Chapter 85: He Has Already Grown Up

Mu Jinghuai quickly spotted Song Hui’s slender figure amidst the crowd and followed behind her.

“Song Hui.”

Song Hui was happily admiring the gift in her hands when she suddenly heard someone call her name from behind. She turned around quickly.

She saw Mu Jinghuai, breathless, his mouth exhaling white puffs in the cold air. His dark eyes were fixed on her, as if stars from the Milky Way twinkled within them. He rubbed his hands together nervously, not even wearing a coat—just his work uniform as he had rushed out.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Song Hui’s eyes.

Her first instinct had been to think it was Fu Chen.

“Why did you run out here? It’s freezing, and you’re not even wearing a coat.”

Song Hui’s hands were tucked into her oversized sleeves, her entire chin buried in a scarf so that only her beautiful eyes were visible.

“It’s fine! I’m not cold. I wanted to have a meal with you, is that okay?” Mu Jinghuai grinned, carefree, though his hands were rubbing together faster and faster as he tried to hide his unease and nervousness.

Song Hui hesitated for a moment before replying in a muffled voice, “Alright, consider it my way of thanking you for helping me pick out the gift.”

At that, Mu Jinghuai took off running back into the store, shouting over his shoulder to Song Hui, “I’ll go grab my coat! Wait for me—just two minutes!”

In that instant, Song Hui was reminded of Mu Jinghuai as a child—always facing the sun, always full of hope for life. He was like a little sun, constantly radiating warmth and strength to those around him.

Time’s gears turned slowly with a creak. Song Hui lifted her gaze in the direction Mu Jinghuai had gone, and memories surged over her like a tide.

Ten years ago.

Song Hui was twelve, and Mu Jinghuai was ten.

“I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

The young Mu Jinghuai’s eyes brimmed with tears as he apologized to Song Hui, flustered. Blood beaded from a cut near the corner of her eye.

Children so young had never seen such a scene; even the victim hadn’t cried yet, but Mu Jinghuai broke into loud sobs, collapsing on the ground.

“You’re not going to die, are you? Waaa, I was wrong, I don’t want to go to jail!”

Song Hui pressed her hand to her injured eye, looked at the boy before her, and couldn’t help but laugh. She patted his head, soothing him.

“Don’t worry, big sister’s fine. I’m not going to die, so stop crying.”

Mu Jinghuai’s eyes glistened, his features delicate as a little girl’s. He mumbled, “Really? Then I’ll buy you snacks every day from now on. Just don’t tell mom and dad.”

Song Hui nodded in agreement, and immediately Mu Jinghuai grinned, showing his teeth, a snot bubble forming at his nose.

Thinking of this, Song Hui couldn’t help but smile. When she looked up again, standing before her was the twenty-year-old Mu Jinghuai.

Unknowingly, he had grown up, seemingly transformed into a man already. He was no longer the little tagalong who trailed after her; now, even if Song Hui tiptoed, she couldn’t reach the top of his head.

“What do you want to eat?” Mu Jinghuai asked, dressed in a white down jacket that made his skin look even fairer, exuding the freshness of youth.

“Anything is fine. Something warm for winter.”

Mu Jinghuai immediately thought of a place and naturally reached for Song Hui’s hand, leading her toward a restaurant.

When Song Hui felt the warmth of his hand, she quickly withdrew. She still wasn’t comfortable with such intimacy from Mu Jinghuai—she had always seen him as a younger brother.

Mu Jinghuai’s hand grasped empty air, and a trace of disappointment welled up inside him. He glanced at Song Hui beside him and forced a smile.

“You used to be the one who took my hand when we were kids.”

“We’ve grown up now. That’s not appropriate anymore,” Song Hui replied softly, her head down.

Mu Jinghuai didn’t insist. The two of them kept a polite distance and walked on in silence.

“We’re here.”

Song Hui looked up—it was a simple wonton shop. Despite its small size, it was nearly full even before dinner time, a testament to its popularity.

Mu Jinghuai hurried in to grab a table, and Song Hui sat across from him. The shop was warm, so they both took off their coats.

“One serving of shrimp wontons! And one...” Mu Jinghuai called to the counter, then turned to ask Song Hui, “What filling do you want?”

Song Hui glanced at the menu on the wall. “Pork, please.”

“One shrimp, one pork!” Mu Jinghuai relayed.

“Coming right up.”

Song Hui looked around; most of those seated were young men and women fresh from work, or parents with children. The lively clamor brimmed with the warmth of everyday life.

Such an ordinary, quietly flowing life was what Song Hui longed for but could not attain.

“We should have gone to the hospital back then,” Mu Jinghuai murmured, his gaze lost on the mole at the corner of Song Hui’s eye.

Song Hui understood instantly. She touched the corner of her eye and smiled, “It was nothing serious. In fact, beauty moles near the eye are fashionable now—they’re called 'tear moles,' and they look nice.”

“How are things with you and Fu Chen? I noticed you moved out?” Mu Jinghuai looked into Song Hui’s eyes, asking sincerely.

Song Hui avoided his gaze, picked up the kettle to pour water for both of them, and answered lightly, “It’s nothing. I didn’t move out—I just bought a small apartment nearby. I was there tidying up when a reporter snapped a photo.”

Mu Jinghuai seemed half-convinced. He took the cup, holding it in his hands. “Really? But there’s been a lot of negative news about Fu Chen lately. You should be careful—protecting yourself comes first.”

Song Hui smiled playfully and teased, “So the little crybaby who used to follow me around now knows how to care for others?”

Talking about their childhood made Mu Jinghuai a bit embarrassed. Scratching his head, he said, “You’re not 'others.' Besides, you said we’ve grown up. Now I can be your shelter from the storm.”

Mu Jinghuai looked at Song Hui earnestly. “Just like you protected me when we were children, now it’s my turn to protect you.”

Song Hui was no fool; she had always known what Mu Jinghuai felt for her, but she had never dwelled on it. She didn’t want to break the unspoken understanding between them or make things awkward.

“Oh, is our food coming?”

Song Hui glanced at the server carrying their tray, deftly changing the subject.

“Here you go, two orders of wontons—shrimp on this side, pork on that,” the server said, pointing to the bowls before them.

As soon as Song Hui took her wontons, the savory aroma wafted up, and the steaming dumplings were irresistible. She blew on a spoonful and took a delicate bite; the lean meat and thin wrappers were perfectly seasoned—these were the best wontons she’d ever tasted.

After finishing, Song Hui even drank most of the soup, warmth spreading through her entire body.

She glanced toward the door; night had fallen without her noticing, and a long line had formed at the shop’s entrance.