Mid-June.

Summer blockbuster season hadn’t kicked in yet, and the cinema didn’t have much on offer. The notable releases were Cold War and Godzilla, plus a domestic horror film called Combing Hair at Midnight — though homegrown horror had such a bad reputation with audiences that almost nobody bothered. [TL: 《窃听风云》(Cold War) is a Hong Kong crime thriller. The 2014 Godzilla is the Hollywood reboot directed by Gareth Edwards. Chinese domestic horror films from this era were widely considered low-budget and underwhelming by audiences.]

“What do we watch?”

“Godzilla.”

Qingqing bought the tickets on her phone without a word, then hesitated a moment and added one Coke and one popcorn to the order.

They took the elevator up to the top floor, collected the tickets, and Qingqing sent Xu Ye to the concession counter to pick up the drinks and snacks.

He came back, looked at the single set of items, and raised an eyebrow. “You only got one?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a bit stingy.”

Qingqing looked at him the way you’d look at someone who’d just said something spectacularly obvious. “It’s for you,” she said, with minimal patience. “I don’t drink carbonated drinks. I don’t eat junk food.”

“Right, of course. You’ve descended from the heavens — regular food doesn’t apply to you.”

Qingqing didn’t dignify that with a response.

They waited outside for five or six minutes until the doors opened, then filed in with the rest of the audience.

Qingqing found herself thinking — the last time she’d been to a cinema was three years ago. Before her parents divorced. The three of them had gone together, and it turned out to be the last time they ever would.

She hadn’t been back since.

Xu Ye was working through the popcorn and Coke when he noticed her staring blankly at the screen before the film had even started. “Hey — aren’t you supposed to be taking photos?”

She came back to herself. Pulled out her phone and took a picture of the big screen.

“What’s that supposed to accomplish?”

“What else would I photograph?”

“A photo of us. Wasn’t that the whole point — your parents seeing it?”

Qingqing hesitated.

“If you don’t want to, don’t,” Xu Ye said. “I was up until midnight at the bar last night, barely slept. I was planning on a nap this afternoon and instead I got dragged here. Honestly — I’ve already seen this movie. More than once. Don’t assume I’m thrilled to be sitting in this chair.”

That part was true. Godzilla had come out recently by 2014 standards, but from his perspective, he’d watched it years ago.

Seeing him look genuinely indifferent, Qingqing switched to her front camera and held the phone up between the two of them.

Xu Ye leaned in.

On instinct, Qingqing shifted back slightly.

“What are you scared of? You’re so far away the camera can barely get you in frame.”

It wasn’t something she could help. She’d never been this physically close to anyone — the proximity made her nervous in a way she didn’t fully know how to manage. Still, she steadied herself, leaned in, and when their heads were nearly side by side, Xu Ye pulled a ridiculous face at the camera. Qingqing, caught off guard, smiled — a real one — and pressed the shutter.

Click.

Photo taken, she immediately sat up straight.

Xu Ye settled back and watched the movie with the vague attention of someone who already knew every plot point. Predictably, he was asleep within twenty minutes — head tilting sideways against the seat, out cold.

Qingqing had never cared much for this kind of film. After the photo, her heart had been doing something inconsiderate and she’d had trouble focusing. Seeing Xu Ye asleep, she carefully took out her phone and looked at the shot.

Two heads, left and right, proportions even.

They looked… good together. She wasn’t sure that was the right word, but it was the one that came to mind.

When she realized she’d been staring at it for quite a while, she glanced quickly at Xu Ye — still asleep — and exhaled. She opened WeChat Moments and posted it.

She hadn’t set any visibility restrictions. Her friends list was almost empty anyway — Wang Ruxue, and a scattering of relatives. That was basically it.

But the moment the photo went up, Qingqing felt a small, quiet thrill run through her.

She could already picture the expressions on her parents’ faces when they saw it. The shock. The confusion. The alarm.

She was right.

Jiang Meilin saw it almost immediately. She tapped the photo, expanded it, and stared at the two heads leaning together — then called Qingqing directly.

“The number you have dialed is currently unavailable—”

She tried again.

“The number you have—”

Jiang Meilin stood up from her seat and called her assistant over.

“Xiaohui — get me the fastest train back to Jiangzhou.”

“Jiang Zong, tomorrow afternoon you have a meeting with—”

“I’ll come back for it. Book the ticket now.”

“Yes.”

In his office at the bank, Chen Hansong had been staring at the same photo for a full ten minutes.

He knew his daughter. She’d been quiet since she was small — guarded in the way Xu Ye had described, like a hedgehog, defensive by default, no friends to speak of, certainly no boys. The loneliness had been building for years and he’d watched it happen from a distance and done nothing useful about it.

And now here was this photo. His daughter — smiling. Genuinely smiling.

Next to the wild boar who’d come crashing through his garden.

Chen Hansong’s heart cracked a little.

Where did this idiot even come from.

He couldn’t sit still. He picked up the paperwork Xu Ye had left at the bank and dialed the number on it.

He didn’t call Qingqing — he already knew she wouldn’t pick up.

In the cinema, a phone buzzed.

Xu Ye jolted awake, dug it out of his pocket, and saw an unregistered number on the screen. He was about to answer when—

“Hang up.”

“What?”

“I said hang up.”

He did. Then looked at her, puzzled.

“That’s my dad’s number. If he calls again, don’t pick up.”

“How would your dad have my number?”

“What were you doing at the bank this afternoon?”

“Opening an account.” The realization hit him. “Wait — your dad works at the bank?”

“He’s the branch president.”

“The president?!“

Xu Ye’s composure slipped completely.

He’d assumed she came from money. He hadn’t anticipated that level of money.

He sat with it for a moment, then started laughing.

Qingqing watched the expression on his face with mild curiosity. “What?”

“I’m just thinking — do you reckon your dad’s going to call me out somewhere privately, look me dead in the eye, and say: ‘Here’s a million yuan. Stay away from my daughter’?“

Qingqing turned her head away, fighting the smile. “You wish.”

“How come you’re not asking whether I’d accept?”

“Fine. Would you?”

“Obviously. A million, a hundred thousand — honestly, even ten thousand and I’d do whatever your dad says.”

“You absolute—!”

(End of Chapter)