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“Ah! A girl fell into the water!” The girl sitting in the private room had a round face and delicate eyebrows, her innocent, sparkling eyes wide open as she hurriedly rushed from her chair to the window. One hand pointed outside and, turning her head, she revealed deep dimples on her cheeks. “Xiang Zuo, come quickly! A girl just fell into the pond!”

She shouted, uncertain whether from worry or excitement, nearly leaping off the floor. But when she saw that the man sitting at the table, facing the door with his back to the window, remained utterly unmoved and unresponsive, she awkwardly returned to her seat. She stole a glance at his expression, which seemed displeased; she fell silent, lowered her head, and dared not make another sound.

Because her head was down, she didn’t see Xiang Zuo’s hand on the table, gripping the round, squat teacup so tightly it seemed he might crush it. In his mind flashed the slender figure that had just slipped through the foyer when the door opened. The bones on the back of his hand stood out sharply, his knuckles tightening almost audibly. Under immense pressure, the cup filled with scalding tea trembled slightly, splashing a few drops onto his hand, leaving a trail of liquid like a silent tear.

When Song Jiakai rescued Zhang Momo from the pond, he could barely bear to look at her. This woman—how was it that he always caught her at her most wretched moments? It was a question worth deep consideration.

Their plan for a refined lunch at an elegant restaurant was ruined. The rendezvous shifted to Zhang Momo’s home, scheduled after she finished bathing.

“Zhang Momo, you brought me to your house and bathed right in front of me—aren’t you afraid I might... you know?” The three-seat dark coffee-colored fabric sofa was perhaps a bit low for Song Jiakai’s long legs; he sprawled diagonally, occupying two spaces, one arm swinging lazily along the backrest, the other brushing his neck in a mock gesture as he uttered a suggestive hum. His face wore a frivolous smile.

Yet when Zhang Momo emerged from the bathroom, she was fully dressed—jeans and a T-shirt, nothing missing inside or out. Hearing his rogue tone, her instinct was to warn him, “I have a big pair of scissors at home,” but the lingering shock from her earlier fall still held sway; its force was so strong, she couldn’t speak.

“I closed the advertising company. I’m going abroad to find my sister,” she said quietly; that was all she could offer.

Song Jiakai’s lightheartedness vanished. His slouched body slowly straightened; he rested his elbows on his knees, gazed at her for a long moment, then turned away.

“Have you made up your mind?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod. Whether it was relief or bitterness, he nodded too, silent for a while. They sat together in silence, time slipping by unnoticed, until Song Jiakai’s lips curled into a smile.

He smiled, his bright eyes shining, tilting his head as he looked at Zhang Momo; the playful curve of his mouth hinted at something deeper. “Silly girl, once you miss this chance, there won’t be another.” He rose from the sofa, straightening his back, his bearing handsome and impressive. “Talent, physique...” He paused, finally diverting some attention from his self-praise, swinging his car keys in his hand. “Savings, a car, gentle and considerate... I worry you’ll come crying to me someday, saying you regret it...”

Zhang Momo laughed out loud, half annoyed, half amused, shooting him a glare. “Yes, I’m afraid I might regret it too...” Yet for some reason, her eyes felt faintly damp. “Why don’t you save a backup spot for me?”

She looked sideways in anticipation, but Song Jiakai only raised his brows and feigned displeasure, heading toward the door. “No way! Don’t say we’ll remain friends after breaking up—when it’s over, there’s no friendship left.” He threw her a carefree smile and opened the door.

As the door slowly opened, Zhang Momo’s heart raced, and she called out, “Song Jiakai!” He turned back swiftly, his gaze landing on her face, clear and direct, locking eyes with her. She blushed, shuffled forward two steps, head down. “Then... can I still find you in the future?”

She wasn’t sure if Song Jiakai sighed; since she didn’t look up, she only saw his chest tremble. The next moment, he gently lifted her face, softly tucked her hair behind her ear, and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “Silly girl...”

On the day Zhang Momo left the country, Song Jiakai didn’t come to see her off. The only one accompanying her was Dong Fei. Because her immigration visa’s entry deadline was about to expire, she left in haste, feeling almost forced onto the plane. In the bustling departure hall, she kept glancing back, slowly completed the check-in, but still lingered at the gate.

