Su Qinghan remembered that after the last incident, Yan Yu had vanished from her world.
No messages, no calls, no presence at all.
Sometimes Su Qinghan would tap into Yan Yu’s Moments and look around—that familiar profile picture resting quietly in her contact list. She saw Yan Yu’s daily updates but gave no likes, no comments, left nothing.
She couldn’t like them.
She was Su Qinghan. Jiang Muyun stood beside her, bright and dazzling. Why leave footprints in a past-tense life? That would be too cheap, too dangerous.
There was no need to leave any trace in Yan Yu’s life.
But she didn’t want to admit it.
Just a moment ago, when she opened the message list and saw the name “Yan Yu” appear on the screen, her heartbeat had sped up—just a little.
The message was simple.
First came a sticker: a fluffy little cat poking its head out from behind a cardboard box, round eyes staring at the camera, captioned “peek.jpg.”
Then a line of text:
“Qinghan, did something happen today?”
Another followed:
“Sorry… I don’t mean to affect your relationship. I’m just worried about you.”
Su Qinghan stared at those two lines, feeling something subtly shift in her mind.
The sensation was strange, delicate, impossible to describe.
She instinctively looked up and glanced around to confirm no one was watching her. In the black luxury sedan, only the driver sat quietly in the front seat, eyes fixed straight ahead, acting as if nothing in the back seat existed.
No one was looking at her.
Only then did she lower her head and reread Yan Yu’s message: “I’m just worried about you.”
Worried.
Those two words landed in her heart, heavier than any sweet talk.
She took a deep breath, her fingers typing a reply on the screen:
“It’s nothing. It’s just that Muyun and I seem to have some conflict.”
The message was sent. Within three seconds, a reply came back.
“Conflict? What conflict?”
Su Qinghan hesitated, then typed out:
“I don’t know how to say it. Maybe it has something to do with the art exhibition.”
She wasn’t really sure if Jiang Muyun’s anger was because of the exhibition.
But she vaguely sensed that Li Duo must have tipped off Jiang Muyun by now. Given Jiang Muyun’s personality, knowing the list was going to be changed back, she couldn’t possibly have no reaction.
The public cold shoulder today was probably a show of force over this—or a punishment for Su Qinghan’s “betrayal.”
At that thought, a trace of bitterness welled up in Su Qinghan’s heart.
The other side fell silent for a moment.
Su Qinghan stared at the screen, watching the “Typing…” indicator appear and disappear, appear and disappear, over and over again.
She could feel Yan Yu hesitating, weighing her words, trying to find something that wouldn’t make her uncomfortable.
Then, instead of text, Yan Yu sent a voice message. Short, only about ten seconds.
Su Qinghan checked her surroundings again to make sure no one was watching, then took out her earbuds from her pocket, plugged them in, took a deep breath, and tapped the voice message.
Yan Yu’s soft voice flowed through the earbuds, like a warm tide surging into her ears, into her heart.
“Thank you, Qinghan. Thank you for being willing to do this for me. I’m really moved.”
There was a pause in the earbuds, and the voice continued, neither fast nor slow, each word like a piece of jade carefully polished—smooth and gentle.
“But I’m just Muyun’s substitute. I’m sorry that you had a conflict with her over me.”
“Qinghan, make up with Muyun soon. I’ll be content as long as I can watch over your happiness from afar.”
The voice message ended.
The earbuds fell silent.
But Su Qinghan’s heart did not quiet down.
She gripped her phone, her fingers tightening slightly, knuckles turning white.
The earbuds were still in her ears. She had finished listening to the message, but the line “I’ll be content as long as I can watch over your happiness from afar” seemed to be on loop, echoing in her mind over and over.
Gentle.
So incredibly gentle.
When Yan Yu spoke, her voice carried that soft gentleness.
Not deliberate, not forced—a natural softness that came from deep within her bones.
Even after being treated like that by Jiang Muyun, even after having her exhibition slot taken away, even after her efforts were erased, even though she was the one who had been wronged—
She didn’t vent even a shred of resentment or temper onto Su Qinghan. She even urged Su Qinghan to make up with Jiang Muyun.
“I’ll be content as long as I can watch over your happiness from afar.”
How could she be so gentle?
How could she have such a good temper?
How could she swallow all her grievances and only leave the softest side for Su Qinghan?
And then there was Jiang Muyun—
Su Qinghan closed her eyes, and the image of Jiang Muyun shaking off her hand and leaving in front of everyone appeared in her mind.
The contrast was so stark, so brutal.
On one side, Jiang Muyun’s hand, shaken off without mercy in public; her red-rimmed eyes and words sharper than knives; the humiliation of being put on display before a crowd.
On the other side, Yan Yu swallowing every grievance, hiding every resentment, lowering herself to the dust, yet still offering up a heart that was purely for Su Qinghan.
Why?
Why could the one who recklessly squandered her tolerance be so self-righteous, while the one who silently endured everything had to be so humble?
Take Jiang Muyun.
Even if Su Qinghan had truly done something to anger her, couldn’t she have said it nicely? Couldn’t she have said it privately? Did she have to humiliate Su Qinghan in front of so many people?
Su Qinghan had her pride too.
She didn’t like being the subject of gossip.
Thinking about this, Su Qinghan lowered her eyes and stared at Yan Yu’s chat window on her phone screen.
Her heartbeat had already gone from “just a little faster” to “racing out of control.”
The feeling in her chest right now was like something burning—hot, fierce, spreading from her heart to her limbs, making her dizzy.
Back when she was with Jiang Muyun, she used to feel happy too. When Jiang Muyun smiled at her, she thought her whole day would brighten. But that kind of happiness was completely different from what she felt now.
She wanted to hide it.
But the faint flush on her face was impossible to conceal.
She suddenly wanted to listen to that voice message again.
Look at that little cat again.
Talk to Yan Yu again.
Do nothing—just talk.
Su Qinghan realized that she seemed to have changed.
Before, she thought being with Jiang Muyun made her happy. But now—she wanted to be with Yan Yu instead. She wanted to hear Yan Yu speak.
She took a deep breath, suppressed those improper palpitations, and slowly typed a few lines on the screen.
“I understand. I’ll have a good talk with Muyun.”
“Feel free to reach out to me anytime.”
“Get some rest. Don’t overwork yourself.”
After sending them, she stared at the screen for a few seconds, then closed the chat window and turned the phone over, face-down on the seat.
She looked up at the window.
The sun had already sunk behind the buildings. The clouds on the horizon were dyed a deep crimson, as if someone had spilled an entire bottle of paint. The silhouette of the campus stood out against the sky as a dark shadow.
The driver glanced at her from the rearview mirror and asked cautiously, “Miss, shall we go now?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
A slight vibration ran through the car. The engine emitted a low hum, signaling the end of its brief stillness.
Su Qinghan could feel the subtle jolt as the wheels rolled over a speed bump, and then the familiar black sedan, like a drop of rain merging into a river, slid silently away from the curb and slowly joined the vast, slow-moving traffic of a Friday evening.
Outside the window, the last rays of the setting sun were fading inch by inch, gilding the city’s silhouette in a hazy, warm gold. The red taillights ahead flicked on one after another, like a winding, sinuous band of crimson light, blinking on and off in the deepening dusk.
Su Qinghan leaned back into the soft seat, feeling herself carried along by an invisible force. The car was silent, except for the hiss of cool air from the air conditioning and the soft rustle of tires on the rough pavement.
Her phone lay quietly beside her, screen-down, showing nothing.
But her mind was full of that person’s voice.
“Watch over your happiness from afar.”
“I’ll be content.”
Yan Yu, why did you have to say that to me?