How curious, she thought.
On a solo business trip meant for lonely nights of manuscript reading, he was keeping her company in his own ways. Thinking back, this guy had warded off plenty of bad suitors for her, and she hadn’t even thanked him once.
The internet said brave people seize the world.
She was right—she had to treat him to dinner.
A while passed with no reply to the sunset pic, so Li Xia set her phone down. She was just peeling open the noodle cup when Zhao Xiaolan called.
Zhao Xiaolan asked what she’d eaten. Li Xia said cheap carbs.
Zhao Xiaolan snorted. “Instant noodles, right? Can’t you have a little ambition?” Like mother, like daughter—Li Xia burst out laughing.
Even at twenty-six, whenever she traveled alone, Zhao Xiaolan fussed over her like clockwork, and Qu Shuxin chimed in now and then too. Not seeing Li Chun mentioned, Li Xia casually asked after her. Zhao Xiaolan explained that Li Chun had twisted her ankle at school. Li Dayong had taken the car out, so Li Chun, finding it inconvenient, hadn’t come home.
After a couple bites of noodles, Li Xia quickly called Li Chun.
Li Chun launched right in: “Sis, let me tell you, Aries has been in Mercury retrograde—it’s terrifying! June hasn’t been kind; it’s been gunning for me! First my finger got scalded, then my phone dropped in water. I’ve been sleep-deprived and spacey, tripped and sprained my ankle, and got chewed out by my advisor for being late. Waaah…”
Li Xia frowned at the pitiful face on video call. “Should I tell Chi Xin to drive over and pick you up?”
Li Chun shook her head—no need. She was in a funk, didn’t want to move or go home, just lie there. Li Xia nodded, soothed her a bit, and wired some “mental distress” cash—enough for medicine and takeout.
Li Chun sent back a teary cat-in-bed emoji.
Li Xia set her phone down.
Outside the glass window, twilight deepened. The sunset lingered only as a faint red smear on the horizon, where silhouettes of people and streams of cars painted patterns across Nanlin’s sky.
Staring long enough, Li Xia could even tell office workers from tourists. Nanlin always drew crowds—some for relaxation, others for blessings. Thinking of her unlucky little sister, inspiration struck—
Nanlin had a famously efficacious temple. She had to go pray.
Cheek propped on her hand, scrolling guides and tips, F’s message popped up. He’d seen the sunset.
Then he asked: 【What are you up to tonight?】
Li Xia said she had to present on a book the day after tomorrow, so she’d rehearse her script tonight.
F: 【Big deal at work?】
Her fingers flew: Yes.
She wanted to clear her backlog smoothly, then play for a couple days once it was done. Maybe even see the person she wanted to see.
F: 【Bad timing today, then】
Li Xia didn’t get it, sent a question mark, and stepped out of the convenience store. Looking up, she spotted a sleek black two-door coupe parked right outside—eye-catchingly handsome, aimed straight at her window seat. Engine still running, no one getting out. Probably waiting for someone.
The tinted windows were pitch black, hiding whoever was inside.
Li Xia glanced and walked on.
–
She hadn’t frequented temples much before, figuring life was good enough without prayers. Qu Shuxin was the one who went to the Fire God Temple and Dharma Source Temple for morning lessons. But after Grandpa passed and Grandma aged, with the family’s minor ailments piling up in helpless moments, Li Xia had come to understand: temples offered solace.
Spirit Spring Temple sat in an ancient town near the city. By subway, she arrived near noon. The woods grew warmer, the air thick and humid, like walking through a massive natural humidifier. The old town hosted a cluster of temples. Following her guide, Li Xia took the cable car to the summit God of Wealth Temple first.
Tourists already thronged the place. Amid the devout worshippers begging for fortune, a few lounged on the steps before the hall. Li Xia peeked—someone was scratching off lottery tickets right in front of the God of Wealth.
It being Monday, she suddenly got it: better to light incense than clock in.
She snapped a pic for F, chuckled, and walked off to join the long line for fortune sticks.
When she drew a yuan bao token from the urn, the master across from her sighed. “Lucky draw, miss.”
Li Xia checked: number one hundred, supreme great fortune.
It read—
“All sincere prayers find fulfillment; the final lot brings success in all endeavors.”
Tourists tolled the bell out front—heavy, resonant tones echoing far. Li Xia clutched her thin slip of paper under the sun and felt suddenly soothed, as if the Buddha had comforted her.
So even the last lot brought success in all things.
Maybe a little later wouldn’t hurt being a bit better.
Descending the mountain, Li Xia had never felt so light on her feet. She hurried to Spirit Spring Temple to make her wish. The Buddha promised all sincere prayers worked, so her family would be safe and healthy, her work smooth, her little dog reborn soon—everything as she hoped.
Spirit Spring Temple’s incense burned bright, crowds milling amid the fragrant haze. After buying incense and flowers, Li Xia followed the halls in order, bowing reverently. Mindful of every tip she’d researched, she wore a linen blouse and light pants, silently reciting “men left, women right” before each entrance.
She even got an eighteen-bead bracelet for Li Chun, passing it three times over the incense burner with utmost care—like a kid taking her first exam, terrified of slipping up and angering the Buddha.
