First Frost

Sang Yan hadn't expected to hear that term from Wen Yifan's mouth again after more than a year. And this time, it had escalated to the level of "redeeming oneself."

He found it absurd, yet somewhat amusing: "What about me?"

Wen Yifan's hands were icy cold from the chill, still touching his face. Her gaze was focused as her fingertips traced from his brows down the side of his face, stopping at the slight dimple near the right corner of his lips.

She froze.

Her eyes followed downward.

"Go on," Sang Yan let her touch him, reaching to hold her other hand, warming it in his grasp. "You want to redeem me, and then what?"

"And then?" Wen Yifan lifted her eyes slowly, staring at his familiar features, voicing her innermost desire with honesty. "Make you mine alone."

Sang Yan's brow arched playfully: "Would you even need to redeem me for that?"

"I do. Because I saw you," Wen Yifan pressed her lips together, complaining softly, "smiling at other girls."

Then, as if justifying for him, she added, "But it must be part of your job... Once I redeem you, you won’t have to do things like that anymore."

"Wen Shuangjiang, who taught you to slander people when you're drunk?" Sang Yan tightened his grip on her hand slightly. "Wasn’t the whole table today just a bunch of guys? Who was I smiling at?"

Wen Yifan shook her head: "Not today."

Sang Yan: "If not today, then when?"

"The first time I went to 'Overtime,'" Wen Yifan spoke slowly, as if recalling, "one night, you smiled at four girls and gave them your contact info."

"..."

Something from so long ago—Sang Yan had no memory of it, but he was absolutely certain he hadn’t done it. He stared straight at her, then resignedly pulled his phone from his pocket: "See for yourself."

Before Wen Yifan could take the phone, the sound of a car approached from behind.

Sang Yan glanced sideways—it was an empty taxi. He shoved the phone into Wen Yifan's hand and flagged it down. Then, he pulled her up, half-carrying her in his arms. "Let's go home."

Wen Yifan held the phone, still calling to him: "Sang Yan."

Sang Yan: "Hmm?"

Wen Yifan was dead serious: "I'm already saving up the money. You can't smile at anyone else."

"..."

Sang Yan met her gaze for a few seconds, realizing there was no reasoning with this drunk. He opened the car door, bundling her inside while reluctantly accepting the blame. "Fine, got it."

After closing the door, Sang Yan walked around to the other side and got in.

He gave the driver their address, then leaned over to fasten Wen Yifan's seatbelt.

Watching his movements and his close-up features, Wen Yifan felt uneasy—both from the unfamiliarity and the dizziness of being drunk. "Why do I have to wear a seatbelt in the back?"

Sang Yan looked up: "You wear it no matter where you sit."

"Oh." As he settled back, Wen Yifan stared at him. "Then why aren’t you wearing yours?"

"I find it uncomfortable."

Wen Yifan nodded again, as if understanding his reasoning. Silence filled the car, but her eyes remained fixed on him. A few seconds later, she asked again, "Then why aren’t you wearing yours?"

"..."

Sang Yan paused for three seconds. Seeing her still watching him, he gave in once more, pulling the seatbelt over himself and buckling up.Seeing this, Wen Yifan finally seemed satisfied. She lowered her gaze, fixing it on Sang Yan's left hand. His sleeve was slightly rolled up, revealing the bracelet she had given him still worn on his left wrist—as if it had never been taken off.

A thin red cord with a small pendant. It didn’t quite match his usual demeanor.

But once he wore it, it somehow seemed fitting.

Wen Yifan reached for his hand, lightly brushing her fingers over it. The image of Su Haoan teasing Sang Yan all night resurfaced in her mind, and for some reason, she felt a little upset. Softly, she murmured, "Won’t people laugh at you for wearing this? Say it looks girly?"

"Hm?" Sang Yan replied lazily, "What’s it got to do with them?"

"..."

"Then why are we leaving so early?" Wen Yifan struggled to gather her thoughts, speaking slowly. "I just heard them say there’s still a wedding prank session later..."

