Song Die was different from Beijiao. He lacked any sense of aggression, always displaying a nearly artificial politeness—although many people say that if someone can maintain pretense their entire life, they could be considered a true gentleman.
In a corner of the locker room, a few people had been sitting and chatting casually. When they saw a tall guy hugging a sobbing woman approach, they all turned to look curiously.
Jiang Ran suspected he did it on purpose. As she heard the chatter abruptly stop, she couldn’t bring herself to lift her face from Song Die’s chest, so she just clung tightly to him.
“Sorry, she’s not feeling well today,” he explained gently.
As the young man spoke, the group let out knowing laughter. It wasn’t just the lounge area—on the ski slopes, people often saw skiers struggling to change edges, falling repeatedly on jumps, or failing to pop the board, all ending up in tears.
People never believe they could cry from sheer clumsiness until they step onto the snowy slopes and realize how frequently such situations arise.
Thoughtfully, the strangers left the quiet corner for the couple they assumed them to be. Little did they know, the girl crying into someone’s chest, her ears flushed red and too embarrassed to lift her head—behaving unlike her usual composed self—was none other than Jiang Ran, who normally would bow respectfully upon seeing them.
It was because she had witnessed her ex-boyfriend helping another girl install her bindings.
After they left, she sat in the corner, wiping her tears hesitantly, wondering if she was about to get her period. Otherwise, there was no reason for her to be so overly emotional. Plenty of people used the (33,21) binding angle on the streets, it wasn’t something exclusive to Jiang Ran.
She kept trying to comfort herself, and finally managed to feel a little better, when she turned her head and noticed Song Die was still sitting beside her. At this moment, he was leaning back in the chair, replying to messages from his advisor or other people on his phone.
Under the glow of the phone screen, his tall, prominent nose was especially noticeable. His eyes were lowered, with light flickering within them.
Feeling her gaze, he put the phone down, thought for a moment, and said, “It’s just helping someone install bindings. He didn’t look very willing either.”
Jiang Ran hummed softly, somewhat surprised that he actually defended Beijiao. Was the sun rising from the west?
As if reading her hesitant expression, Song Die smiled softly and said, “I’m not defending him. I just hope you won’t be upset if you are upset about this.”
Jiang Ran tightened her hands resting on her lap.
Upset?
Jiang Ran thought to herself. What’s the point of being upset? They would never get back together. After breaking up, both needed to move forward. She had no reason to expect others to hesitate like she did, especially since…
Beijiao had already taken the first step.
Jiang Ran looked outside through the gap in the lockers. People came and went, most in groups chatting and laughing. In this small group united by a shared interest, people constantly broke up and reconciled, or resolved things internally.
Suddenly, she reached out and touched the earring on Song Die’s earlobe.
He lifted his eyelashes slightly, looking at her with calm and emotionless eyes.
“I guess I just don’t feel ready to start a new relationship yet. Like just now, if I ran into that dog again, I might still break down and cry like that—”
Her eyes were still red as she spoke, her voice slightly hoarse.
Song Die didn’t speak, just quietly looked at her.
Watching her raise her hand to tidy the hair she had messed up while crying into his chest, she took a deep breath. “I heard the cinema at MixC reopened after being closed for so long… Do you want to watch a movie together this weekend?”
His silence lasted for a long time—
So long that Jiang Ran thought she was about to be rejected.
Only then did Song Die pick up his phone and send a voice message to the person he had been talking to earlier, his voice carrying a hint of laughter. “I’m suddenly unavailable this weekend—I can’t help you move bricks for free anymore. You’ll have to find someone else. Who can’t do this job anyway?”
The sound of a WeChat voice message being sent.
“Yeah, a date.”
Song Die said.
…
Inside the ski resort.
From the moment Beijiao stepped into the ski field, his eyebrows were furrowed, and he seemed somewhat distracted.
