I held no title, so I harbored no grudges.
Lan Yan’s childish antics only delayed Liang Jingchuan for less than half a minute. When she reached the second floor, she heard footsteps starting up again, still unhurried.
The house was on the fourth floor, and the door stood ajar.
Lan Yan pushed the door open and entered. Liang Xiaoxia, wearing oven mitts, carried a large platter out of the kitchen.
“Yanyan, you’re back.”
“Mm… I ran into Liang Jingchuan at the supermarket.” Lan Yan hadn’t planned to mention it, but with him almost at the door, pretending otherwise would seem unnatural.
Liang Xiaoxia paused. “Jingchuan’s back too?”
She set the platter on the dining table and hurried to the entryway. Before she could peek out, a slightly lazy voice came from outside: “Mom.”
A tall, slender figure stopped at the doorway, pulling the door wider before stepping inside. The narrow entryway suddenly felt cramped.
Liang Xiaoxia hurriedly opened the shoe cabinet to find clean slippers. “Have you eaten?”
“No.”
“You should’ve said something ahead of time. I could’ve steamed more rice.”
Liang Jingchuan bent down to change into slippers. “Then I won’t eat. I just came back temporarily to grab something.”
Lan Yan had already changed her shoes. Unable to stand the crowd in the narrow passage, she headed inside first.
The voices drew Lan Junwen out of the kitchen. He smiled and said, “If there’s not enough rice, just boil some noodles. I’ll stir-fry another vegetable. Dinner’s ready to start right away.”
Lan Yan took the orange juice from the bag and placed it on the dining table before heading to the bathroom to wash her hands.
The apartment was a three-bedroom, two-living-room layout, with the master bedroom featuring a small attached bathroom. Back when Lan Yan and Liang Jingchuan still lived at home, they shared the guest bathroom.
At that time, Liang Jingchuan was in senior year, while Lan Yan was in her first year of high school. Different grades meant different schedules, so they rarely competed for the bathroom.
But that didn’t stop Lan Yan from picking on him in other ways. For instance, she didn’t go to bed until midnight, but the moment Liang Jingchuan finished in the bathroom at 11:30, she would emerge from her room, yawning with a sullen face as if just woken, and snap coldly: Can’t you keep it down?
Liang Jingchuan said nothing, but afterward, he did make less noise.
A determined nitpicker, however, wouldn’t be swayed by such a minor concession.
Another time, she opened her door and glared at Liang Jingchuan, who stood at the guest bathroom door with wet hair. With a cold face, she said, “You’re disturbing my sleep.”
Liang Jingchuan paused, a half-smile on his face. He asked, “Were you sleeping?”
She kept her face taut.
“Then who was watching drama?” He tilted his head as if recalling the plot. “I’m a prisoner of love?” He sang the line a cappella.
She had been watching Last Friends, a 2008 Japanese drama. Liang Jingchuan had hummed the first line of the theme song.
She froze for three full seconds, mortified and at a loss for words. In the end, she expressed her displeasure with a thunderous slam of her door.
She lay on her bed fuming, unable to focus on the drama anymore. She perked up her ears only when she heard movement outside.
It was Liang Xiaoxia admonishing Liang Jingchuan: “Keep the door quiet, or you’ll wake others up.”
Liang Jingchuan replied, “Oh. I’ll be more careful next time.”
To this day, Lan Yan didn’t understand why Liang Jingchuan had taken the blame so obediently, but it didn’t stop her from feeling instantly vindicated—and from opening a new front in her covert war against him: framing and slander.
Compared to her last visit, the guest bathroom was much brighter. The dim fluorescent tube overhead had been replaced.
Lan Yan turned on the faucet, pumped out some liquid soap, lathered up, and rinsed off the foam.
A shadow flickered in the mirror.
Lan Yan looked up.
Liang Jingchuan stood in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed in a pose of patient waiting.
She pretended not to see him but deliberately slowed her pace a bit.
There was a sink in the kitchen; if he couldn’t wait, he could use that.
Yet after she meticulously washed her hands three times, Liang Jingchuan hadn’t budged. He simply stood there, arms folded, his reflection showing a faintly amused expression.
Just like long ago, when he’d caught her watching the Japanese drama.
Lan Yan immediately shut off the water, grabbed a face towel, and wiped her hands as she headed out.
Liang Jingchuan didn’t move, blocking the doorway.
Lan Yan looked up at him.
They stood in stalemate for several seconds.
