food and sleep, in that order. She accepted the bag, closed the door, and deposited it on the dining table without examination before returning to Sang Yan's bed.
Time passed in a haze.
Eventually, she heard the shower stop. Sang Yan emerged, his presence announced by overwhelming sandalwood. He sat beside her, the mattress dipping. "Who came just now?"
She pulled the blanket over her head, offering zero response.
Reading the room, he stood and left, returning shortly. Noticing something, he hugged her through the blanket. "Hey, Wen Shuangjiang. Are you angry?"
She'd reached her absolute limit. Pulling the blanket down, she fixed him with a look. "I want to sleep."
"That thing was ordered by Duan Jiaxu—"
"Sang Yan," she interrupted, her tone deadly serious, "If you disturb my sleep again, I won't talk to you for a week. Understand?"
"…"
He paused, processing this threat. Then his eyebrows rose, amusement breaking through. "Why are you talking like me now?"
She burrowed back into her cocoon, turned over, and presented him with her back.
"My sister is back in Nanwu. I'm going out to pick her up." Her morning temperament genuinely baffled him, forcing his voice lower. "We'll go out for a meal later."
Wen Yifan maintained her impersonation of a stone.
Something about her complete dismissal made his fingers itch. He chuckled softly, then—in a move of pure provocation—grabbed her, yanked down the blanket, and kissed her thoroughly before she could react.
Sensing impending eruption, he quickly wrapped her back up.
As if nothing had happened at all.
His expression was pure innocence as he spoke casually. "Alright, sleep then. I'm heading out."
After his departure, Wen Yifan tossed and turned, sleep now impossible. Sleep deprivation had transformed her mood into something particularly volatile. She got up and checked her phone—Sang Yan had sent a message: [Let me know when you're awake.]
She felt zero inclination to respond.
After washing up, her attention caught on the takeout. A note on the receipt made her pause.
— My boyfriend has a fever and I haven't been able to contact him for three days. I'm out of town and can't get back. Please make sure to wake him up to eat. Thank you.
"…"
This takeout had clearly been ordered to their address. What was this note about?
Was he worried she wouldn't wake up?
She didn't overthink it. Taking the food to the sofa, she turned on the TV and found a popular drama. She ate while watching, her phone occasionally buzzing with notifications.
She glanced at them—nothing important—and continued ignoring them.
Halfway through her meal, sounds came from the front door. She opened it to find Sang Zhi standing outside, which surprised her. "Zhizhi, why are you here?"
"My brother told me to come up." Noticing the receipt on the takeout bag, Sang Zhi pointed at it, guilt written across her features. "Sister Yifan, are you angry with my brother because of this?"
The question made Wen Yifan wonder if her mood was that transparent. She looked at the receipt again, then back at Sang Zhi, genuinely confused. "No, I'm already eating it…"
Relief flooded Sang Zhi's expression. "I thought you might misunderstand and think my brother was cheating."
Silence descended.
Understanding crashed over Wen Yifan like a cold wave. The content did suggest infidelity, didn't it? She lowered her eyes, processing slowly. "Ah, is that what it means to cheat?"
"…"
After chatting with Sang Zhi for a while longer, Wen Yifan noticed the time. Worried the young girl might be hungry, she headed to the kitchen to make noodles. Sang Zhi followed, mentioning casually, "Sister Yifan, my brother asked you to go downstairs to eat together. Aren't we going?"
"I've already eaten." Her tone remained gentle. "Do you want to eat out?"
Sang Zhi blinked thoughtfully. "I'd rather eat what you make."
More sounds from the front door—Sang Zhi went to answer it.
Sang Yan walked in wearing a black windbreaker over matching pants, the outfit emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs. He looked effortlessly cool, as always. His appearance reminded Wen Yifan vividly of his earlier sleep disruption campaign.
And that mischievous expression, completely unrepentant.
She pressed her lips together, her resolve to ignore him solidifying.
Noticing them both in the kitchen, Sang Yan asked casually, "What are you two doing?"
"Sister-in-law is making noodles for me," Sang Zhi replied.
The term "sister-in-law" made Wen Yifan turn. Her gaze met Sang Yan's for exactly two seconds. Then she looked at Sang Zhi, remembering the receipt, and spoke with deliberate emphasis. "Don't call me that. Your brother is cheating."
Sang Yan: "…"
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