For a breath and a heartbeat, time in Xianghe Noodle House held still. Even the steam-fogged glass on the door seemed to pause.
The clatter of bowls and hiss of broth blurred while Gu Ze Yan waited for her answer. He had asked lightly, but something taut pulled at his ribs.
Lin Qing Yun blinked once, then smiled—warm, polite, the kind she gave every customer.
"I'm sorry, sir," she said gently. "Have we met?"
A laugh burst out of Xu Hao. "Ah, that stings. Brother Gu, turns out you're mortal after all."
Ze Yan didn't look away. Up close, he noticed the faint pink at her nose, the loose hair brushing her cheek, the crescent of her eyes when she smiled. Ordinary. Friendly. Like a waitress speaking to a stranger.
He cleared his throat smoothly. "My mistake. I thought you might have seen me at the bookstore café. There's a girl there who looks very much like you."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "Is she as good at carrying trays as I am?"
Xu Hao grinned. "Not possible."
She laughed—bell-bright—and turned to the next table. The kitchen bell rang twice. Someone shouted for spoons.
"Sunny!" the owner called from the pass, holding bowls.
"Coming!" she sang back, voice cutting through the noise like ribbon.
She gave them a nod, then pivoted away. For the first time in a long time, Gu Ze Yan found himself standing in a crowded room and being the one left behind.
Xu Hao elbowed him, gleeful. "So, Mr. Always-Noticed. How does invisibility feel?"
"Temporary." Ze Yan lifted his jacket with elegant calm.
"That's the spirit." Xu Hao smirked. "I'm telling you—women remember me. I have spice aura."
"You nearly blinded the chef with chili oil. That's not aura," Ze Yan said. "It's a safety hazard."
The owner, belly round and face kind, nodded from the counter. "Everything good?"
"Perfect," Xu Hao answered, patting his stomach.
Ze Yan's gaze searched and found her again near the window, crouched beside a child who had dropped a spoon. With one hand she steadied the bowl, with the other she wiped the spill. She knelt to the boy's level, said something that made him giggle, then rose with that same bright ease.
She caught Ze Yan watching. The smile she gave him was no different than before—bright, easy. Yet it left something warm under his collar.
"Let's go," Xu Hao said, heading for the door.
They stepped into Liangcheng's winter neon. A damp chill threaded the sidewalks. Breath ghosted in the air. Motorbikes purred past, couples shared skewers, an old man sold candied haw over a brazier that glowed like a coal heart. The karaoke bar next door sang out of tune.
"Admit it," Xu Hao said. "You're curious."
"I'm hungry," Ze Yan replied.
"You already ate."
"I could eat more."
Xu Hao laughed. "She's exactly your type."
"What type is that?"
"Pretty, bright, makes the air feel empty when she leaves. Also—she remembered me."
"That last point shows questionable taste."
"Wounded," Xu Hao sighed dramatically.
Ze Yan didn't answer. His eyes strayed back to the diner window, where she moved between tables, tying her apron tighter. Office workers raised cups to her; she smiled, bowed her head, moved on.
Something pressed under his ribs. He'd been admired too often to care. This was different. Not a chase. A pull.
They walked toward the river. Lanterns bobbed on dark water, the wind carrying a damp southern cold.
Xu Hao grinned. "So, what now? Going to ask for her number?"
"I'll order a coffee," Ze Yan said mildly, remembering the bookstore café. "If it's her, I'll know."
"Undignified," Xu Hao teased.
"I always look dignified."
They parted at the curb. Xu Hao left with a laugh and a wave. Ze Yan stood by his car a moment longer, watching the diner's red sign pulse like a heartbeat.
He drove home, but even as the city lights blurred past, his thoughts stayed behind—on the girl with the polite smile that somehow still unsettled him.
Tomorrow, he told himself. Tomorrow, the bookstore.