The imperial capital had snowed for three days straight.

The thick and dense snowflakes covered the sky, dyeing this city of dazzling colors into a pure white. The uncleared snow had buried ankles deep, and the north wind, carrying ice grains, sliced across the face like knives.

No one would want to stay outdoors in such awful weather—but there were always exceptions with nerves or illness.

Tao Zhi sat before her tripod, watching through the camera lens as a couple in a strapless wedding gown and a white shirt stood arguing in the snow for ten minutes.

Barefoot.

Amid the red walls and white snow, the young girl dressed in a streak of red skirt stood barefoot in the snow, beautiful like a winter sprite fallen to the mortal world.

But the words coming from her mouth were not so beautiful.

“I’m rich and pretty and ask for nothing marrying you, and now you won’t even listen to me about a single wedding photo? Was I blind with shit in my eyes when I fell for you? I just want to shoot it this way, what’s wrong with that? Whatever I say, you just listen, what right do you have to control me?”

The man looked a bit helpless. He glanced at Tao Zhi—who was propping her chin with her hand—and her embarrassed assistant beside her, and lowered his voice: “Can you stop making a scene? So many people are watching, aren’t you ashamed?”

“Oh, now you think I’m embarrassing? Before, you always said I was especially genuine and especially cute like this!”

“That was when you were eighteen! You’re almost twenty-eight now! Can’t you be a bit more mature?”

“I just want you to cooperate and take a photo, and that’s immature? Are you even speaking human language?”

“Enough, that’s enough! Are we still shooting or not?” The man’s patience ran out.

“Shooting your ass! Forget the damn wedding too! Let’s break up! Go find yourself a mature one!”

The woman’s temper had already flared up beyond control. She turned her head toward Tao Zhi: “You, tell me if I’m being unreasonable! I just want a shot where he kneels and kisses my foot—what, are his knees made of gold or his mouth inlaid with diamonds? I hired such an expensive photographer to get the perfect photo! Now I ask him to cooperate a little and he refuses, am I wrong?”

The crossfire somehow spread to her side. Tao Zhi slowly lifted her eyes. Leaning back in her folding chair, she patiently suggested, “Why don’t you put your shoes back on first? It’s freezing, your feet are already red.”

The woman stared at her for a few seconds, seemingly unsure what to say, and finally forced out an awkward “Thanks.”

Tao Zhi turned off the camera, folded the tripod, packed up the equipment, and handed the bag to her assistant. She pointed toward the café in front: “I’ll go have some coffee to warm up. You talk with the clients—when they’re done fighting, call me. At most an hour; any later and the light won’t work, we won’t get the right effect.”

Her assistant, Xiao Jin, nodded, shrank her neck against the cold, and nervously went over.

Tao Zhi wandered lazily into the café.

She ordered a cup of coffee, took out her laptop, and opened PS and LR to process the photos from yesterday.

The heating shut out the icy world outside, and the thin sunlight filtered through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, gently spilling in—then was suddenly blocked by a shadow.

A clear, pleasant male voice sounded beside her. “Hello, mind giving me your contact info?”

Without even lifting her head, Tao Zhi replied smoothly, “I mind.”

The man chuckled but didn’t leave. Out of the corner of her eye, Tao Zhi saw him sit down across from her.

He even sat down?

What was wrong with this person.

She frowned slightly and lifted her head to look up. The man was wearing a camel-colored coat, his features clean and refined, and he was smiling at her.

Tao Zhi blinked. “Xiao Linzi?”

“Heartless,” Lin Suyan said with mock sadness. “An old classmate asks for your phone number and you still won’t give it to him? I thought I’d get some kind of special treatment, but turns out I was overthinking it.”

Tao Zhi looked at him with amusement. “What contact info do you even want from me? You already have both my WeChat and phone number—do you want my Q.Q now?”

“Sure,” Lin Suyan went along easily, taking out his phone. “These days, young people all use Penguin.”

Tao Zhi rolled her eyes.

After the college entrance exam, she and Lin Suyan had one farewell meal together. Back then, he was still a sentimental and fragile young man who cried as he said he didn’t know when they would meet again. Yet when the exam results came out and registration day arrived, the two of them ran into each other right at C University’s registration area—and ended up spending four years at the same school.

Tao Zhi studied film, while Lin Suyan studied finance. After graduation, he went to the U.K. for a year of master’s study and had just recently returned to the country.

When he first applied for that major, Tao Zhi had found it quite novel. Lin Suyan’s family was one of scholarly heritage—artists, teachers, and university professors all around—but his biggest lifelong goal had always been to toy with renminbi in the palm of his hand.

During university, he’d more than once said that if Tao Zhi were his family’s daughter, his father would probably be so delighted he’d tie himself to a skyrocketing firework and blast off into the heavens.

The two hadn’t seen each other in over a year, and there was too much to talk about. Lin Suyan, being a chatterbox by nature, went from catching up to bragging about his new boss.

