Chapter 2

Chen Xian saved the photo to her phone.
She had a separate album called “real lie” where she kept her own photography, images she found online, and screenshots—film reviews, Weibo posts, excerpts from e-books. No folders, no order; everything was jumbled in one “drawer.” When she felt stuck, she would shut herself in and ride a time machine through the past. She kept them for one reason only: “resonance in the moment.”
What kept her going was that resonance—with herself, with others. It mattered.
Chen Xian replied to 2202 with “Thanks,” and added: If you ever need a hand with anything, just ask.
She still didn’t know his name, so she used the room number for now.
Of course he had a WeChat display name: waves.
A quarter of an hour later, he wrote back: Not at the moment.
A bit after that, he amended: Actually, maybe one thing.
Chen Xian checked the time between messages and joked: Your “at the moment” means two minutes?
He didn’t deny it: Maybe.
Chen Xian smiled. She pulled a cushion in front of her as a phone stand: So, what is it?
He sent a screenshot. When she opened it, it was a tea shop’s mini-program. Then he explained: They only deliver if you order two drinks.
Chen Xian said: You look like someone who could drink two in one go.
2202 went quiet.
Chen Xian clarified: I mean—you’re tall and lean. Two cups’ worth of calories wouldn’t make a dent.
2202 saw it differently: If you have two at once, doesn’t it change how the first one tastes? Because you know there’s a second one.
So, mindset affects flavor?
Scarcity makes it sweeter?
Chen Xian rarely thought about it that way. She was almost instantly convinced: Want to do it now?
He replied: Tomorrow’s fine too.
Chen Xian glanced at the almost-empty bottle of water on the table: Let’s do it now.
She used the doodle tool to circle a drink whose name looked halfway decent and sent it back: I’ll have this one.
Then she suggested: You could just go to the shop. That’d solve it.
He wrote: I’m kind of a homebody.
Chen Xian was a little surprised. He didn’t look the “shut-in” type at all. She was curious: So your idea of travel is just staying in, but in a different place?
Him: Yeah. What about you?
Chen Xian said: I made an escape list.
Him: Escape list?
Chen Xian: It’s basically a graduation trip. First time going alone—freer than before—so I’m calling it an “escape list.” Have you seen The Bucket List?
Him: The movie? With the two old guys?
Chen Xian: Yeah. Who knows when I’ll get to run off like this again. If you treat every trip like the last one before you die, you want to do more.
He seemed to get it: So today’s riverfront sunset was item number one.
Chen Xian grinned: Mm. Thanks to you, I got it at eighty percent.
He said: I thought it’d be fifty.
Chen Xian said: No way. Your photo’s gorgeous. Did you use a filter?
He said: No. Straight from the camera.
Chen Xian cheered for no particular reason: Yay, ninety percent now.
…
While 2202 switched away to place the order, the conversation paused. Chen Xian put on a sheet mask, closed her eyes, and almost drifted off until she heard a knock at the door.
She woke with a start, slid on her sandals, and hurried to the entryway.
At the same time, a WeChat message landed as expected: It’s me.
When she opened the door, the guy from 2202 was standing there. He must have showered too; he’d changed into a dark T-shirt. From ramune to Coca-Cola.
Definitely not Coke Zero—because he was smiling.
The bag was sealed. He held it out to her.
Chen Xian took it and peered through the gap: “Haven’t you taken yours yet?”
2202 said: “No. You first.”
Chen Xian set the insulated bag on the entrance console, took out both drinks and a portion of cream, checked the labels and names on each, and was about to put the one that wasn't hers back.
The guy stopped her: "Just hand it to me. You keep the bag—handy for trash."
Chen Xian paused and turned to look at him: "Wow, you really…"
He raised his brows, not following: "What?"
Chen Xian said without thinking: "You must have been raised really well."
"Huh?" His face grew more animated.
So the tub of cream that had been set aside, along with his drink, went into his hands. He thanked her and left.
As she spooned the cream into her paper cup, Chen Xian's mind wandered. Was the boy next door drinking his tea already? Was it the taste he'd hoped for?
After downing half the cup in one go at the table, Chen Xian picked up the bag by her feet and glanced at the receipt, planning to send him her share at full price. In the same moment, she got a small surprise: on the receipt was 2202's surname:
Meng
先生
She suddenly wanted to know his full name.
She took a photo of the receipt, opened WeChat, sent the image, transferred the money, and asked: May I ask your full name?
2202 replied: 孟頔.
Chen Xian paused: That character's pretty uncommon.
A one-second voice message came through:
"頔. 孟頔."
d.
She played it three times. Not because it was unclear—because it was too clear. The enunciation was crisp, unclouded, and the second-tone glide was soft.
Chen Xian introduced herself in return: I'm Chen Xian. Nice to meet you.
2202—no, 孟頔—replied: Same here.
The gloom of missing the sunset had dissolved.
Chen Xian said from the heart: I feel like Jiangcheng's welcoming me now.
孟頔 asked: What's on for tomorrow?
Chen Xian checked the time—almost ten—and said in a rush: I should get to bed.
孟頔: This early?
Chen Xian: Second item on my list: sunrise at East Lake. Third: breakfast in Jiangcheng. Both need an early start.
A short lull in the chat.
孟頔 asked: Can I come?
Chen Xian stalled.
He might have sensed it was forward. He added quickly: It's fine if you say no.
Chen Xian didn't want to—and couldn't be bothered—to give herself more time to weigh it. She went only by what she knew so far and named a few possible "force majeure" cases: I'm worried you won't get up.
She added: You don't sleep that well, right? And you just had tea.
孟頔 pointed out calmly: So did you.
Chen Xian: I'm immune to caffeine.
孟頔: I can stay up.
Chen Xian smiled: You really don't have to.
孟頔 sent the sunset photo again: When I opened the curtains today, it hit me that shutting myself in every hour of every day wasn't much fun.
Chen Xian stopped overthinking and said simply: Then let's go. Four a.m. wake-up, though.
孟頔: Alarm's set.
Chen Xian: Summer sunrises are early. If you can't get up, I won't wait.
孟頔: Okay.
After saying goodnight, she had no idea if the guy next door could sleep, but she lay awake for a while.
Tossing and turning with the blanket, she scrolled back through her chat with 孟頔 and couldn't help smiling. How strange life was—her escape list had suddenly gained someone to share it with.
She looked up the meaning of 頔. Surprisingly simple: two words. 美好.
So what do you call it when two people run away together? The search results gave her two words as well: 私奔.