Was She Prepared Long Ago

Lin Wanwan sat by the window in the waiting area of Tianhe Airport.

She wore a baseball cap and a mask, huddled inside an oversized hoodie, with an English dictionary resting on her knees.

A photo was tucked between the pages of the dictionary.

It had been folded many times, the corners soft and worn.

It was a picture she had secretly taken on Chen Zhi’s birthday night.

In it, Chen Zhi sat in front of a cake, with cream still smeared on his face, looking a bit silly.

Lin Wanwan stared at her phone lock screen for a few seconds, then turned it off and placed it face-down on her lap.

Su Man returned with two cups of hot coffee, setting one beside her.

“Have some, or you’ll get low blood sugar on the plane.”

Lin Wanwan shook her head.

“I’m not tired.”

Su Man looked at her and sighed.

“Not tired? Then how do you have such dark circles? Even pandas would call you a veteran.”

Lin Wanwan let out a faint laugh, but it faded quickly.

The airport broadcast announced a flight delay, first in Chinese, then in English.

There weren’t many people in the waiting area—some were asleep leaning on their luggage, others were working on PPTs with their laptops, and a few kids were pressed against the glass watching the planes outside.

Su Man sat down next to her and handed over the boarding pass.

“You told him on the phone that takeoff was in forty minutes, but it’s actually at six in the morning.”

“I was afraid he would actually come.”

Lin Wanwan tucked the boarding pass into her dictionary.

“His leg hasn’t fully healed. He’s hobbling around with a crutch—if he got hurt again, what would we do?”

Su Man stared at her for a long moment, saying nothing.

Here she was, at this point, still worrying about that guy’s leg. If she hadn’t seen it all firsthand, Su Man would’ve wanted to crack open Lin Wanwan’s head to see how much room Chen Zhi had taken up inside.

“Wanwan, have you considered that he’s no longer the kid who lived next door and climbed over the balcony to play with you?”

“I know.”

“He’s the CEO of a company worth hundreds of billions. There’s no shortage of people around him.”

“I know.”

“Then why…”

Su Man stopped mid-sentence.

Lin Wanwan looked down, picking at the edge of her phone case. After a long pause, she spoke.

“Man Jie, it’s not that I don’t understand.”

“I just… need some time to pull myself out of the past.”

A pang of sympathy hit Su Man.

She pushed the coffee closer to Lin Wanwan.

“Then you should at least let him chip in. Berkeley isn’t cheap—tuition, housing, recording studios, transportation, plus insurance in the U.S.—it’s easily over a million RMB a year.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Figure it out how?”

Su Man was about to press further when her phone buzzed.

She glanced at the screen and froze.

A bank deposit notification.

Chen Zhi had transferred 5,000,000.00 RMB.

Note: Study fund. Don’t tell her.

Su Man: “…”

She hadn’t planned to tell Lin Wanwan, but with such a large amount displayed, Lin Wanwan sitting right next to her couldn’t miss it.

Lin Wanwan took the phone, saw the amount, and her expression darkened.

“Send it back.”

Su Man retrieved the phone, frowning.

“Wanwan, don’t be difficult.”

“Send it back.”

“This isn’t about being difficult,” Su Man said, her frustration rising. “You’ve been out of the industry for four months with zero income. You’re going to the U.S. alone and unfamiliar—how will you live?”

Su Man continued, “You might as well use Chen Zhi’s money. He owes you. Five million to him is probably what a spare part on his watch costs. Why are you fighting yourself over this?”

Lin Wanwan insisted, “Man Jie, send it back.”

Su Man was so annoyed she wanted to curse. “Do you know what this is called? It’s stubborn pride for no reason.”

Lin Wanwan looked up at her, her mask covering half her face, revealing only eyes that were fiercely red.

“It’s not pride.”

“If I take this money, after a year, I won’t have the right to ask him that question.”

Su Man paused.

“What question?”

Lin Wanwan lowered her head, pulling the folded photo from the dictionary, smoothing its edges with her fingers.

“Ask him if, in this year, he ever truly learned to respect my choices.”

Su Man suddenly ran out of words.

She had managed many artists and seen plenty of emotional entanglements.

Some demanded houses and cars after breaking up, some leaked stories, others cried while taking the money.

Lin Wanwan was the trickiest kind.

Su Man rubbed her temples.

“Fine. I’ll send it back.”

She opened the transfer page and returned the five million to its original sender.

After thinking for a while, she typed only three words:

She doesn’t want it.

After the money was sent back, Su Man pocketed her phone and got up to go to the restroom.

Lin Wanwan thought she was angry, about to call out to her, but Su Man walked off without looking back.

A few minutes later.

Lin Wanwan’s phone buzzed.

Deposit notification: 200,000.00 RMB.

Payer: Su Man.

Note: Advance on your manager’s commission—deducted from your shares once you’re back.

Lin Wanwan stared at that note for a long time.

She pressed the edge of her mask, her voice muffled.

“Man Jie…”

Su Man walked back from a distance, pretending nothing had happened.

