Evening.

Qingqing took them to a restaurant where the per-person average ran to 299 yuan. [TL: 299 yuan per person (roughly $40 USD) is considered upscale for a casual dinner in a second-tier Chinese city, the kind of place most families would reserve for special occasions.]

Once the dishes were laid out, she looked across the table at Xu Ye and Wang Yuxin, both of them staring at the food with the barely contained focus of people waiting for the starting gun, occasionally moistening their lips.

“Go ahead,” she said, and almost smiled.

Yuxin, demonstrating rare social grace, said: “Qingqing jiejie, you really didn’t have to—”

Xu Ye was already halfway through the sweet and sour ribs.

Qingqing laughed despite herself. “Does your brother look uncomfortable to you?”

Yuxin glanced over, sighed with the weariness of someone much older, and picked up her chopsticks.

Cousins they might be, but their eating styles were identical.

When both of them went for the same piece of sweet and sour rib at the same time and a brief tug-of-war broke out, Qingqing nearly lost her composure entirely.

“Xu Ye. Have some dignity.”

What Qingqing didn’t know was that at a nearby table, a man in his forties had just taken a photo of the three of them.

The woman beside him frowned. “What are you photographing?”

“That’s our branch president’s daughter. Last time she was seen with that boy, the president wasn’t happy about it. Now they’re having dinner together — I should let him know.”

The woman glanced over. “They look like a good match. They’re not even that young — it’s not like it’s puppy love.”

“You don’t understand. That girl is his only daughter. The boy has no connections, no family background. He’d never approve.”

He sent the photo to Chen Hansong.

Chen Hansong was in the middle of a client dinner when his phone buzzed. He picked it up, saw the image from the client manager, and went still.

Five full seconds passed.

“Excuse me a moment.” He got up and stepped outside.

He called Jiang Meilin.

“Chen Hansong, can you not call me every single — I’m busy—”

“Did you see the photo I just sent you?”

Jiang Meilin opened WeChat.

“What’s wrong with this?” she said.

“They’re having dinner together. You’re asking me what’s wrong?”

“When was the last time Qingqing smiled like that with you? Friends having dinner — what exactly is the problem? And did you see the little girl sitting with them?”

Three questions, back to back. Chen Hansong had nothing to say to any of them.

The Qingqing in that photo was laughing. Genuinely, openly laughing. Jiang Meilin couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen that — not even when she was home.

She had worried, privately, about what years of isolation might be doing to her daughter. Depression had occurred to her as a real possibility.

And now here was this photo, and her first reaction wasn’t anger. It was something closer to relief.

The credit, she thought, belonged to Xu Ye.

She didn’t have a bad impression of him. Two conversations had been enough to tell her he was unusually grounded for his age. And the photo showed three people — not just Xu Ye and Qingqing, but the younger girl too. If they were dating, they wouldn’t bring a chaperone along for the evening.

Chen Hansong was quiet for a moment, then said, more calmly: “So you’re fine with this. You’re okay with them continuing like this.”

“Your daughter is an adult. She gets to decide some things for herself now.”

His tone softened. “Meilin. You know me. I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Xu Ye is more mature than you’re giving him credit for. Honestly — sometimes I think having him in Shanghai while Qingqing is studying there would give me a certain peace of mind.”

“If that’s how you see it, then I’ll say nothing more.” He hung up. His expression was unreadable.

After dinner, with the sky nearly dark, they dropped Yuxin off first. Then Wang Ruxue drove to the bar.

Xu Ye pulled out his phone, typed something, and sent it to Qingqing.

She looked at the screen. Then at him, puzzled.

“My phone number.”

He opened the car door, got out, and delivered the second half over his shoulder:

“If you can’t sleep, you can call me.”

He was already walking away before she could respond.

Qingqing sat there for a moment.

When she finally caught up, he was too far to hear.

She curled her fingers around the phone.

“Scoundrel,” she muttered, quietly.

Wang Ruxue dropped Qingqing home, then drove back herself. That evening, she typed out a summary of the afternoon for Jiang Meilin — the shopping, the dinner, the three of them together.

Just before ten, Jiang Meilin replied: “Ruxue, how do you think Qingqing has been lately?”

“She’s been good. Today she was happy the whole afternoon.”

A pause, then: “And Xu Ye — what do you make of him?”

Wang Ruxue thought about it. “I’m not sure how to put it exactly. So far, he seems decent. Sometimes he’s a bit of a lovable rogue — but he knows where the lines are.”

“Good. That’s all I needed to know.”

The days that followed settled into a rhythm.

Xu Ye and Qingqing kept in touch over WeChat — brief exchanges, mostly, because his schedule was packed. Mornings he slept. Afternoons he was at the driving school with Zhiwei. Evenings, the bar.

On the seventh, he and Zhiwei sat their Module Two practical exam.

Xu Ye passed on the first attempt. Zhiwei failed his first run, then scraped through on the second with a ten-point deduction on the hill start — close, but good enough.

“See? Module Two done. Feel lighter?”

“Instructor Liu has been insulting me for days. I’m not practicing Module Three with you anywhere near me. I swear the gaokao wasn’t this stressful.”

“Pressure makes progress. I’m aiming to sit Module Three within a week and get my license before July’s out.”

“What’s the rush? You don’t even have a car.”

Xu Ye shrugged. “I’ll buy one at university. Easier to get around. Zhiwei, by the time that happens — Benz, BMW, or Audi. Which do you think?”

“Audi? Can you afford a Yadea?” [TL: Yadea (雅迪) is one of China’s most popular electric scooter brands — practical, affordable, and the exact opposite of a luxury car. Zhiwei is suggesting Xu Ye should be thinking significantly more modestly.]

They talked nonsense all the way home.

Xu Ye got his key out and pushed open the front door — and Wang Yuxin came charging toward him in bare feet, stopped too late, and headbutted him directly in the stomach.

She rubbed her head, undeterred. “Xu Ye gege — Qingqing jiejie invited us over to her place tomorrow!”

“She what?!”

(End of Chapter)