It had been years since they last met, with no contact whatsoever since that final encounter. The distance between them had grown so vast that Wen Yifan had nearly forgotten this person's existence.
But she still remembered.
Their last conversation had not been a pleasant one.
They were not the kind of relationship where he would come over to offer comfort or help upon seeing her in such a disheveled state.
Wen Yifan’s first thought was that he must have mistaken her for someone else.
But then another thought surfaced in her mind.
Perhaps over the years, Sang Yan had matured, his heart growing broader. Maybe he no longer held onto past grievances, choosing instead to let bygones be bygones and simply offering polite courtesy upon seeing an old classmate again.
Wen Yifan pulled her thoughts back and handed him the coat, her eyes filled with confusion and inquiry.
Sang Yan didn’t take it. His gaze swept past her hand before he said coolly, “I’m the owner of this bar.”
Wen Yifan’s hand froze mid-air, her reaction slightly delayed.
For a moment, she wasn’t quite sure.
Whether he was introducing himself;
Or showing off how well he’d done for himself at such a young age, already thriving as a business owner.
In such a situation, she somehow still managed to zone out, recalling Zhong Siqiao’s words.
—“The owner of this bar could be called the Sign of Fallen Street.”
Her eyes couldn’t help but linger on his face a little longer.
Dark hair, sharp brows, pupils of pure black that seemed even colder under the dim lighting. The rebelliousness of his youth had faded, his once-boyish features now sharp and defined. Tall and lean, his black clothes did nothing to conceal his arrogance—carefree yet refined.
To call him the Sign of Fallen Street.
Well, it seemed… not undeserved.
Sang Yan slowly uttered two more words, snapping her back to reality.
“Surname Sang.”
“…”
Was he telling her his surname?
So, he hadn’t recognized her and was simply introducing himself.
Wen Yifan understood the situation and replied calmly, “Is there something you need?”
“My apologies. Due to our oversight, you’ve been inconvenienced.” Sang Yan said. “If there’s anything you require, please let me know. Additionally, all your expenses in the bar tonight will be waived. I hope this doesn’t affect your evening.”
He kept addressing her with the formal “you,” but Wen Yifan didn’t detect much respect in his tone.
His manner of speaking was just as it had been in the past—lazy, dismissive, cold, and infuriating.
Wen Yifan shook her head politely. “No need. It’s fine.”
At her words, Sang Yan’s expression relaxed slightly, as if relieved. Perhaps thinking she was easygoing, his tone softened a little as he nodded. “Then I’ll excuse myself.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
Wen Yifan, still holding his coat, instinctively called out, “San—”
Sang Yan turned back.
Meeting his gaze, she suddenly remembered they were supposed to be strangers now, and the “g” in his name got stuck in her throat.
Her mind blanked, unsure how to address him.
The silence grew awkward. In her flustered state, the words from her earlier distraction resurfaced. Staring at his face, she belatedly finished, “—Sign.”
“…”
Their eyes locked.
The world fell silent once more.
In that nearly frozen moment, Wen Yifan thought she saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his brow.
“…”
Huh?
What had she just said?
San Sign.
San… Sign.
Oh.
San…
Holy shit.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"Top Performer Sang, ahhh!!!"
"..."
Wen Yifan's breath hitched, barely maintaining her composure. She didn't dare look at Sang Yan's expression, pressing her lips together as she handed his clothes back again: "Your clothes."
The best solution was to follow her usual approach—pretend nothing was wrong, as if nothing had happened at all.
Simply skip over this little episode.
But Sang Yan didn't give her that chance.
He turned his head, slowly repeating: "Top. Performer. Sang?"
Wen Yifan feigned ignorance: "What?"
A brief silence.
Sang Yan looked at her, somewhat surprised, as if only just realizing something. He drawled out an "Ah," the corner of his lips quirking up in a "so that's how it is" expression: "Apologies, but we run a reputable bar here."
"..."
The subtext was probably something like:
I know I'm drop-dead gorgeous, but I don't offer those kinds of services. Please have some self-respect.
Wen Yifan wanted to explain, but she knew it was pointless.
She exhaled quietly, too tired to argue. Since they'd never see each other again anyway, she might as well lean into it. Following his lead, she sighed regretfully: "Really? What a shame."
"..."
For a split second, Sang Yan's expression seemed to freeze.
But it might have just been her imagination.
