Chapter 12: The Lost Milk Candy

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Time seemed to rewind the moment Xu Yuan saw that scar, pulling her back to a rainy night ten years ago, just as damp as this one.

The floodgates of memory burst open, releasing countless forgotten, blurry fragments that now surged into her mind with unprecedented clarity.

She was eight years old that year, attending a prestigious business banquet with her parents. Uncomfortable with the hollow clinking of glasses and false smiles, she slipped out of the hall and hid in a pavilion in the hotel’s back garden.

The rain poured heavily, exactly like the sound she had heard outside the library window yesterday.

Then, she saw him.

A little boy, barely older than her, soaked through in a small suit, standing alone outside the pavilion in the downpour, letting the cold rain wash over his pale, bloodless face.

On the back of his neck was a bleeding wound; the bright red blood mixed with rainwater, staining the collar of his snow-white shirt.

Yet he did not cry.

He just stood there, like a stubborn little tree, with a nearly numb, hollow gaze staring into the endless darkness ahead.

“You... you’re hurt,” eight-year-old Xu Yuan mustered her courage and stepped out of the pavilion.

The boy ignored her, not even glancing her way.

“If you don’t treat the wound, it’ll get infected,” she said again.

Still, he remained silent.

Seeing him looking so abandoned by the world, her heart contracted painfully. From her pocket, she took out the only strawberry milk candy she had, the one she had been reluctant to eat herself, carefully unwrapped it, stood on tiptoe, and placed it into his palm.

“Here, a candy,” she whispered with her gentlest voice, “If you eat it, the pain will go away.”

The boy’s body stiffened imperceptibly. He lowered his head to look at the pink-and-white candy emitting a sweet scent in his palm. For the first time, a faint light appeared in his once vacant eyes.

The memory ended there.

...

“Hey! Xu Yuan! What are you daydreaming about?”

The impatient voice of the photography club president splashed over her like a bucket of cold water, jolting her from the turbulent memories.

She snapped back to reality and saw everyone ready, casting strange looks her way.

And Jiang Yi was standing right in front of her, his deep black eyes quietly gazing at her with a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

“Not feeling well?” he asked softly.

“No... no,” Xu Yuan’s heart pounded wildly as she instinctively avoided his gaze.

She dared not look at him again.

She feared that if she spoke, her words wouldn’t be about the shooting process but:

Do you remember? That rainy night ten years ago, when you lost a piece of strawberry milk candy.

“Alright, enough dawdling!” The president clapped his hands and began directing, “You two, stand closer! Yes, a little closer! Jiang Yi, you’re tall, put your hand on her shoulder. Xu Yuan, be natural, look at the camera!”

Jiang Yi’s brow twitched ever so slightly but obediently placed his hand gently on Xu Yuan’s shoulder.

Through the thin white shirt, his hand felt slightly cool, and the moment it landed, Xu Yuan’s body shuddered uncontrollably.

Ten years later, for the first time, he touched her again.

“What are you doing?” the president shouted from behind the camera, “Xu Yuan, don’t stand there like a wooden board! Relax! You’re partners, not enemies! Show some chemistry!”

Suppressed laughter rippled around them.

Not far away, Song Shiya sneered openly, whispering to Chen Hao, “See? No matter how hard some people try to get close, they’re just not from the same world.”

Her voice was neither too loud nor too soft, but just enough for Xu Yuan to hear.

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Xu Yuan’s face flushed red, then pale. She knew she was performing terribly, but she couldn’t help it.

Every time she saw Jiang Yi, the image that surfaced in her mind was that drenched, bleeding little boy who stubbornly refused to cry.

That overwhelming tenderness threatened to drown her.

“Look at me.”

Just as she was about to break down, Jiang Yi’s low, emotionless voice echoed beside her.

Xu Yuan stiffened and slowly raised her head to meet his eyes.

What eyes they were.

No longer vacant and numb like the boy in her memories, but calm and deep like the ocean, with a faint spark of pride and strength belonging to a young man.

“Don’t listen to them,” he said, lips barely moving, words meant only for her, “You just need to look at me.”

Boom—!

Xu Yuan’s mind went blank instantly.

Was he... comforting her?

“Yes, yes! That’s the feeling!” The president behind the camera shouted excitedly as if discovering a new world, “Eye contact! Hold it! Smile!”

Xu Yuan instinctively forced a smile at the camera, one more awkward than tears.

