As dusk dyed the bluestone slabs of the old alley warm brown, Lin Yan’s car had been parked at the alley entrance for ten minutes. The dashboard light illuminated his tense profile, his left hand repeatedly brushing the texture of the steering wheel—half an hour earlier, he’d just finished a call with Song Xiaoran, saying "team dinner tonight, might be late," yet his wheels had somehow turned into this lane leading to Su Wan’s studio.
Half a month ago, when Su Wan was discharged from the hospital, he’d stood downstairs, watching her being helped into the car by her mother. He’d clearly told himself "it’s time to end this for good," but in these two weeks, the braised pork Song Xiaoran handed him at the dinner table, the picture books Le Le read before bed, had occasionally been interrupte
