The rain poured outside the window. Inside the car, water dripped from Ruan Mian’s skirt hem.

The presence of the man beside her was too intense to ignore. She sat perfectly straight, pressing herself against the window, her knees tightly together. She didn’t dare to move or even breathe too loudly.

Seeing the seat getting wet and the carpet being tracked with mud, she felt like she was sitting on pins and needles.

If only I had known… I wouldn’t have gotten in.

A white towel suddenly appeared in her sight. Ruan Mian’s attention fell, instead, on the fair, slender hand, and it took her a moment to accept the towel.

She dried her hair, sneaking a glance sideways. Seeing him resting with his eyes closed, she lightly pursed her lips, swallowing the words she wanted to say.

The rain grew heavier, and the road was covered in large pools of water.

Ruan Mian put the towel down, finally feeling some warmth return to her body. For some reason, even her eye sockets felt a little warm.

She tilted her head back slightly, sniffed, and then closed her eyes.

The thunder roared, sounding as if it were right next to her ear, yet her heart became inexplicably calm.

The car moved slowly, the wipers sweeping the rain away, only for the glass to be covered with a thick layer again moments later.

Qi Yan sensed a certain weight pressing against him. He subconsciously opened his eyes. The girl’s dark, slightly damp hair was within inches of him. He gently moved her head away without hesitation.

His fingers, however, touched an unusual temperature.

Is she running a fever?

Just then, the driver looked back. “Mr. Qi, there’s a fallen tree ahead. We can’t pass.”

Qi Yan was silent for a moment. “Just go home first.”

The driver turned the car onto a narrow, tree-lined path. The terrain here was slightly higher, and the tall trees dispersed the rain, so the drive was quite smooth. They arrived a few minutes later.

The sound of the rain was too loud, and the old man only came out to open the gate after the horn was honked twice.

Ruan Mian was feverish and groggy, but she was woken up by the noise. She struggled to open her eyelids and called out softly, frowning when she saw the person with the umbrella outside the car, “Grandpa Wang?”

Didn’t he say he was taking her home? Why are they here?

The old man was also a little surprised to see her, but he said nothing, just nodded.

The car stopped. Ruan Mian dragged her weak legs out and followed the man into the house.

Just as she bent down, she heard him say…

“Just come straight in.”

The wind blew, and she shivered, clutching her school bag tighter as she slowly walked inside.

The house was too large. His figure flashed and was gone.

Her clothes were still damp. She placed a layer of newspaper on the sofa before sitting down. On the coffee table in front of her, in addition to the few bottles of alcohol from before, there was now an ashtray. She counted seven cigarette butts.

Is he a heavy smoker, too?

She let out a faint sigh, and her consciousness gradually blurred again.

While sleeping deeply, Ruan Mian heard someone call her name.

She was so sleepy she couldn’t open her eyes. She gently pushed away the hand that was patting her shoulder, mumbled, and shifted her position to continue sleeping.

“Wake up. You have a fever.”

A fever?

Ruan Mian groggily pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. Sure enough, it was burning hot.

“I have a fever.” She sat up.

“The medicine is in there. Find it yourself.”

Her reaction was slow. She looked around blankly before noticing a first-aid kit had been placed on the table. She opened it and rummaged through: cold medicine, stomach medicine, sleeping pills… Everything was there, and the dates were fresh.

She found the fever reducer, poked out a few pills according to the instructions, and placed them in her palm. Then, her eyes darted around.

Licking her dry lips, she asked, “Um, is there any water?”

The man looked somewhat tired, rubbing his brow, and pointed towards the kitchen.

The kitchen was large. The countertops were spotless, and the various utensils looked new, with hardly any trace of use.

Ruan Mian splashed water on her face, clearing her head a little. She searched around and finally found a set of water boiling utensils in a corner.

She shook it. There was a slight sound, but no water.

She opened the lid and took out the contents, a brand-new instruction manual.

She read it for a moment, folded it, held it in her hand, and walked out.

In the living room.

Qi Yan was biting a cigarette, looking down. A pale blue flame leaped from his fingers, a red glow flashing. He took a drag and exhaled a white smoke ring, watching her standing timidly by the kitchen door through the hazy white smoke. “What is it?”

“I don’t know how to use your kettle,” her voice dropped.

The instruction manual was in a language she didn’t recognize.

He showed that faint, half-smiling expression again, staring at her for a few seconds before finally getting up and walking over.

Ruan Mian handed him the manual. He glanced at it and set it down. She leaned in closer and watched him calmly press a few buttons.

With a drip, the kettle started working.

A strand of slightly damp long hair had just brushed the back of his hand, and he felt a lingering itch there. Qi Yan flicked away a section of ash and leaned against the countertop, watching her.

She must have a high fever. That delicate section of her neck was flushed with a soft, shallow pink.

“I’ll send you back when the rain lightens up,” he said faintly.

“…Thank you.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, tears started falling for no reason. Ruan Mian was startled herself.

She immediately turned around, hastily wiping her face, but the more she wiped, the more tears fell…

Perhaps the warmth from relatives had become a luxury, so the kindness from a stranger was magnified countless times. Or perhaps she was simply sick and especially vulnerable…

All the grievances accumulated over a long time nearly burst their dam in that instant, impossible to stop.

Qi Yan watched her trembling shoulders. He raised his hand, then lowered it, turning to leave, giving her a private space.

Ruan Mian cried while waiting for the water to boil.