Jiang Yi remained expressionless.

But whether it was her imagination or not, she felt his hand on her shoulder wasn’t quite as cold anymore.

The rest of the shoot went surprisingly smoothly.

Xu Yuan no longer paid attention to the gazes around her or the idle chatter. Her world seemed to shrink until only this young man remained.

She looked at him as if trying to see through his cold exterior to that small, lonely soul hiding in the rain.

And Jiang Yi maintained his intense focus, as if the whole world existed only between the two of them.

“Click!”

With the final shutter sound, the president shouted with satisfaction, “Okay! Perfect! Next group!”

Xu Yuan felt as if a great burden had been lifted and exhaled deeply.

Jiang Yi immediately withdrew his hand from her shoulder, stepped back, and reopened the space between them, as if the supportive boy from moments ago had been just her illusion.

“I’m going to change,” he said, then turned toward the dressing room.

Xu Yuan watched his retreating figure, her heart tangled with conflicting emotions.

“Not bad.”

A delicate, clearly hostile voice came from beside her.

She turned to see Song Shiya crossing her arms, walking gracefully toward her.

“I thought you wouldn’t even have the courage to stand next to him,” Song Shiya scrutinized her from head to toe, condescending in her gaze. Her eyes landed on Xu Yuan’s faded denim jeans, and a contemptuous smile curled on her lips.

“Xu Yuan, right?” she began slowly, her sweet voice laced with venom, “I don’t care if you’re here for money or something else, trying desperately to get close to Jiang Yi. Just a word of advice.”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice with a tone of claiming ownership, each word deliberate, “He’s not someone like you to fantasize about. We grew up together—I know him better than you do. He’s just fallen on hard times right now.”

“To someone like you, he’s nothing but a speck of dust in his life. A gust of wind and you’ll be blown away.”

With that, she didn’t glance at Xu Yuan again, turning like a proud swan to join Chen Hao waiting nearby.

Xu Yuan stood rooted, watching her glossy, radiant back, clenching her fists.

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Song Shiya was right.

Xu Yuan and Jiang Yi were truly from different worlds.

What she didn’t know was that even ten years ago on that rainy night, their worlds had already been irreversibly intertwined by a small piece of milk candy.

...

After changing clothes and leaving the gym, it was already four in the afternoon.

Xu Yuan’s first online test shift would start at five.

As she was about to say goodbye to Jiang Yi, he pulled out a stack of printed A4 papers from his laptop bag and handed them to her.

“What’s this?” Xu Yuan asked, puzzled.

“The 'Starlight Cup' project proposal,” Jiang Yi’s tone returned to its usual coldness. “I made some edits and additions. Take a look tonight. Tomorrow morning at eight, the library—we’ll discuss the final version.”

Xu Yuan glanced down and saw that her somewhat naive proposal was covered in dense red notes and technical implementation paths marked by him.

On the last page, he had meticulously reconstructed a grander, more complete worldview for the entire project.

Even in dire straits, this man used his genius mind to deal meticulously with every detail.

“Okay.” Xu Yuan nodded, carefully putting the hefty proposal into her bag.

“Also,” Jiang Yi paused, his gaze scanning her face, finally resting on her slightly red and swollen eyes from a sleepless night, “Don’t dream tonight.”

Xu Yuan’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked up in surprise.

What did he mean?

Was he concerned for her... or warning her about something?

But Jiang Yi gave her no chance to ask, dropping that cryptic sentence before turning and leaving directly.

Xu Yuan stood still, watching his solitary figure disappear into the sunset, her thoughts a tangled mess.

She looked down at the cheapest digital watch on her wrist; less than an hour remained until five.

She sighed and turned toward the familiar, cheapest Lanzhou noodle shop outside the school gate.

She needed to fill her stomach first, then earn that hard-won wage that kept her alive.

Entering the shop, she greeted the owner with ease, “Boss, one bowl of clear soup noodles, no scallions.”

Just as she settled into a corner to wait for her meal, the door opened again.

A familiar yet strange figure entered.

It was Jiang Yi.

He seemed surprised to see her there, his steps faltered just slightly, then he nonchalantly headed to the counter.

“One bowl of clear soup noodles,” he said coolly to the owner.

The owner looked up, glanced at him, then at Xu Yuan in the corner, smiling knowingly, “Alright! Buy one get one free today—two students’ noodles for the price of one!”

Xu Yuan: “...”

Jiang Yi: “...”