Three Parts Attachment

Six Years of Separation

Six years had passed since Shen Zhi last saw An Shu. In those six years, she had thrown herself into the entertainment industry, determined to make a name for herself.

Yet not only had she failed to achieve fame—she had somehow become public enemy number one.

Well, she thought bitterly, at least An Shu probably doesn’t pay attention to celebrity gossip.

But now, he didn’t need to follow the tabloids to witness her humiliation. He was standing right in front of her, watching as she crouched in the dirt like some abandoned stray.

"Xiao Jie," An Shu called out, using the old nickname that instantly transported her back to their past.

When she didn’t respond, his brow furrowed—then, as if remembering something, it smoothed out. "Are you okay?"

That single word—Xiao Jie—flung her straight into a memory from six years ago. A camping trip where he’d driven off without her, leaving her stranded by the roadside.

Back then, she had been angry, refusing to listen to his explanations no matter how much he tried. She sulked for hours until he finally walked over and asked, "Has our young mistress cooled off yet?"

"An Shu?" She pretended to only just recognize him, though she had already relived the memory in her mind. Why the act? Maybe it was the awkwardness of seeing an ex—especially this ex.

The one she had never truly forgotten.

"It’s me." He didn’t seem to notice her pretense, closing the distance between them in long strides.

"Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?"

They spoke at the same time, the synchronicity underscoring the awkwardness of their reunion.

Shen Zhi hadn’t yet adjusted to seeing him again, and her tone slipped into the same spoiled cadence she’d used when they were together. "What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"And why weren’t you waiting at the station?"

"Huh?"

"I was supposed to pick you up. I waited, but you never showed."

Shen Zhi’s eyes widened. Oh.

"Wait—are you the program’s contact person?"

"No." His voice was low. "I’m in charge of this area."

She tilted her head slightly, confused, but An Shu ignored it and reached out to help her up. The moment his hand touched her arm, she tensed.

The desert nights were cold, the wind biting—yet An Shu’s skin felt scalding against hers.

Distracted, she lost her balance and nearly toppled over again.

An Shu’s lips twitched, equal parts exasperated and amused.

"My legs are numb from crouching," she muttered defensively.

"Mm. Can you walk?"

"I— Yes." Instinct told her to say no, but pride made her lie.

An Shu saw right through her. Without another word, he steadied her and guided her toward the camp—but her legs were still weak, her steps painfully slow.

Finally, he exhaled and scooped her up into his arms.

"Ah! "What are you doing?" she yelped.

"You’re too slow."

"But why are you carrying me?" It had been years since they’d last seen each other, and now here he was, holding her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

His black windbreaker was rough under her fingers, but beneath it, she could feel the hard planes of his body. He wasn’t the lanky boy she remembered—he was broader now, stronger.

Does the desert have some kind of bodybuilding effect? Her thoughts spiraled as he carried her, her mind wandering until—

"Hey! "Why are you still holding me?" she demanded after a dozen steps. "What’s wrong with you?"

"What’s our relationship now?"

"None."

"..." His blunt reply knocked the breath out of her.

"If we have no relationship, then you shouldn’t be doing this!"

"But you’re too slow."

"I told you, my legs are numb!" She squirmed, and An Shu obediently set her down—only for her to continue shuffling forward at a snail’s pace.

His gaze dropped to her flimsy sundress, the bright yellow fabric stark against the barren landscape. Something flickered in his expression before he strode ahead and crouched in front of her.

"What now?" she grumbled.

"Get on." His voice was as curt as ever, but there was a new weight to it—maturity that hadn’t been there before.

When she hesitated, he added, softer this time, "If you don’t want me to carry you, then let me carry you on my back. Unless you’d rather stay out here all night?"

For some reason, his calm tone made her chest tighten. She bit her lip before murmuring, "... Fine."

Then she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he stood effortlessly. His strides were steady, his back warm against the chill wind.

For the first time since arriving, Shen Zhi finally had a chance to take in her surroundings. The poplar trees stood tall and unyielding in the distance—much like the man carrying her.

"Why did you come here?" An Shu asked abruptly.

"For the show," she answered automatically.

"That’s not what I meant. "Why did you agree to come to the northwest?"

"I..." The question caught her off guard. Their breakup had been abrupt, messy—no grand fight, just silence and deleted contacts. A year later, she’d heard through classmates that he’d left school and vanished into the desert. She hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t let herself react.

She had thrown herself into acting instead, telling herself she didn’t care anymore.

But now, faced with his directness, she couldn’t answer.

Silence stretched between them until, a minute later, she whispered, "Do you... not watch TV?"

What she really meant was: Did you ever look for me?

But An Shu didn’t reply. Instead, he said, "We’re here."

"Huh?"

"We can drive the rest of the way."

She lifted her head—and there it was. A battered black jeep, its paint chipped from desert winds.

Shen Zhi moved toward the back seat, only to find it piled with supplies. After a beat of hesitation, she slid into the passenger side instead.

An Shu didn’t speak during the drive. Had he even heard her question? She lacked the courage to ask again.

Exhaustion hit her like a wave. Within minutes, she was asleep against the window.

When they arrived, An Shu turned to wake her—only to pause at the sight of her peaceful expression.

For a moment, he simply watched her. Then, remembering her earlier protests, he said quietly, "We’re here."

Shen Zhi barely stirred. "Mnn... "Carry me," she mumbled, half-asleep.

"..."

Wordlessly, he opened the door and lifted her into his arms again.

Dawn had broken by the time they reached the camp, the crew already milling about.

"Whoa!" someone crowed. "Captain An, who’s that?"

The voice jolted Shen Zhi awake. "Huh? Are we here?"

An Shu’s jaw tightened. "Yes."

"Then put me down." She slid out of his hold, her legs still unsteady.

The camp sprawled before her, unfamiliar and overwhelming.

An Shu stepped behind her. "I was supposed to bring you to the director."

"...Right."

The director—a man she didn’t recognize—apologized for the delayed pickup. Shen Zhi nodded absently, her attention already shifting to more pressing matters.

"Where am I staying?"

The assistant led her to her quarters. The moment she stepped inside, her face fell.

She had braced herself for rough conditions, but this? The room was barren, not even comparable to the cheapest on-location trailers she’d stayed in during filming.

"Ms. Shen, you can rest here for now," the assistant said cheerfully. "Let me know if you need anything!"

Shen Zhi managed a stiff "Thanks" before the door closed.

Normally, she would’ve complained. But right now, she was too tired to care.

She collapsed onto the bed without another thought.

Outside her door, An Shu lingered—until a teammate clapped him on the shoulder.

"Captain An, what’re you staring at?"