By the time the hot water had cooled to warm, she had also slowly stopped crying.

She placed the pills in her mouth, took a gulp of water, and tilted her head back to swallow them all.

She washed the cup and walked out. The living room was empty. All the curtains were drawn.

She sat on the sofa and saw two more cigarette butts in the ashtray.

The medication started taking effect, making her head even groggier. She slumped over and fell asleep.

Outside the window, thunder roared and the wind and rain lashed down, but Ruan Mian slept peacefully curled up on the sofa.

A tall, slender figure knelt in front of the sofa.

She was curled up, her breathing shallow, like a soft kitten.

The man’s gaze slowly traced her: her long, tear-stained eyelashes, her clear, pink-tinged cheek… and finally settled on her slender arm.

He gently rolled up her sleeve, revealing three scars the size of soybeans.

He stared at the spot for a full ten minutes, his expression inscrutable, yet his gaze gradually softened…

Ruan Mian didn’t know how long she had slept. When she woke up, she felt something sliding off her body. She instinctively reached out to grab it…

She grabbed a dark gray thin blanket.

That’s strange. She didn’t remember the sofa having anything like this.

While wondering, the door suddenly opened. She immediately sat up straight.

The old man peeked in.

Ruan Mian couldn’t quite describe how she felt at that moment: Disappointment or relief?

“Grandpa Wang.”

“Has your fever gone down?”

The old man reached out and checked her forehead. “Looks like there’ll be another heavy rain soon. I’ll take you back first.”

Ruan Mian looked out the window. The rain was still falling, but much lighter now.

She gathered her things and glanced at the stairs, then obediently followed him out the door.

The old man led her out the back door of the old house. Ruan Mian had never walked this way before. After passing through a small patch of waterlogged woods and walking for about ten minutes, she was surprised to find that the back door of her own house was just a short distance ahead.

They were actually this close.

Before leaving, the old man reminded her again to take care of herself. Ruan Mian nodded repeatedly, watching him walk away before finally going inside.

Ying Haodong and the woman were not home. Only the nanny and the little mute were there.

Seeing her enter, the nanny gave her a cold look and turned back to watch TV.

The little mute was eating, grinning at her with a grain of rice stuck to his nose.

Ruan Mian had only eaten an apple at noon and was now famished. She went straight to the kitchen to cook noodles.

She wasn’t picky. She threw a few green vegetables into the noodles, sprinkled some oil and salt, stirred it twice, and called it done.

Just as she was about to scoop it out, footsteps approached the door. She turned her head and saw the little mute holding his small bowl, looking up at her expectantly.

…

Ruan Mian hesitated for a long time. In the end, she poured out most of the noodle soup, leaving a small portion in the pot.

She carried her bowl upstairs and returned to her room.

After eating the noodles and taking a hot shower, she finally regained some energy. She took out the SIM card she bought this morning from the innermost pocket of her school bag, opened the phone cover, removed the old card, and slid the new one in.

Soon, the phone vibrated, and several China Mobile messages came in at once.

She placed the old card in her palm, looking at it repeatedly.

Her mother hadn’t left her many things, and now she had lost one more.

Ruan Mian carefully wrapped the card in paper, layer after layer, and locked it in her drawer.

She picked up her phone and dialed a number that was too familiar. While waiting for the connection, she held her breath, unconsciously covering her heart.

It connected.

It really connected.

It was a man’s voice.

Ruan Mian suddenly lost her courage. She opened her mouth but couldn’t say a single word, so she hung up the call.

Would he be willing to give the number back to her?

If it were her, would she be willing to give a number under her name to a stranger?

No, she wouldn’t.

But what if this number was very important to that person?

She… would be willing.

Deleting and adding, Ruan Mian took a long time to draft the message before pressing the send button.

Sent successfully.

She was completely consumed by anxiety.

Half an hour ago.

Qi Yan sat at his desk, head lowered. A drawing was spread out in front of him.

The paper was old, the edges yellowed. The content was simple:

A rainbow drawn with seven colored watercolors.

It was titled, in clumsy, childish handwriting…Hope.

The painting was made by a girl nine years ago.

That was the darkest, most despairing time of his life.

She had given him a painting called Hope.

His phone vibrated once, twice…

A string of unfamiliar numbers flashed on the screen.

The continuous vibration broke the silence. He didn’t even have time to hide the shadow of gloom in his eyes. A vague premonition surfaced.

Sure enough, after connecting, he sensed the tension coming from the other end. It was not unfamiliar, so he waited quietly.

One second, two seconds, three seconds.

The call ended.

Qi Yan’s expression didn’t change, seemingly not surprised at all.

He picked up the drawing again, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Like a rainbow, and also like a curved bridge.

His fingertip lightly brushed a spot on the bottom right corner. The handwriting was somewhat blurred, but two letters could still vaguely be made out: rm.

His phone screen flashed.

With a swipe of his long finger, the new incoming message opened.

“Hello. I know this message is very presumptuous…”

“This was my mother’s old number. She’s no longer with us…”

“…I apologize for disturbing you.”

The content was long. Qi Yan read it from beginning to end with unprecedented patience.

He looked out the window, his eyes deeper than the night.

It wasn’t until the cigarette between his fingers burned down and stung him that he snapped out of his reverie….

He saved the unfamiliar number as a regular contact in his phone and added the note, Ruan Mian.

NOTES

New chapters will be added every Sunday. If you’d like more chapters, you can support the novel by buying a coffee; each coffee unlocks one extra chapter.