Blinking, Wen Yifan saw his face return to its usual unreadable calm. She didn't dwell on it, offering a polite smile as she brought it up again: "Your clothes."
Sang Yan still made no move to take them.
Over the next few seconds, Wen Yifan strangely noticed him staring at the curve of her lips, his gaze direct and contemplative.
Then, abruptly—
"Wearing my clothes," Sang Yan paused, suddenly smiling, "seems to make you pretty happy, huh?"
"..."
Wen Yifan: ?
"Though I'm not entirely sure, it seems I'm more famous than this bar?" He raised an eyebrow playfully, his tone laced with understanding, as if giving her an out. "Take it back as a souvenir."
"..."
"He really said that?" Zhong Siqiao burst into laughter after triple-checking. "Damn, why didn't he just tell you to frame it and hang it up?"
Wen Yifan replied slowly, "That was what he meant."
Zhong Siqiao stifled her giggles, offering half-hearted comfort: "Don't take it to heart. Maybe he’s just used to it and assumed you came here just to see him."
"Did you forget why we came here?"
"Huh?"
"Wasn't it to 'hire his services'?" Wen Yifan said. "The word 'see' doesn’t quite match his attitude."
"..."
Zhong Siqiao started laughing again.
Wen Yifan chuckled too. "Alright, reel it in. Wait till he leaves—he’s still sitting right there."
The bar stools were now fully occupied, with Sang Yan perched at the far end. He lifted a transparent glass, taking a leisurely sip of his drink, his expression relaxed and carefree, like a spoiled young master.
Seeing this, Zhong Siqiao finally composed herself.
Just then, the waiter who had spilled the drinks earlier approached.
He was a young man, baby-faced and slightly chubby, carefully balancing a tray as he served their drinks. Then, he slid the money Wen Yifan had paid earlier back to her, tucked beneath a clipboard with the receipt.
"Here are your drinks."
Wen Yifan looked at the money. "This is...?"Before she could finish asking, the waiter hurriedly explained, looking slightly uneasy: "I'm sorry, that was my mistake earlier. The boss has already given instructions—your table is on the house."
Only then did Wen Yifan recall Sang Yan's words.
She paused, instinctively refusing: "It's fine, no need. Take the money back."
The waiter shook his head: "Aside from this, if you need anything else, feel free to call me anytime."
His attitude was firm, so Wen Yifan didn’t insist. She picked up the coat beside her: "When I went to the restroom earlier, I found this coat in the hallway. Maybe a customer accidentally left it behind."
The waiter quickly took it: "Alright, thank you."
After he left, Zhong Siqiao blinked at her: "What’s going on?"
Wen Yifan gave a brief explanation.
Zhong Siqiao widened her eyes: "If he already said that, why did you still want to pay?"
"Running a business isn’t easy," Wen Yifan took a sip of her drink. "No need to take hundreds from him over something like this."
"Why are you worried about a rich second-generation entrepreneur struggling? This young master has been loaded for ages," Zhong Siqiao said. "But seriously, he really doesn’t remember you?"
Wen Yifan reasoned: "He probably didn’t recognize me."
"Didn’t recognize you?" Zhong Siqiao found it absurd and blurted out, "Wait, do you not know what you look like? Just because your name has the word ‘Fan’ (ordinary), you think you’re actually plain?"
"..." Wen Yifan nearly choked, speechless and amused. "The way you said that, I thought you were insulting me."
No wonder Zhong Siqiao found the answer ridiculous.
Because Wen Yifan was genuinely stunning.
Contrary to her gentle personality, her looks were strikingly alluring—beautiful to the point of being almost aggressive. Her fox-like eyes seemed designed to ensnare souls, slightly upturned at the corners, exuding charm in every movement.
Sitting in the dimly lit bar, she seemed to glow.
Zhong Siqiao had always believed that face alone could make her famous and wealthy.
Who knew she’d end up as a hardworking journalist instead.
"Besides, you look pretty much the same as you did in high school—just shorter hair now—" Noticing movement near Sang Yan, Zhong Siqiao abruptly changed her tone. "Okay, maybe it’s possible."
"..."
"With his status, he’s probably dated plenty of girls over the years. Some might even resemble you."
Hearing this, Wen Yifan propped her chin and glanced toward Sang Yan.
This time, there was a woman beside him.
