Wen Yifan averted her gaze and didn’t comment on his words, merely responding with an “Mhm.”
She had no way to verify the truth of his statement.
The only thing that puzzled her was why they had brought up Sang Yan’s high school days during a gathering after their university graduation ceremony. After all, even Su Haoan seemed completely unaware of the matter between them.
Moreover, given Sang Yan’s proud nature, he would never casually reveal his vulnerabilities to others, nor would he bother to confide in anyone.
So Wen Yifan couldn’t fathom how the topic had even come up.
But then again, perhaps it had been mentioned casually, as a joke?
After all, so much time had passed.
Thinking about it this way, it seemed rather plausible.
Wen Yifan didn’t dwell on it further, simply finding the whole thing rather peculiar.
She had never imagined.
That she would become the “best” in this manner.
“Later, Senior Sang also said,” Mu Chengyun turned to look at her, adding appropriately, “if he met her again, he might pursue her once more, but his mindset would definitely be different from before.”
Wen Yifan turned the steering wheel and remained silent.
After speaking, Mu Chengyun fell quiet for a few seconds, as if trying to gauge her thoughts. He smiled lightly, his tone casual: “But it was probably just drunken talk, not necessarily his true feelings.”
With these words, silence filled the car once more.
After a brief pause, Wen Yifan suddenly spoke up: “Didn’t you say earlier—”
“Hmm?”
Wen Yifan pointed out the inconsistency in his words: “That he only said one sentence the entire night?”
“...” Mu Chengyun’s smile stiffened momentarily before quickly returning to normal. “Did I say that? I don’t really remember. Maybe I was drunk and misspoke.”
“Then be more careful in the future. Don’t drink too much when you’re out. In our line of work, emergencies can happen anytime.” At this point, Wen Yifan reminded him earnestly, “Also, it’s fine to gossip casually, but when it comes to news reporting, you can’t have that attitude.”
“...”
“What you see and hear is what should be reported.” Like she would with Fu Zhuang, Wen Yifan spoke calmly, “You can’t rely on guesses, nor can you use ‘I misheard,’ ‘I misremembered,’ or ‘I misspoke’ as excuses. Everything must be factual.”
Mu Chengyun’s smile vanished completely.
His expression turned serious as he quickly agreed, “I understand.”
After driving to Nanwu City People’s Hospital,
Wen Yifan found a parking spot. The two grabbed their equipment and headed toward the orthopedic department following the signs. Taking advantage of the moment, Wen Yifan glanced at her phone and replied to a few messages.
Before coming, Wen Yifan had contacted the hospital and the injured girl’s mother, obtaining their consent for the interview. She had already learned the details: the victim was a young girl named Zhang Yu, who had just started her first year of middle school.
Zhang Yu had been born with damaged vocal cords and couldn’t speak.
The incident had occurred when Zhang Yu went out to eat with her classmates and returned home later than usual. While crossing the street, the driver hit her and, unable to brake in time, ran over her right leg.
The shock of the situation sobered the driver, who immediately called an ambulance.
The two entered Zhang Yu’s hospital room.This was a three-bed ward, currently fully occupied. Zhang Yu lay on the middle bed, her surgery completed, with a cast on her leg. Her youthful face was tear-stained, eyes red and swollen—clearly, she had just been crying.
Zhang Yu's mother sat beside her, softly comforting her.
Wen Yifan walked over and greeted them, then introduced herself.
Zhang Yu's mother, Chen Lizhen, didn’t look at all like someone with a child that age. Well-maintained and exuding gentle grace, she cooperated fully with Wen Yifan’s interview, never showing impatience or displeasure.
To avoid upsetting Zhang Yu further, the interview was conducted outside the ward.
Wen Yifan took notes while asking questions, with Mu Chengyun filming beside her.
“What hurts the most is seeing my child like this,” Chen Lizhen rubbed her temples, her own eyes reddening as she spoke. “She just transferred to Nanwu Arts School. Now we don’t know what to do. We’re not sure if this will affect her dancing.”
Wen Yifan paused. “Does Xiaoyu dance?”
Chen Lizhen turned her head, wiping away tears. “Yes, ballet. She started when she was seven.”
