Six winters ago.
Friday night laid neon across Liangcheng like silk. Damp cold pressed up from the river; breath curled pale in the air. Between a karaoke bar and a pharmacy, a red sign buzzed above a modest shop. Xianghe Noodle House—always crowded, always warm.
Xu Hao grinned as he pushed open the fogged glass door. Heat and broth washed over them. "Trust me, best wontons in the city. But the real reason it's full? The waitress. Everyone calls her Sunny. Cute, unforgettable. You'll see."
Gu Ze Yan followed, skeptical.
He was used to being the one people noticed—tall, sharp profile, refined confidence wrapped in boyish ease. At banquets or boardrooms, attention slid toward him without effort. Admiration was a second shadow he never chased.
But as the steam and neon wrapped around him, he saw her.
Lin Qing Yun moved quickly between tables, balancing two bowls in one hand. Heat brushed her cheeks pink; the cold had kissed her ears red. No makeup, just pale skin, dark lashes, bright eyes that caught fluorescent glare and turned it soft. She didn't try to own the room; the room made space for her anyway.
"Two wonton noodles—warm you right up, please enjoy!" Her voice was clear, lilting, warm enough to loosen tired shoulders.
Ze Yan's gaze followed her before he realized it had moved.
"See?" Xu Hao elbowed him with a grin. "Not just wontons."
Sunny.
He had seen her before—at the bookstore café near his office. Name tag: Lin Qing Yun. Same smile, same tidy warmth. There she had hummed while stacking paperbacks; here, steam and neon made her glow brighter.
She reached their table, pen ready. That brightness landed on them like light. "Welcome. What would you like to order?"
Xu Hao leaned forward confidently. "Sunny, right? You remembered me last time—extra chili oil."
Her eyes lit with recognition. "Ah, the spicy-noodles guy. Of course." She tapped her pen, playful. "Almost gave the chef a heart attack."
They laughed together. She remembered him.
Something shifted under Ze Yan's ribs.
He wasn't used to being second in anyone's notice. Women usually looked at him first. Yet here, her laughter bent toward Xu Hao. The thought lodged sharp as a thorn.
She scribbled their order, her gaze passing briefly over him. For a second, he told himself it was different—that her smile softened, just slightly, when it touched him.
The bowls came fast, steam curling fragrant. She set them down with practiced care, sliding condiments toward Xu Hao with a conspirator's grin. "Chili oil's on the side this time. I promised the chef I'd protect his broth."
"You saved him," Xu Hao chuckled.
Ze Yan stayed silent, chopsticks poised, attention locked on her.
She returned later to clear bowls, humming softly. Neon painted her face in shifting colors. For a moment she looked unreal—bright, warm, untouchable.
At the counter, he reached for his phone to scan the code. Her eyes lifted; their gazes met. Something flickered—small, gentler, as if she almost recognized him.
His heartbeat stuttered. He couldn't leave with that unease.
He stepped closer, lowered his voice so only she could hear. Calm, steady, edged with something he didn't recognize in himself.
"Do you remember me?"
For the first time in years, Gu Ze Yan felt like a boy again, holding his breath for her answer.
But the smile she gave him was not recognition.
It was the smile of a stranger.