“Go down together. Not bad.”
Diamond-patterned black-and-white floor tiles lined the path, with black classical side tables displaying sculptures and antiques. The wall lamps emitted a clear yellow light, and the walls on both sides were covered with old photographs. Shadows flickered at the end of the hallway.
Walking down such a secluded corridor, people unconsciously lightened their footsteps.
They took an old elevator with a strong sense of age up to the floor, then walked all the way to the end of the passageway. A silver metal nameplate was affixed to the white wooden door, engraved with “Somerset Maugham.”
Liang Jingchuan took out the room card and was about to tap it when he paused, turned his head with a smile, and asked, “You do it?”
The room card was handed to Lan Yan.
She paused for a moment, then reached out to take it.
As soon as the door was pushed open, the furnishings inside matched the corridor’s style—retro and elegant. At the far end was a large window framing a pure expanse of sea and sky.
Lan Yan placed the room card on the black marble round table and walked straight toward the window.
She reached out, pressed down the handle to open the window, and let the fresh, salty sea breeze blow in.
Behind her, Liang Jingchuan said, “Sit and wait a bit.”
Lan Yan hummed in acknowledgment without turning back.
The room was themed around “Maugham,” with sculptures, photos, and books everywhere. By the window stood an L-shaped desk, likely the very spot where he had worked years ago.
There was another door that seemed to connect to the bedroom and bathroom. She didn’t go in but glanced at it before sitting down at the desk.
The wooden half-moon swivel chair gave a sense of being enveloped in safety.
On the retro desk sat a blue-and-white porcelain vase and a small plaster statue. Out of curiosity, Lan Yan opened the drawer—it was empty.
The sea breeze rustled the white gauze curtains, while waves crashed against the embankment outside, accompanied by the occasional call of seabirds.
Lan Yan rested her arm on the desk, propping her cheek and squinting her eyes. If there had been whiskey at hand, even an ordinary person couldn’t help but pick up a fountain pen and scribble a couple of lines in such an environment.
Not long after, Liang Jingchuan emerged from the bedroom door.
Lan Yan glanced over.
He walked to the red plaid sofa, picked up his phone from the coffee table—it was plugged into a charger.
This man always spoke in half-truths and feints; Lan Yan wasn’t sure if his claim of a dead battery was an excuse, but at that moment, he was indeed holding the power button. Moments later, his fingers tapped the screen, as if typing a reply to someone’s WeChat message.
He had changed into a short-sleeved shirt and shorts to blend in, his damp black hair falling down, lending a boyish air to his fair and handsome face.
“Why didn’t you say you were coming over?” Lan Yan withdrew her gaze.
“Why didn’t you say you were leaving?”
“…Hasn’t that been settled?”
“You brought it up first.”
…Perhaps engaging with him had been a mistake. Lan Yan turned her face away and ignored him.
Maybe the message was sent; Liang Jingchuan put the phone back on the coffee table, turned, and returned to the bedroom.
When he came out again, he held a black paper bag.
He walked straight to the desk and lightly tossed the bag in front of her.
“What’s this?”
“Grenade.”
“You’d get blown up too, this close.”
“Go down together. Not bad.”
“…”
Lan Yan opened the bag. The contents were plain and unadorned: a whole bag of her usual brand of pain relief patches.
She had brought some, but they were almost used up. Liang Jingchuan’s “airdrop” was a godsend.
“Thanks.”
“Only at times like this do I get a kind word from you.”
“Aren’t I still treating you to dinner?”
Liang Jingchuan smiled.
He didn’t leave. He glanced out the window, walked over, and leaned sideways against the windowsill. The window frames and gauze curtains were white, as was his shirt. In the sunlight, he looked as pristine and cool as thin frost, utterly out of place in the tropical scene, making one suspect that even touching his skin would feel slightly cool.
Liang Jingchuan’s eyes turned to her. After a while, he asked, “You’ve been here over a month—has your mood improved a bit?”
“Mm.”
“You haven’t cried, right?” His tone took on a hint of mischief.
“Who cries twice over someone not worth it?” Lan Yan didn’t argue with him. She turned sideways, her fingers idly touching the small plaster statue. “…Did your financing round succeed?”
“Mm. Radiant Chess led the investment, with several others following.”
“Then he got what he wanted,” Lan Yan said faintly.
“I’m planning to exit.”
Lan Yan whipped her head around to look at Liang Jingchuan.
“We’ve been friends for over ten years, so I’ll stick with him until this round ends. That’ll be closure.”
“No need. If you don’t make the money, someone else will—would that make me happier?” Lan Yan turned back.
“I don’t want you to keep resenting me.”
