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After saying this, she stood up from the table and went upstairs, her manner betraying a hint of anger.

Song Jiakai and Zhang Momo lingered for a long moment, the taste of the exchange still fresh between them, before exchanging a knowing smile. Together, they turned their gaze to Jiakai’s father. The old man’s features were refined and composed as he addressed Zhang Momo in a calm, measured voice, “Momo, from now on, you must be mindful of your words and actions. You no longer represent only yourself—you bear the face of the entire Song family.”

“I understand, Uncle,” she replied, lowering her head. At the corners of her eyes, she could feel a faint, moist warmth begin to well up.

The date for the engagement was set for the eighth day of next month, at the rooftop banquet hall of the Tanghua Grand Hotel. Naturally, the design of the invitation fell to Zhang Momo herself, who chose a lake-blue palette—Jiakai’s favorite color. For him, and for his feelings, she had no other way to show her gratitude but through such small details; perhaps he would never even notice.

The day the invitations were printed, Zhang Momo held one of the delicate, exquisite cards, and felt an unexpected sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from her chest—a long breath escaped her. The very first thought that sprang to mind was how she might deliver this card to Xiang Zuo. Suddenly, the thought startled her—why did she feel relieved? Why was her first impulse to let Xiang Zuo know? She collapsed into her chair, feeling the heavy sense of guilt that always surfaced when facing Song Jiakai deepen all the more.

In the end, the engagement invitation was sent to Xiang Zuo by courier.

Zhang Momo did not dare deliver it herself; Song Jiakai had no time for Xiang Zuo, so he wouldn’t be the one to send it either. She had thought to ask Dong Fei, but lately that girl had been in a foul mood, her temper worse than ever. The day Momo brought out the invitation, before she could even hand it over, Dong Fei reacted as if someone had stepped on her tail, jumping three feet in the air. “If you want it delivered, do it yourself! Your heart is made of stone anyway—what’s sending an invitation to you?”

As Dong Fei slammed the office door shut with a resounding bang, Zhang Momo felt as though the sound had landed squarely on her own face. In the daze that followed, another afternoon slipped away in a blur. By the time she finally remembered to have the courier company send the invitation, it was nearly closing time. She hastily made the call, waited for the pickup, and finally managed to send the invitation off. She thought she could relax after that, but instead, her nerves grew even more taut.

From that day on, she found herself trapped in endless, inexplicable fear. At work, she dreaded that a random car might pull up and block her on the street; a knock on the office door sent her heart racing; even at meals, she could not help but glance anxiously around; after work, her anxiety reached its peak as she headed home. Yet day after day, nothing happened—no one came to confront her with the invitation, to question her, to dig into her heart. Gradually, her fear deepened—what was happening to him? Had something happened to Xiang Zuo?

Tormented by these endless, irrational speculations, nearly driven mad, it was only then that Zhang Momo suddenly realized that tomorrow was the day of her engagement. Only now did it strike her—she had not yet told her parents.

She had called Nianqing before to tell her about the engagement, promising to visit her parents’ graves before the ceremony. But these days had passed in such a daze that she had forgotten even such an important thing. Tianshou Cemetery was about fifty kilometers from the city, and since she didn’t drive, Zhang Momo took the shuttle bus. All the way, her mind replayed the phone call she had made to Nianqing that day.