So much so that he didn’t even notice when someone had approached him. As he sat on the chairlift, someone suddenly grabbed his waist from behind. Looking down, he saw his apprentice hugging his waist, panting as he climbed onto the chairlift and sat down.
Noticing his master looking down at him, the boy leaned back, arms crossed, speaking in a mature tone. “Pull down the bar, why are you staring at me like that?”
Beijiao raised his hand and pulled down the safety bar with a ‘click’. The little dinosaur sitting beside him wiggled his feet.
“What are you doing here?” His voice was low. “Did she go back?”
Who “she” was—whether it was with the “person” radical or the “female” radical—didn’t need further explanation. This was the tacit understanding between master and apprentice.
……………………………………Probably.
Two minutes later, Beijiao realized their current level of tacit understanding was somewhat collapsing.
“You don’t know where she went?” He heard his own voice slightly rise. “Didn’t you have lunch together at noon?”
He paused.
“I see. So you lost track of her.” He used a declarative tone. “Well, I saw you in the equipment area in the lobby, staring at a couple hugging each other like they couldn’t bear to part, like a kid watching a romance movie for the first time. What, are you jealous?”
His mood wasn’t great, and his words weren’t particularly kind. For that brief second when he lashed out at the “kid,” he sounded a bit like the “mutt” from a year ago.
Upon hearing this, Ah Tuan unusually didn’t retort. Instead, he looked up at his master with confusion and asked a very explosive question: “What? Are the Firecracker Sister and that guy a couple?”
Beijiao also froze. “What?”
In an instant, he already had the answer in his mind.
His heart sank rapidly, and a bad premonition expanded infinitely in his mind.
Ah Tuan “ah”ed for a while, struggling to explain the situation clearly. Finally, he decided to start from the moment he first felt something strange—kids don’t have much logic, but since they at least learned picture storytelling in first grade, he could at least describe the basic scenes.
He began from the moment Zhao Keyan, eyes full of tears, chased out of the ski resort, and Song Die grabbed the Firecracker Sister’s hand.
“At that time, he asked her if they could give it a try,” Ah Tuan counted on his fingers. “Master, what does ‘give it a try’ mean? Weren’t they already standing together?”
He was met with a heavy silence.
“Later, that guy’s binding broke, and the Firecracker Sister went to the rental shop at the entrance to get screws for him. When she came back, we saw you at the equipment counter,” Ah Tuan nodded firmly. “I’m sure she saw you, because she was staring at you the whole time.”
There were so many girls staring at his master, Ah Tuan didn’t think anything was wrong.
But he didn’t know that the person sitting beside him at this moment had goosebumps all over, completely different from his usual lazy and domineering self. Right now, his dark pupils were unfocused and dazed.
“She saw me with Liang He?” He muttered. “I didn’t do anything… Wait, I really didn’t do anything, right?”
“Just helped Liang Sister adjust her binding angle?”
“…”
“At first, the Firecracker Sister didn’t seem to react much. She just held my hand and squeezed it so hard it hurt. But I’m a tough guy, I could still endure the pain!” Ah Tuan started to go off-topic but then circled back to the key point. He paused and summarized, “It was when Liang Sister asked you about the binding angle that she almost crushed my hand.”
“…What angle?”
“The one we all use, (33,21).”
“…”
“So what does it mean? When Liang Sister asked you to adjust that angle, the Firecracker Sister looked like she could eat someone. Does she hate that angle? Why is she so strange? How can someone hate a binding angle so much?”
The kid kept chattering in his ear.
At this moment, the chairlift reached the top. As the bar lifted, Ah Tuan was shocked to see that his master, who had barely ever fallen getting off the chairlift since he started skiing, took a few steps forward and clumsily fell at the bottom of the chairlift.
Ah Tuan’s children’s snowboard stopped steadily in front of the kneeling young man with black hair, and a curious chubby face leaned down close to him. “Master, what’s wrong with you?”
“I didn’t adjust that angle for Liang He,” he whispered to Ah Tuan.
