“Well? Told you I was a genius.”

Qingqing came back to herself, lips parting slightly — but nothing came out. Beside her, Jiang Meilin had caught every flicker of her daughter’s expression. Something moved in her chest.

She turned to Xu Ye with quiet sincerity. “Xu Ye — I want to apologize on behalf of Qingqing’s father.”

“It’s fine.”

Xu Ye set the guitar down on the table. “Honestly, I get it. If I were in his position and my daughter was spending time with some kid who needs a summer job at a bar to get by — I’d probably want to put a stop to it too.”

Jiang Meilin’s eyes sharpened with something close to surprise.

She hadn’t expected that. He’d just been dressed down by Chen Hansong and walked out. And now he was sitting here calmly reasoning through Chen Hansong’s perspective as if it were perfectly understandable.

This kid is not normal.

“I just don’t like the way he talks to people — that whole looking-down-from-above thing. I’m young, I’ve got a temper, I reacted. But I’ll probably sleep it off tonight and forget it ever happened.”

He stood up. “Auntie Jiang — let me get you some hot water.”

“Thank you.”

He brought over a cup, set it down gently, and from that point on the conversation became a two-way one — Jiang Meilin and Xu Ye, while Qingqing sat beside her mother and said nothing at all, listening to every word.

Eventually, they drifted to the topic of ambitions.

“So Xu Ye — what are your dreams?”

“Long-term, I haven’t figured that out yet. Right now my goal is simple — make money. A lot of it.”

Jiang Meilin didn’t find that shallow. She pressed further. “How much counts as a lot?”

Xu Ye thought about it, then smiled. “Enough that the balance in my bank account gives Uncle Chen no reason to look down on me.”

Jiang Meilin pressed her lips together to hold back a laugh. “Is money really that important to you?”

“It is. For people without it, most of life’s problems trace back to money. And in this day and age — 礼崩乐坏 — you can’t even get married without it.” [TL: 礼崩乐坏 (lǐ bēng yuè huài) is a classical Chinese idiom meaning “the collapse of ritual and music” — traditionally used to describe social and moral breakdown. Xu Ye immediately redefines it in the next line.]

“礼崩乐坏?”

“You know — when the 礼 (betrothal gifts) negotiations fall apart, everyone watching gets 乐坏了 (a great laugh) out of it.” [TL: Xu Ye’s wordplay: 礼 (lǐ) shifts meaning from “ritual” to 彩礼 (cǎilǐ, bride price/betrothal gifts); 乐 (yuè, music) becomes 乐 (lè, to laugh/be happy); 崩 (collapse) and 坏 (broken) stay the same. The result: “When the betrothal gift negotiations collapse, the bystanders are greatly entertained.” A completely absurd repurposing of a classical idiom.]

Qingqing made a sound she immediately tried to smother, ducking her head down. Laughing out loud in front of people — that wasn’t like her, and the involuntary nature of it made her ears go warm.

Jiang Meilin shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. “You know, I used to think that way too — that a man who could earn money was a man worth respecting. But I changed my mind about that eventually. Earning ability matters, but—”

“Finding a partner isn’t just about whether they can make money.”

“Exactly. So what else do you look for?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’m not a woman.”

Jiang Meilin paused at that. Then tried again from a different angle. “What qualities do you think make a good man?”

Xu Ye scratched his head and thought about it for a while.

“I can’t give you a list. But here’s an example — just my take. Say a guy wants KFC. A combo meal costs fifty yuan and he thinks that’s too expensive. But if his wife or kid wants it, he doesn’t even think twice about buying it. I think that kind of guy is probably a decent one.”

He was describing himself. Or the self he’d once been — eating plain food alone at university, watching every yuan, but never once glancing at a menu when he was with Gu Mengyao. He’d given everything without a second thought. And it had meant nothing.

That thought still stung. But less than it used to.

Jiang Meilin’s expression brightened visibly at the answer.

As nine o’clock approached, the bar began to fill. Xu Ye stood up.

“Auntie, sorry — I need to get back to work.”

Jiang Meilin rose too. “Xu Ye, it’s been a real pleasure. I want to apologize again for today. And — if Qingqing wants to come find you again sometime—” she paused, choosing her words “—I won’t be tagging along next time.”

Xu Ye understood exactly what she was saying. He smiled back.

“And you can rest easy, auntie. What I said before still stands.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

The two of them turned to leave — then Xu Ye noticed the guitar still sitting on the table.

“Chen Qingqing — your guitar.”

She glanced back over her shoulder, said it quickly and quietly: “Keep it for a few days. Just make sure you give it back.”

Xu Ye blinked. Then broke into a helpless grin.

Pei Youwei materialized at his elbow, seemingly out of nowhere. They watched the car pull away together. Then she draped an arm over his shoulder and said, in a perfect imitation of his voice from weeks ago:

“You know… I really think dating is pointless.”

Xu Ye knew exactly what she was doing.

“It really is pointless,” he said, completely straight-faced.

Pei Youwei made a dismissive sound. “You’ve met the future mother-in-law twice now, and you’re still playing it cool?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on. A girl that pretty and you’re going to tell me you don’t feel anything?”

Xu Ye looped his arm through hers and grinned. “Boss — if that’s the standard, then I also have feelings for you.”

Pei Youwei stepped back, looked him up and down with exaggerated severity. “Trying to sweet-talk me? You still want to get paid tonight, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, boss. I take it back.”

“Get out of here. First day I thought you were a sweet, simple kid — turns out you’re a little menace.”

“Boss,” Xu Ye said with complete seriousness, “nice guys don’t win in this world.”

“Is that so?”

“You haven’t heard the saying? Nice guys come after the dogs in line.”

“Go. Take the guitar and go sing. Stop running your mouth at me.”

Xu Ye snapped to attention and gave her a sharp salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

She watched him go, guitar slung over his back, and her laugh faded slowly.

She leaned against the doorframe and looked up at the moon.

And thought about a man who had long since become a star somewhere up in that sky.

The next afternoon, Xu Ye and Qin Zhiwei started practical driving lessons at the school.

The gap between them was immediately, catastrophically obvious.

The arrangement that developed, entirely naturally, was: Xu Ye practiced for ten minutes. Zhiwei practiced for fifty.

By the second day, Zhiwei still hadn’t caught up. What made it worse was that Instructor Liu — clearly delighted to have a student who could already drive — had taken to standing in the shade and leaving Xu Ye to demonstrate things for Zhiwei, as if that was now part of Xu Ye’s job description.

On the ride back after day two, Zhiwei looked like he might actually cry.

“Xu Ye. I genuinely despise you. I’m never doing anything at the same time as you ever again.”

“You should be thanking me. Liu’s a lazy old man — he saw I could drive and immediately found himself a shady spot to sit in. Now he’s making me teach you parallel parking. I’ve never felt so ripped off in my life.”

“The moment I get my license, the first thing I’m doing is taking old Liu out for dinner. I’ll wait until all the food is on the table — and then I’ll disappear out the back and let him pay the bill.”

“That’s the spirit.”

A pause.

“Xu Ye.”

“What?”

“Your girlfriend — what does she actually look like?”

“Like — absolutely unreal.”

(End of Chapter)