IMH - 20

After the conclusion of An Gu’s show, Yu Qian finally relaxed the nerves that had been taut for days. She turned off her alarm clock and slept until she naturally woke up.

The room was shrouded in darkness thanks to the heavy blackout curtains. When she awoke, Yu Qian groped for her phone on the bed in the dimness, accidentally knocking over the hotel feedback book on the bedside table.

The hotel’s feedback book was styled in the same vintage British fashion, with thick red wooden boards enclosing paper sheets and brass corners protecting the edges. When it hit the tiled floor, the sound was deafening.

The brass pen that had rested atop the feedback book rolled away.

By the time Yu Qian collected herself, got out of bed, and picked everything up, three soft knocks echoed from the neighboring room—”knock, knock, knock.”

Last night after returning to her room, Cheng Xiaonan had tapped three times like this as well.

Perhaps it was his way of telling her he was going to sleep.

And now? Was he saying good morning?

Or was he letting her know he was awake?

Yu Qian used the feedback book she had just picked up to pat the wall in response.

There wasn’t much left to do at the venue today; the “Eleven” team would likely return to the company headquarters at “Wu Tong Li.”

But when she glanced at her phone, surprisingly, there were no messages from Sun Yue.

She had specifically called last night to reassure her to sleep soundly, promising to personally knock on her door in the morning for a wake-up call and even accompany her for breakfast.

Her phone was eerily silent, not even Peter, who usually sent endless messages, had reached out.

The corridor was also quiet—no sign of Shen Shen, who stayed on the same floor.

It was already past 10 AM. Could they all have slept in later than her?

Had they collectively overslept?

Yu Qian quickly freshened up, preparing to head to the restaurant for something to eat.

As she stepped out, she saw Cheng Xiaonan lazily leaning against the hallway wall, head bowed as he played with his phone.

Hearing the door open, he looked up, appearing as though he had been waiting for a while: “Morning.”

Today, Cheng Xiaonan wore a light brown leather jacket, warm-toned and short, accentuating his long legs, paired with Chelsea boots.

His outfit was both fashionable and casual, clearly not work attire.

However, Yu Qian deliberately avoided addressing him casually and maintained her formal tone: “President Cheng, did you need me for something?”

Cheng Xiaonan put away his phone and smiled: “Sun Yue and I reviewed your schedule for the week. You’re free this week. Rather than delay, why don’t we have lunch today to welcome you properly?”

“What about the others?”

“An Gu mentioned an excellent show abroad and gave Peter an invitation. Sun Yue accompanied Peter to the airport this morning. They should be there by now.”

Cheng Xiaonan chuckled lightly: “I told them not to disturb you. Did you sleep well?”

“Very well.”

Just one meal—it wasn’t as if Yu Qian needed to feign reluctance or make excuses. “Alright, where are we eating?”

In the past, Cheng Xiaonan would often find various reasons to invite Yu Qian to dine together.

They frequented a few restaurants, places he had visited either with friends or his father.

Over time, Yu Qian became familiar with those establishments too.

She assumed Cheng Xiaonan would suggest one of those places again, making it easy to go directly there.

But he didn’t. Cheng Xiaonan named several restaurants, detailing each one’s signature dishes and style. He sounded more like a tour guide than the drunken Shen Shen from last night.

After listing several options, Cheng Xiaonan primarily recommended two: “I personally recommend these two, but it depends on you. Do any of the ones I mentioned appeal to you? If not, let me know what type of cuisine or flavors you prefer, and I can look further.”

For some reason, Yu Qian suddenly felt a certain way.

It seemed as though Cheng Xiaonan had accumulated a list of restaurants during the seven years she was abroad, eager to take her to try them.

Only after watching Cheng Xiaonan press the elevator button did Yu Qian say: “Let’s go to Luster. It sounds like you highly recommend this place.”

Cheng Xiaonan smiled: “I remember you liking seafood. This place has green emerald oysters flown in from France, and their Japanese-style liver is excellent.”

Because he mentioned “I remember you,” Yu Qian glanced at Cheng Xiaonan once more as she stepped into the elevator.

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but we really did know each other before. As for how close we were... The other day, when I said you were crazy about me back then, I was joking.”

He lowered his eyelids, hiding his expression, simply stating, “You never were.”

Yu Qian furrowed her brows slightly, but by the time the elevator reached the ground floor, Cheng Xiaonan had already tossed her the car keys.

He held the elevator door open for her: “The white car parked in front of the hotel is mine. Go wait in the car—I forgot something and need to grab it upstairs.”

Yu Qian nodded, took the keys, and walked out of the hotel lobby.

The weather outside was pleasant, with the ginkgo leaves along the road beginning to turn yellow.

Yu Qian unlocked Cheng Xiaonan’s car, sat inside, and calmly mulled over his words—”you never were.”

When Cheng Xiaonan got into the car, he didn’t revisit the topic. Instead, he handed her a warm bottle of five-grain soy milk: “Luster has top-notch ambiance and dishes, but there’s one downside—the service can be slow when it’s busy.”

Worried that Yu Qian might feel unwell without breakfast, he brought her the soy milk.

Unlike the chilled mung bean and lily soup from before, this time Cheng Xiaonan didn’t use his position as boss or the excuse of “employee benefits.” This bottle of soy milk was given to her personally.