Mimicking her pace, Sang Yan drawled, "Because someone’s drunk."

Hearing this, Wen Yifan studied him. "Are you drunk?"

"..."

"Then I’ll go back and make you some honey water," Wen Yifan, more talkative than usual in her tipsy state, still managed coherent speech. "You should rest early. Don’t you have work tomorrow?"

Sang Yan tilted his head. "What about you?"

Wen Yifan blinked. "I’m off tomorrow."

"Mm." Sang Yan pinched the soft flesh of her palm, his tone casual. "So now that you’re free, you’re trying to keep me busy."

"Well, since I’m planning to redeem you, you’ll have to forget about being the Top Performer." Wen Yifan circled back to this topic, her expression serious. "Doing things for me is only natural."

"..."

Sang Yan had first learned of the "Top Performer" title from Su Haoan. Back then, Su Haoan had somehow gotten wind of it and, feeling indignant, had argued with him over who truly deserved the title on the Street of Vice.

He hadn’t bothered entertaining Su Haoan and had long dismissed the matter.

But Sang Yan never expected.

That very title would become the reason he and Wen Yifan crossed paths again—and that she still seemed hung up on it.

After a long silence.

As if finally unable to hold back, Sang Yan suddenly chuckled. His shoulders shook slightly, his chest rising and falling with laughter before he finally said, "Alright, you’ve got a point."

"..."

"Also, your man here is still pure. I don’t sell my skills or my body—just my talent." Sang Yan dragged out his words, his tone teasing. "So your money won’t go to waste."

Wen Yifan nodded solemnly. "I know."

Sang Yan: "Then hurry up and redeem me, alright?"

Wen Yifan nodded again.

Listening to their conversation, the driver up front looked increasingly bewildered, frequently glancing at them through the rearview mirror. Only when they arrived at the gates of Imperial Capital Flower City and he took the fare from Sang Yan did he finally speak up, unable to hold back: "Miss, you’re such a pretty girl—"

Wen Yifan, who had just stepped out of the car, turned to look at him through the window. "Hm?"

"There’s no need to date a male escort!"

"..."

Sang Yan shut the car door with a faint smirk. "Sir, since when do you sabotage people’s business like this?"

"..."Imperial Capital Flower City had strict property management. Cars without registered license plates had to go through a tedious process of filling out miscellaneous forms to enter, which was quite troublesome. So Sang Yan didn’t have the driver take the car inside and simply stopped at the entrance.

However, after sitting for the entire ride, Wen Yifan seemed even more intoxicated and could barely stand steadily now.

Sang Yan simply carried her on his back.

Wen Yifan rested her chin on his shoulder and looped her arms around his neck. She seemed drowsy but kept mumbling, "So, you must never rely on your looks to get by."

Sang Yan listened quietly.

Wen Yifan: "It’s the most hopeless path."

"Mm," Sang Yan humored her. "No one’s asking you to rely on your looks."

Wen Yifan shook her head: "Someone did."

Hearing this, Sang Yan paused mid-step and turned his head: "Who?"

Wen Yifan seemed about to say something, but when she met his profile, she swallowed her words. She averted her gaze and thought for a moment: "When I was in Yihe, I first interned at a newspaper for over two years before moving to Yihe Broadcasting."

Sang Yan rarely heard her talk about the past and was momentarily stunned.

"I got into one of their flagship news programs through an open recruitment," Wen Yifan said. "I never thought I’d make it because most people who got in had connections. I just wanted to try, so I submitted my resume."

Sang Yan acknowledged: "Then what?"

"Then," Wen Yifan’s expression turned vacant, as if she disliked this memory, "I only found out months later that many people in the team were saying I slept with the director to get in."

"..."

"I didn’t care much about such things. After all, mouths belong to others, and I can’t control them." Wen Yifan continued, "But I never expected that the director actually did want to sleep with me."

Sang Yan stopped walking.