“Three years—graduated top of his class from a domestic top university, double first in GPA and major. Finished a master’s at UPenn in nine months, spent a year on Wall Street, published international papers thicker than the test booklets I did senior year, and his annual salary—” he paused, making a gesture with his hand, “—this much.”

Tao Zhi listened to his boasting without a change of expression.

Seeing her lack of reaction, Lin Suyan, unwilling to be ignored, emphasized again, “Annual salary this much! And can you believe it—this guy’s the same age as me. I swear he doesn’t sleep. His brain runs twenty-four hours a day.”

Tao Zhi’s face remained completely unmoved.

Lin Suyan’s arm got sore from holding it up. After a long moment, he put it down and sighed, a little lonely that no one was humoring him. “I almost forgot—you’re Zhou Zhiruo who’s cut off all emotions and desires.”

Feeling a bit sorry for his dead air, Tao Zhi decided to play along. “Sounds like a Quasimodo type.”

Lin Suyan: “He’s actually handsome, believe me.”

“Two hundred jin?”

“Better body than a boxing champion,” Lin Suyan said exaggeratedly.

“Then he’s definitely two hundred jin.”

“…”

Lin Suyan sighed again and concluded dramatically, “You’re finished. You’ve become an immortal.”

After chatting aimlessly about all sorts of things, the café doorbell jingled. Xiao Jin stood at the entrance with a big bag, looked around, and spotted Tao Zhi.

The young girl ran over, panting, and set the bag on the empty chair beside them. “The clients said they won’t be shooting today. They asked me to apologize to you. Payment will still be made according to today’s finished shots, plus an additional five percent compensation.”

With a snap, Tao Zhi closed her laptop, cheerfully saying, “Great, off work, off work.”

Lin Suyan looked dejectedly at her, bright and happy as she packed up. “Men can’t even make you this happy when they’re off work.”

“What’s a man worth anyway?” Tao Zhi said, puzzled. “I really don’t get it—you like playing matchmaker so much, dragged it through all of college, and still went into finance? Why don’t you switch careers tomorrow and work at a matchmaking agency instead?”

“I don’t like playing matchmaker for others—I only like playing matchmaker for you,” Lin Suyan said, propping his chin on his hand. “I just want to know what you’re like when you fall in love.”

Tao Zhi waved her hand and turned to leave. “You keep wondering about that. I’m going home to sleep.”

Xiao Jin lifted the large bag from the table, glanced at Tao Zhi who had already walked out the door, hurriedly gave a small bow toward Lin Suyan, softly said goodbye, and then scampered out after her.

“She wanted that kind of fairy-like feeling—like a peony spirit in the snow,” Tao Zhi said, holding her phone between her shoulder and ear while putting a cup of milk into the microwave. “Her fiancé’s supposed to be an ordinary man who accidentally entered the fairyland, kneeling before the fairy’s frostbitten red feet. Honestly, I’m convinced—how can they argue over such a stupid thing?”

On the other end of the phone, Fu Xiling was laughing so hard she nearly fell over. “Didn’t you say before that this kind of job is troublesome? Yet you still lowered your standards and took it.”

“They paid well,” Tao Zhi leaned against the kitchen island and said, “He who pays is the father. In front of renminbi, who still talks about standards?”

Fu Xiling said, “You’re not even short of money, genius girl of the photography world.”

Tao Zhi counted on her fingers. By her age, she really no longer qualified as a girl, but she still smoothly and very happily accepted the title.

“I have to save up for your wedding gift,” Tao Zhi said with a smile as she brought out the warmed milk. “I’ll give you a big one.”

“Not working overtime tonight!” Fu Xiling’s voice instantly brightened. She lowered her voice and said, “Our chief editor’s on a business trip today. Everyone’s slacking off. Once I finish organizing my materials, I’m leaving.”

Fu Xiling had majored in journalism at university and worked as a reporter at a newspaper. Up early and home late, constantly working overtime. In her own words: rookie reporters only deserve the lowest pay for the most work.

And she did it without a single complaint.

From big events like gas explosions to small ones like Grandma Liu Cuifang next door losing her dog, she enthusiastically ran through streets and alleys conducting interviews for publication.

After hanging up, Tao Zhi finished her milk, dropped the cup into the sink, and turned to walk into the digital darkroom.

After graduating, she and Fu Xiling had rented this apartment together and moved out from home. The residential complex was only a few years old—safe, clean, and in a great location.

The apartment had three bedrooms. Tao Zhi paid most of the rent, and she had converted the extra room into a darkroom for developing photos.

As she pushed the door open, darkness swallowed her hand outstretched in front of her. Only a small red lamp glowed faintly. By its dim light, Tao Zhi glanced at the rows of photos hanging on the wall. For some reason, she suddenly thought of Lin Suyan, who had also gone against his family’s plans for him.

