Gu Pan slept until 10 p.m., waking with a dry mouth and parched throat from the alcohol. He turned on the light and found a thermos by the bedside. It was his, but usually stored elsewhere.

　　Shaking it, he heard water inside. Opening the lid, steam rose.

　　The mist danced in the lamplight, like a shimmering water curtain. Beyond it, a vibrant, fantastical world seemed to unfold.

　　All left by Su Chiyuan. A cup of hot water and a crystal ball. One for material comfort, the other for spiritual nourishment.

　　Gu Pan took a sip to soothe his throat, then examined the gift Su Chiyuan had promised during their overseas call.

　　It was a substantial glass object. Hard to define as either craft or toy. But recalling Su Chiyuan's gestures—lighting the fairy wand, offering the fish belly—it seemed more likely a playful gift.

　　Gu Pan cradled the crystal ball. Inside the transparent sphere, a graceful mermaid sat, her expression vivid. "Heh, Mr. Su, you're quite the character!" he muttered.

　　Ten at night—an awkward time to wake. Faced with the daunting task of returning to dreams in the silent night, Gu Pan lay still, staring at the ceiling. His eyes, still red, fixed on the light and shadows from the bedside lamp on the white plaster. In his blurred vision, it resembled a tranquil pond, serene and undisturbed. He longed for red, yellow, black-and-white fish to appear, bubbling up to tell him that somewhere nearby, at the other end of the complex, someone was awake, perhaps thinking of him.

　　But as his eyes grew weary, the water remained still.

　　He shifted to lie on his side.

　　The phone on the bedside lit up and dimmed. Junk messages. After clearing them, about to lock the screen, Gu Pan noticed a pink icon. Silent for days.

　　He logged into the website and searched for the creator he followed.

　　Gu Pan discovered "Xin Yuan" hadn't updated recently. His last response to the invitation for the blue dye workshop's guqin music had gone unanswered. So, he scrolled through older works.

　　In a video from over two years ago, a scene was set in the School of Management library reading room.

　　The familiar long wooden table and English motivational quotes on the wall caught his eye. The video was tagged "reading and learning atmosphere." But Gu Pan remembered during his boarding school days, visiting several times to study, only to be lulled to sleep by nearby recitation and pen scratches. So, the alignment between the creator's intent and actual utility was subjective.

　　The bedroom was unusually quiet late at night. Gu Pan focused on the scene's details, noticing a boy's silhouette in a corner, subtly balancing the composition. The boy wasn't randomly included—absolutely not.

　　Gu Pan had heard of subjective and objective shots. Based on male intuition, he judged the photographer couldn't help but become involved in the frame.

　　Gu Pan sat up, pondering how to message "Xin Yuan." He hoped for a female perspective.

　　PP Jun wrote: "A man forces himself on a woman; she struggles desperately. She makes him leave and closes the door. Shouldn't she slap him? But she neither slaps him nor tells him 'Fuck off.' What is the woman thinking?"

　　After sending it, Gu Pan immediately regretted it. He worried the recipient would think PP Jun was unhinged or feel harassed by the abrupt question. It was like asking a random woman on the street what color underwear she had on. Getting slapped would be the least of it. Oh god, what have I done? Gu Pan clenched his fist, hitting his forehead hard, filled with self-reproach.

　　Gu Pan endured a week of restless anticipation. But reality had its own plans, proving he'd misjudged the message's impact and underestimated "Xin Yuan"s strength. In response to his query, she answered honestly and even completed her "assignment."

　　The indigo art museum offered immediate inspiration, with large dyed fabrics cascading like waterfalls. The soothing melody of "High Mountains and Flowing Waters" from a guzheng resonated in the distance. The distinct sounds of tea preparation and the clinking of purple clay utensils were captured in "Xin Yuan's" work. Gu Pan felt he could almost smell the fragrance just by listening. Despite not drinking, he felt intoxicated in multiple ways. But something deeper provided solace beyond the senses.

　　"Xin Yuan" conveyed to PP Jun: "If you believe it was a fleeting impulse driven by desire, I suggest restraint. If not, then seek the answers yourself."

　　After reading, Gu Pan contemplated deeply, phone pressed to his stomach. His phone buzzed incessantly, not with his breath but in sync with the tumult in his mind.

　　"In the end, I must seek the answers myself," he resolved before sleep.

　　Finally, Saturday arrived. Early morning, braving the winter chill, Gu Pan went to her apartment building. Leaving a note on her door, he hurried away, fearing an encounter if she took out the trash. Now, all he could do was wait anxiously at home.