Liang Jingchuan seemed oblivious to her intent, remaining still. His gaze fixed on her face, a touch of dazed absentmindedness in his eyes.
Lan Yan finally snapped, “Good dogs don’t block the way.”
Liang Jingchuan’s expression barely changed. He arched a brow slightly and stepped aside, as if such trash talk had no effect on him.
But Lan Yan knew she’d scored a small victory.
In the dining room, the food was served. Lan Junwen brought out a large bowl of noodles, and dinner officially began.
Liang Xiaoxia poured orange juice and set glasses in front of Lan Yan and Liang Jingchuan. “Jingchuan, why didn’t you bring Chen Boyu back to eat with us?”
Chen Boyu was Lan Yan’s boyfriend, but before that, he had been Liang Jingchuan’s best friend.
The two had been in the same high school class, attended the same undergraduate university though different majors. After graduation, Liang Jingchuan went to North City, while Chen Boyu studied abroad. They reunited when Liang Jingchuan finished his direct PhD, and Chen Boyu pulled together a team, inviting him to be a co-founder.
Friends for over a decade—calling them bosom buddies wasn’t an exaggeration.
Liang Jingchuan tapped the rim of his glass lightly and said flatly, “I’d be overstepping my bounds if I invited him.”
Lan Junwen chuckled. “True enough. Yanyan should properly invite him over for a meal herself.”
Liang Xiaoxia asked Liang Jingchuan, “Boyu’s the same age as you, right? I think he’s three months younger?”
Liang Jingchuan: “Mm.”
“How come at the same age, some people have both love and career blooming, while others…” Liang Xiaoxia looked at Liang Jingchuan with a half-smile.
“Mm. Some are like that—no luck with the opposite sex.” He adopted a tone of defiant self-deprecation, as if embracing the broken jar.
Though Lan Yan disliked Liang Jingchuan, she had to admit his words were nonsense. His good looks were as objective a fact as Liang Xiaoxia’s, and even nitpicking wouldn’t yield anything amiss.
“I’m just asking, not telling you to get married tomorrow.” Liang Xiaoxia pushed aside the scallions and ginger, picking out the largest, least bony piece of fish belly and placing it in Lan Yan’s bowl. “Doesn’t Boyu have any girls his age among his friends?”
“There are, probably. Haven’t paid attention.”
“Boyu’s the same—drags you along for overtime and hard work, but forgets you entirely when it’s time for fun.”
Liang Jingchuan nodded perfunctorily. “Exactly. Tell him that for me later.”
Liang Xiaoxia knew Liang Jingchuan’s temperament: he never confronted things he disliked head-on, just spouted nonsense.
The topic reached its end.
Lan Yan put the fish into her mouth and suddenly said, “The one Chen Boyu wanted to introduce him to, he turned down.”
“Really?”
“Really. Chen Boyu’s cousin—a pretty girl.”
Liang Xiaoxia shot Liang Jingchuan a glare. “Even a heavenly fairy wouldn’t catch your eye?”
Liang Jingchuan: “…”
After all these years, framing and slander remained the most effective tactic.
The corners of Lan Yan’s mouth curved up slightly. She sensed Liang Jingchuan’s gaze turn toward her but kept her head down, denying him eye contact.
His gaze lingered on her face for a good while before shifting away.
Lan Junwen laughed warmly. “Young people these days are like that, Xiaoxia. Worry less.”
“Of course you don’t worry. With Yanyan and Boyu on such good terms, you can just wait for the wedding wine.”
“No, not yet…” Lan Junwen’s beaming face betrayed him, though he modestly demurred. “Not even close.”
The conversation wrapped up there. Lan Junwen knew Lan Yan’s personality—even concerned about her relationship, he wouldn’t pry. Liang Xiaoxia had no such reservations.
After dinner, Lan Yan cleared the dishes on her own, and Liang Jingchuan rose in sync.
Their elbows brushed lightly. Lan Yan immediately looked up at him.
He smiled and murmured, “Sorry. Wasn’t on purpose.”
…Not a shred of credibility.
There weren’t many dishes; they made one trip each to the kitchen. Lan Junwen wouldn’t let them help further with washing up and urged them to eat the mangoes quickly.
Only then did Lan Yan remember the plate of mangoes on the coffee table.
The old wooden sofa wasn’t the most comfortable. They sat with a seat’s space between them.
No talking, just each eating mangoes.
Liang Jingchuan picked at his halfheartedly; Lan Yan ended up eating most of it.
