Chapter 29: Snowfall Between Us

Snow had been falling for days.

By Friday, the cold had settled deep into the bones of the city. After work, Chen Aijia dragged Xia Chan out for hot pot, insisting warmth—real warmth—could only come from boiling broth and spice.

The mall was packed.

They waited forever for a table, standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers, breath fogging in the air. By the time they were finally seated, the restaurant’s heat wrapped around Xia Chan like something alive.

Only then did she feel her fingers again.

They split up to grab ingredients. Chen Aijia moved fast, efficient. Xia Chan lingered behind, scrolling through her phone.

Lately, He Huaisheng had been messaging her more often.

Not much. Nothing important.

“Have you eaten?”
“It’s snowing.”
“Wear more clothes.”

Simple things. Safe things.

Even though he was in Chongcheng now, they still barely saw each other. He was busy. She was too. And she didn’t ask what filled his time—some distances were easier left untouched.

She typed back:

Having dinner with Chen Aijia.

A reply came quickly.

I’m on Huaiyin Road.

She paused.

With He Qin?

Yes. Aunt Shen is making dumplings.

Her thumb hovered for a second before she replied:

Oh. Ai Jia and I will eat first, we’ll talk later.

She locked her screen.

And stared at nothing.

---

“Shrimp looks fresh,” Chen Aijia said, returning with a full plate. “Go get some.”

Xia Chan blinked, snapping back. “Mm.”

She went, but came back with mostly vegetables.

Chen Aijia frowned. “That’s it? Get some seafood.”

“No appetite.”

Chen Aijia studied her. “You look half-dead.”

“It’s winter. I’m hibernating.”

That earned a laugh.

The broth began to boil. Xia Chan dropped in a few rice cakes, watching them sink.

Then Chen Aijia asked, casually, “Have you met He Huaisheng’s sister?”

Xia Chan didn’t look up. “No. What’s she like?”

“You didn’t see Fu Ruyu’s posts?”

Xia Chan paused.

She remembered.

A birthday photo.

A group gathered around him, smiling, laughing—Fu Ruyu closest to his side. She had stared at it far too long, something sharp lodged in her chest.

After that, she muted Fu Ruyu’s posts.

Out of sight.

Not quite out of mind.

“Miss He’s working in Kaize now,” Chen Aijia added.

“Cheng Zijin arranged it?”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts.

Then—

“Cheng Zijin and He Qin are close?”

“They grew up together. Only separated when he went abroad.”

Xia Chan picked up a rice cake, watching steam curl between them. “Then He Qin is your boss now.”

The words landed heavier than intended.

Chen Aijia froze.

Then slowly looked up. “You are not…”

“I know.”

Blunt. Clean.

No need to pretend.

After a moment, Chen Aijia laughed. “You know about me, I know about you. Fair.”

Xia Chan raised a brow. “How did you know about me and He Huaisheng?”

“Please,” Chen Aijia scoffed. “Every time his name comes up, you act like you want nothing to do with him. That kind of overreaction? Suspicious.”

Xia Chan laughed.

It felt lighter now. Easier.

“Are we ruining our reputations in our later years?”

“You maybe. Not me,” Chen Aijia said frankly. “I never swore off rich men. I just haven’t met one I like. Cheng Zijin’s decent—he treats women well. I’ll stay here a few years, then go back home. My parents aren’t doing well. Can’t drift forever.”

“Does He Qin know about you two?”

“No idea. And even if she does, what—throw acid at me?”

Xia Chan smiled faintly. “She doesn’t seem the type.”

“She’s not. Honestly? She’s a bit naive. Like Bao Na. Sometimes I even feel bad for her—Cheng Zijin’s too complicated.”

“Girls like complicated men.”

Chen Aijia laughed. “Unfortunately.”

---

After a while, she asked, more carefully this time, “What about you and He Huaisheng?”

Xia Chan stared into the bubbling pot.

“What plans could I have?”

“You’re not like me,” Chen Aijia said. “You act carefree, but you’re not. You’re the type who should marry someone steady. Like Xie Xingzhou.”

Xia Chan’s gaze lowered.

“Why bring him up again?”

“I never understood—why did you break up?”

A pause.

Then—

“Have I told you about my family?”

“A little.”

“The man my mom found… he treated me well. Wanted to send me abroad. Took me to events.” She stopped, then continued quietly, “But someone from Xie Xingzhou’s company recognized him.”

Chen Aijia stiffened. “And?”

“There were rumors.”

Ugly ones.

Unrepeatable ones.

Chen Aijia went still. “…And he believed them?”

Xia Chan didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

“He wanted stability,” she said after a while. “Just not with me.”

The broth bubbled louder.

“What about He Huaisheng?” Chen Aijia asked softly.

Xia Chan hesitated.

“…Let’s not talk about him.”

---

After dinner, Xia Chan dropped Chen Aijia home, then drove alone.

The roads were slick with snow. Traffic crawled—an endless river of red brake lights stretching ahead.

Restless, she picked up her phone.

Scrolled.

Then, almost without thinking, opened Fu Ruyu’s page.

There it was.

A photo.

A young girl stood beside her—bright-eyed, delicate. Not quite a woman yet.

Xia Chan tilted her head slightly.

“You don’t look like your brother at all.”

Her phone buzzed.

Finished eating?

She replied: Finished.

Where are you? I’ll come find you.

She hesitated.

Shopping with Aijia.

A pause.

Do you have time tomorrow?

Yes.

I’ll pick you up in the morning.

---

The next day, the wind howled even louder.

Xia Chan woke late, calling out, “Mom! Did the snow stop?”

No answer.

The house was empty again.

She didn’t think much of it anymore.

Then her phone rang.

“Are you up?”

She jolted upright. “You’re here already?”

“Downstairs.”

“Give me a minute!”

“How long? Fifteen minutes?”

“…Are you serious?”

“Then I’ll come up.”

“No! Fifteen minutes is enough!”

“I’m coming up.”

“…!”

Two minutes later—

A knock.

She rushed to the door, hair messy, face bare.

Opened it.

He Huaisheng stood there.

He glanced inside. “Anyone home?”

“You’re asking now?”

“…Right.”

She blocked the doorway. “Wait outside. I’ll be quick.”

He ignored her.

Reached out—

And lifted her.

“Put me down!”

Too late.

He carried her inside.

---

The apartment looked worse under daylight.

Cold. Worn. Faded.

She felt it—the embarrassment creeping in.

“Sit,” she muttered, escaping to make tea.

There were no clean cups.

So she used her own.

The one he had once given her.

When she came back, he was gone from the living room.

She found him on her balcony.

Smoking.

“Come inside. It’s cold.”

“I…smoke.”

“Then smoke inside.”

He paused, then stubbed it out.

---

He sat on her bed.

Pink sheets. A giant stuffed bear.

It didn’t match her at all.

“Let’s go,” she said quickly.

“Sit a bit.”

She didn’t want to.

Didn’t want him to see too much.

But he beckoned.

She went.

Reluctantly.

He pulled her onto his lap, brushing damp strands from her forehead, then kissed her.

Soft.

Slow.

Nothing urgent.

“…Xia Chan.”

“Hmm?”

“…Did you miss me?”

She didn’t answer.

Three days.

Not long.

Not short.

He waited.

Then let her go.

“Let’s go.”

---

At the door, he wrapped her scarf around her neck.

Too tight.

She pulled it loose, laughing softly. “You’re suffocating me.”

He said nothing.

Just watched her.

That look—

Too steady.

Too much.

She looked away. “Let’s go.”

He paused.

Then followed.