Chapter 1

Chen Xian reached Jiangcheng before sunset.
She got off at the high-speed rail station and hailed a cab. The driver said a few things to her in dialect; she could only catch half of it, something about taking the elevated road. She was new in town and simply went along with it.
By the time they arrived, she strongly suspected she had been overcharged—the ride was short, yet the fare came to forty yuan.
After signing in at the gate with her name and number, she entered the compound.
It was a stand-alone apartment building in the center of Jiangcheng, close to the riverfront, with a metro stop right outside. Most units were seldom lived in year-round; owners often ran them as short-term rentals. The room Chen Xian had booked was on a floor above twenty, with a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. The interior was done in the popular cream-toned style—simple, bright, and airy—good enough to rent out as a photo studio.
In forty-degree heat, hauling her suitcase all the way, she was already drenched in sweat. Only when she stepped into the elevator did she feel like she had gotten half her life back.
She pulled out her phone from her pocket, glanced at the screen, and put it away again.
The timing was just right.
A quick tidy-up upstairs, then drawing the blinds—she would have a full view of the river at dusk.
A soft ding; the elevator’s motion cut off her daydream. She stepped out, looked left and right, then followed the signs into the hallway. In her head she kept repeating “two… two… zero… three” as she searched for her room.
…All the way to the end of the corridor.
Chen Xian stopped at the door and took out her phone again to find the code the host had sent her.
She had expected to be inside in ten seconds, AC on and able to catch her breath. Instead, she ran into trouble at the keypad.
She tapped the keypad several times. Nothing. The digits never lit; the panel stayed dark and unresponsive.
She pressed harder. Still nothing.
She tried a different way. Same result.
Chen Xian was at a loss.
The narrow hallway was stifling. She sent the host a voice message about the situation, her tone not exactly cheerful. The host was at least responsible and called back right away.
Polite and apologetic, the host said, “The code worked when I set it this morning. Maybe it’s the heat—sometimes it acts up. Try again.”
Chen Xian leaned against the door. “I’ve tried a hundred times.”
The host stopped suggesting. “I’ll be there soon.”
“How soon?” Chen Xian asked.
“It’s rush hour. I’ll do my best to get there within half an hour.”
Chen Xian wanted to scream, but there was nothing else to do. She resigned herself with a quiet, “Okay.”
The corridor fell quiet. She went a few more rounds with the dead keypad, then gave up.
She re-tied her hair. The strands at her temples were damp and stuck to her skin; she pushed them back. Her whole face, now exposed, was red and hot.
She skimmed WeChat for a bit, muted a few noisy groups, and started taking in her surroundings.
Two doors flanked hers, one on each side. 2204 was silent. 2202 seemed occupied; music drifted out, too faint to make out.
Chen Xian sat on her suitcase. Her patience was running out. She messaged the host again: Where are you?
The host sent a location pin and a “facepalm” emoji: Doing my best.
She opened it, then checked the map. That stretch of road was red—bad traffic.
She swallowed the urge to curse.
Sweat was rolling down her cheeks. She took off her backpack and dug for a pack of tissues. Right then, the door of 2202 in front of her moved. It was pulled open from the inside.
Like opening a tin.
The music she had only partly heard grew louder and clearer, spilling out unchecked into the hallway.
The person inside froze.
So did the person outside.
In front of Chen Xian stood a very tall young man. He wore an oversize white T-shirt and loose black shorts that reached his knees, but they didn’t hide his lean, long build. His face was angular, his thick eyebrows partly hidden under his fringe, slightly weighing on his eyes—a mix of gentle and sharp.
His hand stayed on the door handle for a long moment. He clearly hadn’t expected someone standing right there and needed a second to process it.
Chen Xian clutched the tissues, stood up at once, and pulled her suitcase aside to make way.
She felt a little disheveled—and of all times, in front of a good-looking guy.
She stopped to the side and glanced at him, as if to say you can pass.
As he walked by, he gave a slight, polite nod. She nodded back. Neither spoke.
When he was gone, she quickly wiped her sweat and fixed her hair. She was pretty sure her makeup had already melted.
A few minutes later, the elevator chimed. Chen Xian straightened up and followed him with her gaze as he came back. He was carrying a paper bag in one hand—takeout. The building had strict rules; delivery wasn’t allowed upstairs. The guard had made that clear.
He looked at her again.
