1 Han Wen
Autumn rain dampened the twilight, turning the rain outside the theater into a mist.
Inside, the classical dance drama was in full rehearsal. At center stage, she performed the final solo, moving through the winding melody.
Between light and shadow, she wore a long gown of jade water hue, ethereal and graceful. Her movements blended form and spirit; beneath the sheer fabric, her slender waist appeared faintly, like a brushstroke in an ancient painting balancing strength and softness.
In the last moment, her body froze in a perfect pose, and the grand theater lights suddenly brightened.
Applause erupted enthusiastically.
“Oh my, she’s absolutely stunning...”
“Truly a natural talent. That one move—raising her body and reaching out like she’s touching the sea—would take me three years to master.”
...
As rehearsal ended, the backstage was as bright as daylight.
Official media were present today, and as the lead, she posed with the ensemble for some behind-the-scenes shots.
After the interview, she lifted her skirt and hurried toward the dressing room, humbly bowing amid compliments. Her smile was gentle and clever, her entire demeanor radiant and sprite-like; even the small beads of sweat at her temple seemed lively in the glow.
—“Shu Han! Another gift for you!”
She turned at the voice, her clear moonlit eyes sparkling with tenderness.
The gift was a delicate bouquet of flowers in pale pink and white tones, cool and refined. Nestled among the blooms was a velvet box about the size of a palm.
Opening it, a pair of small white jade earrings lay inside, shaped like droplets, translucent and warm to the touch, their luster so fine it seemed to melt in the hand.
This was no ordinary material circulating in the market; the giver must have put much thought into it.
As she pondered this, a fellow dancer teased, “Hehe, is it that anonymous superfan again? Gifts even at rehearsals—impressive.”
She lowered her gaze to examine the earrings carefully. After a moment, she gently placed them back in the box and casually asked, “By the way, did you see who sent it?”
“Nope, same as before. The security guard delivered it, and when I asked, he said he didn’t know either.”
“Alright, thanks.”
...
After changing clothes and removing her makeup, her phone buzzed in the locker. She happily answered, “Hello? Aunt Tang.”
“Hanhan! The rain’s coming down hard. I told Yan Si to pick you up; you two are on the way.”
At the sound, a strand of hair slipped quietly from behind her ear. She paused briefly before softly replying, “Okay.”
After hanging up, she placed the evening’s gift into her locker.
Deep inside, dozens of gifts were already stacked. Including today’s, it was hard not to suspect they all came from the same person.
The style spoke of lavish generosity.
—“Big spender, must be trying to buy our company out,” her colleagues whispered, watching the trending topics on Weibo.
The arts world was always a battleground for capital. When Xu Sheng Media was acquired by Yi Song during her quiet period, its stock price soared, seeming poised to take off with Yi Song’s backing.
“Yi Song, huh—” a familiar voice cut in from the troupe, “My best friend works HR at headquarters. Their new top executive just returned from abroad recently—very handsome. Hey, do you know what my friend said? She’s glad she’s in the dance circle because if she worked at Yi Song, she’d definitely get tangled up with her boss. You know, beauty’s the greatest hazard in the workplace.”
“... Who asked you?” a girl across from her stared as if she were crazy.
“Pfft, don’t have to ask me to say it. Bitter much? You’ll never meet anyone of that status, while I can just make a call and get introduced.”
Amid the chatter, Shu Han stayed quiet, leaning against the wall and fiddling with WeChat.
Her fingers tapped hesitantly on the keyboard before she sent: [Aunt Tang said you’re here to pick me up. Are you there?]
They hadn’t spoken for so long, and she’d switched to a new phone. Their chat window was empty, as if they were strangers who had just added each other.
At the top of the screen, his full name was the contact label. She idly tapped it twice with her index finger.
...
Seconds later, the phone vibrated.
Chen Yansi: [photo]
“...” He didn’t bother to say a word.
Opening it, she saw a casually snapped photo from inside the car, showing the side entrance of the theater.
She pursed her lips and replied, [I’m coming, wait for me.]
...
The Central Grand Theater stood on Jintong Road, blending Eastern and Western styles. Around it, Huai Jing’s ancient architecture shimmered like scattered gold in the rain.
Shu Han descended the steps lightly, passing two imposing stone lions at the gate. Wrapping a pale shawl tighter against the cold wind, she walked toward a black Cullinan parked nearby.
The rain was steady; Assistant Qiu promptly stepped out, holding an umbrella for her and opening the rear door.
With a hint of hesitation, Shu Han lowered herself into the seat.
As the door closed, a familiar scent of juniper and spicy coldness, mingled with bitter orange leaves, wafted to her nose.
She deliberately avoided looking at the person beside her, quietly smoothing her skirt.
The engine started, and the air in the backseat grew still, bathed in a faint, dim moonlight.
The man beside her reclined lazily, eyes closed as if napping. His dark suit was still on, the jacket casually unbuttoned, lacking any refined elegance but exuding a faint air of half-matured wildness.