Hearing this, Wen Yifan glanced back toward the ward.
The young girl sat with her head bowed, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her lashes trembled as tears silently rolled down her cheeks, her sorrow trapped without an outlet—even her crying was soundless.
“Because she can’t speak, Xiaoyu has always been introverted and had few friends,” Chen Lizhen said, pulling out her phone to show photos. “When we noticed her talent for dance, we enrolled her in a training class. It was only after she started dancing that she gradually became more outgoing.”
“The doctor said we’ll have to see how Xiaoyu recovers. Right now, we can’t say for sure if it’ll affect her,” Chen Lizhen added, weariness lining her features. “Lately, we’ve been discussing with her father whether to transfer her back to a regular middle school.”
Wen Yifan’s gaze lingered, her expression distant.
It reminded her of her own high school days.
Back then, Wen Yifan had also switched from being a dance student to a regular student for similar reasons.
During the summer break of her first year, Wen Yifan had attended an off-campus training camp organized by her school. Even before that, her knee had been aching persistently, and the intensive practice during the camp pushed the pain to an unbearable level.
Accompanied by Zhao Yuandong, Wen Yifan went to the hospital.
She was diagnosed with a second-degree meniscus tear in her knee.
The doctor prescribed medication and ordered three months of rest—no strenuous activity during that time.
While not severe, the injury was significant for a dance student like Wen Yifan. Though anxious, she had no choice but to follow the doctor’s instructions, hoping for a swift recovery.
She told herself she could make up for lost progress once she healed.
But before the new semester began,
Zhao Yuandong came to her room one night, hesitantly asking if she’d consider switching back to academic studies.
Wen Yifan found the suggestion absurd.
She couldn’t believe a minor injury like this would make her give up the dance she had practiced for nearly a decade.
Without hesitation, Wen Yifan refused.
Yet Zhao Yuandong brought it up again and again.Wen Yifan gradually realized that Zhao Yuandong hadn't made the suggestion out of concern for her foot injury. Later, she accidentally overheard a conversation between her stepfather and Zhao Yuandong—it was because as an arts student, her holiday training expenses were too high.
Not just this time.
Every upcoming holiday would require training, each session costing money.
It would become too much for them to bear.
Zhao Yuandong didn't have a job, and the savings she had were left by Wen Liangzhe, which had now become shared assets of the new family.
Her stepfather was reluctant to pay these expenses and used this opportunity to propose that Wen Yifan switch back to being a regular academic student. His stance was firm, listing countless reasons, and coupled with Zhao Yuandong's indecisive nature, she eventually agreed after hearing his arguments repeatedly.
After that, Wen Yifan's objections became completely futile.
When adults have already decided something, no matter how unwilling or resistant a child might be, it's all in vain. Those faint words of protest were like transparent, invisible things.
When the new semester of her second year of high school began, Wen Yifan switched back to being a regular academic student.
This news shocked her classmates, who found it utterly baffling. It was equivalent to a top-performing science student suddenly declaring they wanted to switch to arts subjects right before the college entrance exams.
Several close classmates took turns asking her about it.
Wen Yifan couldn't bring herself to say it was because her family found the expenses too heavy and didn't want to bear them anymore. So she lied to everyone, exaggerating her injury.
—Because of her foot injury, she could never dance again.
Sang Yan was the last one to ask her.
At that time, Wen Yifan was sitting at her desk, quietly looking down. Without meeting his gaze, she continued staring at her textbook and calmly repeated what she'd told others.
After a long silence, Sang Yan asked, "Really can't dance anymore?"
Wen Yifan: "Mm."
Sang Yan: "What kind of injury did you even get?"
Wen Yifan smiled wryly: "This is just how it is."
The boy before her fell silent again.
Wen Yifan turned a page of her book and said softly, "It's fine, I didn't like dancing that much anyway."
Soon after, from her peripheral vision, Wen Yifan saw Sang Yan reach out and lightly touch the tip of her nose.
She looked up.
Meeting her eyes, Sang Yan tugged at the corner of his mouth: "Your nose grew longer."
"..."
Lying makes your nose grow longer.
Everyone had been fooled by her extremely calm demeanor.
Only Sang Yan saw through her disguise.
