IMH - 1

“Back then, whenever I asked you to return to the country, you always made excuses. Why are you so decisive this time? Is there a man involved?”

The phone was on speaker mode, placed upside down on the entrance cabinet, partially covered by a navy-blue silk scarf.

The thin silk couldn’t block Peter’s teasing tone, his voice echoing playfully through the hotel room.

Yu Qian stood in front of the mirror applying lipstick, unable to respond immediately.

Suddenly, Peter’s voice grew excited as he eagerly pressed her: “Hey, Yu Qian, why aren’t you saying anything? Is there really a man?”

She dropped the metallic lipstick tube into her bag, pressed her lips together in front of the mirror, and replied indifferently, “You’re overthinking it.”

As she spoke, she suddenly remembered the figure she’d seen in the office building yesterday and casually asked, “Peter, when you recommended me to this company, did someone bribe you to do it?”

The company Yu Qian had returned to China to collaborate with was called “Eleven,” a young magazine company.

It was rumored that the boss wasn’t very old either, considered a rising star in the industry.

But she never expected the company’s owner to be Cheng Xiaonan.

This company was the one Peter had recommended to her in the spring.

At the time, Peter had said, “The magazines put out by ‘Eleven’ feature content that isn’t very commercial or profitable, but their themes are meaningful. Being willful and pursuing passion—those two traits remind me of you. Why not collaborate with them? You might find it enjoyable.”

Peter was an extremely sensitive man, still possessing a fragile heart despite being in his forties.

After being questioned, he exploded on the phone, cursing Yu Qian’s ancestors up to eighteen generations and lamenting, “How dare you question my intentions?! Has your conscience been eaten by dogs? Am I someone who can be bribed? We once shared a house, bicycles, discounted milk from the supermarket, and instant noodles cooked in the same pot during our hard times...”

“The term ‘hard times’ isn’t accurate; I’ve only ever been poor. Struggles and hardships don’t define me, thank you.”

Yu Qian slipped on a pair of stiletto heels, her tone flat as she interrupted him. “Also, Pan Ergou, your fragile and sensitive demeanor is incredibly... gay.”

Renowned fashion designer Peter Pan hated two things most in life:

First, being called by his real name, Pan Ergou.

Second, being told he looked gay.

Just like how Yu Qian detested calling those broad-leaved trees outside her window “French plane trees.” Every time someone mentioned “French plane trees,” she would correct them, insisting they were “Platanus × acerifolia.”

With that, Peter lost his mind, unleashing his full arsenal of insults in three languages, accusing her of having no conscience.

Having spent too much time abroad, Yu Qian felt a bit out of place these first couple of days back in the country.

Whenever she woke up, it took her a moment to realize where she was.

But now, listening to the commotion on the phone, she suddenly felt that the faint haze over Beijing didn’t seem so unbearable after all.

Bickering and arguing were the norm between Yu Qian and Peter, though their fights often ended abruptly for no apparent reason.

Like now, Peter had already switched back to his gossipy tone, asking her, “But Yu Qian, why would you ask me that? Did you run into someone you know?”

“Sort of.”

Peter’s thoughts suddenly turned romantic: “Think about it—you’ve been abroad for seven years, seven whole years! And the moment you return to China, you meet someone familiar at your new company. That’s fate! Tell me, is this person a man or a woman?”

“A man.”

“Ah! A man!”

Yu Qian thought Peter shouldn’t be a fashion designer—he should be an opera tenor.

She had little interest in this topic.

If there was any kind of fate between her and Cheng Xiaonan, it was undoubtedly a bad one.

“Come on, tell me more, Yu Qian. What’s your relationship with this man? Is he handsome? Is there potential for something to develop?”

What kind of relationship?

Yu Qian thought about it. No matter how she looked at it, he wasn’t exactly an ex—it was just some playful flirting with a younger guy.

“Ah, boring. You’ve flirted with so many younger guys. Isn’t your life’s joy just about teasing boys?”

Perhaps because Yu Qian remained silent, Peter caught on. “Wait, is this not one of those casual flings where you just joke around and move on? Was this serious flirting?”

“Mm.”

“You didn’t end up together? You actually failed at something for once?”

How to put it—it wasn’t exactly a failure. She had just called it off halfway when she decided to go abroad.

Yu Qian chuckled, returning to the earlier topic: “So, are you really sure no one bribed you?”

Infuriated, Peter hung up.

It was 7:30 in the morning when the call ended. The bedroom window was open, and the September breeze carried the slight chill of early autumn into the room.

Yu Qian took out the contract she had brought back from “Eleven” the day before and reviewed it again. But her mind kept drifting back to the scene of meeting Cheng Xiaonan—

“Eleven” had shown her the utmost sincerity in collaboration, picking her up from the airport and directly escorting her to the hotel where the company housed its guests, saying it was to help her adjust to the time difference. They told her to rest as long as she needed and contact them whenever she was ready to discuss the collaboration.