As if impervious to the cold, she wore a fitted minidress that showcased her fair, slender legs. Leaning against the bar, she tilted her head to toast him, smiling coquettishly, her curves accentuated with every movement.
Sang Yan looked up at her, smirking slightly.
Amidst the atmosphere, it carried a flirtatious undertone.
The topic was short-lived, and soon Zhong Siqiao moved on to other things.
Pulled back by her voice, Wen Yifan averted her gaze and resumed their conversation.
After a while.
The female singer finished her last song. Noticing the time, Wen Yifan asked, "It’s almost ten. Should we head out?"
Zhong Siqiao: "Sure."
The two got up to leave.
Zhong Siqiao linked arms with Wen Yifan, checking her phone as she said, "Xiang Lang just texted—he’s coming back next month. Let’s invite him next time. Somewhere with a dance floor—this place was kinda dull."Wen Yifan responded, "Sure."
Before leaving, she glanced once more at the bar counter.
Sang Yan was still sitting in the same spot, though the woman beside him seemed to have changed again. His expression remained indifferent, as if nothing could stir his interest.
Their unexpected reunion truly appeared just as he had portrayed it—like encountering a complete stranger for the first time.
Wen Yifan’s mind wandered.
For some reason, she recalled the last time they had seen each other before losing contact.
A desolate night, moonless. Thick fog and dark clouds pressed down on the small town, while a drizzle fell like fine fluff. In the narrow alley, the sole streetlight flickered as flying ants hurled themselves relentlessly toward it.
The boy’s hair was damp, his eyelashes dotted with droplets. His fair skin and the light in his eyes seemed extinguished.
Everything felt surreal.
She couldn’t remember how she had felt at that moment.
Only this:
Sang Yan’s voice was hoarse as he called her name one last time: "Wen Yifan."
Then, lowering his gaze, he mocked himself: "I’m not that bad, am I?"
And this:
He cast aside all his pride, seeing himself as something filthy, to be avoided at all costs.
"Don’t worry," he laughed. "I won’t bother you again."
Ever since spilling alcohol on a customer, Yu Zhuo had been on edge the entire night. He moved cautiously, terrified of making another mistake and reigniting his boss’s recently cooled temper.
After the customers at that table left, he went to clear it.
As he collected the glasses and pulled the clipboard aside, several red bills beneath it were swept along.
He froze.
Then he noticed a bracelet lying under the plush chair.
Yu Zhuo picked it up, his expression grim as he returned to the bar counter. Pushing the tray forward, he said to the blond bartender, "Brother He, the guests at K11 left something behind."
He Mingbo took it and looked up. "By the way, that jacket you brought over earlier—doesn’t it look a lot like Yan-ge’s?"
"Ah, I don’t know. They said they found it in the restroom." Thinking about the money, Yu Zhuo scratched his head. "Brother, Yan-ge told me to comp this table, but the refund—the K11 guests didn’t take it. Should I tell him?"
He Mingbo shot him a glance. "Go confess."
"..." Yu Zhuo was stunned, feeling the need to explain. "Brother, it’s not like I wanted to pocket the money—they just didn’t take it. I even reminded them several times."
Placing the bracelet into a transparent bag, He Mingbo chuckled. "Yan-ge isn’t that reasonable."
"..."
That was probably true.
Even so, when Yu Zhuo went upstairs to find Sang Yan, he couldn’t help but make one last desperate attempt.
He hadn’t noticed when Sang Yan had gone upstairs—he’d been at the bar all night. Now, the man sat in the innermost booth of the VIP area, his expression unreadable.
It was unclear whether he’d even heard Yu Zhuo’s explanation.
Sang Yan remained silent, idly toying with a clear glass in his hand.
The atmosphere was oppressive.
Yu Zhuo steeled himself and tried to lighten the mood. "Maybe it wasn’t for the drinks. I overheard those two guests saying—"
At this point, he suddenly realized how his next words might sound and stammered, "But it was pretty noisy, so I didn’t catch everything clearly. I’m not entirely sure... I mean..."
Meeting Sang Yan’s cold gaze, Yu Zhuo shuddered and blurted out smoothly, "I heard the guest’s friend ask if she came to this bar to see you, Yan-ge. She said no."Sang Yan's eyelashes fluttered slightly.
Yu Zhuo: "Then she said, it was... for prostitution..."
Sang Yan: "..."
Sang Yan: "?"
"So this might be... your payment for the prostitution service..."
"..."
OpenNovel