Chapter Twenty-Eight

In the bar, strangers and lonely souls of this city sat in small groups, confiding in one another. The singer’s moving voice drifted slowly through the air. Dim lights and wandering gazes wove a haze of uncertainty, like elusive phantoms, unmooring hearts and clouding minds.

Shen Huaijing leaned half against the bar, gently biting her cigarette. In the curling smoke, her eyes and brows held a charm wholly unlike that of ordinary girls; it was as if nothing around her truly concerned her.

With her eyes half-closed, Shen Huaijing tilted her head back and drained her glass, then slammed it heavily on the table. “Hey, handsome! Another drink.”

The bartender was a boy of no more than twenty, likely on his first day, awkward and flustered. Sweating behind the counter, he fumbled for quite a while but still couldn’t find the liquor Shen Huaijing had just finished.

Growing impatient, Shen Huaijing rapped the table in agitation. “Can you hurry up?”

“Sorry… right away, right away…” After a long struggle, he finally found a bottle that looked about right and, with trembling hands, poured it into Shen Huaijing’s glass.

She didn’t even glance at it, simply picked it up and knocked it back. The taste immediately struck her as wrong. Puffing her cheeks, she spat the entire mouthful right onto the bartender’s face.

Caught off guard, the bartender was splashed with the burning liquor. He dared not show his anger but wiped his face with napkins, his expression turning green with embarrassment. He muttered under his breath, “What’s with this person?”

Shen Huaijing, however, burst into rare laughter—so carefree that even she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like this.

The manager hurried over at the commotion, apologized sincerely to Shen Huaijing, and replaced her drink. He stood with hands on hips, about to give the young bartender a thorough scolding, but Shen Huaijing stopped him with a gesture.

“It’s fine. I got him too—no need to fuss with a kid.”

The manager nodded obligingly, then instructed the bartender to take good care of Shen Huaijing. The boy nodded as if pounding garlic, eager to please.

After that, Shen Huaijing and the bartender made idle conversation. Glass after glass went down, and gradually she slumped over the bar, a drunken flush creeping over her cheeks. The strap of her dress slipped from her shoulder, and her fox-like eyes, already bewitching, grew even more alluring through the haze of intoxication.

Soon, Shen Huaijing was out cold. The bartender tried tapping her gently, but she didn’t stir.

“Miss Shen? Miss Shen? Is someone coming to pick you up?” the bartender asked softly.

Eyes closed, Shen Huaijing smacked her lips and murmured in pain, “Mu… Mu Jinghuai, I actually saw you that day… you…”

Mu Jinghuai? The bartender’s eyes lit up at the name. Was it the one he knew? With nothing to lose, he dialed the number.

When Mu Jinghuai received the call, he shot straight up from his dorm bed, waking his roommate and earning a string of curses. From the upper bunk, a packet of tissues was hurled at his face. “Are you rushing to your death? We have class at eight tomorrow, you know!”

Pulling on his clothes, Mu Jinghuai apologized as he hurried out. He hailed a cab from the campus and urged the driver to go faster the whole way.

When he arrived at the bar, his hair in a wild mess and his face slick with sweat, he wore battered slippers and was panting heavily. People eyed him strangely, but he paid no mind—he’d already spotted Shen Huaijing slumped over the bar.

The young bartender caught his arm, curiosity burning as he whispered, “You really know her? I thought she looked familiar. I just checked online—she’s a socialite.”

“That’s none of your business. How did you know she knows me, though?” Mu Jinghuai asked, curious. He knew the bartender from his own time working at the bar before he became a model, but the call had been so rushed that the bartender hadn’t explained how he’d known Shen Huaijing recognized Mu Jinghuai.

The bartender’s expression changed to one of mischievous gossip. “I was going to ask you the same thing—she was calling your name just now! I thought I’d try my luck and call you, and it turns out you really know each other!”

She was calling his name? A knowing smile broke across Mu Jinghuai’s face. He’d always believed she had never forgotten him.

Ignoring the bartender, who was now practically aflame with gossip, Mu Jinghuai went straight to Shen Huaijing’s side. She was deeply asleep; unwilling to wake her, he gently draped his jacket over her and lifted her from the chair.

She was so light he barely felt her weight in his arms. Gazing down at the woman he held, he thought she’d changed, and yet not changed at all—still so stubborn, stubborn enough to make one’s heart ache.

The sudden sensation of being lifted made the sleeping Shen Huaijing twist uneasily, clutching at Mu Jinghuai’s shirt.

The bartender quickly blocked their path, anxious. “Hey! Hey! You haven’t paid yet! And where are you taking her? She’s Fu Chen’s wife. If he finds out, won’t he tear this bar apart? I’ll lose my job!”

Mu Jinghuai rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Of course I’m taking her to a hotel! I’ll come back and settle the bill once she’s safe. You think I’m going to skip out?”

Then he leaned in, speaking mysteriously into the bartender’s ear, “Fu Chen didn’t put a camera on his wife. If you keep quiet, no one will know.”

And with that, Mu Jinghuai strode out of the bar with Shen Huaijing in his arms, choosing a nearby hotel that looked decent enough.

He glanced up at the sign—“W-Hotel.”

Wasn’t this where Lin Yiqing held her art exhibition the other day? Mu Jinghuai mused. So many things in this world are twisted by fate, as if the heavens delight in playing tricks on ordinary people.

Because Fu Chen was a stakeholder in the hotel, the front desk immediately recognized Shen Huaijing.

“Hello, may I see your ID?” the receptionist asked, betraying nothing, but casting sidelong glances.

Mu Jinghuai, unaware, gently laid Shen Huaijing on a sofa in the lobby before hurrying over to present his own ID, his eyes never leaving her.

The receptionist scanned his ID carefully, then looked up with a blank face. “Sorry, all guests must register, including the lady.” She nodded toward Shen Huaijing, sleeping on the sofa.

Mu Jinghuai scratched his nose, embarrassed but earnest. “You see, she’s had too much to drink. I checked her bag—she really doesn’t have her ID. Is there any way you could make an exception? I’m so sorry to trouble you.”

The receptionist hesitated. “Please wait just a moment; I’ll have to check with my manager.” With that, she turned away from the counter.