Seeing that Yu Qian wasn’t taking it, Cheng Xiaonan shook his wrist, urging: “Take it.”

“Thank you.”

“How were the years abroad?” he asked casually.

Yu Qian only replied that they had their ups and downs, but overall, they were manageable.

The restaurant Cheng Xiaonan recommended was indeed excellent. It had opened after Yu Qian went abroad; previously, the area was filled with old houses, now demolished and rebuilt into a commercial district.

The restaurant, located on a high floor, offered stunning views. The raw oysters and fish liver dressed with yuzu vinegar were rich in flavor.

What made Yu Qian comfortable was that Cheng Xiaonan didn’t bring up the past but instead discussed work.

He talked about “Eleven’s” development philosophy, laughing: “Actually, many collaborating models think ‘Eleven’ is suitable for retirement.”

Yu Qian neither agreed nor disagreed, thinking inwardly that it might actually be true.

The company didn’t handle many ultra-luxury pure commercial ads, so the models didn’t receive astronomical endorsement fees.

Unlike other companies, “Eleven” always pursued less profitable ventures, like An Gu’s recent show, which hadn’t earned much advertising revenue.

However, “Eleven” offered high base salaries, so even when models couldn’t secure ads, they didn’t need to worry excessively. It was an ideal environment for models without much ambition, making “Eleven” quite unique in the industry.

Suddenly, Yu Qian recalled a small incident from many years ago:

One lazy afternoon after lunch, having eaten a bit too much, Cheng Xiaonan dragged Yu Qian to the supermarket, claiming it would help with digestion.

Initially reluctant, Yu Qian relented when Cheng Xiaonan lamented that since his mother’s passing, no one had taken him grocery shopping.

As Cheng Xiaonan pulled her through rows of shelves, they encountered a woman tiptoeing to reach something on a high shelf.

Perhaps intending to help, Cheng Xiaonan was about to speak when the woman accidentally knocked over a box, sending items clattering down.

Both Yu Qian and Cheng Xiaonan helped pick them up, the woman blushing and repeatedly thanking them.

At that time, Cheng Xiaonan was still an 18-year-old young man, unfamiliar with the mundane aspects of life, more acquainted with basketball stars and video games. He could hum a hundred songs but knew little about daily chores.

Casually, he asked: “Auntie, isn’t this item available on the lower shelves? Why reach for the top?”

Similarly lacking common knowledge, Yu Qian thought the woman simply hadn’t noticed.

The woman, smiling awkwardly, explained: “I heard that supermarkets sometimes place fresher items higher up. I wanted to check and compare. Sorry for the trouble, thank you both.”

As the woman left, Yu Qian expected to see Cheng Xiaonan sneer.

But he didn’t. Instead, he casually picked up a box of the same oatmeal.

Yu Qian often ate that bland oatmeal when shoots required her to appear slimmer. Eating it plain with water wasn’t particularly tasty—it needed milk to become fragrant.

Yu Qian asked: “Do you like this?”

“I haven’t tried it. Let’s give it a shot.”

Cheng Xiaonan pointed in the direction the woman had gone: “That beautiful auntie just bought two boxes. It must be good, right?”

The woman wasn’t particularly beautiful, just average-looking, with traces of cooking oil on her clothes and a canvas bag from a student tutoring center.

Yet Cheng Xiaonan referred to her as beautiful.

What Yu Qian liked about him back then was his flamboyant yet tolerant attitude towards everyone.

It wasn’t surprising that someone like him would shape “Eleven” into its current model.

Coming back to the present, Cheng Xiaonan had already poured champagne, wearing a confident smile: “So, Teacher Yu, do you regret joining ‘Eleven’?”

On this matter, Yu Qian was willing to be candid.

She shook her head: “No. These days with ‘Eleven’ have been the most comfortable working period in years.”

Cheng Xiaonan suddenly smiled, revealing his dimples, and raised his champagne glass, gently clinking it against hers: “That’s good. Cheers to our cooperation.”

Yu Qian picked up her glass, sipping it: “Cheers to our cooperation.”

After the meal, Cheng Xiaonan drove Yu Qian back to the hotel at “Wu Tong Li.” He stopped the car at the hotel entrance, rolling down the window to tell her to rest well.

Upon returning to her room, Yu Qian noticed a verification request on her phone. The WeChat name boldly stated—

Cheng Xiaonan.

Yu Qian stared at the familiar profile picture for two seconds. That photo was taken by her.

It was the spring following the year she met Cheng Xiaonan. In the capital city, peach blossoms bloomed luxuriantly. After a rain, Cheng Xiaonan jumped out from behind a wall, perhaps unintentionally stepping into some mud.

After he left, Yu Qian noticed the muddy marks on her car. Embedded in the mud was a fully bloomed peach blossom.

Pink, flattened by Cheng Xiaonan’s step, it resembled a pressed flower specimen.

Yu Qian stared at it for a while, took a photo, and sent it to Cheng Xiaonan.

He only replied with a single period (“.”), but Yu Qian noticed that Cheng Xiaonan had changed his profile picture to the one she sent.

Even now, after countless buildings in the capital city had been demolished, Cheng Xiaonan’s profile picture remained the same.