Chapter 53 – The Memory of Steamed Buns
The afternoon sunlight spilled softly across the school gates, painting the pavement with gold. Students streamed out in cheerful clusters, but Bai Xia's pace was calm, her black shoes tapping lightly against the concrete as she walked toward the far corner of the street.
There, parked in the shade of an old tree, was a silver-gray car — low, elegant, and quiet as a predator waiting for its prey. Through the tinted glass, she could vaguely make out the outline of the man inside.
Fu Jian.
Bai Xia opened the car door and slipped inside. The faint scent of cedar and winter mist greeted her. When her gaze lifted, she froze for a moment — he looked different today.
He was dressed in a fitted gray suit, the fabric so fine it seemed to absorb the light around him. The collar of his black shirt was open just enough to show a glimpse of sharp collarbone, and his wristwatch gleamed with understated luxury. His posture was straight, cold, and composed, but his face — pale as porcelain — betrayed a quiet exhaustion that no suit could hide.
His dark eyes, once calm and calculating, seemed deeper today, like a storm brewing quietly beneath the surface.
"Hi," Bai Xia greeted, her lips curving slightly.
"Hey," he replied, his tone distant but not unkind.
She tilted her head. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see when we get there."
The car slipped smoothly into the road, its engine humming softly. Through the windows, the city passed like a stream of fleeting memories — neon lights, the smell of roasted chestnuts from street vendors, laughter of passing strangers. Neither of them spoke.
After a while, the car stopped in front of a small restaurant tucked between towering buildings. From the outside, it looked simple, almost ordinary — a wooden door, a faded sign with gold lettering, the faint aroma of steamed rice and jasmine tea drifting from within.
But the moment they stepped inside, Bai Xia's eyes widened.
It was as though she had entered another world.
The interior shimmered with elegance — soft golden lighting spilled over marble floors, chandeliers shaped like glass lotuses hung from the ceiling, and a quiet piano melody drifted through the air. The faint scent of peonies mixed with sandalwood created an atmosphere both luxurious and serene. Each table was separated by carved screens painted with scenes of mountains and mist, offering privacy and refinement.
The hostess bowed politely, then led them to a private room upstairs.
Inside, the décor was minimalist yet rich — silk curtains swayed gently near the window, and a single vase of white orchids stood on the table between them.
They sat. The silence stretched like a thin thread between them.
Fu Jian's gaze rested on his untouched teacup, and for a long time, neither spoke. Finally, Bai Xia broke the quiet.
"Fu Jian… is something wrong?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked at her — really looked at her. The faint shine of her hair tied neatly into a ponytail, the calm steadiness in her eyes, the way her uniform's white collar framed her slender neck.
"Bai Xia," he said softly, "do you remember your days in junior high school?"
She blinked, a little surprised. "Not that much, but… a few memories."
He gave a faint smile. "Do you remember ever buying steamed buns in the morning?"
Her eyes widened slightly as fragments of memory resurfaced — the scent of warm dough, the early morning fog, the quiet figure who always stood by the stall wearing a black mask, his eyes kind yet distant.
At that time, she was small and thin, often skipping breakfast because there was little at home. Every morning, that senior would buy her steamed buns — sometimes pork, sometimes red bean — and in return, she helped him with his homework.
She remembered thinking he was strange — always covered, always quiet. But no matter how tired she was, his presence made those mornings less lonely.
Bai Xia's voice trembled faintly. "If my suspicion is correct… then are you that senior who always hid his face?"
Fu Jian chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. "I wasn't disfigured, you know. I just didn't like the way people looked at me back then. I was very sick, and I looked pale — almost ghostly."
Her brows furrowed. "Then why did you help me? I always wondered that. You didn't need help with homework."
He leaned back slightly, his eyes darkening with emotion. "Because I liked you, Bai Xia. And I couldn't find any other way to stay close to you without scaring you off."
The words hit her like a quiet explosion. Her heart gave a tiny, unsteady thump. She hadn't expected such directness from him — he'd always been reserved, logical. But now his tone carried the weight of something that had been held back for years.
He smiled faintly. "Do you remember how you used to scold me for bringing the same flavor every morning? You said I lacked imagination."
A faint laugh escaped her lips despite herself. "You really didn't. You brought the same pork buns for two months straight."
"I did," he said. "Because I knew you liked them, even if you pretended to complain."
The air softened for a moment. Then his voice grew quieter, heavier.
"Back then, I hid everything — my illness, my feelings, even my fears. Now, I can't hide much anymore."
He paused, then met her gaze. "Bai Xia… I have a heart condition. Mitral stenosis. One of the valves doesn't open properly. Every beat… it hesitates, like me."
Her breath caught.
He continued, his tone calm but laced with quiet pain. "Sometimes I cough until blood comes up. When it happens, I taste the iron and warmth, and I think — maybe this is what honesty feels like. Painful, but real."
The words hung in the air like a confession carved from silence itself.
"Fu Jian…" she whispered, but he only smiled faintly.
"So if one day I disappear, just remember — every bun I gave you was my way of saying 'I like you.' I just never had the courage to say it out loud until now."
Her eyes softened. "You always talk like you've already written your ending."
He gave a small shrug. "Maybe I have."
"You really don't believe me, do you?" she said, her voice tender but teasing. "Even now, you still think I make things up."
"You've always had a wild imagination," he replied gently.
"Maybe," she murmured, fingers brushing the hem of her sleeve. "But the pill is real."
He frowned slightly, confused.
"I didn't get it from a monk or a temple," she continued. "It was from someone… different. A man they called a medical master. He said it could heal any disease. When I heard that, I thought of you."
Fu Jian gave a quiet laugh — half disbelief, half affection. "So you kept it for me?"
"I didn't plan to," she said honestly. "But I couldn't throw it away either. Maybe I just wanted to see if you'd still argue with me like before."
He smiled, but something warm flickered behind his eyes.
She reached into her bag and took out a small porcelain bottle. It gleamed faintly under the light.
"You used to bring me buns," she said softly. "You said it was payment for homework. I thought you were just lazy. But now I think… maybe you were just scared. Scared to say what you meant."
She extended the bottle toward him. "Take it. Or don't. But try believing in something — just once."
Fu Jian hesitated. He didn't believe in miracles, but when he saw the look in her eyes — steady, pure, unyielding — he took the bottle.
The pill inside was small and white. He placed it on his tongue, and it melted instantly, spreading a faint coolness through his chest.
"I'm going for a check-up tomorrow," he said quietly. "I'll show you the results when they come. Until then, you don't need to reply. I can wait."
Bai Xia studied him for a long moment. She knew — the moment he swallowed that pill, his illness was gone. But if she told him, it would sound impossible.
So she only smiled faintly and said, "Even if you were dying, I wouldn't ignore you. But I'd like you to court me first before we start dating." Her lips curved. "I'm still seventeen, by the way."
Fu Jian froze — then laughed quietly, a sound that carried both relief and disbelief. "You'll never regret it, Bai Xia. I'll take care of you with whatever time I have left."
Bai Xia looked at him, her heart aching softly. You'll have more time than you think, she thought.
But she only said, "I'll hold you to that."
Outside, the rain began to fall, tapping gently against the glass. Inside that quiet room, two hearts — one that had healed and one that had always been whole — found their rhythm in the sound of the rain.
For once, Fu Jian's heart didn't hesitate.
It beat.
Steady and alive.
And somewhere deep inside, Bai Xia smiled — because she already knew.....