“I’m not. I said, not telling you I was coming was just because…”
“You felt burdened.” Liang Jingchuan finished her sentence. “Even after a month without contact, do you still feel burdened?”
“I meant right after the breakup, not now…”
“Then what about now?”
His words felt like relentless pursuit.
Lan Yan fell silent again.
“Yanyan.”
Lan Yan’s fingers paused on the statue.
“You know me—you know what words would make me give up completely. Until you say them, I won’t back off.”
The breeze rustled the gauze curtains, gently brushing against the window frames.
The roar of the tides swelled in her chest. Lan Yan didn’t turn back or make a sound.
Liang Jingchuan was silent too.
Even with her back to him, she could still sense his languid figure leaning against the window—an intense, undeniable presence.
Lan Yan reached out, picked up her phone from the desk, and checked the time. It was almost five.
“…We can pack up and head to dinner.”
Liang Jingchuan said okay.
Lan Yan heard his footsteps heading toward the living area, then turned, stood from the chair, and walked over.
There was nothing to take except her phone and sunglasses. Liang Jingchuan tucked the sunglasses into the chest pocket of his short-sleeved shirt and said to Lan Yan, “Let’s go.”
The air carried a faint damp sea scent mixed with a somewhat rich jasmine fragrance.
Lan Yan paused. “Did you spray cologne?”
“No. Never use it.” Liang Jingchuan stopped too, tilting his head slightly downward. “The shampoo?”
His hair was half-dry, the damp jasmine scent wafting into her nose.
With his thick hair, the way he lowered his head seemed like an invitation to take a whiff.
Just lifting her eyes would reveal his straight nose bridge and clear brows and eyes.
Lan Yan felt a slight shortness of breath and forcibly turned her head away. “…What brand?”
“Didn’t notice.” Liang Jingchuan veered toward the bedroom. “I’ll go check.”
As Liang Jingchuan passed through the bedroom into the bathroom, Lan Yan paced to the bedroom doorway and surveyed the layout.
Though she wasn’t a die-hard Maugham fan, she had read his major works sporadically on reading apps. She was somewhat curious about the writer’s living space.
Blue floral wallpaper, green carpet, wooden bed, an antique wardrobe by the headboard, and a fabric sofa at the foot. There was a window by the bed with a sea view too.
Liang Jingchuan came out. “Sent you a photo.”
Lan Yan took out her phone, opened WeChat. The shampoo and body wash bottles were white with “PANPURI” printed on them.
“How much for one night in this suite? Tell me so I can give up hope.”
Liang Jingchuan chuckled. “I’ll book the room next door. If you like it, you can stay one night.”
“No thanks.” Lan Yan nodded toward the wardrobe. “It has mirrors—nightmare fuel.”
“Oh. What a shame.” Amusement lingered in his voice.
Lan Yan didn’t look at him. “…The Yu Family residence is better than this.”
“Your place? Can I visit?”
“I’ll ask later.”
The light was dimmer at the bathroom doorway. Liang Jingchuan stood there without approaching, chatting with her across the modest space of the bedroom.
She knew it was pointless small talk, yet it felt like they could go on forever, sentence by sentence.
When the words finally trailed off, the air grew exceptionally quiet.
Lan Yan sensed Liang Jingchuan watching her intently.
Since that Mid-Autumn Festival day, he had never hidden his gaze.
Feeling a bit uneasy, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “…Let’s go.”
“Mm.”
They left the room, passed through the corridor, and reached the lobby.
They called a Grab, and it arrived shortly.
Stepping out of the lobby into the bright daylight again, the breeze carried the damp shampoo scent, now faint. She breathed a sigh of relief.
But soon, in the cramped back seat of the taxi, Liang Jingchuan’s presence was inescapable.
Lan Yan stared absently at the route on the ride-hailing app.
George Town was small; everywhere felt just a short drive away. The restaurant was on Yifu Road, with a striking turquoise exterior and large glass windows.
The place wasn’t big. At the window seat, Zhou Wenshu was already there. He raised his hand and waved them over.
After sitting, Lan Yan and Zhou Wenshu, the regulars, handled ordering: Kapitan beef, assam prawns, sambal eggplant, and other mains, with local cardamom water as drinks.
While waiting for the food, Liang Jingchuan took a sip of water and asked Lan Yan, “Getting used to the food here?”
“It’s fine at first, but it gets tiring after a while.”
Zhou Wenshu immediately said, “Sometimes I borrow Sister’s kitchen at the Yu Family place to cook.”
Liang Jingchuan glanced at him. “You cook?”
“Pretty decent. A few signature dishes.” Zhou Wenshu’s smile showed he was just being modest.
“What signature dishes?”
“Beer duck, braised beef brisket, soy stewed pig trotters…”
“Yanyan doesn’t eat pork.”
