12,012.

Chen Kuo’s thunderous cough startled those seated in the front rows, prompting them to glance back repeatedly. He was well-mannered, raising his arm to cover his mouth, but his face and neck flushed red from the coughing, looking utterly disheveled.

Zhang Yunyi was taken aback and hurriedly unzipped her backpack to retrieve a tissue, offering it to him with concern. “Are you alright? Are you okay?”

Though his mind hadn’t fully caught up yet, Chen Kuo’s hand instinctively accepted the tissue. The faintly sweet scent of the fruit lingered around his nose, and as he came to, a throbbing pain suddenly pulsed at his temples.

How had this happened again?

How had he run into her again? Was there no end to this?

His throat still felt sore, his voice slightly hoarse. “...I’m fine.”

Yet his hand clenched the tissue tightly, the pressure whitening his knuckles.

Watching a movie was indeed an unplanned arrangement.

Chen Kuo had arranged to meet Wang Xuran not only to exchange study materials but also to play games at an internet café near the mall. They were top students, but seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boys couldn’t be all work and no play.

When it came to games, Fei Shijie rarely joined them.

Fei Shijie was a devoted fan of CrossFire, while Chen Kuo and Wang Xuran bonded over Dota. They planned to rent machines at the internet café for two hours. Unexpectedly, a couple at the neighboring table during dinner had to leave suddenly and generously gifted them two movie tickets. They couldn’t refuse.

Play games or watch a movie?

Chen Kuo didn’t mind either way. After a brief struggle, Wang Xuran decided to go upstairs to the cinema—after all, the tickets were already in hand and paid for by others; they shouldn’t go to waste.

If Chen Kuo had known he would run into Zhang Yunyi in the theater, twenty minutes earlier, he would have chosen without hesitation to play games instead. Now, he was filled with regret—deep regret.

Wang Xuran, curious about the cough, turned to Chen Kuo and asked, “Is she your classmate? What a coincidence.”

Running into a classmate at the movies and even sitting in the same row—what kind of fate was this?

Before the film officially began, Zhang Yunyi took the initiative to greet Wang Xuran. “Yes, we’re classmates, in the same class. Are you here to watch the movie too?”

Jiangzhou was no small city, yet she and the boss had coincidentally met twice after school. How could that not be fate?

“I wasn’t planning on watching,” Wang Xuran was much more enthusiastic than Chen Kuo, leaning over to chat. “We were having dinner when a couple suddenly gave us these tickets.”

“Why have I never been so lucky?” Zhang Yunyi smiled, handing over the popcorn bucket. “This place makes really good caramel popcorn.”

Chen Kuo had already calmed down and replied coolly, “I don’t eat, thanks.”

“He won’t eat, so I will!” Wang Xuran grabbed a handful without hesitation, asking curiously, “Why are you alone?”

Though Zhang Yunyi found watching a movie alone quite normal, she smiled and explained, “I came with a friend for dinner, but he had to leave early. It’s still early anyway, so I thought I’d watch a movie.”

That wasn’t a lie; she wasn’t close to them and didn’t need to explain every detail, especially since it was just a casual question.

“What a coincidence.” Wang Xuran suddenly remembered he hadn’t introduced himself yet. Chewing popcorn, he said, “I’m Wang Xuran—‘Xuran’ as in ‘orderly sequence’—from No. 2 High School. I used to live next door to Chen Kuo and was his elementary school classmate. But my family moved, so I didn’t continue in this district for middle school.”

Zhang Yunyi had met Wang Xuran before—in her previous life.

Though Wang Xuran wasn’t Chen Kuo’s partner, they were very close. She had just joined the company and attended the annual meeting, where Wang Xuran appeared as Chen Kuo’s friend.

Fei Shijie had also mentioned Wang Xuran’s impressive achievements—he had earned a full scholarship to study abroad during university and immediately received an offer from a prestigious university upon his return.

“I’m Zhang Yunyi—‘Zhang’ as in ‘early rising,’ ‘Yun’ as in ‘rhythm,’” Zhang Yunyi smiled gently. “The ‘Yi’ as in ‘suitable’.”

Chen Kuo: “...”

He was right between them, listening to their casual chatter as if they were oblivious to his presence, his ears silently tormented.

“Have some more,” Zhang Yunyi leaned forward, accidentally bumping her leg against Chen Kuo’s without noticing, extending the popcorn to Wang Xuran enthusiastically. “There’s so much I can’t finish. Take more!”

She had bought the largest size for the full movie experience but couldn’t possibly take leftovers home, wishing she could stuff most of it to them.

Wang Xuran, who had complained of being too full half an hour ago, now grabbed handfuls as if starved for generations, eating heartily.

Chen Kuo found himself cornered.

Lowering his gaze, clutching the water bottle tighter, he whispered, “The movie’s about to start.”

Zhang Yunyi sat upright, leaning back, and asked, “You’re not going to eat? It’s really good~”

Chen Kuo shook his head, “No.”

