Chapter Eighty-One: Zhang Chuang's Invitation

Days drifted by in the cool breeze, and compared to before, my life had become much more fulfilling. Aside from constantly sketching ideas for the future ice cream shop’s interior design, arranging tables and chairs, and pondering decorating styles at home, I’d also jot down bursts of inspiration and creative themes whenever they appeared in my mind.

Sometimes, as I habitually reached into the drawer for a cigarette, I realized there was only one pack left. Yet I still hadn’t received any news about her. As time passed, my longing gradually became a habit; though I felt sorrow, loneliness no longer weighed on me. Perhaps this is how a person changes in love—a transformation, and also a way of protecting one’s own heart.

Getting up early to tidy the apartment had become a habit I was working hard to cultivate. My future life would no longer tolerate my easygoing, careless ways; only by learning to manage myself first could I hope to manage others.

Running, eating, playing piano, singing—only then did my day truly begin. Perhaps it was because Sister Shiyu moved swiftly lately: even before my plans were finalized, she’d already found a place for the shop. This pushed my nerves a little too taut, since I could tell she took my so-called “business venture” very seriously, while I hadn’t even made a proper start, still wandering among fantasies and plans. Maybe I set my own standards too high; just the decoration style alone, I kept redesigning and overturning, wanting it to be heartfelt and meaningful.

During spare moments, I’d visit Zhao Kewen to borrow her computer, searching for the full set of equipment needed for an ice cream shop. I filtered through major websites for cost-effective options, saving the best ones for later. Once Shiyu’s money came through, I’d secure the storefront and then consider the equipment with what remained.

Naturally, these activities didn’t escape Zhao Kewen’s notice—her careless appearance masked a sharp mind. Though I said nothing, her curious glances over my shoulder led to her quick verdict: “Ungrateful!”

“How am I ungrateful? You’re practically a tycoon now, shouldn’t you let us poor folks work a little harder?” I retorted, exasperated, looking at Zhao Kewen who was still in pajamas, face covered with a mask, refusing to meet my gaze.

“If I were really a tycoon, the first thing I’d do is keep you around, make you follow me everywhere carrying my shoes,” she said, sprawling back on her pink bed. “The bar only just reopened, and the income barely exceeds expenses—less than what a regular office lady earns. Tycoon? Please. Maybe one day I’ll marry a rich man instead.”

I admired Kewen for this. The bar’s closure had lasted quite a while, but thanks to her smart promotions and wide social circle, it was already profitable upon reopening—no small feat. She’d mentioned she planned to promote it through commercial performances, targeting campuses and entertainment hubs. I believed the bar’s reputation would soon soar.

I’d grown used to bantering with Zhao Kewen, and over time, it made me genuinely happy. I’d always wondered why her words had to sting, but now I understood: there is a strange pleasure in mocking others, a way to vent and relieve pressure. Of course, this only works with people who can take it—the closer you are, the better it works; with strangers or casual friends, it’s best not to try.

At noon, I’d sit in my little room, smoke a cigarette, and let my thoughts wander—from love to ambition. Sometimes, when they became too muddled, I’d simply nap for a while. No matter how troubled or lost I felt, after waking, all worries seemed distant and faint.

I admit this is a kind of self-anesthesia, a classic A-Q mentality, but so what? Even if you rack your brains, those who are meant to leave will leave, those who are meant to go are already gone. No one is obliged to pay for your pain.

The hardest hours for me were the nights. As I lay down to sleep, I always felt my day had slipped by in vain—no progress, no achievement. In the endless questioning, I sometimes thought my life was nothing but trouble I’d made for myself. All seemed like empty talk, of no use to my real situation.

I’d tried to understand why I felt this way; it was likely the unrest in my heart. Shiyu’s expectations, my own life, all clogged up in this ice cream shop that existed only in dreams. The more anxious I became, the worse it got—a vicious cycle tormenting my days.

But tonight, things seemed different. Just before drifting off, I received a phone call both unexpected and oddly fitting.

“Hello, Brother Chuang?” I glanced at the caller ID.

“Yeah, are you asleep yet? How long has it been? We said we’d go sing and drink together. You’re really unreliable!” Zhang Chuang started complaining as soon as he heard my voice.

Actually, Zhang Chuang and I got along well. He liked folk music, I preferred pop-rock. He’d told me during idle chats at the hospital that he enjoyed a cold beer after work, and though he behaved like a kitten when Li Huixin was around, it didn’t change the fact we were kindred spirits.

“Alright, let me tell you, anyone else calling at this hour, I wouldn’t answer. I’m giving you plenty of face, don’t make me regret it!” I joked back, knowing he liked to wander off-topic as much as I did.

“I’ve got both good and bad drinks, just give me a straight answer—are you coming?” His tone was more irritable than usual.

I held the phone and thought for a moment. So that’s why he suddenly called—he was troubled and needed a not-so-close, not-so-distant friend to vent to.

“Sure, where are you? I’ll grab a cab.”

No matter how close, when a friend’s feeling low, as a man, you need to help them out.

“Next to the hospital where you live, there’s a place called ‘Fragrant For You,’ I’m in the first room on the left after you enter.” He paused, “Hurry up, or I’ll get drunk on my own.”

“Sounds like a hotel. Won’t your girlfriend beat you up when she finds out?” I teased, not just for the sake of it, but to probe if he’d been having trouble with his girl.

“Don’t mention her. Just hearing her name annoys me. I’ll drink first, you hurry up!” He hung up.

Look at that—he wants to be a cop with those weak counter-surveillance skills? Playing games with me? Too naïve. I couldn’t help but smile, then shifted to self-mockery. My girlfriend was missing and I couldn’t even find her, while at least he had someone to quarrel with.

I sighed, got up from bed, threw on a coat, and locked the door behind me.

“Where are you off to in the middle of the night, causing trouble for some poor girl?” Zhao Kewen’s voice sounded behind me just as I stepped outside.

I turned back with an awkward laugh, seeing her sleepy face. “Kewen, how do you pop up everywhere? No need to go to the bar tonight?”

“One look at your sneaky smile and I know you’re off for a romantic encounter.” She perked up, barefoot and swaying her hips as she came over, giving me a once-over with disdain. “Let me warn you, don’t mess with Jingjing. She’s my right-hand woman now. If you cause her trouble, I’ll smack you!”

I stared speechless at her, head slightly raised as she eyed me. Jingjing? Was she dreaming? I didn’t even know who Jingjing was.

“Oh, not Jingjing? Then Jiajia?” She grinned strangely, making me uneasy.

“Kewen, let’s not joke around. I really have something to do. Go back to sleep and lock up, okay?” I finally realized she was just bantering; Jingjing, Jiajia—probably names she’d made up on the spot.

She grabbed my hand, laughing, “I wasn’t going to go, but now that you say it’s important, I have to. How many times have I had to rescue you in the past few months? I just worry that if you go out, someone might mug you again!”

Come on, am I really that pathetic?

But seeing her determination, I had no reason to refuse. Why not? A meal together wouldn’t hurt, and maybe Zhang Chuang could help Kewen out in some way later.

“Alright, go change. Let’s crash the dinner together.” I motioned for her to let go and hurry up; her sexy nightgown was making me blush.

“Oh baby, just a moment.” She let go, stroked my chin, and threw me a flirtatious wink before heading inside to get dressed.

I was left stunned by her teasing—Zhao Kewen was practically a born temptress, with a kind of allure that men couldn’t resist. I wondered what her ex-boyfriend was thinking, to let such a treasure slip away.