The three automakers present were all partners of Lingdong Technology, where Wei Qingyue worked, and it had already been confirmed that Level 4 intelligent-driving vehicles would be launched in 2025.
The entire proceedings were ultimately condensed by him into a ten-minute summary, made into accessible popular science content and posted online.
By the time Wei Qingyue came to find Jiang Du, her off-hours had already passed. He was in the underground parking lot, calling Jiang Du from his modified Mustang.
Before long, a figure stepped out of the elevator. As Jiang Du walked, she looked around. Wei Qingyue got out of the car and snapped his fingers.
The way she walked — so calm and quiet. Wei Qingyue found everything strangely familiar; that sense of familiarity carried with it a bittersweet warmth.
What had never changed about him was that effortless air of ease and nonchalance. He had turned up to the interview in sneakers; only for the inauguration ceremony had he changed into a white button-down shirt and tailored trousers, standing there impeccably as he greeted Jiang Du:
“Sorry, I’m a little late.”
Jiang Du tucked her hair behind her ear, her earlobes pale and luminous in the light. She offered the shy smile he remembered so well: “It’s all right. I put in a little extra time at work.”
He gallantly jogged over to open the car door for her, all long arms and long legs, the muscles in his arm tautening with a distinctly masculine strength as he pulled the door open.
“What would you like to eat?” Wei Qingyue brought up the topic of food very naturally. When Jiang Du said “Whatever you think is fine,” he replied, “Then I’ll decide.”
“Okay.” Jiang Du quietly fastened her seatbelt. Her posture was good; her whole body was tense.
“After all these years apart, you’re still this nervous around me?” Wei Qingyue teased her, glancing her way. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap. He very much wanted to reach out and touch that hand, to hold it in his palm.
Jiang Du gave a restrained smile, nodded, then shook her head — confused by her own contradictory responses.
“I’m very happy to have seen you today. And you?” He cleared his throat softly. The car eased its way out of the parking lot and plunged immediately into the surging neon of the city. “Shouldn’t the feeling be mutual?”
That was far too direct — it completely bypassed the conventional steps in the development of feelings between a man and a woman.
Just as he had expected, Jiang Du felt embarrassed. What kind of situation was this? Wei Qingyue was deliberately ignoring the gap of more than a decade between them, as though he and she could simply speak to each other like this from the very start.
“Happy,” she said, her voice very soft. All her emotions were pressed behind her heart. Her gaze began to wander, apparently finding the interior of his car curious, as her eyes moved over the configuration in small, subtle sweeps.
Wei Qingyue caught the movement of her gaze; even his voice carried a smile:
“I modified this car myself. It was originally a used secondhand vehicle.”
Jiang Du looked at him in surprise. Wei Qingyue actually drove a secondhand car — the price didn’t quite match what you’d expect from someone of his standing as a tech figure. Not only had he bought a beat-up old car, he had modified it himself?
But somehow that wasn’t hard to understand. He had always been this way — one of a kind.
Without waiting for her to ask, Wei Qingyue continued: “It’s nothing really. The domestic situation isn’t like overseas. Regulations abroad are comparatively loose in this area, so this time it was just a matter of adding some comfort improvements. It’s not like overseas, where you can reprogram every single system.”
“You can do that yourself?” Learning of something novel and technical, Jiang Du showed no expression of surprise — she was more interested in the fact that it was Wei Qingyue who had done it.
“Yes,” Wei Qingyue told her. “I like to tinker.”
The soft interior lighting fell on his handsome profile like a dream.
The overwhelming sense of a dream — surreal and unreal — made Jiang Du suddenly unable to breathe properly. She wanted to grab hold of his arm, but she knew that was too abrupt, and could only release a quiet sigh: “You’re still so clever.”
“When you compliment me, I feel happy,” Wei Qingyue said — he had become remarkably expressive about his immediate feelings. Something about him had clearly changed. “Shouldn’t I return the compliment? Tell you that you’ve grown even more beautiful?”
Jiang Du finally smiled. With some self-consciousness she turned her head away to look out the window.
Outside was the rapidly receding skyline, and beautiful lights — the city like a dazzling, many-colored planet.
She was almost on the verge of tears: You came looking for me, Wei Qingyue. So then — what happens next?
“Let’s go to Dragon Phoenix Pavilion, shall we — the lobster bisque rice. Oh, by the way, you’re not allergic to seafood, are you?” Wei Qingyue’s voice drifted into her awareness once more, and she turned to find his face entirely, unflinchingly earnest.
Jiang Du shook her head and sat up straight again, eyes facing forward.
“Would you like to listen to some music?” Wei Qingyue said. “Though I only have two songs.”
Jiang Du immediately turned to look at him.
Soon the familiar, wistful opening notes of “Half a Heart” filled the car. Jiang Du’s vision blurred in an instant. The melody from years long past was like a lake of gentle, lethal water, wrapping them both inside the present moment.
Neither of them spoke again after that. They listened to “Half a Heart” through to the end, then to “Cold Rain Night” — cycling through, one following the other, interlocking, like a circle you could never exit — until the car stopped near the restaurant and Wei Qingyue retrieved a jacket from the back seat, draped it over his arm, and went in with Jiang Du to order.
