Actually, Song Cong hadn't figured out how to respond to this message, but he knew Qi Qi must be waiting for his reply. Prolonging it would do neither of them any good, so he typed out a line—I respect your decision.
Sent.
He looked up to see his friends staring intently at him. Waving his phone, he said, "Peaceful breakup, no fights, no blocking. Ask away if you want."
Huan'er and Qi Chi exchanged glances, both maintaining a silent understanding.
There didn't seem to be much to ask.
Surprise was natural, and so was concern, but when piecing together the subtle clues from the past, this breakup suddenly made perfect sense.
If affection isn't enough to make someone change for another, then that affection becomes an empty joy. How many people are inherently compatible? It's more about me adjusting a little, you adjusting a little, until we find a rhythm where you're comfortable and I'm at ease. But Song Cong and Qi Qi were both too focused on whether they were evenly matched in this relationship, overlooking the other's efforts to keep up. Over time, the pure and passionate affection was drowned out by exhaustion.
Song Cong wanted to do something to show he could calmly accept this outcome, but he quickly realized that anything he did would seem like a cover-up—like when he started shaking his leg, asked what they were having for dinner, or went to the fridge for a Yakult, drinking it as he returned to the couch. Facing Huan'er's scrutiny, he smiled and said, "Tastes good."
"Good, huh? It expired days ago," Huan'er blurted out.
This was her home—she knew everything.
Song Cong was defeated. He couldn't think of a better way to express his indifference.
"I should head back," Song Cong said, grabbing his jacket to leave.
"Don't," Jing Qichi quickly stopped him. "Aunt Hao isn't home—what's the point of going back?"
Song Cong would never do anything reckless, but breaking up during the joyous Spring Festival season meant having company was better than processing it alone.
Huan'er now stood up like a stern judge. In situations like this, where everyone was at a loss, it was up to her, the quick-witted one, to take charge. Besides, she had firsthand experience in dealing with heartbreak.
"Hey, Song Cong," Huan'er cleared her throat, "how about we treat you to a perm?"
"Huh?" The man thought he'd misheard.
"Yeah, a perm," Huan'er said, pulling on her down jacket and pushing him toward the door. "You don't have an uncle—your head's yours to do whatever with."
Jing Qichi burst out laughing. There was an old saying that getting a haircut in the first lunar month made one nostalgic—this girl even had folklore to back her up.
But really, it wasn't about any of that. They just wanted to distract him.
Jing Qichi followed behind, pretending to complain, "If you're treating him, why drag me along?"
"Perms and dyes are expensive," Huan'er shot him a look. "You're here, so you're included."
Song Cong understood their intentions and smiled to himself without a word.
Because this feeling wasn't unfamiliar—it often appeared with warmth and strength in every lost and bewildering moment. Having friends really was the best.To show her sincerity, Huan'er took them to the headquarters of a chain hair salon in the city center. The two-story commercial building had the ground floor dedicated to hairstyling, with two rows of chairs stretching all the way to the back—over twenty seats in total. The rest of the area was designed with 360-degree surrounding mirrors for groups of customers, arranged in clusters like stacks of rice in a field. The second floor was a skincare and beauty zone, where staff in pink uniforms politely led guests up the spiral staircase with warm smiles.
The two rough-around-the-edges guys had never seen anything like this. Jing Qichi whispered to Huan'er, "How did you know about this place?"
"Qi—" Huan'er was about to answer but, catching sight of Song Cong ahead, she leaned closer to Jing Qichi's ear. "Qi Qi brought me here once."
Jing Qichi's mouth fell open. The last time those two hung out was years ago, back when they didn’t even have the concept that getting a haircut could be part of a beauty salon experience.
"Though the place has been renovated since then," Huan'er glanced around. "Miscalculation, miscalculation."
Song Cong was already being enthusiastically ushered by a receptionist to get his hair washed. He turned back to ask them, "What are you two whispering about?"
Jing Qichi feigned a sigh. "Discussing whether to sign a contract of indenture to treat you to a perm."