Zhou Wenshu paused. “Sister ate it that time, I think.”
“Did she?” Liang Jingchuan looked at Lan Yan.
Lan Yan lifted her glass, took a sip of water, and said flatly, “It was good—why not give it a try?”
Liang Jingchuan turned to Zhou Wenshu. “Then make more pork dishes next time.”
Zhou Wenshu: “Sure, no problem.”
“…” Lan Yan turned and glared at Liang Jingchuan.
Liang Jingchuan’s smile was utterly innocent. “Since it’s good, show more support.”
Zhou Wenshu glanced at Lan Yan, then at Liang Jingchuan, took a sip from his glass, and stayed quiet.
Fortunately, Zhou Wenshu had reserved the table ahead; the place filled up quickly during peak hours.
The dishes arrived. As they ate, Liang Jingchuan asked Zhou Wenshu, “You and Yanyan are university alumni?”
“No. My art exam scores weren’t enough for Sister’s school back then.”
“How long in Mend Orchid Studio?”
“A year.”
“Were you with her on the last business trip too?”
Lan Yan picked up a piece of beef and put it in Liang Jingchuan’s bowl, her face stern. “Eat up. Stop interrogating.”
Liang Jingchuan looked at her, a half-smile on his face.
Only Lan Yan understood what that expression meant: To think you’d actually serve me food someday—I’m honored.
As they finished eating, Liang Jingchuan said he was going to the restroom and stood.
Someone tugged at the hem of his shirt.
Liang Jingchuan looked down at the hand that had already let go.
Lan Yan stood too. “I said I’m treating—no snatching.”
Liang Jingchuan smiled, sat back down, and let her handle it.
Outside the restaurant, the sky hadn’t fully darkened, casting a unique seaside blue—deep yet not heavy, the purest ultramarine.
Zhou Wenshu asked, “How are you heading back?”
They had taken a cab there, but the restaurant was only about a kilometer from the hotel—not far.
With the sun setting, it was perfect for a stroll.
Liang Jingchuan said, “We want to walk.”
His gaze lingered on Lan Yan’s face for a moment.
Zhou Wenshu: “Then you two walk, Sister. I’ll grab a cab.”
He pulled out his phone to call a Grab just as an empty taxi passed. He flagged it down and slipped away fast.
Liang Jingchuan eyed the taxi. “Did he figure it out?”
“…Figure out what?”
Liang Jingchuan smiled. “What do you think?”
Lan Yan ignored him and turned immediately, walking ahead along the Clan Jetties.
Unlike back home where shops stayed open until nine or ten, many little stores here closed promptly in the evening.
The buildings along the way were no more than three stories, their exteriors mainly white, yellow, or light blue. Shop signs in Malay, English, and traditional Chinese alternated, with small yellow lights tucked under the dense green leaves of olive trees.
They passed under arch after arch of the Clan Jetties, not speaking for a long time.
In the past, silence had been their usual state. From when had this silence begun to brew so much ambiguous meaning?
Under an archway, Liang Jingchuan stopped in his tracks. “Is that a bar across the street?”
Lan Yan also halted, peering over. “Seems like it.”
“Want to grab a drink?”
“…No.”
Liang Jingchuan lowered his head slightly and looked at her. “What are you afraid of? It’s not like you can’t drink.”
The sky had darkened, and the faint smile on his face seemed to carry a touch more obscurity.
“…Drinking gives me headaches, and I have work tomorrow.” Lan Yan kept her voice calm as she stepped forward. “Let’s go.”
The wind blew, sending her hair strands into his face.
He let out a slow “Mm.”
The road was not long, and even at a leisurely pace, they soon reached the street where the Yu Residence stood.
Victorian-style villas clustered around them.
In front of a black cast-iron gate, Lan Yan stopped and asked Liang Jingchuan, “Want to go in and take a look?”
“If it’s not a bother.”
Lan Yan pressed the doorbell. Moments later, the iron gate opened.
They walked along a clean stone path to the veranda in front of the villa.
The door stood open. Lan Yan told him to wait a moment and went inside to seek the owner’s permission.
Liang Jingchuan still carried the black paper bag in one hand, the other tucked in his pocket as he faced the courtyard. The air felt sticky and hot, carrying the fragrance of frangipani flowers.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Liang Jingchuan turned around. It was Zhou Wenshu, who held several books in his arms, seemingly intending to deliver them to the One Corner Pavilion.
Zhou Wenshu paused.
He glanced back—still no one had emerged—so he took a step closer to Liang Jingchuan and lowered his voice. “Forgive my rudeness, but you and Senior Sister Lan Yan are… half-siblings?”
Liang Jingchuan smiled. “Yes.”
“You’re…”
“Pursuing her.”