"He said my face could earn me money much faster and easier in other fields than journalism, and he didn’t understand why I was being so prudish. A few nights with him wouldn’t cost me anything." Wen Yifan’s voice trailed off before she added after a long pause, "...I hated that place so much."

Sang Yan coaxed softly, "Mm, then we won’t go back there."

Wen Yifan murmured almost inaudibly, "Why does everyone... say things like that about me?"

Suppressing the fury in his heart to avoid startling her, Sang Yan tried to keep his tone calm: "Because they’re sick."

"..."

"Sang Yan."

"Yeah?"

"Before I returned to Nanwu," Wen Yifan said softly, "I dreamed of you."

"..."

"I dreamed you came to Yihe," she continued, struggling slightly from drowsiness, "with your... your wife. You were there for your honeymoon."

Sang Yan laughed: "What kind of dream was that?"

Wen Yifan: "You were so happy and even smiled while greeting me."

It was strange.

At that time, Wen Yifan hadn’t thought about Sang Yan in a long while.

But after waking up.

She suddenly wanted to return to Nanwu.

She hated Yihe.

And she hated Beiyu.

There wasn’t a single city she liked.

But in that moment.

She thought, at least her father’s grave was in Nanwu.

At least, in Nanwu, there was still one person she longed to see but didn’t dare to.

"Alright," Sang Yan considered for a moment, his tone turning more serious. "Then we’ll go to Yihe for a trip someday too."

"..."Wen Yifan stared blankly at his profile, inexplicably feeling her eyes grow warm. She lowered her gaze, sniffed lightly, and whispered, "Sang Yan, I'm sorry."

"Hmm?" Sang Yan asked, "Sorry for what?"

"I'm too heavy."

"I haven't said anything yet, and you're already calling yourself heavy?" Sang Yan chuckled. "Before apologizing, maybe weigh the actual amount of meat on your bones, alright? Your bones are practically jabbing into me."

Wen Yifan didn’t respond, burying her face into the crook of his neck.

I’m sorry.

Back then, my words were too harsh.

She remained silent, her thoughts drifting as an overwhelming sense of security enveloped her, wholly occupied by the man before her. Her eyelids grew heavy, her mind sluggish, recalling Chen Junwen’s words from the wedding banquet earlier that day.

—"Back then, Fatty was bawling his eyes out, drunk off his ass. He mistook Sang Yan for that girl he chased in college, yelling like an idiot, ‘Wan Lin! Am I just your backup plan?!’ Sang Yan was also wasted, acting just as stupid, repeating his words."

—"Huh? What did Sang Yan say?"

…

She wasn’t sure if she had misheard, imagined it, or if it had truly happened.

But Sang Yan—he wouldn’t say something like that.

He couldn’t have said something like that.

He was someone so, so proud. He should always remain proud.

Unbroken by anything.

So he absolutely couldn’t have been waiting for her all this time.

An overwhelming guilt threatened to crush her.

Wen Yifan didn’t want it to be real. She didn’t think she could bear such treatment.

—What did he say?

She didn’t dare to recall further.

Exhausted beyond measure, she slowly succumbed to the thick veil of sleep, pulled into a dream.

In the dream, a bustling night market unfolded.

A man in a white dress shirt, the top buttons undone and sleeves slightly rolled up, sat amidst the clamor. His dark eyes, hazy with drunkenness, lazily repeated Qian Fei’s words: "Am I just your backup plan?"

Chen Junwen laughed beside him. "Sang Yan, the hell’s gotten into you?"

"Am I your—" As if he hadn’t heard, Sang Yan’s voice was feather-light, "backup plan?"

"…"

Everything around them seemed to fade away.

The lively scene roared on, yet it felt entirely separate from him—as though they existed in two different worlds.

Sang Yan’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, his eyes tinged red from the alcohol. He lowered his gaze, the corner of his lips quirking in self-mockery, his voice hoarse to the point of breaking.

"Backup plan… is fine too."