Chapter Eight: Not a Trace of Regret

The beauty at his side was acting coquettishly, but Lin Shuo was only focused on her silhouette, as if he felt not the slightest attachment. He turned to look at the woman's face, so meticulously painted with powder and rouge, yet so utterly conventional and vulgar that he could not help but mock himself. Such a woman was certainly not worthy of her jealousy, and yet he was genuinely angry.

He remembered very clearly that when he left, he vowed never to see her again, to keep anything related to her at a distance. But when he returned home for summer break, he happened to see her at Kunming Department Store, publicly fighting with someone. At first, he thought he must be mistaken, but when she began to scold that couple with such familiar expressions and tone, he had no doubt it was truly her. His mind was instantly infected, seized by chaos beyond his control, and he rushed downstairs in a panic, only to find she had vanished. He wandered in confusion through the crowds on Nanping Street, and when he finally heard the onlookers’ descriptions, his heart sank with icy despair. Never had he imagined she would fall so low after they parted. Pain and fury overwhelmed him, and from his lips he forced out two words: “Serves her right!”

It was the windiest season in Kunming, the roadside trees rustling violently in the gusts. Xiaoxiao drove her secondhand QQ out of the club. Just as she was about to turn right, her phone began to ring. She kept her eyes on the road while fumbling near the gear stick, finally grabbing the blaring phone. A glance made her freeze: the screen clearly displayed ‘Little Lin’. Her body tingled as if electrified, her head buzzing.

Little Lin, bring me some water!
Little Lin, massage my legs!
Little Lin, pick the fish bones for me!
Little Lin, Little Lin...

Xiaoxiao stared blankly at the screen, her legs weak, the car slowing as she drifted into a daze. Yet, as if afraid to miss this call, she answered, “Hello.”

“Where are you?” The voice on the other end was icy and cold, sending a shiver down her spine.

She hadn’t even time to ask what he wanted when someone nearby shouted, “Watch out!” In the next instant, a dark shadow crashed down onto her windshield, shattering it with a deafening noise into a thousand shards that flew at her, cutting her skin and making her cry out in pain. In a panic, she lost control of the pedals; as the engine stalled, something jerked her body fiercely and the phone slipped from her hand.

“Hurry, get out!” Someone yanked open the car door from outside. Against the glaring light, she couldn’t make out who it was before being half-dragged, half-pulled to safety. When her terror finally subsided, she looked around at the wreckage before her. She’d heard on the radio about trees being blown down by the wind, but never of a billboard falling on someone. The sign lay crooked and broken across the road, its rusted bracket still dangling from the high-rise wall. The parked Cadillac nearby had also been hit; compared to it, her own car hardly seemed worth mentioning.

The man who’d pulled her out was calm, already standing by the roadside making a phone call. Only then did she remember her own phone was still in the car. She hesitated, debating whether to retrieve it, but in the end let the thought go. After all, even if she picked it up, she wouldn’t know what to say—adding only to the awkwardness.

Lonely Moments, Never Speak of Love – Chapter Eight: Not a Trace of Attachment – End.