Winter Time Rendering

Ruoping was silent for a long moment.

"So we’re going to help him?"

Qingyi nodded emphatically.

"So we’re going to help him."

Just then, a phone chimed.

The boy, who had just been waxing philosophical, suddenly raised an eyebrow in excitement.

"Oh, a message finally came."

"What does it say?"

"We need to go drop something off," he replied in a mysterious tone.

’Kids with eighth-grade syndrome are just like that—’

’Sometimes they’re life coaches, other times they’re just childish brats. They can always switch between the two seamlessly.’

...

"What is it?" Gu Qiuyan asked, trailing behind him.

Zhang Shutong had just used a photo as blackmail to wrestle back control of the operation, a move that nearly resulted in mutual destruction with "Autumn Rain Mianmian."

In the end, Zhang Shutong deleted the photo anyway.

Now Gu Qiuyan was asking what he was going to get. But as for "Operation: Control the Young Miss’s..."—’what was it called again?’ he thought. ’The only flaw with this plan is that the name is too long and hard to remember.’ In any case, he couldn’t reveal it to Gu Qiuyan, so he fell back on his usual habit of being deliberately mysterious.

"An important item."

"Hmph."

"What’s with the ’hmph’?"

"Hmph, hmph, hmph!"

Despite saying that, the young miss actually nodded as if she believed him. She followed him with a curious gaze all the way to a bank of lockers next to the supermarket.

"Third row, fifth one..."

He muttered to himself, following the instructions Qingyi had sent, and found a small card wedged in a crevice on the lockers.

He then scanned the card under the infrared light, and a locker door clicked open.

Zhang Shutong felt around inside and pulled out a key.

Gu Qiuyan asked what it was for. Zhang Shutong said it was to unlock an important vehicle.

"How important?" The young miss’s expression grew serious.

"Actually, it’s the key to a bicycle lock."

"..."

Gu Qiuyan realized she’d been had. She ground her teeth, her "Autumn Rain Mianmian" mood about to turn into a winter downpour.

’I have to admit, teasing her is pretty fun sometimes, but you can’t take it too far,’ Zhang Shutong thought, and quickly explained:

"We have to do something next. Do you want to get some milk tea?"

"Milk tea? Where?"

"On the shopping street."

"Is that why you bought a hat and a mask?"

"Yep." He handed the two items to Gu Qiuyan. The only regret was that after spending ages picking them out, he realized the store wasn’t a proper accessory shop. It mostly sold children’s items. He had escaped the Mickey Mouse trap only to fall into the Lotso Bear pit.

’But hey, I’m not the one wearing it.’

"I know that going back there now might be a little..." Zhang Shutong racked his brain for the right words, trying to convince the young miss that he, her lackey, wasn’t trying to backstab her.

But Gu Qiuyan said nothing, just gave a crisp nod.

"Let’s go."

She put on the mask and hat. Her oval face was already small, and now only her lively, beautiful eyes were visible. The Lotso Bear on top of the hat wore a mischievous grin. The girl blinked. It seemed like she hadn’t said anything, yet had said everything.

Zhang Shutong was left speechless.

The two of them left the mall, and the clamor of voices instantly faded. Cold air hit their faces. He took a deep breath. It was as if the world’s underlying color had suddenly turned to gray-black: people in down jackets walking down the street, the withered branches of the roadside trees, a plastic bag drifting along the road... On such a cold day, wearing a mask and hat wasn’t conspicuous at all.

The mask Zhang Shutong had chosen was a cloth one. He asked Gu Qiuyan if she wanted to eat anything, but she shook her head. He then asked if she wanted to buy a balloon and was met with a glare from her exposed eyes.

Following Qingyi’s directions, he found his bicycle near the mall entrance—Zhang Shutong’s own bike was at school, and it had a crate on the back, making it impossible to give a girl a ride.

He had no choice but to borrow his best friend’s for a bit.

’Operation: Goddess of Fate Who Controls the Young Miss’s Future’—he finally remembered it. It had an impressive-sounding name, but the props that came with it were pathetic. Forget a sports car, it should have at least been a motorcycle, but all they had now was a single bicycle.

As expected, Gu Qiuyan was reluctant, dawdling by the side. She had grown up riding in executive sedans and had never even seen the manual seats in Song’s Ford Fox. It was truly a grievance for her; instead of being a proper young miss, she was stuck riding on the back of a bicycle. He imagined it would make her butt sore.

Zhang Shutong said, "Don’t be picky. We don’t have a choice. Besides, I can’t drive."

Gu Qiuyan shot him another glare. ’Ever since she put on the mask, she seems to prefer communicating only with her eyes. As her lackey, I don’t get a choice in the matter.’

"What do you want to do then?" Zhang Shutong asked, confused. "Want to walk instead?"

She glared again, but this time she finally gave him a hint, lifting the hem of her cyan dress.

Only then did Zhang Shutong understand. It wasn’t that she was disgusted with the bicycle, but that it was difficult to get on wearing a dress.

But that was an easy fix.

Zhang Shutong had already straddled the bike and patted the back seat.

"You can just sit sideways."

But she still hesitated. Zhang Shutong then offered, "Or I could ride slowly while you walk?" Only then did the girl seem to make up her mind. She shot him a look of utter exasperation, climbed on sideways, and then Zhang Shutong seemed to understand what she had been agonizing over—

A pair of somewhat stiff arms gently wrapped around his waist, making Zhang Shutong’s body go stiff as well. He figured that if she were sitting facing forward, she could hold onto the frame behind her to keep from falling, or grab the sides of his shirt;

But sitting sideways, none of those options worked. The only way was to wrap her arms around the other person’s waist.

Now Zhang Shutong finally understood her hesitation. ’Whose fault was it for not saying anything?’ he thought.

He opened his mouth, intending to say something, but ultimately closed it.

Some things were perhaps better left unsaid.

This was the city district in winter. They were on a small island, and the road beneath their wheels was varied—some parts were newly paved asphalt, others were old concrete, already cracked. The two types of roads joined together, piecing together the traces of time.