　　The night before Cold Dew, Ling Hanlu stayed up nearly all night studying Fang Yucheng's project. She didn't wake until 2 p.m. the next day.

　　After rising, she didn't take out the trash. She freshened up, had a quick meal, washed two pieces of clothing, then stood on the balcony awhile as they dried. She casually glanced at the evergreen trees and grass below, careful not to fix on any direction, keeping her eyes calm and objective like radar.

　　In the evening, a delivery came. Only with the delivery person's reminder did Ling Hanlu notice the message on the door.

　　The paper was the same color as the sea salt cheesecake recipe from last time. But this time, it contained contact information.

　　Ling Hanlu interpreted this as the young man wanting to apologize for his impulsive actions. This was his way of embracing the necessary ritual for genuine affection.

　　To Ling Hanlu, this gesture matched the young man's pure demeanor. She didn't want to admit how endearing that innocence seemed to her "world-weary" eyes. Since the café incident, whenever not absorbed in data, she'd recall Gu Pan wiping her shoe with a tissue.

　　Ling Hanlu knew this was just the young man's manners. When he "stood up" to take responsibility for his girlfriend's mistake, he didn't even know who she was. But when he squatted, revealing his fresh buzz cut and straight nose bridge, her hand covering her forehead nearly faltered. Had it fallen, it would have been just in time to feel the warm, melting scent of hormones.

　　Yet, a strange bitterness surged in her heart. She desperately closed her eyes, held her breath, and stopped the thoughts.

　　But regardless, the young man deserved peace—free from entanglements and self-blame, able to move on cleanly and grow alongside his, albeit flawed, girlfriend.

　　Thinking this, Ling Hanlu felt a halo above her head.

　　In Gu Pan's living room.

　　Not every surprise call or letter needs a grand presentation. When Ling Hanlu's friend request came, Gu Pan was sweating diligently on his dark green lawn. His response was delayed, and he regretted it.

　　Ling Hanlu messaged immediately: "You're still that good kid. Sincere, kind, brave, just. More heartwarming than many I've seen. Don't worry about growing up! Keep it up!"

　　The word "kid" discomforted Gu Pan. It didn't match the muscle soreness and physical challenges of recent months. He gladly accepted the praise, sensing the comfort in her words. Her tolerance never disappointed him. But he was eager to "find answers for himself," as "Xin Yuan" encouraged.

　　"To correct you, I'm not a kid. Please see me as an adult!" Gu Pan typed one-handed initially, but emotions surged, so he used both hands to steady himself.

　　"Okay, my fault. You've helped me out of trouble several times—unique, wonderful experiences, the impression you've left. I can't thank you enough. If interested in English-American literature, feel free to audit classes at the Foreign Languages Department. I'll send the schedule." Ling Hanlu knew she hadn't entirely avoided the "sofa incident"; she'd subtly hinted at the right and wrong standards for this, in her view, immature child.

　　Ling Hanlu's expression was appropriate, but it didn't reassure her. Instead, she felt disappointed in her preachy tone.

　　Instead of locking the screen immediately, she let the phone stay lit on the desk until it turned off naturally two minutes later. It seemed the kid was deep in thought. She lightly pressed the keyboard but couldn't type a word.

　　This state was unusual for her. When the police searched the house, she was at the study desk.

　　She wasn't shocked to madness or, like other wives, obstructed the search out of blind trust in her husband. She went to the closet, took out a coat, and handed it over, leaving the man some dignity.

　　She returned to her study. Hands on the keyboard. Heart empty, couldn't even press the spacebar...

　　Two years later, Ling Hanlu again felt the emptiness of her solitary space. Though she knew, in this emptiness, besides bitterness, there was also self-deception.

　　As expected, the young man deliberated at length.

　　But his response surprised her.

　　"But I want to see you at other times too! Not just in class!" Gu Pan added after a moment, "I'm not crazy!" Ling Hanlu's "crazy" label on the sofa had left a deep impression.

　　"I have a report to write. Goodbye." Ling Hanlu sent the schedule. She believed being decisive and efficient was an effective stance, deceiving herself first, then convincing others.

　　Ling Hanlu was surprised by Gu Pan's bold frankness. But as an experienced adult, she felt obligated to help him avoid trouble. A youthful crush—Gu Pan was entitled to it, but she was not. The whirlpool of hesitation—she could foresee it better than Gu Pan and should take precautions.