She pressed her knees together and instinctively leaned toward the door.
Assistant Qiu stole glances in the rearview mirror, feeling the atmosphere in the backseat was a little strange.
Minutes later, after taking a call, the assistant relayed, “President Chen, Mr. Cao wants to arrange a dinner with you regarding the board reshuffle. He hopes to get your advice.”
Chen Yansi didn’t even blink.
The car fell into a cold silence for a few seconds.
“Which Cao?”
The voice, low and slightly weary, whispered close to her ear—familiar yet long absent. The husky tone seemed to circle her nerves.
Unconsciously, Shu Han touched her earlobe and shifted her gaze to the window.
Assistant: “Mr. Cao from Xu Sheng Media.”
At this, Chen Yansi’s interest waned. He lounged in the dim light, a faint smile curling his lips as he spoke slowly, “Xu Sheng’s financial gap is bigger than his face. Dinner? What kind? Prison food?”
The assistant nodded seriously, “Understood. I’ll warn Mr. Cao.”
Shu Han pondered silently—had she just overheard some business secret? If Xu Sheng was risky, why buy it?
Never mind, it was none of her concern. Capital played its chess game carefully; no one made losing deals.
Rain streaks blurred the car window. Neon lights flickered past as a row of plane trees sped by.
“What’s out there that’s so fascinating?”
Shu Han froze.
Who was he talking to?
“To you.”
“... Nothing.”
She replied softly.
Their first conversation in two years.
But compared to the ten years they’d known each other, two years was nothing.
Chen Yansi was calm and unhurried, as if killing time by chatting idly: “Neck not sore?”
After a few seconds, Shu Han withdrew her gaze from the window, forced her head to face forward, and stiffly said, “No.”
He chuckled—a low, brief laugh tinged with mockery.
She glanced at him quietly.
Chen Yansi still leaned back, his profile reflected in the glass, sharp and handsome enough to catch one’s eye.
...
This man always carried a harmonious contradiction: outwardly mature for his twenty-six years, yet in a flash, the pure youthfulness of eighteen shone through—the reckless freedom and defiant spirit, sharp as a blade.
Youthful mischief had settled into indifferent calm. He seldom spoke, his lazy arrogance tinged with cold self-possession, always looking forward, never lingering on the past.
Shu Han glanced out the window again, realizing there was still a long way to her old mansion.
For the first time, she found the car too slow.
Unconsciously, two faint fragrances mingled silently in the backseat.
Her phone vibrated in her palm.
She opened the group chat “Sharing Blessings, No Turning Back (3).” A link popped up.
It was a grainy long-distance photo on a social platform, comments and likes surging within half an hour.
The setting was the Central Grand Theater, showing a familiar, indifferent face seated in the dim audience seats, his loose gaze fixed on the stage.
In this age of beauty worship, everyone in the building was curious who he was, adding “Ping me if you have news” in the group.
Shu Han’s breath slowed involuntarily, fingers clenched around her phone.
More messages jumped in the chat:
[That face looks like the ex-husband! He went to watch the rehearsal? On a rainy day, no less??]
[Not sure it was today. Ex-husband doesn’t seem like the type.]
“...”
Only two of her closest friends knew about her secret past with Chen Yansi.
They had enough discretion but probably sent the messages before remembering Shu Han was in the group, quickly retracting them.
The chat cleared, and a flash of white light struck her mind.
Would the man beside her see her screen?
Her eyelashes trembled slightly as she lowered her gaze.
Fortunately, it was a false alarm.
But just a moment before she looked away, Chen Yansi, following her line of sight, silently opened his eyes and looked over.
In the dimness, their eyes met. Shu Han startled slightly.
Their gazes intertwined. He tilted his head, eyes half-lidded lazily, but a deep, unspeakable intensity grew in them.
Like staring at prey.
Her heart tightened inexplicably; she hurriedly looked away.
The rain eased as the car passed the security checkpoint and entered Chong Garden, moving along a moderately wide path.
Sparse lights lined the way, villas spaced apart, their Sino-Western architecture exuding a quiet solitude under the night sky.
Minutes later, the assistant braked gently. Shu Han prepared to open the door, but her shawl slipped and pooled on the seat.
In the next second, a hand hooked the thin fabric and lifted it up.
Holding her breath, she felt cool fingertips brush her slender shoulder, causing a slight, involuntary shiver.
Chen Yansi lowered his gaze to her, his hand moving gracefully over her front to fasten the car door.
The door cracked open. Shu Han momentarily collected herself and said calmly, “Thank you.”
In the unspoken tension, she deliberately avoided his gaze. Chen Yansi remained languid in his seat; neither moved.
After a moment’s silence, he raised his hand, fingers clearly defined, and twirled a lock of her hair that had fallen by her ear.
Her breath quickened.
That second stretched unbearably long, senses heightened.
The soft hair circled his fingers once. His movement was slow as he tucked the strand behind her ear, the pressure invisible yet audible, his voice low and husky by her ear: “We’re home.”