"It's okay, we'll just wait a bit longer." Sang Yan half-leaned on her desk, looking up at her. "If it gets better, you can switch back to being an arts student. Look at your grades now—they're a mess. This is a good chance to study more."
Wen Yifan looked at him without speaking.
"If it really doesn't get better, you could probably still dance occasionally, right?"
"..."
"If even that's not possible," Sang Yan laughed, his tone as if coaxing a child, "then I'll learn how to dance and perform for you."
...
Wen Yifan's thoughts were interrupted by Chen Lizhen's words.
Chen Lizhen smiled and regained her composure: "But ultimately it depends on what Xiaoyu herself thinks. Whatever choice she makes, her father and I will support and respect her decision."
Wen Yifan looked at Chen Lizhen again, blinking hard before smiling too.
"Mm, things will definitely get better."After the interview, Wen Yifan accompanied Mu Chengyun to several more locations.
The two managed to return to the studio before four o'clock. Once inside the editing room, Mu Chengyun imported the footage into the system, occasionally asking Wen Yifan a few questions. She answered each one while listening to the recorded audio and drafting the script.
By the time they submitted the final news segment for review, it was already dinner time.
Wen Yifan packed up her things and left the editing room.
Mu Chengyun followed her out and casually asked, "Yifan-jie, are you working overtime tonight? Want to grab dinner together?"
"Yeah, I still have some work left." In truth, Wen Yifan didn’t have much left to do—by all rights, she should be heading home now. But she was afraid of running into Sang Yan if she went back too early. "I won’t eat. You go ahead."
Mu Chengyun scratched his head and said quietly, "I’ve noticed you hardly ever eat dinner. That’s not good for your health."
Wen Yifan smiled. "I know. I’ll eat if I get hungry."
"Should I bring you something back?"
"No need."
"Alright, then." Mu Chengyun didn’t press further and walked back to the office with her. "I’ll just grab something quick from the company cafeteria. I’ll be staying late to finish the script too."
Wen Yifan pulled out her phone and idly scrolled through her messages. "Mm."
She had been busy with work all day, leaving no room for other thoughts. But now that she had a moment to herself, the events of the morning replayed vividly in her mind.
She still hadn’t figured out how to handle the situation when she got home.
But with a day’s buffer, her emotions weren’t as shattered as they had been initially.
Her thoughts cleared slightly, and she began recalling the morning’s events. Gradually, she remembered how, after waking up, Sang Yan had opened his eyes, looked at her for a second, then pulled her back into bed and held her.
She froze.
Suddenly, something about that felt off.
Once the thought took root, the more she dwelled on it, the more unbelievable it seemed.
How could someone wake up to find a person of the opposite sex in their bed and react so calmly—even going back to sleep?
It was one thing not to jolt awake like she had, but to actually pull her closer?
Wen Yifan began questioning reality.
She couldn’t tell whether the problem lay with her or with Sang Yan.
She wanted to ask someone for advice, but the topic felt too awkward to bring up. Even if she framed it as "a friend’s" situation, the other person would immediately assume it was her.
Then there’d be a third person in the world who knew she’d sleepwalked into Sang Yan’s bed.
That she’d done something so shameless.
Abruptly, Wen Yifan remembered the anonymous confession blog she’d seen before.
Hesitantly, she opened Weibo, found the blogger, and slowly typed into the message box. She didn’t dare describe the situation exactly as it happened, afraid that—by some absurd coincidence—Sang Yan might also follow this blogger.
After much deliberation, she changed the premise entirely.
[Anonymous and censored. A while ago, I went out with a group of friends for a gathering. We went to karaoke, booked a private room, and most of us got drunk, so we ended up staying overnight there. When I woke up, I found myself lying next to a male friend, and he was holding me. When I tried to sit up, he woke up, glanced at me—looking pretty out of it—then pulled me back and went back to sleep. My question is: Is this a normal reaction for someone who wakes up to find an unrelated person of the opposite sex next to them?]After typing out the whole story, Wen Yifan read it over again. The two instances of the word "hug" made her feel somewhat uneasy. She hesitated for a long while before finally sending the message.
At the same time, she received a WeChat notification.
Wen Yifan tapped to open it.
