Chapter 8: Reunion

Seven years and five months since that fleeting glance after the college entrance exam—when she’d seen him from afar in a sea of faces.

Back then, could she have ever imagined this reunion?

This bittersweet chill—like… an ice cream on a summer night.

“Yu, I’m back.”

Yu Tu stepped out of the lab just shy of midnight. Still early enough, he looked up at the moon—perfectly round, almost unfairly so. Must be the 16th of the lunar month.

His phone, once again, had died. Yu Tu made a firm decision: time to switch to a model with a bigger battery.

Back in his dorm, he plugged it in, rushed straight to the shower, and emerged just in time to see the screen flicker to life. A message popped up behind the unlock screen: *“Yu, I’m back.”*

Yu Tu jumped up, pressed the voice call button—but then hesitated, letting go. It was 0:20. She was probably asleep. His usually straight shoulders sagged slightly as he sank back onto the bed.

Fingers idly spinning in the air, he finally typed:
*“Jingjing, are you asleep?”*

*“Not yet.”*

*“Where are you? I’ll come get you.”*

Two seconds passed. Then a map appeared.

“Wow, that’s kind of far…”

*“Wait for me.”*

Yu Tu sprinted toward the gate, pulling on his coat as the November night bit cold through his clothes. At the entrance, he stood waiting for a ride, the guard peering out several times, concerned.

“You okay?”

“Just picking someone up,” he said, keeping his tone calm.

Finally, the ride arrived. The driver—a wiry guy with nervous eyes—eyed the tall, serious man with obvious hesitation. Only when Yu Tu turned and waved at the guard did he exhale, relieved. *Must be someone important. Government, maybe.*

The car shot down the dark expressway, tires humming. Yu Tu wanted it faster. His phone had died again—but in his head, he counted down: *20 minutes… 15… 5…*

The black car glided into the elegant, well-lit entrance of Binjiang No. 1 Residential Complex.

Yu Tu stepped out. In the shadows just inside the gate, he saw her—slender, tall, a hat pulled low over her head. But beneath it, those eyes—wide, bright, unmistakable. He glanced up at the moon. So round. So perfect.

Residents came to greet guests; the guard didn’t interfere. Yu Tu strode forward, reached out, and caught her hand—tight, warm fingers gripping hers. His were long, steady, warm. Hers were cool.

No words. They moved quickly inward, their silhouettes sliding past rows of lampposts, deeper into the complex, until they reached the last building.

Inside the elevator, Jingjing shifted her right hand. Yu Tu didn’t let go. She sighed, reluctantly raised her left hand, and tapped the code.

*0278.*

She didn’t say anything. But she remembered—she’d changed it today. And she’d never forget. It was his old student ID number.

Silence hung between them again, until the elevator stopped at floor 28. Jingjing gave her hand another little shake. Still, Yu Tu held on.

“Fingerprint,” she teased, voice soft and playful.

“Oh!” He released her, stepping back half a pace, suddenly flustered.

The door slid open. Light spilled out like gold. Their shadows stretched across the threshold. Jingjing tugged him gently inside. The door closed behind them.

In the quiet space by the door, Yu Tu stared at her—the soft fuzz of hair across her forehead, her eyes glowing like stars. His chest burned. He pulled her close, wrapping her in his arms.

Jingjing tried to lift her arms, but he held her too tightly. She squirmed lightly. Yu Tu blinked, confused. Before he could speak, she loosened her grip—then wrapped her arms around his waist instead.

He exhaled deeply, breathing in the warmth of her, burying his face in her long hair. The strands brushed his cheeks, tangled softly against his skin. For a moment, he drifted—remembering some random quote from a dating app he’d skimmed once: *Everyone’s heart is missing a piece…*

Jingjing thought: *So warm. I don’t want to leave. But… why’s my cheek touching something wet and cold?* She glanced sideways—his hair. She reached up, touched it. Wet.

“You ran out with wet hair in the middle of the night?” Yu Tu thought, *What kind of first question is that for a new girlfriend? Shouldn’t it be “I missed you” or something?*

Before he could protest, she yanked him toward a bathroom tucked around the corner.

“Towel’s on the rack. Hairdryer’s in the drawer. Dry your hair before you come out!” Her voice was still sweet, teasing.

Yu Tu stared. Was his IQ dropping? Was being cute contagious?

When he emerged, his hair was dry, face washed. Water droplets clung to his jawline, trembling on the edge of falling. Jingjing murmured under her breath: *“Too unfair.”*

Yu Tu didn’t hear. He was staring at his girlfriend—her pale face, wide eyes, alive and bright, exactly as she’d been at eighteen in the classroom. He struggled to compare her to the ads he’d seen lately. What had they called her? *“Elegant beauty.” “Radiant charm.”* He mentally used the slang he’d picked up from her—*what even is this nonsense?*

They sat together on the couch, not saying much. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window, Shanghai slept—only scattered lights, and distant blinking aircraft beacons above.

A few words. A kiss. On the cheek. On the hair. On a fingertip. On the forehead.

Then, as she started talking again—*“And then I flew off—luckily I reacted fast, struck a super dramatic pose, made the cloak billow—director said, no need to even—um—”*

Yu Tu kissed her. Soft, lingering—tracing the curve of her lips, the peak of her lip, the dimple below. Teeth brushed teeth. Both flinched back. Jingjing buried her head into his chest. He leaned in, pressing forward, until they both sank deep into the plush, wide embrace of the sofa.

The antique clock in the living room chimed softly—*dong*. Two o’clock.

Jingjing pushed up slightly, her hand now resting on his chest. He shifted, sitting upright. Fingers tapped each other.

“It’s too late—I should go home.”

She made a small sound—almost a sigh. “Won’t there be no rides?”

“Probably not,” he said.

The ride-hailing app ticked past two five-minute intervals. Just as he was about to send a third request, Jingjing placed her hand over his.

“How about… we just sleep here for a bit? This couch can hold a person.”

Yu Tu paused. Then, stubbornly, pressed the button again.

“I don’t get it. Even with 80% surge pricing, no one’s picking up. That’s not logical.”

Silence. Then her voice, softer now, hesitant:
“Maybe… because the route’s kind of weird. Not normal…”

From a luxury penthouse on the Pudong waterfront, all the way to a remote research base in Minhang—late at night, 2:30 AM. Even a seasoned driver would think twice.

Yu Tu lowered his phone, deflated. For the first time, he questioned his own sanity.