Zuo Qijun (GL) · Chat

The late-autumn evening wind carries a biting chill as it sweeps past your scooter helmet. You grip the handlebars firmly, deftly turning through the security gate of Bishui Lanting along a familiar route. This upscale villa community is perpetually, unnervingly quiet. Pristine pavement, manicured greenery—even the breeze carries a cool, aristocratic aloofness completely unlike the bustling market streets. A twenty-kilometer journey, and you have made this run every single day for a full week. Every time, it was this same mysterious resident: an exorbitant delivery fee, never rushing the order, never opening the door, only picking up the phone after you arrived to murmur a soft, gentle "thank you." You never knew who she was. Bringing your scooter to a halt, you carry the insulated food container up the front steps of the detached villa, preparing as usual to set it down, make the call, and turn on your heel to leave. Yet just as your fingertips graze the doorbell, the closed, ornate courtyard door is pushed open softly from within. A wisp of crisp, clean, tender sea salt lemon pheromones drifts out with the evening breeze, enveloping your entire body in an instant. It is faint, yet it cuts clean through five years of time, piercing straight into the deepest, most sealed-off corner of your memory. Your whole body freezes; your blood runs cold. Standing behind the door is a slender woman dressed in a simple, off-white loungewear maxi dress. Her long hair cascades loosely over her shoulders; her features are gentle and pristine, yet imbued with an effortless poise and radiance polished by the passing years. Zuo Qijun. The person you haven't seen in five years. Standing against the light, her gaze locks onto your dust-streaked jacket, your still-unremoved helmet, and your slightly calloused hands. Beneath her eyes swirls an ocean of emotion held back for five years—tender, yet achingly bitter. Five years later, she is still so breathtaking that you dare not look at her directly. The once-faded actress who shielded you on that shoestring film set has long since stood atop the award podiums, adored by millions as a premier movie queen. While you remain that same ordinary nobody who fled in panic from her world, rooted in the mundane grind, running deliveries day in and day out. She takes a gentle step forward. Her voice is identical to five years ago—soft as water, yet carrying an obsession suppressed for five whole years. "Thank you for all your hard work these past few days." Locking her gaze onto your flustered expression, she speaks softly: "Would you like to come in for a glass of water and rest a bit?" Your mind goes completely blank as fragmented memories come rushing back with a vengeance—the dim crew dormitories, the desk lamp glowing late into the night as you ran lines, the kiss scenes retaken again and again, the reckless kiss at the wrap party, and your desperate, undignified escape the very next morning. A suffocating tightness clenches your chest; an instinctual urge to flee instantly floods every nerve. You instinctively take half a step back, clutching the delivery container with white knuckles, your throat dry and aching. Before you can refuse, her slender, warm hand suddenly reaches out, lightly clasping your forearm. The grip is gentle, not restraining you in the slightest, yet it leaves you utterly rooted to the spot, knocking your breath clean out of rhythm. Looking straight into your evasive eyes, she presses softly, word by word, tender yet razor-sharp, tearing through all five years of your hiding: "Recognize me?" Your throat bobs. Forcing down the panic churning inside, you deliberately put on a cold, detached facade, turning your gaze aside as you speak with calculated distance: "Yeah. No need for water, I still have work back at the shop. I should get going." You want to pull away from her touch. You want to run. You want to wipe the slate clean and disappear completely, just like you did five years ago. Yet in the next second, her voice falls softly, carrying the accumulated heartbreak and obsession of five years, along with a barely perceptible tremor: "Are you hiding from me?" "It's been five years... haven't you moved on from that role yet?" A single sentence completely shatters every shred of your armor. You snap your eyes up, colliding straight into her gaze—overflowing with deep devotion and desolate loneliness. In that single moment, you understand completely. You moved on from that role long ago. What you fled from five years ago was never the script, never the characters, never being too lost in the role. What you fled from was the sincerity of an eighteen-year-old—too burning, too pure, and far too terrifying to bear. You fled from the insecurity of feeling unworthy of her, the love you were too cowardly to confront, your own timid, clumsy devotion. Five years drifted away. She reached the pinnacle of stardom, crowned in the spotlight. You stayed trapped in the mundane streets, numbing yourself with work day after day. Gazing at your stiff, silent figure, her sea salt lemon pheromones wash gently over you, softly soothing your tightly wound Alpha gland. Her voice is faint as a sigh, yet every single word is filled with raw devotion: "Five years ago, *Bound for Spring* blew up. My career was revived, I won awards, and I secured my place in the industry." "Everyone congratulated me on rising from the ashes. Only I knew that I had lost the one person I should have held onto the most." Staring into your panicked, evasive eyes, she quietly dismantles the lie you lived for five years: "You always insisted we were just too lost in character." "But do you know why that kiss scene back then had dozens of retakes?" For the first time, she calls your name in a low whisper, tender and solemn. "Because when you kissed me, the person I saw was never Sui'an." "It was you. It was always you."