CHAPTER 1: The Catkin Season
The middle school across the street had just let out, and the old road was gridlocked. A row of small eateries lined the block, their aromas — deep-fried skewers, stinky tofu, spicy hotpot — blending into an aggressive assault on the senses. Riding alongside the smells, equally provocative, were clouds of cottonwood catkins floating through the air.
Early April. Spring had barely warmed, flowers had just bloomed, and already the catkins were making themselves insufferable.
Lin Wen reached the edge of the sidewalk, ready to cross. She turned sideways, her gaze cutting through the unruly catkins to land on a skewer stand in the distance — the kind that promised color and flavor in equal measure.
Both hands occupied by the two large bags she’d just hauled from the supermarket, she couldn’t spare a hand to wave away the nuisance in front of her face.
She blew out a breath. The loose strands of hair at her temples lifted with the breeze, but the catkins remained stubbornly suspended before her eyes.
So did the smells.
For a long moment, she hovered, her toes slowly pivoting toward that skewer stand. A car horn blared behind her. The middle schoolers who’d been blocking the road in blatant disregard of traffic laws scrambled aside, jostling Lin Wen in the process.
She sidestepped, and spotted the Mercedes that had honked, now slowing to a stop beside her. The window rolled down, revealing a voice — deep, rich, familiar: “Lin Wen.”
She recognized the license plate. Bending slightly to look inside, a lock of hair fell softly against her cheek.
The man in the driver’s seat wore a black suit, a white shirt, and a tie pulled neatly at the collar. His hair was styled in a loose, classic slick-back — old-school, the kind that read as steady and mature on camera.
He looked like he’d just gotten off work at the TV station.
“What a coincidence, Zhou Li,” Lin Wen said.
Zhou Li’s eyes swept over her face before he replied, “Just got back from a business trip, and already at the supermarket?”
“The fridge was empty. Nothing else to do.” The street was noisy, and Lin Wen’s voice naturally leaned soft and light, so she raised it a little.
“Heading home now?” Zhou Li gestured. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.”
“No, no, it’s just a few steps.” Lin Wen was polite.
Zhou Li rested one hand on the steering wheel, looking at her through the passenger window. “Yuan Xue said she’s treating everyone to dinner, right? You drop your stuff off at home, and we can head over together.”
She checked the time. It was almost dinner hour. Hearing this, Lin Wen didn’t refuse. She put the shopping bags in the back seat, pulled open the passenger door, and got in.
She’d been crying before she left the house — a real emotional breakdown. So she’d walked out in whatever was handy: oversized dark gray plastic slippers, jeans, a khaki blazer, and a messy bun that looked like it was about to fall apart any second.
She hadn’t cried since high school. And now that she had, it was just like when she was a kid — blood rushing to her face, nose red, the skin around her eyes flushed. And it lingered. Even after wandering through the supermarket, the discoloration on her face was still obvious. Her lips were darker, her eyes had a watery sheen. It wasn’t unattractive, but it was clearly different from her usual makeup-free state.
Zhou Li’s gaze flicked over her eyes. He pressed the accelerator as he heard Lin Wen ask, “You just got off work?”
“Mm. Finished recording a bit ago.”
“Coming from the TV station? How’d you end up here?” Lin Wen was genuinely surprised. The TV station and this middle school were in completely opposite directions.
“I had some business nearby. Was coming from that direction and saw you standing on the side of the road.” He’d only seen her back, but her back was easy to recognize.
A few exchanges, and the car turned into her complex.
Lin Wen’s home was just behind the middle school. Her earlier refusal wasn’t false modesty — she could cross the street and walk a short stretch and be home.
She opened the car door, about to say she’d go upstairs, drop off her things, and be right back down — when she noticed Zhou Li was also opening his door.
“Auntie already left,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Your keys are back in the milk box.”
Lin Wen hesitated, then fished two hundred yuan in cash from her wallet. “Then give this to your auntie for me. Thanks for today.”
Zhou Li didn’t take it. “Don’t be so formal. Put the money away.”
Lin Wen opened the door. “If you’re like this, how am I supposed to ask for your help next time?” She placed the cash on the center console, swung her legs out, and walked a few steps before turning back. “Drive safe.”
Zhou Li watched until she disappeared into the building entrance, then opened the glove compartment and tossed the cash inside. From it he took out cigarettes and a lighter, lit one, and drove home slowly.
* * *
He’d just parked in the underground garage when his phone rang. Wang Chenxiao’s voice came through, resigned. “Yuan Xue’s given the order. Same place, tomorrow night. Nobody’s allowed to skip.”
Zhou Li smiled faintly. “I’ve got no problem with that. As long as she doesn’t get another stomachache.”
“Don’t even mention it. I swear I’m scared of pregnant women now. She used to be the bravest person I knew — how does pregnancy turn her into this?” Wang Chenxiao sighed.
Zhou Li grabbed a few work documents from the glove compartment, about to get out of the car. His eyes caught something on the passenger seat — a long, slightly curled strand of black hair.
He picked it up, opened the door, reached into the back seat for his suit jacket, and walked toward the elevator, the strand of hair twirling absently around his finger as he continued his call.
[END OF CHAPTER 1]