She looked at him.
Perhaps guessing why she was there, he paused this time and asked, “Do you need help?”
He wasn’t from around here; no local accent. His tone held a touch of hesitation and reserve.
Chen Xian paused, then shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”
He didn’t press. He turned to go in, but instead of closing the door, he left it wide open.
Cool air drifted out, as if laying a small patch of shade in the doorway.
Chen Xian understood at once and, a little surprised, glanced inside. The guy had just washed his hands and emerged from the bathroom, coming back into her limited view.
She raised her voice slightly: “You don’t have to keep the door open, really—”
He stopped and tilted his eyes toward her: “It’s too hot.”
Chen Xian said nothing. After a moment she added, “Thanks.”
He switched off the Bluetooth speaker, took a can of cola from the paper bag, popped the tab one-handed, and took a sip. “Just get to Jiangcheng?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Chen Xian said. “Jiangcheng doesn’t seem to like me much—starting with that password lock.”
He laughed.
Ramune.
The image hit her at once. Ever had ramune? The marble drops in with a clink, and the clear liquid in the bottle wakes up, fizzing, bubbles surging up in great swells, one by one, a whole galaxy inside the glass.
His laugh felt like that—something sharp and bright, cool and clear.
“You’ve been in touch with the host?” he asked, more serious now.
Chen Xian waved her phone. “Yeah. Traffic’s bad; he should be here soon.”
A short silence.
It felt awkward for no reason, and yet letting it go cold seemed wrong. Chen Xian scrambled for something to say: “Are you in Jiangcheng for a trip too?”
“Yeah. I got here last week,” he said.
“How’s it been, staying here?”
“The place is nice. It’s just that ambulances and motorbikes go by at night. I don’t sleep that well.”
They were a bit apart, so they both raised their voices without thinking.
The light inside was shifting.
Chen Xian noticed the orange-red block by the table fading from strong to soft: “Is the sun about to set?”
He lifted his gaze and looked into the distance: “Yeah. Almost seven.”
“Can you really see the whole riverfront from here?” Chen Xian asked.
He stood up: “I’ll go check.”
Chen Xian was taken aback: “You don’t even know?”
“It’s been too hot. I haven’t opened the curtains since I got here,” he said.
Chen Xian gave him a look that said what a waste.
He responded with a puzzled smile: “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Chen Xian didn’t explain, only said with regret: “I thought I’d catch today’s sunset over the river.”
He moved out of her line of sight: “You can tomorrow.”
There was the sound of a curtain being drawn. Chen Xian wasn’t convinced: “But that would be tomorrow’s.”
No more sound from inside the room.
Right then her phone buzzed. A local number—the host, finally, like a late-arriving savior.
He had brought a repairman. They quickly tracked down why the keypad had failed, replaced the battery, and apologized more than once.
Chen Xian didn’t make a fuss. However much she regretted it, however much she resented it, she couldn’t get that sunset back. The first item on her escape plan was already off the table. She didn’t want to pile on more frustration—for him or for herself.
The door opened without a hitch. Chen Xian didn’t rush in. She leaned in to find him, wanting to thank him again.
He noticed, came over, and said it was nothing.
Chen Xian said, “I’ll head in, then.”
He called her back. His brow furrowed slightly, as if uneasy. After a pause he asked, “Can I add you on WeChat?”
Chen Xian stopped.
The host’s face lit up with the look of someone enjoying the show.
“Sure,” Chen Xian said. Her heart beat a little faster. She nodded, trying to seem casual.
They exchanged WeChat.
The short-term rental’s door faced the floor-to-ceiling window. The moment she stepped in, the sky met her—a gradient of soft blue and purple, touched with a hint of rouge. Even though she was late, the sky had still kept a little warmth for her.
Turning on the AC was the top priority; a shower came second. Once she’d finished unpacking, Chen Xian finally had time to collapse on the sofa and check her messages.
An unfamiliar avatar sat at the top.
She blinked, then realized it was the friendly guy next door. She opened the chat and froze. There was a photo. She zoomed in.
Chen Xian didn’t move for a long moment.
Goosebumps.
The photo showed the riverfront and the buildings in the slanting sun. It matched everything she had pictured: above the forest of steel, an orange sea, a rose‑gold sun embedded in it—so beautiful it was hard to put into words.
He had left one line: "You missed the sunset—I took a photo of it for you."