Song Xinya and Han Jingyi had agreed to meet at two in the afternoon.
She arrived at the café at three.
As Song Xinya pushed open the café door, her eyes quickly swept across the space.
By the window, the warm sunlight slanted through the stained glass panes, casting bright patches of light across the floor.
The polished white floor reflected the sunlight, illuminating the face and figure of the man sitting by the window.
It was as if a soft filter had been cast over him, making him appear even more strikingly handsome—his extraordinary poise and striking features captivating at first glance.
Song Xinya walked toward him: "Jingyi ge."
Han Jingyi lifted his deep, composed eyes, a light brightness coloring his brow: "Finally, you're here."
Song Xinya was wearing a dress and high heels, and because she was late, her steps were hurried.
Han Jingyi said gently, full of concern: "Walk slowly; no rush. Be careful not to trip."
When Song Xinya reached the table, Han Jingyi stood up, came to her side, and with great gallantry, pulled out her chair for her.
Song Xinya sat down, full of apology: "I'm really sorry I'm late."
Han Jingyi, who had been waiting for two hours, replied from across the table: "Don't feel bad. I was late too—just arrived."
Song Xinya looked surprised: "Really?"
Han Jingyi: "I had some work matters that made me late."
He called the waiter over: "We can serve the coffee and dessert now."
A five-percent sugar coco latte was set down on the table, with a slice of strawberry cake beside it.
Song Xinya took a sip of her coffee, but didn't touch the strawberry cake.
Han Jingyi's gaze swept over it: "I remember you like strawberry cake."
He had always remembered—from the time she was a soft, pink little dumpling of a girl, right up until she turned twenty-five—for over twenty years.
He asked: "Has your taste changed?"
Song Xinya: "No, I still like it. It's just that before I came, I already had a whole slice of strawberry cake that my husband bought for me, at home."
Han Jingyi's lashes dropped, and he gave a soft, weightless "Mm."
He wanted to ask her about her life these past few years—how she was doing, whether work was going well, how her grandmother's health had recovered—but before he could get the words out, he heard her cut straight to the point: "Jingyi ge, didn't you say you had something to discuss with me? What is it?"
It seemed she was in a hurry and not interested in casual conversation.
Han Jingyi picked up a beautifully wrapped shopping bag he had placed beside him and set it within her reach: "I brought you a gift from abroad. I never had the chance to give it to you before."
Song Xinya opened the bag and saw it was a Hermès handbag.
A different style from the one Zhang Yingying had worn yesterday.
Song Xinya: "Giving away Hermès bags so casually—Jingyi ge, you're as generous as ever."
Han Jingyi: "It's not casual. The reason I chose this gift is because I remember you once said, when you were little, that when you grew up, got a job, and earned your own money, you'd buy yourself a luxurious Hermès bag to carry around."
Song Xinya struggled to search through her memories: "Did I say that?"
Han Jingyi: "You did."
Song Xinya tried hard to think again, racking her brain, her brow deeply furrowed in effort.
Han Jingyi watched her tightly knitted brows: "If you can't remember, don't force it. It's enough that I remember."
"Oh—" Song Xinya's furrowed brow relaxed.
She politely expressed her gratitude to him: "Brother Jingyi, I really like the gift you gave me. Thank you for your kindness."
Han Jingyi murmured in response, but he couldn’t see any excited surprise in her eyes. Perhaps, by now, she no longer cherished Hermès bags, while he was still stuck in the memories of the past.
Song Xinya asked, "Did you come to see me just to give me a gift?"
Of course not. The gift was merely a vessel for his feelings—an excuse to see her.
Given her current status as a married woman, and given their age now, it was no longer appropriate for him to say things like "I missed you, I wanted to see you," just to justify a meeting.
When they were young, if he wanted to see her, he would go find her right away, with a straightforward reason: "Sister Xinxin, I missed you, so I came to see you."
Even now, he was still willing to say such words, but they were no longer suitable.
Everyone said the adult world wasn’t as simple as childhood. Sometimes, that was because the adult world had no room for simplicity.
In the adult world, simplicity could sometimes come across as a lack of propriety—an awkward breach of boundaries.
Han Jingyi replied, "I brought gifts for everyone when I came back. I’ve already delivered the others, but yours was the only one left. So I thought I’d bring it to you today."
Song Xinya said, "Brother Jingyi, you’re always so thoughtful, making sure everyone is taken care of."
Han Jingyi lowered his head and took a small sip of coffee.
Song Xinya assumed he had said everything he wanted to say. She then began to share the real reason she had agreed to meet him—the thing she wanted to discuss.
"Brother Jingyi, when you were studying for your medical doctorate in Germany, what was your specialization?"
Han Jingyi replied, "Cardiovascular surgery—cardiology, for short."
Song Xinya let out a disappointed "Oh."
Han Jingyi noticed her drooping eyes and brows, reminded of a dejected little kitten. He smiled faintly and asked, "You seem rather let down."
In a lighthearted, teasing tone, he added, "Are you worried that this specialty might be too tough for me, Sister Xinxin?"
Song Xinya said, "No, actually. My husband’s palm got burned. I was thinking that if you studied burn surgery, you might be able to help him take a look."
Han Jingyi’s eyelashes trembled. The hand holding his coffee cup quivered violently.
Song Xinya thought of the scar on Qin Yuhe’s palm—such beautiful hands, yet covered in marks across the center. She felt guilt, she felt remorse, she couldn’t stop worrying. At this moment, her mind was consumed with helping him get rid of those scars.
That was just how people were. You care about someone only when you love them—and you only care about that one person.
Song Xinya asked, "Brother Jingyi, your family comes from a long line of doctors. You own the country’s most famous private hospital and the nation’s largest medical device company, with access to the best medical resources. Could you help me ask around—see if there’s any way to remove the scar on my husband’s palm?"
Han Jingyi’s lowered eyelids concealed the emotions in his eyes. His shoulders were slightly tense. If Song Xinya had looked closely, she would have noticed the loneliness in his expression at that moment.
Song Xinya was looking at him, but her mind wasn’t on him. She was entirely focused on Qin Yuhe, and so she didn’t catch Han Jingyi’s desolation.
All she noticed was that he was taking a long time to answer.
Was it because he couldn’t find a way to remove the scars?
Or was it that he didn’t want to help her husband?
If it were the latter, Song Xinya didn’t think that was like him at all.
The Jingyi brother she knew was a man of mild temperament, upright character, and always ready to help others. He was so kind that he visited an orphanage every week to assist parentless children, and for years he had sponsored underprivileged kids in rural areas, funding their college dreams by covering their tuition and living expenses.
Such a good person, someone who would willingly extend a helping hand to strangers—how could he refuse to help her husband?
Song Xinya couldn’t understand it, and she grew increasingly anxious.
Why did he keep silent for so long?
After a brief moment of stillness, Han Jingyi raised his head, fixed his gaze on Song Xinya, and with a profound, earnest look, replied, “Alright, I’ll help your husband.”