Dong Fei had found a new job, took special leave to see her off, her round eyes shimmering with tears. Even now she remembered the bold promises she’d made to Momo, “If you close your company, we’ll apply together—you’ll be the supervisor, I’ll be your assistant.” But growing up had dampened that youthful bravado; watching Zhang Momo walk away with her bags, she could only feel heartache, unable to say anything else.

Zhang Momo squeezed her hand, softly murmuring, “Thank you.” The two girls stood at the gate, speechless. In the end, it was Zhang Momo who, from some unknown source of courage, dropped her bag and hugged Dong Fei tightly. At that moment, she nearly cried, wanting to say, “Don’t leave, why go abroad?” But she had no right to say it.

Just before turning away, Zhang Momo hesitated and turned back. “Dong Fei, did you... ever tell anyone else...?”

Her question was anxious, the pounding in her chest almost audible to Dong Fei. So her friend became even more somber, knowing exactly whom she meant. “I called President Xiang... He said, he said... ‘Oh.’”

Dong Fei didn’t dare look at her closely, but still caught sight of Zhang Momo’s body stiffening. Finally, Dong Fei hefted her bag, forced a smile, and walked alone toward the gate. A heart that goes unacknowledged will eventually tire; Momo, you can blame no one! But she kept those words inside, unable to salt her friend’s wounds any further.

Xiang Zuo was in a café when he received Song Jiakai’s call. On the small round table before him sat an exquisite pale gray ceramic cup, long since cooled, untouched. The phone rang for a long time before he slowly drew his gaze from the wide, transparent window, hearing a troubled, muffled male voice tell him, “Zhang Momo’s flight is today.”

Holding the phone, his gaze returned to the glass wall, silent for a long time. He ought to say thank you; after all, Song Jiakai had bothered to call him, and he should thank him on Momo’s behalf. But his attention was completely captured by the crowd outside the window, leaving him no time for gratitude. Feeling powerless, his hand holding the phone slowly grew numb; just as he was about to hang up, he heard Song Jiakai sigh, as if surrendering.

Song Jiakai did sigh. He sat in his car, parked outside the airport entrance, unable to see the people inside. He had no obligation to tell anyone these things, but not saying them left his heart aching for reasons he couldn’t name.

“Momo admitted those nude photos were hers—she did it for you!”

Through the phone, he heard something clatter and liquid spill, Xiang Zuo’s breathing like a muffled thunderstorm, pent up to the limit but unable to break free. So Song Jiakai added, “Do you know why she was in such bad shape when she was kidnapped? She went to save you, tied a rope around her waist and jumped from the third floor.”

Song Jiakai hung up, his car roaring away, leaving behind only a swift, dashing silhouette. Xiang Zuo had already risen from his chair in the café, still gripping the phone as if he might crush it, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the wide glass window, his gaze bitter and complex, full of unspeakable meaning.

The overturned coffee cup lay on the table, dark liquid pooling and seeping through the cloth to his trousers. The expensive, crisp navy blue slacks were water-resistant enough not to soak immediately, so the coffee rolled further, like a solitary raindrop falling in a dark sky, all the way down. Gradually, the stain spread around the path of the droplet, inching closer to his thigh, until a hurried waiter came to wipe the table and kindly reminded him, “Sir, your pants are dirty.” Only then did Xiang Zuo notice the strange sensation on his leg. Yet his face remained turned toward the arrivals hall below.

The sign atop the glass window read clearly—Airport Wind Pavilion Café Lounge.

By the time Xiang Zuo left the airport, the damp patch on his trouser leg had been dried by his own body heat. The fabric stiffened where the coffee had flowed, yet it was never as unyielding as his footsteps. His car was waiting at the entrance, but the short distance felt as long as a century. Perhaps he was deliberately delaying, not wanting to return to that familiar city—familiar, but empty. Its traffic remained congested, but the person he cared for was gone.

He no longer had any chance to do anything for her, not even if she never knew. When he missed her, he could no longer see the soft light in her window from below her building, even if she never knew he was there. He would never again receive Dong Fei’s calls reporting that Zhang Momo had eaten a whole box of spicy chicken at lunch, her mouth still swollen. He would never hear it again...

The midsummer sun unleashed tremendous power, roasting his heart until it melted away, leaving not even a bone fragment behind. Xiang Zuo sat in his car for a long time, unable to turn the key. All at once, he didn’t know where he should go...