She ate quickly, just to fulfill the obligation.
By the time Lan Junwen finished in the kitchen, it was about time. Lan Yan prepared to leave.
Lan Junwen hesitated, words on the tip of his tongue.
Lan Yan saw through it: his awkwardness stemmed from wanting to ask her to stay but not knowing how.
Liang Xiaoxia: “Jingchuan, did you drive here?”
“Mm.” Liang Jingchuan looked up.
“Perfect, then. Give Yanyan a ride on the way.”
“Sure.”
Lan Yan hurriedly said, “No need, I…”
“Aren’t you taking that box of letters to the studio? It’s easier with Jingchuan driving.”
Lan Yan couldn’t argue further.
Liang Jingchuan stood from the sofa. “I’ll grab my thing and go.”
He went to his bedroom. Less than two minutes later, he emerged with an unidentified document in hand.
His gaze caught the cardboard box by the study door, and he paused. “This?”
Liang Xiaoxia confirmed, “Yes.”
Liang Jingchuan tossed the document inside, bent down, and hoisted the box effortlessly. It wasn’t heavy, but far from light—yet he carried it as if weightless.
They headed to the door, with Lan Junwen and Liang Xiaoxia following, chattering reminders like “drive safe” and “come back for meals more often.”
Lan Yan couldn’t handle such reluctant goodbyes. She mumbled acknowledgments, slipped on her shoes at top speed, and stepped out.
Lan Junwen added last, “Jingchuan, you see Boyu often, so look after Lan Yan too. She’s stubborn and won’t tell us if she’s suffered a loss.”
Liang Jingchuan: “I will, Uncle.”
His tone sounded utterly sincere.
Lan Yan couldn’t take it. “Dad, it’s not like I’m never coming back.”
Liang Xiaoxia burst out laughing.
When Lan Yan reached the landing between floors, she heard the door finally close and let out a long breath of relief.
Though loath to ride with Liang Jingchuan, at least she didn’t need to fake politeness in front of him.
His car was parked on the roadside at the neighborhood entrance, diagonally across from the supermarket.
He unlocked it with the key fob, went to the rear first, opened the trunk, and stowed the box.
It wasn’t Lan Yan’s first time in Liang Jingchuan’s car, though the occasions were rare enough to count on one hand.
He’d owned the car for over a year, kept impeccably clean—indistinguishable from new. No car fresheners; the center console stayed empty.
After loading up, Liang Jingchuan got in, buckled his seatbelt, plugged in his phone via data cable, and tossed it to Lan Yan: “Navigation.”
No case on it—just a slim slab. Out of work habit, Lan Yan handled it delicately, nearly dropping it.
Liang Jingchuan glanced over. “Hold it steady. Don’t drop it again.”
“Didn’t I already compensate you? Ancient history—why bring it up?”
“I didn’t take the money. Thanks.”
“Whose fault is that?”
Liang Jingchuan fell silent, apparently deeming the bickering too childish to continue.
“Unlock code,” Lan Yan prompted.
“147789.”
Spelled an “L.” He’d used the uppercase first letter of his surname as the passcode.
Lan Yan: “So narcissistic.”
Liang Jingchuan: “…”
Lan Yan entered the studio address for navigation and placed the phone back in the center console.
The car pulled out, reached the road’s end, turned, and merged into the bustling traffic.
Though there was no need to chat with Liang Jingchuan, the cabin felt too quiet. Lan Yan didn’t dare touch his phone for music; to her, music apps were private, like peeking into someone’s secret Twitter alt.
She reached out and turned on the radio.
Then peacefully scrolled her own phone.
After three intersections, Liang Jingchuan’s phone rang.
The caller info synced to the car’s front screen. Lan Yan glanced: Chen Boyu.
Liang Jingchuan pressed a button on the steering wheel to answer.
Chen Boyu said, “Where did you run off to? Why did you disappear after I sent that message?”
Liang Jingchuan replied, “Went home to grab something. —What’s up?”
“I was going to invite you to dinner.”
“Already ate.”
“Fine. Then I’ll go find Lan Yan later for some late-night snacks.”
It was truly bizarre.
Lan Yan didn’t know if she should speak up at that moment. Clearly, the “home” that Chen Boyu thought Liang Jingchuan meant wasn’t the same “home” that Liang Jingchuan actually meant.
Liang Jingchuan said, “She’s in my car.”
“Ah?”