“Don’t get emotional. This isn’t a gift—it’s a loan. Interest at the bank’s highest rate, got it?”

Lin Wanwan couldn’t help it—tears fell onto her phone screen.

Su Man sat down, pulled out a tissue, and handed it to her.

“What are you crying for? When you become an international superstar, I’ll take double.”

Lin Wanwan nodded, clutching the tissue, letting out a small murmur of agreement.

…

Beijing.

Inside the Deep Space Tech CEO’s office, “Completion” was playing for the seventh time.

Chen Zhi leaned back in his chair, the computer screen in front of him stuck on an audio player interface.

He’d left only the small desk lamp on.

Pei Ningxue sat on the other side of the desk.

The song reached the chorus again.

“I gave you so many years of my youth…”

Pei Ningxue finally had enough.

“Chen Zhi, if you play that one more time, I’m throwing the speakers out the window.”

Chen Zhi didn’t react.

Pei Ningxue kicked the leg of his chair.

“Had enough yet?”

Chen Zhi came to his senses and paused the player.

The office went quiet.

“Pei Ningxue.”

“What?”

“Can you check when she applied to Berkeley?”

Pei Ningxue looked up at him.

“You’re asking me to look up the background of your love interest?”

Chen Zhi didn’t dare respond.

He just sat there, looking off.

Pei Ningxue was about to scold him, but she swallowed her words.

“I can only check publicly available information. Don’t expect me to hack the school system.”

“Public info is fine.”

Pei Ningxue pushed the contracts aside and opened her laptop.

“Chen Zhi, you’d better remember: I’m the CFO of Deep Space Tech, not your personal detective.”

“I’ll pay you extra.”

“You think I need that little raise?”

“Then I’ll up your secondary card limit?”

Pei Ningxue let out a cold laugh.

“I’ve swiped nearly two million on that secondary card in the last four months. You still haven’t cut it off. Are you enjoying being taken advantage of by me?”

“Swiping my card means you still care about me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just want to see you hurt.”

“Then you’ve failed. I’m rich now.”

Pei Ningxue couldn’t be bothered to argue. She contacted someone to dig up the info.

Three minutes later, she pulled up this semester’s list of admitted international students for Berklee College of Music.

She typed "Lin Wanwan."

The search results popped up.

Name: Lin Wanwan.

Application submission date: 2024.05.21.

Admission notice date: 2024.06.18.

Pei Ningxue's hand froze as she stared at the date.

Chen Zhi saw it too.

May twenty-first.

The day after his birthday.

Not after August fifteenth.

Not after that night at Wanliu Courtyard.

Not after Lin Wanwan left the entertainment circle and returned to Jiangcheng.

Pei Ningxue scrolled down the page and double-checked.

"There's nothing wrong with this public list."

Chen Zhi didn't say anything.

He stared at the date for a long time before speaking in a low voice.

"May twenty-first."

Pei Ningxue leaned back in her chair.

"The day after your birthday?"

"Yeah."

The morning of May twenty-first.

He remembered it clearly.

That day, the hotel room was full of roses. Lin Wanwan was holding a small potted cactus, her face buried in the quilt, laughing.

She said that if he ever forgot her birthday again, she would prick him with the cactus.

Back then, he thought he'd smoothly gotten past the gift crisis.

He even thought Lin Wanwan had been won over.

But she had secretly submitted her application to study abroad.

Pei Ningxue looked at the information on the screen, her tone unusually free of sarcasm.

"She made up her mind earlier than I thought."

Chen Zhi held the USB drive tightly in his palm.

"She decided to leave that very day."

"Maybe even earlier," Pei Ningxue added. "Application materials can't be prepared in a day—portfolio, recommendation letters, language test scores—all of that takes time."

Chen Zhi closed his eyes.

He suddenly remembered how Lin Wanwan had often said she was busy back then.

Said she had to record songs, had to go to promotional events, had to write new material.

He thought she was working hard to climb the ranks in her career.

But she was actually preparing an escape route for herself.

Pei Ningxue watched him, feeling uneasy herself.

She and Lin Wanwan weren't close. In fact, because of Chen Zhi, the two of them were naturally on opposite sides.

But at this moment, she couldn't casually judge the other woman.

Lin Wanwan hadn't been broken by that night and then run away.

She had started packing her bags when she was at her happiest.

"Chen Zhi."

"Yeah?"

Pei Ningxue closed the web page.

"She figured it out long ago. You couldn't give her what she wanted, so she left on her own."

Chen Zhi got up and walked to the window.

Outside, the lights of the International Trade building were still on, and traffic flowed endlessly below.

He pressed his forehead against the glass. The glass was very cold.

Lin Wanwan had always been the one who shined the brightest, like the sun.

She would laugh, joke, act spoiled, and burrow into his arms calling him "husband."

So he always thought she was the easiest to soothe.

A bouquet of flowers, a song, a hug—and she would soften.

But behind his back, Lin Wanwan had handled all the paperwork for leaving more cleanly than anyone.