“…I don’t understand why you’re saying this now,” Ah Tuan said.
It was important.
Beijiao got up, casually brushed off the snow on his face, and took out his phone, wanting to tell Jiang Ran about this.
But after scrolling through his contact list for a long time, he couldn’t find the chat window with her. Only then did he remember that they hadn’t spoken for over a year. No matter how often he cleared the top of his chat list, he couldn’t keep her at the top of the first page.
He didn’t want to use the chat pin feature either.
Over time, her profile picture disappeared from his sight.
Beijiao put his phone away.
“But later that guy still hugged the Firecracker Sister.”
“…I saw.”
“He hugged her pretty tight. Even you thought they were a couple?” Ah Tuan hesitated for a moment and asked, “So Master, are you out of luck?”
Upon hearing this, Beijiao weakly tugged at the corner of his lips.
He couldn’t answer that question.
…
The weekend arrived as promised. Originally, Jiang Ran hadn’t taken it too seriously, but when the day finally came, she found herself like a cat on a hot tin roof.
“How fresh is this? You and the mutt were together for over half a year, including the ambiguous phase, and you never went on a date?” Sitting on the sofa in Jiang Ran’s apartment, Qiu Nian was sitting cross-legged, hugging half a watermelon, staring at the TV… except that every now and then a figure would appear between her and the TV, blocking her view of the subtitles.
“Sis, you look good in anything!” Qiu Nian said with her mouth full of icy watermelon, her words muffled. “Can you move? You’re blocking the subtitles.”
Jiang Ran cursed and threw away the white spaghetti-strap dress she was holding.
Qiu Nian laughed. “You really do look like a cat on a hot tin roof.”
“Back then, Bei Jiao and I mostly met at the ski resort, wearing ski suits,” Jiang Ran said expressionlessly. “Helmets, gloves, and face guards. Sometimes I just went out with lipstick on.”
“Now you can too. Anyway, you have to wear a mask wherever you go.”
“…Mainly because it’s Song Die.” Jiang Ran slumped onto the sofa, rolled over, crawled forward, grabbed a spoon, and took a bite of watermelon. “I just feel something’s off—”
“This circle is only so big. Internal resolution is normal…”
“How did you and Lin Shuang manage to switch boyfriends without missing a beat? Didn’t it feel awkward?”
“Ah, Lin Shuang made the first move on Huang Can. I don’t know if she felt awkward. By the time I found out, they’d already been together for a month, and had done everything—aren’t we going to ask her next week for Qingming Festival?”
“…”
Jiang Ran expressionlessly retreated to the corner of the sofa, hugging her knees and thinking for a long time. “Too familiar. I can’t make a move.”
Qiu Nian scoffed disdainfully.
Jiang Ran kicked her. “What are you laughing at?”
“Do you really need to make the first move?” Qiu Nian gave her a sidelong glance. “You just need to stand there, and Song Die will make his move himself.”
A chill ran down her back.
Jiang Ran was terrified by her words.
…
The next day, she met Song Die at 3 p.m. He had thoughtfully considered Jiang Ran’s schedule, planning to watch a movie at 3, then have dinner, and go home afterward.
In fact, Jiang Ran couldn’t fall back asleep after opening her eyes at 11 a.m.
She tossed and turned until 1 p.m., even considering backing out.
However, just as she picked up her phone to type, “I’m not feeling well, maybe we can reschedule,” she suddenly thought of Song Die’s gentle smiling eyes. Her scalp prickled, and she put her phone down.
At 3 p.m., she arrived at the cinema entrance as agreed.
All the elegant outfits she had prepared the day before were useless. She still wore her usual canvas shoes, pleated skirt, and tank top. A light-colored shirt was worn over it, and she wore a fisherman’s hat to block the sun. Jiang Ran was just giving up and going with it.
From a distance, she saw Song Die standing outside the mall. He was looking at a corner of the flowerbed with his eyes lowered, a black mask hanging from one ear… A long cigarette was between his fingers, glowing faintly. Many girls passing by turned to look at him.
