Thinking back carefully, even counting from high school, the number of times Tao Zhi had eaten with Jiang Qihuai wasn’t that many.

Aside from when she went to his house, or when Li Shuangjiang organized group dinners and the like.

As for the two of them going out alone to eat, there really hadn’t been many times.

Not to mention it being initiated by him—almost every single time they’d been alone, it had been because Tao Zhi couldn’t bear to see him eat by himself, so she lowered herself and offered to accompany him.

So even after getting in the car, Tao Zhi was still immersed in the joy of “Subject No. 3821 personally inviting the princess for a meal,” the kind of once-in-ten-years happiness worth celebrating.

Some words are once-in-a-lifetime things—only said under special circumstances, worth recording and savoring for life.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought a recorder with her just now.

Tao Zhi sighed regretfully, turned her head, and looked at the man in the driver’s seat.

Though she wasn’t familiar with cars, she still recognized the logos of a few major brands.

She glanced at the interlocking circles in the middle of his steering wheel and suddenly felt a bit emotional.

“Jiang Qihuai, you’re rich now. You have a car.”

Her tone was very pure and straightforward.

Jiang Qihuai couldn’t help curving his lips slightly at her blunt, unfiltered remark. “The company assigned it.”

Tao Zhi nodded, continuing her sentiment. “The last time I sat in your vehicle, it was a bicycle. I didn’t expect that the second time, there’d already be a roof.”

Jiang Qihuai: “…”

Tao Zhi suddenly felt a little nostalgic for those youthful days and went on reminiscing. “You rode especially fast, and then when we went downhill, you didn’t even warn me.”

Jiang Qihuai hesitated for a moment but still couldn’t help saying, “I did warn you.”

Tao Zhi hadn’t expected him to argue. “You call that a warning? You were so late that by the time you warned me, we were already past the slope.”

“Then you should’ve been watching where we were going.”

“Watch what? Have you ever seen an artsy coming-of-age movie? The heroine never looks at the road—we’re only responsible for being pretty.” Tao Zhi looked at him expressionlessly. “Are you trying to shift the blame onto me now?”

While waiting at a red light, Jiang Qihuai rested his wrist on the steering wheel, turned his head, and looked at her. “No.”

Tao Zhi stared at him seriously, and then suddenly felt a little childish.

Once the topic was brought up again, all those things Tao Zhi had thought she’d long forgotten—those memories that seemed so distant, long buried in the dust of her mind—began to unspool like old film reels.

One frame after another spread out before her eyes, even the scenes that had already faded and dimmed bridging the long timeline and reconnecting with the present, slowly coming back to life.

In the not-so-warm autumn light, beneath the trees of the morning campus, the bicycle wheels rustled as they rolled over a ground full of golden leaves. The boy’s school jacket was puffed up by the wind behind him. The clean scent of laundry powder mixed with something distinctively his drifted back toward her nose.

That day, she had confessed seriously to the boy she liked for the very first time.

She didn’t know whether Jiang Qihuai was thinking of the same thing as she was, but his expression, as he looked at her, grew calm at almost the exact same moment.

The fingers of the hand he’d draped on the steering wheel lifted slightly.

At the intersection ahead, the traffic light flickered and slowly turned green, and the clear sound of a horn from behind shattered the silence inside the car.

The two of them seemed to wake from a shared illusion at the same time. Tao Zhi blinked and abruptly turned her head away.

Jiang Qihuai’s raised fingers hung in the air for a second before he let them fall back onto the steering wheel and slowly started the car.

The restaurant Jiang Qihuai chose wasn’t far from Tao Zhi’s studio.

This area was a large art district. The nearby streets were lined with galleries, woodcarving shops, and all sorts of strange art exhibitions. Further ahead was the National Art Museum—a hotspot for trendy crowds.

Jiang Qihuai had chosen a Spanish restaurant. Its bold, vividly colored decor radiated a kind of passionate foreign warmth that clashed in every possible way with a certain cold-faced person.

After they sat down and ordered, Tao Zhi secretly glanced at him several times.

After being stared at more than once, Jiang Qihuai finally lifted his eyes from the menu. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Tao Zhi said honestly. “I just didn’t expect you’d like Spanish food.”

“I’m not picky. I just thought you’d like it.” Jiang Qihuai lowered his head again, his voice calm. “I drove past once before and thought about bringing you here.”