Thankfully, the film’s prelude began just then, and Zhang Yunyi fell silent, fully absorbed in the screen. This kind of commercial film was thrilling and soon engrossed her completely. Gradually, Chen Kuo relaxed too. Glancing down as he pulled his legs in, he noticed her phone screen lighting up repeatedly in her pocket, likely silent to maintain movie etiquette. She hadn’t noticed the incoming calls.

He lowered his voice, “Check your phone.”

Boom—

A spectacular special effect exploded on screen, drowning out Chen Kuo’s quiet voice.

Zhang Yunyi didn’t hear him. She had forgotten whether she’d seen this movie before—it felt familiar but the plot escaped her memory. She decided to watch it as if for the first time, immersing herself fully.

Chen Kuo remained silent. He shouldn’t meddle, but he worried someone might be urgently trying to reach her.

If he hadn’t noticed, it would have been fine.

Zhang Yunyi popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth, fully caught up in the tense atmosphere, holding her breath. At that moment, she felt a poke on her arm. To her right was the aisle; to her left was...

She turned her head in confusion to Chen Kuo, who seemed to be speaking, but she didn’t catch the words. Leaning closer, she listened intently.

The plot on the big screen reached an explosion, flames bursting everywhere.

The dim theater briefly lit up, and Chen Kuo’s eyes caught the delicate, porcelain-like contour of Zhang Yunyi’s ear.

“What?” Zhang Yunyi saw Chen Kuo falling silent again and suddenly realized—oh, he had finished a bottle of water and must be wanting to use the restroom! She tucked in her outstretched leg, made room, and signaled with her eyes, “Go ahead, boss.”

Chen Kuo snapped back to reality. “...”

He looked resigned. “Look at your phone.”

Zhang Yunyi lowered her head, pulled the phone from her pocket, and saw a conspicuous name flashing: Li Jiayue.

After a moment’s thought, she declined the call and sent a message: [Can you calm down first?]

Li Jiayue replied incoherently: [Who is Jingjing? I don’t know her!]

Knowing it was pointless to reason with him, and worried about disturbing others, she promptly stowed her phone back in her bag.

A riveting movie made time fly. When it ended, no one stood up; all patiently awaited the rumored post-credits scene. Sitting in the last row, their location was ideal—no need to queue to exit.

“Zhang Yunyi, how are you getting home?” Wang Xuran asked as they rode the escalator.

“By subway,” Zhang Yunyi said. Though she had some savings, she had spent five hundred today and felt taking a taxi back would be too extravagant. “I take Line 4. What about you?”

Wang Xuran smiled, “I have to transfer twice, but you and Chen Kuo can probably walk part of the way together.”

He lived in another district, but Zhang Yunyi and Chen Kuo lived in the same one.

The nearest subway station to Chen Kuo’s home was also on Line 4.

“Really?” Zhang Yunyi turned sideways, looking up at Chen Kuo, who stood three steps higher. “Class monitor, which station do you get off at?”

Chen Kuo looked down at her and named a station, which he had avoided answering on the bus but saw no need to now.

“Then I’ll get off two stops earlier.” Why hadn’t she noticed before? The class monitor’s home was so close to hers.

“That works. You two can go together,” Wang Xuran said.

Chen Kuo neither agreed nor refused, but Wang Xuran and Zhang Yunyi took it as confirmed. The three descended to the first floor and exited the mall. It was nearly nine o’clock, yet many people still filled the square. Zhang Yunyi thought of Li Jiayue, scanning the crowd but didn’t see him, quietly relieved.

The subway station was very close, just across the street and a hundred or two meters on foot.

Originally, Chen Kuo walked in the middle, but unconsciously, Wang Xuran swapped places with him, engaging Zhang Yunyi in lively discussion about the film’s plot.

Chen Kuo, hands in pockets, fell a few steps behind on the zebra crossing.

Though friends for years, this was the first time Chen Kuo saw Wang Xuran talk so much with a girl, as if a dam had broken.

His gaze shifted from Wang Xuran’s back to the pink pig charm on Zhang Yunyi’s backpack, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I’d give this movie only seven points. The forced elevation of its theme made me uncomfortable—” Wang Xuran was suddenly pushed to the side, startled. “Old Chen, what are you doing?”

Chen Kuo, originally walking behind them, strode up decisively, pushing Wang Xuran aside without explanation, creating distance between him and Zhang Yunyi and interrupting their conversation.

Zhang Yunyi looked at Chen Kuo in surprise.

His expression was unreadable. “Walk faster.”

Wang Xuran was speechless. “Are you in a hurry to be born again or what?”

Zhang Yunyi couldn’t help but smile but followed the boss’s pace, saying, “But we do need to hurry. My mom wants me home before ten. I told her I was out buying study materials.”

“Then—”

Wang Xuran was about to offer her one of the many study books he had bought today, either as a gift or loan, letting her choose freely.

But Chen Kuo, usually silent and low-key, cut in coldly, “I’ll lend you one.”

Wang Xuran: “?”

Was this guy crazy?!