Chapter 52: “Falling in Love”

That day, after she got home, she took a shower and lay in bed, but she couldn’t fall asleep at all.

Her mind kept replaying the scenes from the banquet.

Yan Yu’s dress stained with red wine, her silhouette sitting alone in the corner, the focused look in Su Qinghan’s eyes when she gazed at Jiang Muyun… and finally, that gaze from behind when she pushed Yan Yu away to leave.

That gaze had been Su Qinghan’s.

She had sensed it.

But why?

Shouldn’t Su Qinghan’s heart and eyes be filled with nothing but her “white moonlight,” Jiang Muyun?

Shouldn’t she be ecstatic that the one she’d been waiting for had finally returned?

Then why, when she took Yan Yu away, did Su Qinghan show that kind of look?

Confusion, irritation, and a kind of dull, oppressive feeling she didn’t want to examine too closely—all tangled together, making her chest tight.

So today, she came here.

Alcohol might not solve the problem, but at least it could numb that uncomfortable feeling for a while.

She took another sip.

She couldn’t even taste what this drink was anymore.

The alcohol burned down her esophagus, leaving a scorching sensation, but it couldn’t warm her heart.

Setting down the glass, she instinctively pulled out her phone.

The screen lit up.

The lock screen wallpaper was a night scene from a street race, city lights flowing into a river.

She swiped open, her finger hovering over the screen for a moment before tapping on WeChat.

The contact list was long, but her finger slid to a certain spot without hesitation.

Yan Yu.

The profile picture was simple—a blur of green, like sunlight seen through gaps in leaves.

Moments were set to three-day visibility; the background was blank.

Their chat history still stopped at yesterday.

She had sent:
“Arrived?”

Yan Yu replied:
“Arrived, thanks.”

Further up were earlier polite exchanges.

Polite, distant, no fault to be found… but that was all.

Dai Feng stared at that chat window, her thumb hovering over the input box for a long time.

She wanted to send something.

Ask “How was your day?”

Ask “Does your waist still hurt?”

Ask “Did Jiang Muyun give you any more trouble?”

But the words she typed, she deleted one by one.

On what grounds could she ask?

As friends?

Were they even friends?

They’d met a few times, exchanged some words, and gone through one unpleasant banquet together.

That was all.

But if not friends, then what?

Sympathy?

Pity?

Or… something else?

She couldn’t say.

That urge to contact the other person, mixed with the awkwardness of not having a good reason to reach out, tugged in her chest, making her even more restless.

“Sister Feng, what are you staring at so intently?”

Someone sidled up to her—a friend Lin Na had brought, called A Yue, a fine arts student with pink-blue short hair and a row of shiny ear studs on her helix.

Dai Feng moved her thumb, turned off the screen, and flipped the phone face-down on the bar counter.

“Nothing.”

She picked up her glass and downed the rest of the drink.

The icy liquid mixed with the burn of alcohol rolled down her throat, making her frown slightly.

A Yue didn’t mind.

She sat down next to her, ordered a mojito, bit the straw, and said vaguely,
“You seem in a bad mood. Want to come check out our school? This afternoon we have a public lecture, pretty interesting—it’s on modern art history.”

Dai Feng turned to look at her.

“You’re in the art department?”

“Yeah,” A Yue nodded.

“Fine arts major. Why?”

“Tomorrow afternoon public lecture. I’ll go with you.”

“Huh?”

A Yue was clearly taken aback, even forgetting to bite the straw.

“Why?”

A few friends nearby also looked surprised.

Dai Feng was notoriously all about having fun.

On a normal day, she’d even skip her own finance department’s core classes, and now she was volunteering to audit an art department public lecture?

“Nothing,” Dai Feng averted her eyes and gestured to A Ken for a refill.

“Just suddenly got interested in art. Want to check it out.”

“Huh?”

A Yue’s eyes went wide.

“Interested in art? That’s rare. When was the last time you went to an art museum? High school art class sketching?”

Someone nearby laughed.

But then something occurred to A Yue, and her expression turned subtle.

She leaned in, lowering her voice.

“Hey, you’re not… influenced by Su Qinghan, are you?”

Su Qinghan liked cultured things and had always had a lot of insight into art.

Everyone in the circle knew that Dai Feng and Su Qinghan were close.

Many of her preferences and habits, even her taste in people, were somewhat similar.

Dai Feng’s fingers gripping the glass suddenly tightened.

But her face showed nothing.

She slowly swirled the drink in her hand, watching the clear ice cubes bob up and down in the amber liquid.

“It’s not her.”

She said, her voice quiet.

A Yue choked at her tone and rubbed her nose sheepishly.

“Fine, fine, fine. Not her then.”

She waved a hand.

“So are you really going tomorrow afternoon? Our class starts at two, in the third-floor lecture hall of the Fine Arts Building.”

“Yeah.”

Dai Feng answered without hesitation.

She picked up her phone, still face-down on the bar.

The screen lit up again—still that blurry green profile picture.

This time, she didn’t open the chat.

She just looked at it, then turned off the screen and slipped the phone back into her jacket pocket.

“What time do we meet?”

She asked A Yue.

“1:50, at the Fine Arts Building entrance?”

“Okay.”

A Ken slid the newly mixed drink in front of her.

This time it was a Moscow Mule—the refreshing ginger beer mixed with the biting vodka, fine condensation beading on the glass.

Dai Feng picked it up and took a large gulp.

The icy liquid, with its sharp ginger spiciness, rushed into her mouth, clearing her muddled mind for an instant.

Why did she want to go to the art department’s lecture?

She couldn’t really explain it either.

Dai Feng downed the rest of the drink in one gulp, set the glass back on the counter with a crisp clink, and stood up.

“I’m out.”

She pulled a few bills from her wallet, pressed them under the glass, gave A Ken a nod, and turned to walk toward the door.

“Hey, it’s not even that late yet,” Lin Na called from behind.

“Got things to do.”

Dai Feng didn’t look back, just waved.

The alcohol was still burning faintly in her veins, but the knot in her chest seemed to have loosened a little.

She pulled out her phone, and this time without hesitation, tapped on that green chat window and quickly typed on the screen.

Dai Feng:
I’ll come to your school tomorrow afternoon to audit the art department’s lecture.

Sent.

Then, before the other person could reply, she added another line.

Dai Feng:
Do you have an electronic version of your textbook? Could you send me a copy?

Sent.

After doing that, she slipped the phone back into her pocket, stuck both hands in her jacket, and walked toward the parking lot.

Her steps were no longer as heavy as when she arrived; instead, there was a lightness to them.

She didn’t know if Yan Yu would reply, or what she would reply if she did.

But she knew that some things, if you never try, you’ll never get an answer.

Tomorrow afternoon at two, the Fine Arts Building, the lecture hall.

She was suddenly looking forward to it.