Chapter 29 – “That Photo Is… Pure”
1113 Words
Luo Ye preferred high‑speed trains to airplanes. Air travel felt claustrophobic—several hours squeezed into a tiny seat, the pressure almost unbearable. First‑class was an exception, but the price was several times higher; even though Luo Ye could afford it, he didn’t want to spend that much money just to get from point A to point B.
On the high‑speed rail, the scenery rushed past—lakes, viaducts, caves, and mountains blurred together. The trip wasn’t long, but he had skipped dinner on the train, and by the time he stepped off the platform his stomach was growling, his body feeling faint from hunger.
Luo Ye loved wandering, seeing new places, because the more he saw, the richer his stories could become. Even if he could only explore a few spots in Hang City, that would be enough to satisfy him.
Hang City, however, carried a notorious nickname: the “food desert.” It was said that, despite its scenic reputation, the city was hard on one’s palate.
He entered a local restaurant and ordered the flagship dish—West Lake Sweet‑and‑Sour Fish.
When he mentioned the order, the server gave him a peculiar look and whispered, “Handsome, is this your first time in Hang City?”
“Yeah, I just arrived,” Luo Ye replied, puzzled. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” the server said with a sympathetic glance, then left to fetch the dish.
When the plate finally arrived, Luo Ye examined the fish. It looked decent, so he took a tentative bite. Instantly his eyebrows knotted. He didn’t know how to cook, but the fish was downright awful—both unpalatable and absurdly expensive, a full 200 yuan for a single piece. The poor fish stared back at him with a lifeless expression. Luo Ye sighed, poked the fish’s eye with his chopsticks, and muttered, “Poor fellow, you probably never imagined you’d end up like this after you die.”
Even though he despised the dish, he didn’t want to waste the food, so he forced himself to finish it, then went to the cashier. The teenage cashier, noticing his somewhat handsome but naïve demeanor, offered a suggestion:
“If you’re new to Hang City, you should try the street‑side stalls—blue‑soup noodles, river‑caught fish, or, if nothing else, the Sand County (a chain) fare.”
Luo Ye nodded vigorously; the tip was valuable. After leaving, he booked a cheap hotel for the night.
Lying on the hotel bed, he pulled out his phone and opened the chat with Su Bai‑Zhou, planning to ask what she was up to. At that moment, Su Bai‑Zhou had just finished a shower in the faculty apartments. She had already bought a train ticket home for the next morning, so she would not be staying up late tonight. Still, she didn’t really want to go home—her parents’ relationship was poor, her mother was ill and needed care, yet her father never helped. Her mother, once a stunning beauty herself, had left her job because of a male admirer, which only fueled her husband’s baseless suspicion and resulting a***e. When Su Bai‑Zhou’s mother fell ill, her father grew colder, and when rumors about Su Bai‑Zhou herself surfaced in high school, her father said angrily, “You, just like your mother, love to flirt with men.” Those words still stung her.
She tossed a glance at the ceiling, feeling a mix of anxiety and weariness, then a message pinged.
Su Bai‑Zhou: “What am I doing?”
She snapped a photo of the empty ceiling with a solitary lamp—like a tiny sun hanging overhead—and sent it.
Luo Ye stared at the picture, imagined her lying on the bed, phone in hand, and typed back:
Luo Ye: “Senior, I bet you’re lying there on your side, phone in both hands, left leg draped over the right one.”
He sent the message just as Su Bai‑Zhou turned over, actually positioning her left leg over the right.
A notification sounded; she opened the chat.
She blinked, realized that her pose matched his description perfectly. She rolled over again, this time crossing her right leg over the left, and replied:
Su Bai‑Zhou: “You guessed wrong.”
She then attached a photo of her crossed legs to prove him wrong. The image showed a pair of long, white, glossy legs—the skin smooth from a recent shower and the light catching the delicate shape. She was wearing short shorts at home, a rare outfit for her, so the whole length of her legs was exposed.
Moments later she withdrew the picture.
She lay back down, her normally icy expression flushed with embarrassment. She wondered why she’d impulsively sent a photo of her own legs to Luo Ye. She hadn’t meant anything beyond disproving his guess; the thought of him seeing those legs for even a second made her blush. She prayed he hadn’t actually looked.
But if he hadn’t seen it, a tiny pang of regret bubbled up—after all, she had guarded her perfect figure for twenty‑one years, rarely allowing anyone a full view. Even when she went out, she wore trousers or skirts that stopped just above the knee—only a sliver of calf ever showed. She knew she was beautiful, yet she disliked the feeling of being stared at, so she never flaunted her body.
Seeing no reply, she grew a little anxious and sent another message:
Su Bai‑Zhou: “What are you doing?”
Luo Ye finally snapped out of his reverie, hurriedly typed:
Luo Ye: “I didn’t see anything.”
His denial was a thin veil—by denying, he was actually confirming that he had seen it. Su Bai‑Zhou could be sure he had.
She tossed and turned in bed, her head shifting from left to right, unable to settle. The conversation kept flowing, topic after topic, like a river that never stops. Gradually, her mood lightened; the earlier gloom began to dissolve. She no longer felt the weight of returning home. The endless gossip and hostile stares from relatives in her hometown—people who would blame her for everything—kept replaying in her mind when she thought of high school graduation. Those memories were heavy, but as she kept chatting with Luo Ye, a soothing ease settled over her, and the bitterness faded.
End of Chapter 29
- Writer
