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February 14, 2014. 5:30 a.m.
I was on a plane.
New York to London — roughly six thousand kilometers.
In the past six months, I didn't even remember how many times I'd flown back and forth.
London was where he worked now.
Sometimes I wondered… if one day I might bump into him on some random street in London — outside a café, at a traffic light, in a crowd.
Like fate couldn't possibly be that cruel.
But in the end—
It never happened.
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October 19, 2014.
London had turned cold. The rain was fine and sharp, like it could cut through people's coats and reach their bones.
I spent the whole day wandering through places he might go.
I still didn't see him.
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February 13, 2015. 1:30 a.m.
After struggling and hesitating for more than half an hour, I finally canceled my flight to London.
May he be well.
December, 2017.
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Qin Shu accidentally stumbled upon an old WeChat Moments post.
Only visible to herself.
A private confession.
Two years ago, she'd written those words in her phone's Notes app — just an impulsive record, not to prove how much she'd suffered, not to show anyone how hard she'd tried.
Later, when she changed phones, she couldn't bear to delete it.
So she took a screen
Everything had changed.
Keeping it felt meaningless.
She tapped Delete.
A prompt appeared:
CancelConfirm
Her thumb hovered.
She hesitated.
Even now, she still couldn't press Confirm.
"Qiqi! Are you climbing a mountain?! Can you hurry up!"
Qiqi was her nickname — the one only Bu Yi used.
Bu Yi was her childhood friend. The kind who'd known her long enough to insult her freely and still survive.
They'd gone to the same university in New York. Qin Shu was studying for a master's degree in financial engineering. Bu Yi was in computer science.
Winter break had started.
Qin Shu was flying back to China today.
Bu Yi came to JFK to see her off, pushing her suitcase ahead like a resentful porter.
He glanced at his watch. Time was running out.
"Qiqi, hurry up!"
shot and posted it.
Like sealing a memory into amber.
If she hadn't seen it today, she wouldn't have remembered for a long time that she'd once been so infatuated and unrestrained.
She stared at the post.
Qin Shu snapped out of her daze, looked up impatiently, and said, "Can you be less annoying?"
She continued walking at her own pace, still looking down at her phone.
The post.
Still there.
She stared at it again.
Then, in a burst of self-disgust, she tapped Confirm—
No. Wait.
Her thumb paused.
And in that pause—
Someone brushed past her.
A shoulder bumped her arm.
Her thumb slipped.
Pressed down.
Confirm.
The post disappeared instantly.
Gone.
Completely.
Qin Shu froze.
"…?"
For a second, her mind went blank.
Then anger surged up like boiling water.
It was one thing if she deleted it herself.
But someone else deleting it, even accidentally?
Unforgivable.
Her head snapped up.
A group of four or five people passed by her, all in business attire. Everyone had suitcases except the man on the far left.
That man wore a black trench coat.
Tall, broad-shouldered — the kind of presence that made people unconsciously step aside.
He was on the phone. It was too noisy to hear what language he was speaking.
He didn't even look back.
Didn't even realize he'd bumped into her.
That made it worse.
Bu Yi yanked her to the side. "I'm telling you, can you stop staring at your phone when you walk?! One day you'll get kidnapped and still be refreshing WeChat!"
"So annoying. Let go!" Qin Shu snapped.
She watched the figures disappear into the distance, fury stuck in her chest with nowhere to go.
She shoved her phone into her bag.
Still not satisfied, she kicked Bu Yi twice.
Bu Yi: "..."
He gritted his teeth, enduring it, silently cursing.
Then he bent down and patted his pant leg like he was brushing off her temper.
"Aunt Fang understands you best," he said. "She told me to keep a close eye on you, otherwise you'll run off with any handsome man you see."
Qin Shu didn't bother explaining.
She was too angry to speak.
But for a fleeting moment, she wanted to run after that man.
Not because he was handsome.
But because—
He'd erased something she'd held onto for years.
What would she even say?
Excuse me, you deleted my past?
Can you give it back?
Ridiculous.
Bu Yi sat on her suitcase, legs dangling, chin lifted like a smug little prince.
"Heh. Still angry?"
Qin Shu glanced at him and didn't answer.
Bu Yi leaned forward. "I know his name."
Qin Shu asked casually, "Oh? What is it?"
"Han Pei."
Qin Shu's gaze sharpened. "Han Pei?"
Bu Yi nodded. "Wanhe Group's CEO. Beijing. I've met him before at dinner parties with my dad."
Qin Shu didn't believe him.
Bu Yi had been a liar since childhood.
But… Wanhe Group.
That name she knew.
She just didn't know there was a Han Pei.
Bu Yi sighed dramatically. "Hey, give me some feedback! I'm not lying. He used to manage Wanhe's overseas market. The last two years his grandfather's health hasn't been good, so he went back to headquarters to take over."
Qin Shu finally took out her phone and searched Han Pei.
Articles appeared instantly.
Photos.
Side profiles.
Back shots.
A familiar tall figure in a black trench coat.
It was him.
Qin Shu's lips pressed into a thin line.
Fine.
She would remember this name.
Beijing was huge.
But the financial circle wasn't.
If they were both in it…
She'd run into him sooner or later.
On the plane, Qin Shu opened her phone again.
That post was really gone.
As if it had been erased from the timeline of her life.
So she posted another status update.
Only visible to herself:
.................................................................................
December 16, 2017.I ran into Han Pei at JFK Airport.He bumped into me and accidentally deleted a post I kept for years.
I don't know whether Han Pei is my nemesis…or his.
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She stared at the screen.
Then locked her phone.
Outside the window, the world was a cold sheet of cloud.
And the plane carried her back to Beijing.
After more than ten hours, she landed.
Her parents were busy in meetings.
So her grandfather came to pick her up.
Grandpa Qin's first glance went straight to her bare ankles.
"How many times have I told you? Keep warm in winter."
Qin Shu clung to his arm, smiling sweetly. "I'm not cold."
Grandpa Qin snorted, then produced a small paper bag like he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life.
"Put these on in the restroom."
Inside were bright red cotton socks.
Qin Shu narrowed her eyes in silent resistance.
But in the end, she obediently put them on.
Camel-colored low shoes.
Bright red socks.
A fashion disaster.
Grandpa Qin looked her over, satisfied.
"Mmm. Much better."
Qin Shu could only smile helplessly.
In the car, Grandpa Qin pulled out his glasses and an old notebook.
It was full of chess records.
Dates. Opponents. Wins and losses. Even notes about which move caused him to lose.
"Grandpa, you even take notes when you play chess?"
"Yes," Grandpa said calmly. "Progress comes from reflection."
Then, as if it was nothing, he added, "I learned it from Grandpa Han."
Qin Shu blinked. "Grandpa Han?"
Grandpa Qin nodded. "He's older than me. Eighty-nine this year. Had surgery two years ago, not as healthy. He hasn't been to the association in years. I'm going today. I want to exchange a few games with him."
Qin Shu hummed in acknowledgement, her head already starting to throb from jet lag.
Grandpa Qin asked, "Come with me. Your parents are busy, no one's home anyway."
Qin Shu agreed.
She didn't know why…
But the name Grandpa Han sat strangely in her chest.
Like a chess piece placed quietly on the board.
Waiting.