After a pause, Chen Boyu called out, “Yanyan?”
Lan Yan responded.
Chen Boyu laughed and said, “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
“Afraid you wanted to get your stories straight with Liang Jingchuan.”
Chen Boyu let out a hearty laugh. “Even if I wanted to collude, I wouldn’t pick him. You two are the real family.”
If it had been a WeChat chat, Lan Yan would have sent him an “It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it” emoji.
Lan Yan asked, “You haven’t eaten yet?”
“Yeah. When will you get home?”
“Twenty minutes. I’m stopping by the studio first to drop off some stuff.”
“Then I’ll wait for you at your place?”
“Sure.”
“Bye. See you soon.”
“Bye.”
Chen Boyu didn’t hang up. Instead, he said to Liang Jingchuan, “Thanks for the ride.”
Liang Jingchuan’s voice held no emotion. “Finally remembered my phone isn’t your private WeChat chat with her?”
Chen Boyu chuckled.
The call ended, and the interrupted radio broadcast resumed.
The atmosphere seemed even colder and more silent than before.
Ten minutes or so later, the car pulled up to the entrance of Mend Orchid Studio.
It was a standalone small building, and the entire structure was still lit up—some colleagues probably hadn’t gone home yet.
They couldn’t park on the roadside for more than three minutes. Lan Yan rolled down the window, greeted the security booth, and told Liang Jingchuan to drive inside.
The small courtyard had about ten parking spots, reserved for internal use.
The car stopped under the shade of a tree. Lan Yan unbuckled her seatbelt. “Wait a sec. I’ll take these things up.”
“Need help?”
“Not heavy.”
Liang Jingchuan grunted in acknowledgment. As Lan Yan opened the door, he suddenly remembered something. “Hand me the files from the box—don’t peek. Confidential.”
“Who cares to look.”
Liang Jingchuan waited a moment. Lan Yan hugged the cardboard box and walked to the driver’s side window.
The window rolled down, and the files flew in.
“Didn’t peek, right?” Liang Jingchuan smiled.
Lan Yan rolled her eyes at him.
The tall figure circled to the front, crossed the small courtyard, climbed three steps, pulled open the door, went in, turned a corner, and disappeared from sight.
Liang Jingchuan withdrew his gaze and casually tossed the stapled blank A4 papers to the back seat.
He rested his arms on the steering wheel and stared ahead. About three minutes later, that figure reappeared.
Lan Junwen had once mentioned that Lan Yan had studied dance as a child and still had photos from the performing arts shows back then.
But that photo album would never be open to him.
It wasn’t hard to imagine that she must have been good at dancing too—otherwise, how could even her walking be so graceful.
Just as the figure approached the front of the car, Liang Jingchuan finally looked away.
Lan Yan’s place wasn’t far from Mend Orchid Studio—a bike ride took only fifteen minutes.
Even driving slowly, it stretched to six or seven minutes at most.
After the last intersection, they turned onto the road where Lan Yan’s rented apartment complex was located.
Soon, a black Porsche parked by the roadside at the complex entrance came into view.
The radio was playing an ancient-style song he hadn’t heard before. The decadent melody wasn’t all that pleasant.
Liang Jingchuan raised his hand and turned the volume knob twice, muting the music.
Lan Yan glanced at him.
“Noisy,” he said flatly.
The car pulled up beside the Porsche. Lan Yan unbuckled her seatbelt and was about to open the door when she turned back to him. “Want me to pay for gas?”
Liang Jingchuan could have easily shut her down with a single sentence, but he ignored her completely, not even glancing her way.
It was as if he’d suddenly lost interest in trading barbs with her.
Lan Yan had no time to guess his thoughts. She simply said, “Thanks,” opened the door, and got out.
The Porsche door opened too, and Chen Boyu stepped out.
He naturally draped an arm over Lan Yan’s shoulder, then looked over at Liang Jingchuan. “Want to grab a bite?”
“No need. Got something to do. You two eat.”
Chen Boyu didn’t push. He raised his hand in a light wave. “Drive safe.”
Liang Jingchuan nodded once, withdrew his gaze, pressed the button, and the window slowly rose, blocking the view.
One-way glass—the isolation went only one way.
Before starting the car, he gave one last glance out the window.
The two held hands, passed through the tree shadows, and walked toward the brightly lit area.
He turned the volume back up. That annoying song hadn’t finished yet.
“I have no official status, I harbor little resentment, harboring hatred for you is hard.”