It was a message from Sang Yan: [When are you coming back?]
The tone suggested he finally had time to start holding her accountable for the consequences. The mere thought of it gave Wen Yifan a headache. Glancing at the sofa in the break room, she steeled herself and replied: [I still have some work to do today.]
Wen Yifan: [I might not make it back.]
Wen Yifan: [Why don’t you just lock the door?]
Half a minute passed.
Sang Yan: [Wen Yifan]
Then nothing more.
The act of calling her by her full name and saying nothing else was unsettling in an unknown way.
Wen Yifan waited anxiously for five or six minutes.
Then, very slowly, another message came through.
[You should take some responsibility.]
"......"
With Sang Yan putting it like that, Wen Yifan felt her behavior was particularly despicable. Moreover, upon further reflection, she realized she couldn’t just stay at the company forever—sooner or later, she’d have to face the music.
Avoiding it wouldn’t help.
Might as well get it over with sooner rather than later.
After seeing this message, Wen Yifan calmly replied: [Then I’ll try to finish my work early and come back.]
To make her words more credible, she waited an hour after sending the message before leaving the office. The entire way home, she pondered what to say when she got back.
She needed to choose her words carefully.
Just thinking it through in her head wasn’t enough—Wen Yifan decided to prepare thoroughly, afraid she might forget her lines. She took out her phone, opened the notes app, and typed everything out meticulously, as if drafting a script.
By the time Wen Yifan arrived home, she had already prepared a very sincere speech.
She changed into her indoor slippers and glanced around the living room.
Sang Yan was nowhere in sight.
Wen Yifan let out a small sigh of relief and walked over to sit on the sofa. She poured herself a glass of water while keeping an ear out for any movement around her. The sound of running water came from the bathroom.
Ah.
He’s showering.
Wen Yifan took a sip of water to steady her nerves. She turned her phone back on and stared at the carefully crafted words in her notes, silently reciting them a few times in her mind.
The sound of the bathroom door opening made her put her phone down.
The slap of Sang Yan’s slippers against the floor followed.
A moment later, Sang Yan appeared in front of Wen Yifan.
A towel was draped over his head, his upper body bare except for a pair of shorts. His well-built frame revealed clearly defined abs. When he saw Wen Yifan, he didn’t seem the least bit flustered, merely raising an eyebrow. "So you do remember how to come home?"
The sight made Wen Yifan’s head instantly flood with blood.
She averted her eyes abruptly.
All the composure she had built up earlier was completely shattered by his actions. Suppressing her reaction, she reminded him, "Sang Yan, we agreed before. In shared spaces, clothing should not be revealing."
"Oh." Sang Yan grabbed a T-shirt nearby and pulled it on. "Isn’t this me accepting my fate?"
Only when she saw from the corner of her eye that he was fully dressed did Wen Yifan look up. "What?"
This time, Sang Yan didn’t sit in his usual spot but instead took a seat right beside her. Leaning forward to pour himself a glass of water, he drawled, "We’ve already kissed. We’ve already touched. At this point, whether I’m wearing clothes or not in front of you—is there even a difference?"
"......"The distance closed between them.
Wen Yifan instantly caught the scent of sandalwood on him, mixed with a faint trace of alcohol.
She pressed her lips together, forcibly changing the subject. "You've been drinking?"
Sang Yan tilted his head, responding lazily, "Yeah."
"Then I won’t take up too much of your time. Let’s get this matter settled quickly so you can rest sooner." The proximity inexplicably made Wen Yifan nervous, but she met his gaze calmly. "Here’s the thing—after what happened this morning, I realized my sleepwalking doesn’t really have a sense of direction."
Sang Yan’s dark eyes fixed on her intently.
"Blocking the door with a chair isn’t very effective. For now, just remember to lock your door when you sleep." Not wanting him to think she was flustered, she held his gaze. "I’ll also go to the hospital as soon as—"
Before she could finish, Sang Yan suddenly raised his hand.
Watching his movement, Wen Yifan’s words caught in her throat.
His actions seemed to slow down infinitely, his expression indifferent and unhurried. He leisurely brushed his fingers against her cheek—the touch cool against her skin.
Then he withdrew just as quickly.
"You’re blushing."
OpenNovel