The salon wasn’t crowded. While Song Cong was taken for a wash, a staff member came over to ask what they’d like to drink. Huan'er ordered two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice, then sat with Jing Qichi on a corner sofa to wait. They chatted about their classmates’ recent updates: Huixin had been hired by a pharmaceutical company in Guangzhou and would leave after the New Year; Qiu Li received a finance offer from a business school in the U.S. but was still waiting on other results; Huang Lu was preparing to dive into the internet industry, gearing up for spring recruitment; Du Man, who would graduate a year later, had already started preparing for grad school and was reportedly so stressed she was going bald. As for Liao Xinyan…
Huan'er’s phone buzzed. After reading the message, she grinned at Jing Qichi. "Speak of the devil."
"Huh?"
Huan'er put her phone away and instinctively glanced toward where Song Cong had gone, muttering, "Xinyan."
She didn’t notice the girl delivering their orange juice staring intently at her.
The tray was placed on the coffee table, and the girl in the pink uniform suddenly grabbed Huan'er’s hand. "Oh my god, I can’t believe I’d see you here."
Huan'er looked up, meeting her gaze, then pulled her hand back with a polite smile. "You’ve mistaken me for someone else."
Jing Qichi asked, "What were you saying earlier?"
"Oh, Xinyan," Huan'er tapped her phone. "She texted asking if they’d broken up."
"How does she know?"
"Said she happened to call Qi to ask when they’re returning to campus, and Qi was crying uncontrollably." Huan'er sighed. "Do you think they still have a chance?"
Jing Qichi was about to answer when he noticed the juice server still standing there. He tentatively asked, "Do we… pay first?"
That was the only explanation he could think of—after all, it was their first time in such a high-end place.
Huan'er followed his gaze, feeling there was something off about the way the girl was looking at her.
Almost like resentment.
The girl scowled, muttered "Enjoy," and walked away.
Weird.
Jing Qichi resumed the conversation. "Lao Song’s temper and pride are sky-high, and Qi Qi has her fair share of princess tendencies. What do you think? But the class monitor has good instincts, knowing to ask you for intel…"
Class monitor. The term sent a jolt through Huan'er.
Because in that instant, she remembered why she had voted for Liao Xinyan in the class monitor election.
"Oh no." Huan'er smacked her forehead.She didn't find Liao Xinyan from Sishui. The shop assistant told her Xiao Liao had just gone downstairs to receive customers and was probably busy now. Huan'er could only return to her seat awkwardly.
"What's wrong?" Jing Qichi asked, confused.
"That was my middle school classmate, also named Liao Xinyan," Huan'er said, feeling particularly regretful. "She must have thought I recognized her, but I told her she had the wrong person. And what we were talking about... Ugh, I'd feel uncomfortable too if I were her."
The change was too drastic. Huan'er's memory of her was still stuck at twelve or thirteen years old, wearing an oversized school uniform with thick bangs. The Xiao Liao of today was completely different from back then. How happy she would have been if Huan'er had called out "Xinyan" right away—an old classmate she hadn't seen in years recognizing her at first glance, especially one who had moved away to a big city long ago. Huan'er could understand the disappointment and resentment when she left, because her own words and reaction seemed to draw a clear line—today, our relationship is just service staff and customer, nothing more.
How utterly frustrating.
"Don't dwell on it. Go cheer up Lao Song," Jing Qichi patted her shoulder. "I'm going to the restroom."
Huan'er nodded absentmindedly and shuffled over to Song Cong.
Jing Qichi made a brief stop by the restroom entrance. From a distance, he saw Huan'er chatting with Song Cong, then turned and went upstairs.
Unlike the open space downstairs, the hallway here was lined with several separate treatment rooms on either side, each entrance covered by a curtain. The waiting area had only two sofas, with a service counter sign on the table opposite—no one was seated there.
As soon as Jing Qichi stopped, Xiao Liao emerged from a room labeled "Staff Room," a towel draped over one arm. She paused slightly at the sight of him, then asked professionally, "Do you have an appointment?"
"I came with Huan'er," Jing Qichi skipped any further introduction. "Are you busy?"
Xiao Liao's hand was still on the doorknob. After a brief hesitation, she closed the door and walked over. "Not too busy."
"Huan'er wanted to come up earlier, but the staff downstairs said you had a customer, so she didn’t want to disturb you," Jing Qichi pursed his lips. "We happened to be talking about another friend named Xinyan, so she didn’t recognize you right away. It wasn’t intentional at all."
A very brief explanation, but Xiao Liao understood.