“When did you start smoking?”
Jiang Ran walked over and asked.
The person lost in thought came back to reality. Seeing the woman standing in front of him clearly, he hummed softly, smiling shyly for once, his voice hoarse. “You’re here.”
Jiang Ran watched him put out the cigarette, which had only been half-burned, and throw it into the trash can.
As Song Die’s long fingers lifted to adjust his mask, she lowered her head to take out her phone and search for the movie ticket’s QR code. She was busy looking for the order and taking a screenshot of the QR code when she heard a voice from above her. “Sometimes I smoke when I’m stressed. And sometimes… when I’m nervous.”
Jiang Ran let out a soft laugh. “So are you stressed or nervous now—”
She realized how strange her question sounded as soon as she said it. Her voice trailed off, and she looked up at Song Die, finding him also looking at her with a smile in his eyes.
Her hand unconsciously swiped across the phone screen, grateful that her mask perfectly concealed her nearly uncontrollable facial expression. She made a vague nasal sound and looked away, saying indistinctly, “Let’s go in.”
The darkness inside the cinema gave her a sense of security. During the movie, she didn’t make any unnecessary movements. Only occasionally, when discussing the plot in whispers, because her voice was too low, Song Die would lean slightly toward her to listen, and then offer appropriate opinions.
After the movie, the crowd exiting the theater was quite heavy. Someone behind hurried forward and accidentally bumped into Jiang Ran from behind. She staggered forward, when a large hand naturally reached out to steady her by the shoulder.
After removing his hand from her shoulder, he naturally took her hand and walked forward. Jiang Ran was momentarily stunned by this gesture. She lowered her head, looking at their interlocked hands. The person holding her hand had a tall back and broad shoulders, overlapping with the image of someone familiar from her memories—
but he wasn’t that person.
“Is Japanese cuisine okay for dinner? I’ve made a reservation.”
[You better hurry; I must show you how high my blade jump is today… Li Xingnan even clapped for me yesterday!]
“If you don’t feel like Japanese food, we can go somewhere else. I just thought the ambiance at this place is decent, and you might like it.”
[Jiang Ran, what are we having for dinner? I feel like instant noodles. I can only cook instant noodles, so if you don’t want to eat it, you’ll just have to starve.]
Jiang Ran nodded and said either was fine.
They ended up having dinner at a Japanese OMAKASE restaurant, a counter-style dining experience priced at 3699 RMB per person for the evening meal. In a first-tier city like Guangzhou, this place should be considered top-tier.
This restaurant wasn’t easy to book. Only when Jiang Ran arrived at the entrance did she realize that Song Die’s seemingly effortless “reservation” must have taken some effort to secure. When the restaurant first opened, she had seen its promotion and wanted to try it, only to be told that the waiting list extended to six months later…
The restaurant served only four guests at a time. Its ambiance was excellent and quiet, with everyone speaking softly—
or perhaps they didn’t speak at all, simply listening quietly as the chef introduced the day’s ingredients and the upcoming dishes.
Jiang Ran couldn’t help but mentally commend Song Die for his thoughtfulness. From the movie to dinner, she hardly had to engage in the kind of small talk she actually disliked.
In the evening, Song Die drove her to the entrance of her apartment building. Gazing at the familiar lights of the residential complex, she felt a bit dazed, thinking that if she had to rate this date, eighty percent of girls would probably hold up signs giving it a perfect score.
The car came to a smooth stop. Jiang Ran unbuckled her seatbelt and slightly turned her head toward Song Die, about to say something.
Suddenly, he chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“Nothing. I was just thinking about the day we first met. You also dropped me off at the school gate back then,” he said slowly, glancing at her. “I was sitting in the front passenger seat. Guess what I was thinking at that time?”
“Huh?”
“I didn’t want to unbuckle my seatbelt. I didn’t want to leave.”