She found it somewhat strange—almost miraculous.

When she was choosing her major, her homeroom teacher had recommended science, engineering, or law. Tao Xiuping had also hoped she’d study finance or management, so that she could help with the family business later. But Tao Zhi—who knew what had gotten into her—didn’t listen to anyone. With a hot head, she decided she wanted to study photography.

She had never taken art exams, never joined any school admissions for it, and so couldn’t choose photography directly. In the end, she picked film studies.

She had never handled a camera before, though she’d always loved watching films. The trajectory of one’s life—no one can really say why it turns the way it does. Even at the moment she made the decision, she hadn’t imagined she would one day become a photographer.

A photograph is something very magical.

It is always faithful to reality, never deceives anyone. It can record what once was and etch time into permanence.

The happy, the sad, the hated, the loved.

Even if it yellows and fades, the instant you see it again, those memories reassemble like fragments and pour back into your mind.

Tao Zhi had always thought she might just be doing this on a whim—until her sophomore year, when she submitted a photograph to the National Geographic Global Photography Contest, won first prize in the China regional category, and caused quite a stir when it was sent on to compete internationally.

Only then did she realize—this was a path she could truly keep walking.

Tao Zhi stayed in the darkroom the entire afternoon. Time didn’t seem to exist in there. When she finally finished her work and came out, night had already begun to fall.

The next day was Saturday. Fu Xiling called Tao Zhi and a few others, including Li Shuangjiang, for dinner. Ever since everyone started working, their schedules had gotten busier, and chances to gather had become rare. Being able to sit down together for a weekend meal was already a luxury.

After washing her hands, Tao Zhi went back to her room, touched up her makeup, changed clothes, and went out. When she arrived at the Japanese restaurant, she was the last one again.

Fortunately, after so many years, everyone was long used to her habitual lateness. When Tao Zhi slid open the private room door, the others were already drinking.

Zhao Mingqi had studied sports medicine in college, Jiang Zhengxun had followed his own plans and gone into planning. Both couldn’t come because of work. Li Shuangjiang hadn’t changed much since high school—when he saw her, he craned his neck and shouted, “Boss!”

The warm sake, heated over fire, spread warmth through the stomach. Tao Zhi only drank a small cup, then quietly focused on her sashimi and sukiyaki.

Ever since the graduation gathering five years ago, she rarely drank. Everyone knew her habit, so no one pushed her.

The restaurant was tucked away in a quiet spot, elegantly decorated, occupying its own small three-story building. The first floor was for walk-in guests; the second and third floors had private rooms like this, each with its own restroom and a small balcony.

The floor heating was strong. After several rounds of drinks, Tao Zhi began to feel a little stifled, so she stood up and went out to the balcony for some air.

As she slid open the wooden door, a rush of cold night wind swept in. On both ends of the small balcony hung vermilion lanterns, painted with delicate images of Japanese songstresses in vivid kimonos—scarlet lips, pale faces, eyes slightly upturned.

Leaning on the wooden railing, Tao Zhi looked up.

The surrounding area was filled with similar low, multi-story standalone buildings. The view was wide and unobstructed. In the thick haze of fog, distant high-rises stood in neat rows, their lights blurred and hazy through the night mist.

Tao Zhi took a deep breath, the cold air flooding into her lungs, clearing her head completely. After standing for a moment, she was just about to turn and go back inside—

The door of the neighboring private room slid open with a soft clatter, and a man walked out.

Instinctively, Tao Zhi glanced over.

He wasn’t wearing a coat—just a black sweater. From a pack of cigarettes, he tapped one out and bit it between his lips.

The lighter’s flint struck, producing a faint rasping sound.

He lifted his hand slightly. Long fingers cupped the flame, and the small red light flickered between them. As the cigarette caught, the man tilted his head, the line of his neck pulled long, his sharp Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed. Wisps of pale smoke drifted and vanished into the night sky.

He rested his forearm on the wooden railing, eyes lowered, his expression indifferent.

Though the wooden door perfectly shut out the noise from inside, Tao Zhi felt as if the night before her was seething and burning.

Perhaps because she’d stared too long—perhaps because, in the quiet air, there was no one else but the two of them—Jiang Qihuai suddenly lifted his eyes and turned his head.

Their gazes met.

Tao Zhi felt like a marionette on stage—her mind blank, her limbs bound tight by steel strings, nailed in place, unable to move.

She let out a subtle breath, forcing herself to speak calmly, voice soft: “What a coincidence.”

Jiang Qihuai’s peach-blossom eyes were deep, and under the dim red light, they seemed an almost illusory shade of black. He looked at her as though seeing through her—perhaps at something beyond her—or perhaps simply at her.

After what felt like a century, his lashes lowered slightly, and the corner of his lips moved.

That once-cold, blade-like voice, now tempered by time and stripped of its youthful clarity, came slow and low, faintly hoarse:

“Mm. What a coincidence.”