Yu Qian had indeed slept for two days straight at the hotel. When she woke up on the second day, it was thundering and lightning outside.

Through the layers of rain mist and tree shadows, she could still clearly see the “Eleven” sign across from the hotel, glowing white against the dim sky.

In truth, Yu Qian hadn’t been particularly enthusiastic about collaborating with “Eleven.”

But that day, staring at the illuminated sign in the bad weather, she suddenly felt intrigued by “Eleven” and called the staff to express her interest in discussing the collaboration.

Despite the storm, the staff arrived promptly and escorted her to the company.

When Yu Qian stepped out of the elevator, her stiletto heels, slightly muddy, had just touched the short-pile carpet when she saw a familiar face sitting in the conference room across the hall.

It was a spacious conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows, the blinds left open, and the LED lights glaring brightly.

Cheng Xiaonan sat in the conference room, his profile facing Yu Qian.

He was relaxed, leaning back in a chair, hands clasped behind his head, head tilted back, eyes lowered, seemingly reading some document.

A dazzling diamond-encrusted watch from a certain international luxury brand loosely rested on his wrist, extravagant and ostentatious.

“Teacher Yu, please follow me.”

Noticing her gaze, the staff added, “That’s the executive conference room. The person sitting inside is our boss.”

Yu Qian raised an eyebrow, glanced briefly, then calmly followed the staff’s introduction and gestures, bypassing the conference room.

Compared to when he was 18, Cheng Xiaonan seemed to have gained some maturity and seriousness.

When she first met him, he was still a teenager. It was hard to imagine him looking stern while speaking.

Cheng Xiaonan’s voice was deep and languid, always giving off an air of nonchalance.

But when he smiled, a dimple appeared on his left cheek, making him look somewhat obedient.

Obedience was an illusion.

A man who wanted a French kiss as a birthday gift at adulthood—how obedient could he really be?

“Eleven’s” company and photography base were located in “Wutong Li,” a street lined with the Platanus × acerifolia trees Yu Qian adored. The company operated in a laid-back manner, with a relatively low workload.

Finding a new company that suited her tastes should have been a comforting experience.

But upon learning that Cheng Xiaonan was the boss, Yu Qian suddenly felt that everything was a bit too coincidental.

She even began to suspect she was being manipulated.

After all, their separation seven years ago hadn’t been pleasant.

Seven years ago, when Yu Qian left for abroad, it was spring, and the white magnolias were blooming along the airport road.

Standing on the tarmac, she received a call from Cheng Xiaonan. He asked her why she was leaving the country.

What had she said at the time? Something casual, like how she was going to pursue a Ph.D. at Stanford University in Germany.

Then she hung up, blocked his contact, and moved on.

So much time had passed—surely Cheng Xiaonan wasn’t still holding a grudge about the past? Could this collaboration be part of some delayed revenge?

But according to Peter, it seemed he had come across “Eleven” by chance?

Yu Qian pulled a cigarette from the pack, crushed the blueberry-flavored capsule, lit it, and took a drag, chuckling softly.

Fine, maybe it was just a coincidence.

Still holding the cigarette, she leaned on the table with one hand, picked up the hotel’s pen, and signed her name flamboyantly on the “Eleven” contract.

In the afternoon, she went to the company to submit the contract. The staff who greeted her remained enthusiastic, addressing her as “Teacher Yu” repeatedly.

Yu Qian, who had debuted as a child model at the age of five and had worked in the industry for 23 years, certainly deserved the title of “teacher.” But she simply told them to call her by her name.

The staff pressed the button for the fifth floor and discreetly observed Yu Qian in the reflective surface of the elevator walls.

She wore an oversized cold beige suit, paired with lace camisole and wide-leg pants in the same color palette, her expression calm and indifferent.

Some people didn’t even need to smile to leave a lasting impression.

Yu Qian exuded a natural charm and allure.

Her beauty flowed like water, ever-changing.

Unaware of the staff’s scrutiny, Yu Qian absentmindedly tapped the side of her index finger’s second knuckle against her nose, lost in thought.

The staff blinked, recognizing the gesture—it felt familiar, as if they’d seen it somewhere before.

In the quiet, enclosed space of the elevator, Yu Qian briefly contemplated: If she happened to run into Cheng Xiaonan face-to-face, it would be best to pretend not to know him—it would save a lot of trouble.

Stepping out of the elevator, she instinctively glanced toward the conference room opposite.

The room was empty, but Cheng Xiaonan’s sparkling diamond watch lay on the table, next to a plate of peeled and sliced apples.

The apples had oxidized slightly at the edges, likely sitting there for a while.

On the chair rested a small women’s handbag.

Two young staff members passed by in the corridor, whispering about how affectionate their boss and his girlfriend were, envying their relationship.

Overhearing fragments of gossip, Yu Qian curved her lips into a faint smile.

It seemed she had worried too much. This younger brother’s love life was flourishing, complete with a thoughtful girlfriend who peeled apples for him.

In that case, he probably didn’t have time to dwell on the past, did he?