29. The Date (Part Two)

Inside the dessert shop, Chen Ruowen poked at her ice cream, staring at Bai Jinyan across the table. Ever since they’d left the cinema, he hadn’t said a word—after finding her a dessert spot, he sat opposite her in silence, pulling out his phone and tapping away at the screen.

Chen Ruowen sat idly for half an hour, polishing off two cakes and four scoops of ice cream, before she finally couldn’t take it anymore and leaned over to Bai Jinyan’s side, only to discover that—

He was writing a film review again.

Chen Ruowen waited another ten minutes or so before Bai Jinyan finally finished and posted his review on a well-known movie forum. Then, without missing a beat, he shared his own article to his social media feed.

Was this guy just trying to scam for clicks like this?

Seeing Bai Jinyan done, Chen Ruowen naturally snatched his phone and tapped on the link. She wanted to see what exactly he’d written.

Bai Jinyan wasn’t the least bit annoyed at having his phone taken away—he seemed long accustomed to Chen Ruowen’s domineering ways. He only leaned in a bit closer, reading his newly written article alongside her.

Yes, it was as enjoyable as ever, no matter how many times he read it.

Chen Ruowen returned to Bai Jinyan’s social feed and gave a snort. “Funny how you never write reviews for my family’s films.”

Bai Jinyan shook his head.

“Most domestic films are just for entertainment. There have been far too few good ones in recent years.”

Chen Ruowen raised an eyebrow. So, was he taking a jab at her family’s movies, calling them trash in a roundabout way?

Besides, movies were meant to entertain—just because Bai Jinyan liked those steel giants saving and destroying the world didn’t mean they weren’t entertainment, too. What, only men’s entertainment didn’t count as entertainment?

Sensing Chen Ruowen’s displeasure, Bai Jinyan smiled and relented, “Alright, I promise you: if you ever act in a film, no matter what kind, I’ll write a review for you. And if you ever collaborate with international directors like Bergetron, I’ll write an entire book analyzing your character—how’s that?”

Chen Ruowen huffed. He knew perfectly well she’d never stoop to acting in a film—what was the point of saying that?

“Ding!”

A message popped up on Bai Jinyan’s phone. Chen Ruowen casually tapped it open, only to see the first comment on Bai Jinyan’s shared post was from someone labeled “Li Yun.”

“Didn’t you say you’d be studying at home today? Why did you go to the movies?”

What was with this comment? Chen Ruowen pointed at the unfamiliar avatar, her tone sharp as she looked at Bai Jinyan.

“And who’s this Li Yun? How come I don’t know her?”

Bai Jinyan looked exasperated.

“She’s our classmate—hard to believe you don’t remember. She’s the one who always comes to me with questions.”

Chen Ruowen had never bothered to get to know those so-called classmates at No. 1 High, except for Ma Yunan, who hovered around them, and Yan Lunkai, the school genius Bai Jinyan constantly mentioned—she could barely recall any of the others.

Thinking back to classmates she hadn’t seen in over a month, Chen Ruowen finally dredged up from memory a girl who’d once tried to use her as an excuse to ask Bai Jinyan out to dinner.

“Oh, the one who isn’t much to look at?”

Bai Jinyan: “...”

How was he supposed to answer that?

Was there anyone in your eyes who wasn’t ugly?

“So what does her comment mean? Was she asking you to the movies?”

Chen Ruowen cut right to the heart of the matter.

“Uh... she said she just happened to have two movie tickets...”

“Just happened?” Chen Ruowen’s tone was dangerous.

“I told her I’d be studying at home today.”

Bai Jinyan wisely highlighted another key point for Chen Ruowen.

“Hmph!”

She shot him a glare, then yanked him over, raised his phone, and snapped four or five selfies of them together, picking the one she liked best and promptly posting it to his feed.

Using Bai Jinyan’s account.

In the photo, Chen Ruowen had her arm looped around Bai Jinyan’s, half-leaning on his shoulder, beaming at the camera. Bai Jinyan’s gaze was on her face, gentle and resigned.

“This one stays—delete it and we’re done,” Chen Ruowen declared, tossing his phone back and pulling him up from the table.

“Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”

“Starving?” Bai Jinyan eyed the pile of empty dessert plates she’d just demolished, then slipped his phone into his pocket, ignoring the flood of message notifications.

“It’s getting late. I’ll take you home.”

Chen Ruowen glanced at her watch—the hour hand was squarely on six, and dusk had just settled outside. She stared at Bai Jinyan in disbelief: he wanted to send her home at six?

“My dad messaged me this morning, told me not to get home too late,” Bai Jinyan explained.

“But I haven’t had dinner!”

He called for the bill and ushered her out of the shop.

“Next time.”

But how could dinner wait for next time? A person can’t step into the same river twice—if dinner is postponed, is it still today’s meal?

“You always say next time, but every next time is just like today—a mere ornament trailing after you, going wherever you say, doing whatever you want.”

Thinking of how passive she’d been all day, Chen Ruowen couldn’t help feeling irritated.

Bai Jinyan’s steps suddenly halted. He turned to look at her, and for a moment, his expression was filled with emotions she couldn’t begin to understand.

“I’ve never asked you to like the things I like. I told you clearly what we’d be doing before we went out, and you agreed.”

“So you’re saying this is all my own doing? I skipped work, missed a perfectly good banquet, rushed overnight to Nancheng just to be your accessory...”

Chen Ruowen let out a cold laugh.

“I really did this to myself.”

“That’s not what I meant...” Bai Jinyan tried to explain, but Chen Ruowen didn’t waste another word, shaking off his hand and striding away so resolutely that Bai Jinyan had to take several quick steps to catch her wrist.

“Where are you going?”

“I told you—I’m hungry. I’m going to eat.”

“Ruowen—”

She pulled free, her face expressionless.

“I don’t need your company. I don’t want to see you right now. Please get out of my sight.”

Bai Jinyan stood rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure, so decisive she didn’t look back. He sighed softly and turned away.

...

Inside the Leisure City complex, Chen Ruowen wandered aimlessly among the restaurants. Moments ago she’d been ravenous, but now her appetite was gone. Her eyes drifted listlessly over the eateries on either side, utterly unaware that someone had been following her for several minutes.

“Hey!”

Seeing that she still hadn’t noticed him, Gao Tang finally reached out and snapped his fingers in front of her face.

“What’s got you so lost in thought? I’ve been standing beside you forever.”

She snapped back to reality, blinking at the man who’d suddenly appeared in front of her, taking a couple of seconds before seeming to recall his identity.

“Oh, it’s you.”

Gao Tang’s face twitched.

“Seriously? You forgot me that fast? Chen Ruowen, I don’t think I look so generic, do I?”

“Why should I have to remember you?” she asked.

“...”

There was really no reply to that! Gao Tang swallowed his retort and gave her a thumbs up.

“You win. So, are you looking for somewhere to eat? Need a recommendation?”

He pulled a purple card from his pocket and waved it in front of her.

“I’ve got a VIP card here—fifty percent off.”

Chen Ruowen folded her arms, finally giving him her full attention.

“Do I look like I need to save money?”

“Of course not.”

Gao Tang shook his head, then asked, somewhat puzzled, “But if I can enjoy the same or even better service for half the price, why wouldn’t I?”

Chen Ruowen paused. That... actually made a lot of sense.

Gao Tang flashed her another grin, put the card away, and made a gesture.

“Come on, let’s go.”