Her wishes were the usual, copy-pasted before each deity.
To make sure they wouldn’t mix them up, Li Xia even recited her ID number.
Passing Guanyin Hall, she overheard two girls chatting outside. One stressed, “This hall is super for romance prayers! I asked here last year and met my boyfriend by year’s end!” The other said, “Then I’m praying too!” Only then did Li Xia realize what she’d skipped.
But on second thought, she didn’t crave suitors or matches. What she wanted was simply to see him once.
Since that video call night, Li Xia had mulled how to suggest meeting F naturally. What excuse wouldn’t weird him out or get shot down? Dinner a good reason? Every time she dissected these thoughts, her heart raced, sweating her own boldness in advance.
They stopped and started their way through the halls, and before they knew it, lunchtime had come and gone. The weather hung humid and heavy, leaving Li Xia covered in a sticky sheen of sweat. Her spot was too far from the good vegetarian eateries now, so she settled into a rest in the pavilion at the base of the mountain, waiting for a breeze. No breeze came. Instead, a classic Jiangnan downpour arrived.
It started with the bamboo leaves rustling overhead. The sky darkened to a brooding gray, and soon the heavy clouds, swollen like sodden sponges, began to squeeze out fat drops of rain. A hazy white mist rose around the ancient town, and the temple grounds fell into a profound stillness as beads of rain strung down in earnest.
In the distance: curls of incense smoke, silhouettes of people, veils of rain.
She had experienced the misty rains of Jiangnan, at least.
Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought an umbrella.
When it was time to leave, Li Xia followed the covered walkways toward the temple gate. Umbrellas jostled in a crowded throng under the afternoon sky. She made it to the outermost edge and took shelter under the eaves, scanning the area outside for any vendors selling umbrellas. No such luck—most were late-afternoon visitors hurrying along. Li Xia adjusted her bag’s strap and decided to wait until the rain lightened a bit.
Umbrellas passed in disorderly array, footsteps splashing haphazardly. She stared blankly at the relentless downpour.
Until someone stopped right beside her. She heard him ask what time it was and whether the temple still had vegetarian meals available.
Li Xia snapped back to attention and turned her head. He was tall—too tall—bent sideways to fold his umbrella. She couldn’t quite make him out and felt too awkward to stare. She fished her phone from her pocket and unlocked it.
“Three in the afternoon,” she said.
The rain drummed loud, so she raised her voice. “They should still have vegetarian meals.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than a faint, soft chuckle came from beside her.
Puzzled, Li Xia turned to look.
When she lifted her gaze, she met a face that was both strange and achingly familiar.
He gave a half-smile. “Why are you using my photo?”
In that instant, the rain pattered on, distant bells fading into the haze.
Li Xia’s heart stuttered for a beat.
It felt like a dream—the man from her screen suddenly standing right there in front of her.
Even more absurd: he was more striking and alive in person than any image could capture. Rain-dampened moisture clung to his features, lending them a freshly washed clarity. His forehead was half-exposed, accentuating the quiet resolve hidden in his clean-cut features. He stood beside her, straight and vital, his pale skin contrasting the light blue fabric marked with wet spots from the rain. Li Xia’s mind flashed to bamboo after a shower, wind whispering through the pines.
He was gazing down at her steadily, his eyes holding a mix of amusement and undisguised interest.
Li Xia went momentarily speechless.
She felt swept up in this unexpected gust, her ears filled only with the wild thrum of her own accelerating heartbeat. The world around her hushed to a distant, ethereal quiet. His lips moved—he was saying something—but she hadn’t caught a word.
“Huh?” She blinked and had to ask him to repeat himself. “What?”
She swore this wasn’t how she’d imagined their meeting: wide-eyed and dumbfounded like this. Blame the temple rain for having a spirit of its own—it rattled down and threw her completely off balance.
He must have noticed, because he smiled faintly. “I asked if you went out without an umbrella.”
Li Xia usually wore a hat—practical and easy—but now she didn’t even have a parasol in hand. She nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, I didn’t know it would rain today.”
“That’s Nanlin summers for you,” he said. “I forgot to warn you yesterday.”
“Oh—” Li Xia tucked in her chin. “You know Nanlin well, then?”
“Wait,” she said suddenly, catching herself. She pointed at the ground and fixed him with a probing stare. “Shouldn’t you… explain something?”
He met her gaze with an easy smile. “I live in Nanlin. Work here too.”
The revelation landed more casually than any riddle’s answer, leaving Li Xia’s brain short-circuiting in disbelief.
So during that video call last time, when he’d heard her song, he’d already known she was in Nanlin—the same city as him.
Then…
A flood of questions bubbled up, but just then, temple visitors began streaming out behind her. One tilted umbrella barreled through recklessly, its tip slicing straight toward the back of her head. She had her back turned and didn’t notice, but he suddenly reached out, blocking it from above.
“Careful.”
There was a muffled thump near her ear. Li Xia’s pulse spiked as realization dawned, followed by a chill on her scalp. She shrank her neck and shuffled forward a step, dodging it. Luckily, the umbrella’s bead hadn’t poked her, though it still grazed and dampened the back of her shirt.
It turned out to be some bratty kid.