His voice was light and airy as always, without any pressure. Yet at this moment, perhaps due to the dim yellow lights inside the car, or maybe the starry sky outside the window, his eyes looked tender and deep as he gazed at her.
“I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”
He smiled gently.
At such a moment, no one could remain unmoved.
Sometimes Jiang Ran thought, if she hadn’t randomly picked him up back then, or if Jiang Huaimin hadn’t suddenly decided to do something kind, then in this moment, she might have been the happiest woman in the world.
But now, looking at Song Die’s familiar-yet-strange handsome face, she realized that aside from a slight softening in her heart, she felt none of the wild, uncontrollable racing heartbeat she had experienced that snowy night in the small wooden cabin in Altay—
if this could even be called growth.
As Song Die’s face approached at a non-threatening pace, she blinked, realizing in the first second what he intended to do.
The faint tobacco scent was almost masked by other aromas, yet she still accurately detected it. She gave herself a reason and subtly turned her face aside.
Thus, the young man’s soft lips brushed past the corner of her mouth.
She had thought he would at least seem displeased, but he wasn’t. The gentle kiss landed on her cheek, as if he had intended to do so all along.
“Go up now,” his steady and warm voice sounded in her ear. “Send me a WeChat message when you get home.”
…
Jiang Ran got out of the car with a complex mood.
Once home, she felt restless, without the happiness that people usually felt after a date.
Biting her lower lip, she sat on the sofa and took out her phone to start drafting a message.
[I had a great time today, but I wasn’t really in the right mood. Sorry, sorry. Maybe we should just forget it.]
… Not quite right. What did “maybe we should just forget it” even mean? Delete.
[I think I might not be able to move on for a while. Every time I see your back, I think of my old dog. Please don’t waste your time on me.]
… Too self-deprecating. Delete, delete.
[I suddenly realized I don’t want to be in a relationship right now.]
… Then what if he proposes? (Overthinking again. I heard that getting married during grad school gives you extra points?) Delete, delete, delete!
[You’re great. I’m the one with the problem.]
Jiang Ran stared at the final message on her phone—a concise, self-deprecating rejection. She hesitated for a long time before deciding whether to send it. Her trembling hand couldn’t bring herself to press “send,” when unexpectedly, a message from Song Die popped up.
She almost dropped her phone in shock.
[Song Die: It’s okay. Take your time.]
Jiang Ran: “…”
Repeatedly scrolling through the chat history, Jiang Ran confirmed she hadn’t sent anything inappropriate earlier. What did he mean by suddenly popping up with a message like that?
After thinking back and forth, she typed a “?”.
[Song Die: Because your name showed “typing…” next to it for almost ten minutes.]
[Song Die: Obviously, you’re trying to compose something you think I won’t want to hear.]
[Song Die: So I’m saying, whatever you want to say, it’s okay. Take your time.]
[Song Die: Just consider us slightly better than friends.]
Jiang Ran: “…”
Damn it.
How could he be so gently affectionate and yet block off all her escape routes at the same time!!!!!
That night, Jiang Ran went to bed feeling bitter and conflicted.
Author’s Note:
I rarely explain the intentions behind certain plots I write, but I’m afraid some might misinterpret my purpose, so I’ll say something.
1: Song Die, as an important secondary male lead, has appeared since the beginning of the story. I can’t just abandon this character halfway through and pretend he never existed. My obsessive-compulsive nature tells me that he needs a proper conclusion.
2: The male lead is the female lead’s first love. During their separation, the female lead needs a process of trying to move on, rather than constantly clinging to the idea that she’s healed when she’s not. Although she indeed cannot accept Song Die, people often say to skip three years ahead, but I think for a small-circle relationship, skipping three years directly isn’t realistic, and the emotional connection wouldn’t hold. I wrote three years simply to indicate their breakup lasted three years, not to imply that they reunite after three years without seeing each other and immediately rekindle their intense feelings.
3: I’m just a pervert who loves watching these bittersweet, emotionally intense plots.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage