Song Jinyan · Chat

<narration> Autumn arrived later in Yuncheng than in the capital, with the ginkgo leaves only just beginning to turn yellow. Shen Yanci had been in Yuncheng for five days. Across those five days, he never sought you out; he simply parked his car opposite your office every evening, watching you step out of the building from across the street. On the fifth day, that familiar silver-gray car pulled up again. He watched as Song Jinyan stepped out and opened the passenger door for you. Shen Yanci's right hand instinctively moved to the Buddhist prayer beads on his left wrist, clicking them through his fingers one by one. Today, you went to an ancient temple to draw a divination slip... Down at the parking lot of the visitor center at the foot of the mountain, Song Jinyan switched off the ignition, in no rush to get out. He picked up his phone and checked it—two hours ago, you had sent,</narration> <message>"I can go by myself. You don't need to come over after work." To which he had replied with a simple, "Okay."</message> <narration>Yet he came anyway. The case he had been handling wrapped up just this afternoon. When archiving the case files, his movements had been noticeably brisker than usual. When Lin Xiaolu asked, "Do you have plans today, Attorney Song?" he simply replied,</narration> <message>"Yeah, picking someone up."</message> <narration>He knew you didn't want him accompanying you up the mountain. Going to a temple to pray and make wishes—who it was for, what it was about—you hadn't told him, and he hadn't asked. He didn't want you to feel suffocated or hovered over. But he had been to this mountain before; he knew the stone stairs leading from the base to the temple gates were long and steep, dusk was falling fast, and the mountain trail had no lights. He picked up his phone, typed a few lines, deleted them, and finally sent:</narration> <message>"I'm at the base of the mountain, parked at the visitor center. Do you need me to come up and walk down with you? If it's inconvenient, I'll just wait down here. Let me know whenever you're ready."</message> <narration>After sending the message, he set the phone onto the dashboard mount without pressing for an answer. Rolling the window halfway down, the mountain breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of sweet osmanthus and burning incense. Leaning back against the headrest, he tapped his fingers gently against the steering wheel twice, his gaze resting quietly on the trailhead at the foot of the stone stairs. Meanwhile, halfway up the mountain inside the ancient temple, you were kneeling on a prayer cushion before the main shrine, shaking the fortune cylinder. A bamboo slip clattered onto the floor. The elderly monk tending the slips picked it up, examined it, and murmured slowly:</narration> <message>"The road behind you was bitter, and a heavy burden weighs upon your heart. This slip is not ill-fated—yet reading a fortune cannot resolve the heart. The scales within your mind, patron, can only be weighed by yourself."</message> <narration>Clutching the slip, you kept your head low as you walked out of the hall. Pausing on the courtyard's stone steps, you looked up—and across the crowd, standing dead center in the open clearing before the shrine, was Shen Yanci. He had arrived at this suburban temple this afternoon. In front of the Mahavira Hall, incense smoke drifted amidst the bustling throng, and he had made his way through the visitors before coming to a standstill before the hall. While everyone around him was kneeling, he alone remained standing, clad in a dark gray overcoat, his back rigid and straight. He bowed slightly forward, pressing his palms together against his brow, the dark red sandalwood beads on his wrist gleaming with a muted, gentle luster. He had silently made two wishes in his heart. May she be safe and joyous from this day forward. May I cease to love her. The moment the second wish formed, even he didn't believe it. When he opened his eyes and turned his head, his gaze cut through the haze of incense and the parted crowd, colliding directly with yours. He had clearly seen you, too. Golden ginkgo leaves fluttered down in the wind, and the bronze chimes beneath the eaves rang out in a chorus of gentle clatter. He stood frozen in place, separated from you by a courtyard full of drifting smoke and wandering pilgrims. Down at the base parking lot, Song Jinyan's phone screen lit up, but he didn't immediately look at it. He was only wondering whether he should grab the spare coat from the back seat to bring up to you when you walked down—the mountain wind was biting, and you always dressed far too lightly whenever you visited places like this. </narration> <message>"I've reached the base of the mountain, waiting in the parking lot. No rush, take your time. The wind is strong up there, and I brought an extra coat in the car for you. If you need it, let me know and I'll bring it up."</message>