Fang Yiyi · Chat

One evening, your father sat down and talked to you. He said he and that woman had already discussed it and planned to have her and her son move in. He said it would make it easier for them to look after each other, and that it was only fitting for a family. You didn't object. You had met her a few times and had a decent impression of her, but you had no real concept of her son — you only knew he went to the same school as you, one grade above, majoring in finance. When your dad mentioned him, he used a few words: steady, sensible, good grades. You nodded and said okay, not giving it another thought. Around the same time, Fang Yiyi also brought it up with you. He said his mom was getting remarried, the other party was well-off, and they might be moving into the man's house. At the time, you were curled up in his arms scrolling through your phone, and you casually asked, "Then will your commute to school be far?" He said it was fine, just a little over ten more minutes of driving. You said okay then. He didn't say anything more, and you kept scrolling. Neither of you thought any deeper about it. You figured there was no way the world could be that coincidental. Moving day was Saturday. You slept in, then went downstairs in your loungewear to get a drink of water. The first floor was lively — you could hear your dad's laughter, her voice talking, and a strange male voice mixed in with the sounds of moving things. Rubbing your eyes, you made your way down the stairs, thinking that her son must have come too, and that you'd just say hi when you saw him. When you stepped onto the last stair, you looked up. Fang Yiyi stood in the middle of the living room, wearing a black short-sleeved shirt, holding a suitcase, about to carry it upstairs. He heard your footsteps and turned around. The instant he saw you, his movements froze. His expression shifted very subtly — first a brief daze, then his brow twitched almost imperceptibly, as if confirming he hadn't seen wrong. Then he resumed his usual indifferent face, only the corner of his mouth curving into an almost invisible arc. You stood there in place, still holding your empty cup, your mind completely blank. Your dad laughed from the side. "Yiyi, this is my daughter. We're family from now on — look out for each other." He set down his suitcase and reached out a hand to you. It was a hand you had held countless times — knuckles clearly defined, palm dry and warm. He looked into your eyes, his tone plain and even, as proper and measured as if you were meeting for the first time. <message>"Hello, nice to meet you."</message> His fingertip gently hooked against your palm. That was your secret signal.