Jiang Du was still that same agreeable, indifferent-to-details personality. She told him to order. Wei Qingyue didn’t bother pressing her on the matter, and quite decisively ordered a whole array of dishes.
“There are a lot of things I want to ask you,” Wei Qingyue said with a smile. “I’m not sure which to start with. Have these years been good to you?”
To his eyes, Jiang Du’s face always had a slightly unreal quality — perhaps because the longing had lasted so long that its actual fulfillment produced this strange feeling.
As he said this, his gaze slowly swept over every inch of her face: the unruly bangs, the eyebrows, the eyes, the nose, the rose-petal lips.
“Well enough,” Jiang Du said. She had no wish to speak of hardship. She asked in return, “And you?”
“Muddling along,” he said with a sly smile. “My career history — I won’t go into it. It’s all on the record, all official. I hope it didn’t make me seem pretentious to your team. Can we talk about something personal instead?”
His tone had suddenly grown a few degrees warmer. Jiang Du bent her head politely over her shrimp balls, murmured a soft “mm,” her mind entirely occupied with the word personal.
“I’m not sure whether you’ll want to hear it.” Wei Qingyue looked at her deeply, his gaze searching. He could feel it — that Jiang Du was avoiding him, whether deliberately or not. Was it because they had been apart too long? Or was it the same as before?
He felt a touch of disappointment. Or perhaps his overly direct manner had exceeded her comfortable social distance. How could he be so certain that Jiang Du felt something for him?
A moment of silence.
Jiang Du slowly lifted her head, her tone careful: “You still want to say it?”
“I’ve suddenly lost track of what to say.” Wei Qingyue admitted it honestly, with a small laugh.
“I’m very glad to listen to whatever you say — it’s just that if you’re going to talk about Lingdong Technology’s business, I might not follow very well. I’m quite old-fashioned, really. As far as cutting-edge technology goes, I’ve only ever heard the terms.” As Jiang Du finished, a faint flush crept across her face, hidden by the restaurant lighting.
Wei Qingyue seemed to catch something in that. He asked with amusement: “Old-fashioned how? In what way are you old-fashioned?”
Jiang Du spoke in her unhurried way: “I rarely order food delivery, and I rarely shop online. I don’t like chatting with people over the internet. Outside of work, there’s almost no other content in my WeChat history. When I need to let my grandparents know something, I prefer to call them — I don’t like sending WeChat messages. I don’t like using my phone much in general. I feel that I’m actually out of sync with the times — a person full of old-world inertia, though I’m not sure that’s exactly the right phrase.”
“Not at all,” Wei Qingyue said to her with a gentle smile. “What does it mean to be out of sync with the times? There’s no rule that says you have to like what everyone else likes.”
“Thank you for understanding.” In Jiang Du’s manner, there was a kind of polite reserve, as if she were looking at the world from a certain distance.
Wei Qingyue studied her with that ever-present quality of quiet scrutiny, until Jiang Du gradually grew uncomfortable under his gaze. He laughed softly and asked: “Are your grandparents well? Are they still here in the city?”
“Both in good health. They’re both here. But we can’t afford to buy a place — we’re renting somewhere close to my office. It’s a little small, not as big as our old home.” When Jiang Du said they couldn’t afford to buy, she said it with remarkable composure, as though it weren’t any great matter at all.
Wei Qingyue nodded. He said: “I remember your grandfather’s cooking was very good.” His fingers unconsciously tapped against the surface of the table. “Sometime soon — may I come visit? To see how your grandparents are doing.”
Jiang Du was briefly taken aback. She wore the expression of someone who couldn’t quite decipher what Wei Qingyue was thinking. Those beautiful eyes of hers, whenever they looked at someone, always seemed to carry three parts wariness, and a sorrow as faint as smoke.
“Was that too presumptuous?” Wei Qingyue asked. “If you don’t think it would be inappropriate, pretend I never brought up such a forward topic.”
“Do you really want to come?” Jiang Du looked at him with a hint of timidity. “I can’t tell whether you’re saying it out of politeness or what. I’m afraid I’d take it the wrong way.”
“There’s no such thing as polite talk between you and me. What I say is what I mean,” Wei Qingyue corrected her. “Try this — the fish maw and chicken shred broth. The flavor is quite good.”
“Wei Qingyue,” Jiang Du suddenly called his name. When he actually looked at her, her gaze immediately skittered away. She appeared to be absorbed in tending to the food on her plate. “Do you think of me today as still being a good friend? The way we were back in high school?”
Wei Qingyue’s chewing slowed. He took a sip of clear tea and said: “No. I don’t think of you as a good friend. Nor do I have any intention of doing so.”
Jiang Du immediately stopped moving, her brow faintly creasing, lips pressed tightly together. She thought: Then why did you come looking for me?
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Wei Qingyue asked in a low, steady voice.
The question came so suddenly that Jiang Du was thrown into instant awkwardness. She shook her head.
“What a coincidence — I don’t have a girlfriend either. Now, from what you can see of me as a person — would I do as your boyfriend?” Wei Qingyue said it directly and plainly. He was at once restrained and bold; his gaze blazed and sharpened, like a close-woven net cast over Jiang Du.
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