She lowered her eyes. "It’s normal. It’s been years, and everyone’s changed a lot."
"Huan’er often talks about her time in Sishui. That period was really important to her," Jing Qichi smiled. "She said you must be upset."
"Not at all," Xiao Liao’s face flushed. "I’m not upset, I just... thought she didn’t want to acknowledge us old classmates."
"Xinyan," a middle-aged woman in uniform called out as she approached from down the hallway. She gave Jing Qichi a polite smile before asking, "A customer?"
"Oh, no..." Xiao Liao started to explain, but Jing Qichi cut in, pointing at her. "Yes, a friend knows Xinyan. I came to ask about services."
"Your customer, then," the woman nodded, taking the towel from her. "You handle it. I’ll go ahead."
Once she left, Jing Qichi quickly asked, "What services do you offer here? I’d like to get something for my mom."
Xiao Liao hesitated, then pulled out a service menu from the reception desk drawer, looking at him uncertainly.
Jing Qichi glanced at it and set it down. "Under fifty, something that’ll make her feel prettier and healthier. What do you recommend?"The service menu was entirely in Chinese characters, but when strung together, he couldn't recognize half of them.
Xiao Liao, the staff member, picked a few items to briefly explain. When she mentioned, "Most aunties like to get this one," Jing Qichi's eyes lit up. "This one, then!"
"This package gives you ten sessions with the eleventh free. It's a great deal."
"Sure." Jing Qichi nodded, then added, "Two aunties, so two cards."
"One for Huan'er's mom, right?" Xiao Liao had already figured it out. The way he'd secretly come up to ask for explanations and then voluntarily boosted her sales—this wasn't just a casual "came together" kind of relationship.
"Yep," Jing Qichi didn't deny it. "They can come together too."
"So you're Huan'er's..." Xiao Liao grinned. "Boyfriend? Husband?"
Jing Qichi was overjoyed inside, but on the surface, he waved it off casually. "Ah, sooner or later."
The prize money from the entrepreneurship competition was just enough to cover Song Cong's perm and the two moms' beauty treatments. It was the first time he'd ever felt like he was spending money exactly where it counted.
Bliss.
After more than three hours of meticulous styling by the hairdresser, Song Cong transformed from a prim and proper male student of the Republican era into a trendy young man with a head full of chestnut curls.
Jing Qichi ruffled his new hair like a proud father, sighing with affection. "Looking sharp."
"Don't touch," Huan'er swatted his hand away. "Every touch costs money."
Truth be told, Song Cong found it amusing too. Comforting someone after a breakup usually meant treating them to meals, drinks, or even clubbing—but paying for a perm? He was probably the first in history.
Emotions do need an outlet, but it doesn’t always have to be hysterical venting. Just having good friends around, doing anything at all, can inexplicably brighten the mood.
As they were leaving, Xiao Liao hurried out after them, her hands slick with essential oils held up like a surgeon about to operate. She called out to Huan'er, "What are you up to these days?"
"Still studying." Huan'er looked at her, a hint of apology in her expression. "Xinyan, earlier I..."
After being told three times that Xiao Liao was busy, she'd already decided to keep her apology to herself.
"That's great. You were always a good student." Xiao Liao glanced at Jing Qichi, saw him subtly shake his head, and smiled faintly. "Huan'er, invite me to your wedding, okay?"
The words startled Huan'er. Wedding? Was that the new trendy greeting now?
A voice called from inside the shop, "Xinyan, hurry up! The client's waiting!"
"Coming!" Xiao Liao replied loudly, turning back as she walked inside. "Don't forget to invite me!"
The three of them walked side by side for a few steps before Huan'er, increasingly baffled, said, "Did she mistake me for some other Chen Huan'er who's getting married? Was today some kind of spy mission?"
"With a name like yours? Unlikely." Song Cong shot a glance at Jing Qichi. "But someone might be up to a secret liaison."
Huan'er hadn't noticed his little gestures, but Song Cong read them all.
No need to guess what was going on.
Jing Qichi quickly cut in, "Just invite her when the time comes. More guests, more gift money."
"Ha," Huan'er rolled her eyes. "As if that money would end up in your pocket."
"Actually, it might." Jing Qichi muttered under his breath, unable to suppress a grin.
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