“Oh.” Tao Zhi blinked, turned her gaze aside, and couldn’t help the upward curve of her lips.

Tao Zhi truly did like Spanish culture, and the food suited her taste well. The restaurant Jiang Qihuai picked was very authentic. After the meal, Tao Zhi was happily scooping into the ice cream in her glass, enjoying her dessert.

Once the dessert was gone, Jiang Qihuai drove Tao Zhi back to her studio.

They had already eaten late, and by the time they returned it was nearly three o’clock. Tao Zhi had wanted to suggest they go out somewhere afterward—but restrained herself out of dignity.

When the car stopped in front of the studio, Tao Zhi got out, walked around the front of the car, and headed forward. She didn’t look back, keeping her head down as she walked slowly step by step.

Just as she was almost at the door, Jiang Qihuai suddenly called out from behind, “Zhizhi.”

Tao Zhi stopped. She adjusted her expression, then turned back with a stiff, pretended indifference. “What?”

Jiang Qihuai rolled the window all the way down, rested his arm on the edge, and looked at her. “When’s Subject 3821’s next available slot?”

Tao Zhi paused, seeming to think hard about how to answer. Then, feigning a cool attitude, she lifted her chin. “You’ll have to wait for further notice.”

Jiang Qihuai stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly lowered his eyes. He licked the corner of his lips and gave a brief laugh.

Tao Zhi grew uneasy. “What are you laughing at?”

“Nothing.” Jiang Qihuai straightened again, the faint curve still lingering on his lips. “Then I’ll wait for notice.”

Tao Zhi waved at him stiffly. “Goodbye.”

She turned, hands clasped behind her back, and swaggered into the studio like a lord taking a stroll.

Standing by the doorway, she faintly heard the car start up again and drive away. After waiting until the outside was completely quiet, she turned around.

Jiang Qihuai’s car was already gone. Tao Zhi pressed her lips together, almost so happy she could have jumped on the spot, and couldn’t hold back a grin.

With her hands still behind her back, she turned and walked further inside—just as Xu Suinian came by carrying a cup of coffee. Tao Zhi quickly raised her hand, poked the corner of her lips with her fingertip, and tugged it down in a failed attempt to hide her smile.

Over the next few days, Tao Zhi still didn’t take the initiative to message Jiang Qihuai.

But Jiang Qihuai also didn’t text her again to ask when he could “have an audience.”

Tao Zhi didn’t show any reaction—she simply and quietly sent Lin Suyan a WeChat message, asking if her old classmate’s work and life had been going smoothly and whether she was happy these days.

The WeChat message she’d sent that afternoon didn’t get a reply from Lin Suyan until very late at night:

[Lin Suyan]: Just saw this. My wallet is happy, but nothing else is. Lately I’ve been so busy I wish I could grow three heads and six arms.

Tao Zhi lay sprawled on the sofa with a face mask on. When she saw that message, she tossed her phone aside and reluctantly accepted the explanation.

Fine.

If Lin Suyan was that busy, Jiang Qihuai was probably busy too.

Just as she was peeling off her mask, her phone buzzed again. Tao Zhi used the tip of her little finger—the only one not covered in serum—to swipe the screen open. The chat window was still the same one with Lin Suyan.

[Lin Suyan]: My boss is working himself sick. He’s been burning up at almost forty degrees, took some fever medicine, and is still working from home.

Tao Zhi: ??

She ripped the mask from her face in one go, scrambled up from the sofa, grabbed a tissue to wipe her hands, and typed quickly:

[Tao Zhi]: ?? Forty degrees?? Your boss? Your supervisor? He didn’t go to the hospital??

[Lin Suyan]: Nope. Took a day off to work from home. He even sent me new client info just now.

When Fu Xiling came into the living room hugging her laptop, she found Tao Zhi standing in front of the sofa, her face still streaked with mask residue, looking deeply conflicted.

Fu Xiling paused. “What’s wrong?”

“Lingling, Jiang Qihuai is sick,” Tao Zhi said gloomily. “Very sick.”

Fu Xiling: “…”

“Ah,” Fu Xiling humored her, “then are you going to check on him?”

“Would that be appropriate?” Tao Zhi frowned, serious. “He’s just my ex-boyfriend.”