Chapter 34: This Is the First Time I've Heard You Say That

It turned out Zhao Qiyan was not someone she could reach whenever she wanted to.

She tried calling again. No answer. She put the phone down and felt, beneath the frustration, something that had been building quietly for a while — the particular discomfort of having assumed a person would simply be there, and finding that assumption wasn't a guarantee.

The situation with her grandfather's case was being handled by people more positioned than her to handle it. Being unable to help and unable to stop worrying about it was its own kind of exhaustion. She needed to go somewhere and not think about any of it for an hour.

---

She and Jiang Wei had joined the bowling club together, years back, neither of them especially serious about the sport. It served a social purpose more than anything else. After one game, they ran into someone they knew — Xu Wei — and Jiang Wei's energy shifted immediately. Ruan Jing noticed. The history between Xu Wei and Zhao Qiyan was not something she found comfortable either, but she was managing it.

Xu Wei greeted Jiang Wei and then came over to where Ruan Jing was sitting. "No weekend plans with your boyfriend?"

Ruan Jing smiled without answering and turned her attention to Jiang Wei, who was setting up her next throw.

The lack of response seemed to land badly. Xu Wei dropped the pleasantries. "The way you play with people's feelings is genuinely impressive. First Jiang Wei, and now Qiyan — you collect people and don't bother to keep them."

Ruan Jing looked at her. "You seem to dislike me quite a lot."

"I just can't stand watching someone get what they don't appreciate—"

"Whatever I do or don't appreciate," Ruan Jing said, evenly, "doesn't really require outside management."

Xu Wei's expression sharpened. She opened her mouth again.

Ruan Jing's phone rang.

"Jing. Come to the hospital."

Her stomach dropped. "What's wrong?"

"Don't panic. Grandpa's old condition is acting up. Just come."

"I'm on my way."

She hung up. The phone rang again immediately — a number she recognized as Zhao Qiyan's. She answered.

"Jing, it's Zhao Lin. Qiyan went back to England with his parents the day before yesterday — their father had a sudden accident and he had to go with them. He couldn't reach you before he left and asked me to call you. I completely forgot until now. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine."

"Do you have his England number?"

"I have it."

"Call him when you can. He was so worried when he couldn't find you — if his father hadn't needed him, he genuinely would not have gotten on the plane. You should have seen the look on his face." A brief laugh. "Call him, he needs to know you're alright."

Ruan Jing was quiet for three seconds. "I understand."

She got in the car and drove to the hospital. She knew the route by heart now, which was its own kind of statement about how the year had been going. She stayed until seven, then went home, showered, lay down.

She thought about Zhao Qiyan. She missed him — actually missed him, the specific weight of it, not just the absence of distraction. It seemed that somewhere along the way, without her having fully tracked the development, he had become someone her days were organized around. She wasn't sure when that had happened. She was less sure than she'd expected to be about how she felt about the fact.

She fell asleep before she remembered to try the international number.

In the morning, her phone rang at the exact moment she would have otherwise woken up.

Unfamiliar number. "Hello?"

"I thought you might be awake by now."

The voice was low and quiet and immediately recognizable. She sat up. "Qiyan?"

I miss you so much.

The words were in her before she'd said anything, and the particular weight that had been sitting across her chest for days shifted without her doing anything to move it.

"When are you coming back?"

"Day after tomorrow. Tomorrow, if I can manage it."

"I'll wait for you."

She hung up, fell back against the pillow, and let out a slow breath up toward the ceiling.

---

With her mother temporarily unable to manage the school, Ruan Jing's workload had redistributed itself without asking. She absorbed what she could and kept going. Jiang Yan, unexpectedly, had been helping — stepping in at moments she hadn't anticipated, handling things before she had to ask. She was mildly surprised by it and chose not to examine it too closely. More support was more support.

---

Ruan Xian called twice before she'd even left work, which meant she needed to go out, which meant the past week had built up past what she was managing alone. Ruan Jing agreed and showed up.

The evening included three of Ruan Xian's colleagues — two men, one woman — all of them with a serious capacity for alcohol that Ruan Jing made no attempt to match. She stayed with the low-percentage drinks and was mildly useful by the end of it.

Midway through the night a waiter arrived with a glass of champagne and indicated that someone at another table had sent it. Ruan Jing looked over — a well-dressed man, pleasant-looking, watching with the careful interest of someone who had made a decision and was waiting to see if it would come to anything. She asked the waiter to convey her thanks and turned back to the table.

The female colleague across from her had reached the stage of the evening where she felt comfortable saying what she actually thought. "San San, next time we do this, we cannot invite your sister. The entire room's attention is ruined."

Ruan Xian patted her arm. "Don't worry about her. She's already accounted for. Completely off the market."

Ruan Jing gave her a look. "What are you saying."

"The truth." Her sister tapped her forehead lightly. "Don't play innocent."

The conversation moved in the way conversations do at the end of the evening — topics rising and dissolving. Someone mentioned a colleague's romantic situation. Someone else remembered a man from a school trip the previous year. The female professor said, wistfully, that a gentleman of that caliber — Zhao something, wasn't it — was the kind of person you saw once and didn't quite forget.

Ruan Xian smiled. "That type of man is worth admiring from a distance. Besides, he's spoken for."

"Of course he is," the professor said. "The good ones always are. It's deeply unfair."

Ruan Jing was reaching for her glass when her phone moved.

Are you busy?

"I'm out. I'll call when I'm home."

I'll wait. Drive carefully.

Mm.

The female professor caught her expression and raised an eyebrow. "Did your boyfriend just check in on you?"

Ruan Jing smiled without confirming or denying anything.

---

The evening ran almost to midnight. Everyone except Ruan Jing had passed the point of driving themselves home. She made the rounds — addresses collected, cars arranged, each person deposited at their door. By the time she and Ruan Xian were on the way back, the streets were empty and quiet.

Ruan Xian reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind Ruan Jing's ear. "A-Jing. Thank you."

"Since when do you thank me."

"I wasn't as drunk as I looked," Ruan Xian said. "I knew what I was doing." She rolled down the window. The cold air came in. "When I was small, Grandpa used to say — have a little wine regularly, so you know how to hold yourself when it matters in public. He always had a reason behind what he said."

Ruan Jing glanced at her. "Are you worried about him?"

"Aren't you?" Ruan Xian leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes briefly. "A-Jing. Have you thought about it — how something like this just — appears out of nowhere?"

The question landed somewhere specific and uncomfortable. Ruan Jing kept her eyes on the road. "Don't overthink it."

---

Home. Shower. Phone in hand.

She dialed Zhao Qiyan's number. It rang for longer than usual before he picked up. "I was almost asleep."

Just his voice, half-gone with exhaustion, and whatever had been held at arm's length all evening came slightly undone. "I'm sorry."

"Are you in a bad mood?" He was tired and still noticed.

"No." She paused. "I just miss you a little."

Silence on the other end. Then a sound that was almost a laugh — genuine, and surprised. "This is the first time I've heard you say that."

"You don't like it?"

I like it very much.

"What time is your flight tomorrow?"

"Seven in the morning. I probably won't land until evening."

"Do you want me to pick you up?"

"You don't have to go to all that trouble." A beat. "But thank you."

"Mm."