CTJM - 8

Chapter 8: By the Window

So... had he just gone to get her wet wipes?

He wasn’t angry?

She was a bit stunned, staring blankly at the pack of wipes in his hand. After a moment, she heard him sigh and ask, “Don’t want it?”

That snapped her out of her daze. She quickly glanced up at him, then lowered her gaze just as swiftly to take the wipes from his hand, murmuring softly, “...Thank you.”

Her vision narrowed to focus solely on his long, clean fingers.

—She had always liked his hands, ever since her student days. Back then, she had secretly taken photos of them with her camera. Later, realizing how strange that behavior seemed, she deleted the photos, quietly regretting it for a long time.

Now, she didn’t dare look too closely. Instead, she bent down silently to wipe her pants. The cool, damp wipe worked well, and with a little effort, the stain came off, leaving only a faint trace.

Once she finished, she straightened up, but from the corner of her eye, she noticed he hadn’t left. The tall, slender man still stood by the window, less than half a meter away from her.

Ah.

...Should she say something?

Or would it be better to quietly walk away?

“I’ve changed a lot, haven’t I?”

Lost in thought, she suddenly heard him speak. His usually gentle voice carried a hint of vague resignation, unclear yet palpable.

She froze, instinctively looking up at him. “...Hmm?”

He looked down at her, the raindrops on the glass reflected in his eyes, and added, “You seem like you no longer recognize me.”

His words struck a nerve. She felt a lump in her throat. Realizing that failing to respond might come across as ungrateful, she hesitated for three seconds before forcing out a difficult greeting: “...Senior.”

He hummed softly, his eyes softening with the faintest trace of a smile—neither too strong nor too weak, leaving her unsure of his intentions. Was it her stupidity or his inherent complexity that made him so hard to read?

Worse still, he fell silent again.

She didn’t know how to handle this situation. Though Yin Mengxi from the program center was known for her strong work abilities, coordinating difficulties absolutely did not include “casually chatting with a long-lost crush after years of no contact.”

“We’re very sorry about the lighting issue...” She resorted to talking about work. “...We should have confirmed everything beforehand. Now we’re wasting your time.”

He said nothing, turning his face back toward the window. Her judgment as a media professional was spot-on; this man truly suited rainy days. The light gray and deep green outside framed him beautifully, making the scene cinematic and full of narrative depth.

“It’s fine,” he replied calmly, his tone soothing. “As long as the work gets done.”

She nodded, intending to say a word of thanks to ease the awkwardness, but he turned back to look at her. His gaze was clear, as though it could pierce straight into her soul.

“Are you happy with your work at the TV station?” he suddenly asked.

The question carried a sense of familiarity, as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years, quietly catching up and sharing heartfelt thoughts.

But how should she answer?

Happy?

Unhappy?

Once happy, now unhappy?

...There was no need to bare her soul so honestly.

“It’s good,” she responded with a faint smile, concealing the fatigue and bitterness of adulthood deep within. “It’s work.”

Those last three words encompassed everything—though they said nothing explicitly, they somehow conveyed everything. His gaze lingered on her a little longer. After a long pause, he finally responded with a soft, “Is that so?”

“But you used to seem so happy doing it,” he mused, as if recalling some memories but not elaborating. “...It’s better to be happy.”

She: “...”

At that moment, she suddenly remembered something Min Rui had once said to her—

“Unrequited love turns fools into philosophers.”

“Philosophers are people who think too much,” Min Rui had declared, beer glass in hand, during one of their high-minded discussions in their rented apartment. “Ordinary people eat, drink, and sleep. Philosophers wonder who they are, where they come from, and where they’re going.”

“People in love with someone else become like that—” 

“If he says blue looks nice, you’ll start wondering if he’s recently taken an interest in a girl wearing a blue dress.”

“He says he doesn’t like puppies, and you’ll think he’s hinting that you’re being too clingy.”

“He says the weather is nice today—well, that’s it, game over. You’ll definitely think he’s saying, ‘I like you too.’”

“Unrequited love in this life must be punishment for sins in a past life. I’m never getting tangled up in such misery,” Min Rui declared firmly, her words resounding. “There are thousands of men in this world—if one doesn’t work out, we can always find another. Come on, cheers! Bottoms up!”

That night, she drank the alcohol, and Min Rui’s words sank in. But when Xiao Zhi appeared before her, she felt herself slipping back into that same helpless state.

—What did he mean?

Did he still remember how she used to be?

Did he care?

“It’s better to be happy...”

...Did he want her to be happy?

The drizzling rain was like a dream machine. Standing in the university library of her student days, she felt as though she had stumbled into an irrational time loop. Memories of the past stirred old emotions, reviving the fluttering heart she once had.

“I...”

The capable and efficient Yin Mengxi of the workplace had reverted to the tongue-tied, awkward girl from the orientation lawn over a decade ago.

“Sis—”

But illusions were always meant to shatter. A single call of “Sis” was enough to age her from 18 to 29. Turning her head, she saw Wei Chi running down the corridor with a large package containing the light, his young frame drenched from the rain, looking somewhat disheveled and pitiful.

“Sis, the light’s here...”

He was still catching his breath, having clearly rushed the entire way—something he rarely did, given his wealthy upbringing and usual pampered demeanor. Perhaps seeing her anger earlier had prompted him to put in this extra effort, hoping to improve her mood.

And so, she became an adult again—a small leader who had responsibilities. Glancing at the large package he carried, she nodded and said, “Go inside and set it up quickly. We need to start filming soon.”

Wei Chi wiped the rainwater from his face, responded with a “Got it,” and turned to enter the reference room. Before stepping in, he glanced back at Yin Mengxi and Xiao Zhi standing beside her. Though there was nothing unusual about their interaction, he instinctively felt something was off.

He couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

But it just felt... strange.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the chance to dwell on this feeling. Everyone was busy with work, and after Wei Chi entered the reference room, Yin Mengxi turned to Xiao Zhi, pursing her lips slightly. “Senior, shall we go in?”

The ambiguous atmosphere from moments ago had vanished, replaced by the rigid flow of air between them. The only change now was her way of addressing him—it was no longer the stiff “Teacher Xiao,” but “Senior.”

“Alright,” he nodded, walking with her toward the reference room. “I have other plans this afternoon and can only stay for about half an hour. Will that be enough?”

...Of course not.

“How about we start filming now?” She thought for a moment, then suggested with a frown, “If we don’t finish, we can schedule another session later. We’ll need to interview other teachers anyway, so we can arrange another time with you then.”

They entered the reference room together. Several lights had been set up, casting a warm glow that felt especially gentle and comforting against the gloomy rainy day. The brightness momentarily dazzled her, causing her to miss the subtle flicker in his expression when he heard the word “next time.”

“Alright,” he agreed again. “Then let’s arrange another meeting.”