Chen Jin was in a terrible mood. In all his thirty years, he had never felt this humiliated.
That afternoon, he'd been beaten half to death by his old man; that evening, he'd been stupid enough to check on someone who clearly didn't want to see him—and nearly turned himself into a criminal in the process. "Attempted" or not, it was pathetic. And to make things worse, Lin Wan had scratched him like a wildcat, the rain had drenched him through, and now his wounds were infected.
Fine. He could've just gone home, patched himself up, and laughed at his own bad luck. But his father had returned, and according to Chen family tradition, that meant everyone had to stay home for a few days—especially after a family "lesson." If he dared sneak out again, his father would take it as rebellion, and the next round of "education" might finish the job.
So there he was, half-naked and face-down on his bed, enduring his mother's so-called care—equal parts medicine and scolding. Each time she dabbed ointment on his back, he hissed in pain; each word she muttered made him want to stuff his ears with cotton.
"Hurts now, doesn't it? Maybe next time you'll think twice before running around all night," she chided.
It took him a second to realize what she was hinting at. His face burned. "Mom, what are you talking about?"
She arched a brow. "Oh, come on—don't tell me these scratches weren't from a woman?"
Chen Jin said nothing.
His mother leaned closer, half-joking, half-worried. "Don't tell me it was a man?"
"Seriously, Mom?" he groaned. "What has been going on in your head all day?"
"It's not me—it's your generation!" she huffed. "Didn't you hear about Commander Bai's youngest son? Keeping a… male companion outside! His father nearly disowned him. I mean, with so many girls out there, why go for a man? Can't even give the family a grandson! They only have one heir—"
"Mom," he cut her off, exasperated. "Can we not gossip about other people's sons right now? Maybe focus on your own? And could you not press so hard? That stuff burns!"
She sighed, softening. Of course, she felt sorry for him—but someone had to take the blame. Otherwise, with her husband's moral righteousness, she and her sons would've been thrown out long ago.
"That old man," she muttered, rubbing more gently, "so old and still hitting like he's twenty. Look at your back—what if it had been Zui instead of you? He'd be in a full body cast."
Chen Jin didn't respond. He was thinking about Chen Zui. The idiot was overseas now—maybe the unfamiliar environment would keep him out of trouble for once.
He'd long grown used to playing the cleaner—every time his brother made a mess, his instinct wasn't to ask why, but how to fix it: money, people, or both.
To him, anything solvable with money or connections wasn't really a problem.
And to him, Chen Zui was still a boy who'd never grow up. That was probably his mistake—as a brother, as a son. Zui was twenty-six now, the same age Chen Jin had been when he founded Zhicheng Group, when he was too busy building his empire to even think about sleeping.
People had different temperaments, sure. But if Zui kept drifting like this, he'd never last.
The last trace of summer faded away. Autumn came and went.
And then it was winter—cold and heavy.
Half a year had passed since Wang Xiao's death.
During that time, Lin Wan buried herself at work. She took on project after project, pushing herself until even her colleagues began to worry.
"Lin Wan," joked Xiao Xie from the next desk, "Are you trying to make the rest of us unemployed?"
Lin Wan smiled lightly. "Then let me make it up to you. Dinner tonight—my treat."
"Deal!" they cheered.
By evening, the team piled into taxis and headed to a Sichuan restaurant. After eating and drinking their fill, someone suggested karaoke—as always. Amid the chaos of off-key singing, Lin Wan sang two pop songs, then quietly retreated to a corner, munching on snacks and listening.
When a familiar tune started playing—"Warmth" by Fish Leong—the room fell strangely still. It was her song. Sweet, gentle, full of the kind of love that hurts to remember. Her friends froze, eyes flicking toward her. For a second, the air was awkwardly heavy.
But Lin Wan just smiled, calm as ever. Xiao Xie quickly signaled to switch songs. A male-female duet began, and laughter filled the room again.
No one noticed her pale knuckles wrapped tight around the beer bottle. They all thought she was doing fine—quieter, yes, but normal enough. Even she sometimes believed it.
But the night told another story. That was when the loneliness crept in, sharp and endless. She still couldn't sleep without alcohol, and even then, her dreams were filled with ghosts—some with fangs, others with familiar eyes.
Her friend Milan had once shown up unannounced one morning, only to scream at the sight of her.
"Wanwan, what happened to your face? You look like a ghost!"
"Late nights," she'd lied.
Milan and Sisi checked in constantly—calls, messages, invitations. Lin Wan always found excuses to avoid burdening them.
In October, Sisi finally came back and dragged her on a trip to Huangshan. The climb exhausted her, but for the first time in months, her body felt alive. The view from the top took her breath away—though not enough to keep her from thinking, If only he were here.
At the summit, Sisi suddenly asked, "Wanwan, are you doing better?"
Lin Wan closed her eyes. "I still think about him. Every night. I keep telling myself it's just a dream—that he'll show up tomorrow."
She smiled faintly. "I told myself he stayed in the summer. That way, he'll never grow old. He could be the Little Prince forever."
Because she was his rose. And she was wilting.
Sisi sighed. "You're still young, Wanwan. You have to move on."
"I'll try," Lin Wan whispered.
But when they descended the mountain, she bought two love locks and fastened them to the chain railing. When Sisi gave her a worried look, she laughed softly.
"See? I am moving on—I'm just making an appointment with him for next life."
When they left the KTV that night, snow was falling—thick and soft, the first heavy snow of the year. Under the bright lights, it looked like glitter drifting from the sky, beautiful and almost unreal.
Her friends squealed, taking photos, laughing like children. Lin Wan tucked her hands into her pockets, smiled, and murmured, "Being young really is nice."
Then she turned—and froze.
From the entrance of a nearby hotel, a group of men were walking out. One of them caught her eye immediately. Maybe it was his posture, or the way he carried himself. Maybe it was just that her hatred for him had burned too long to ever fade.
Chen Jin.
Their eyes met for the first time in six months.
In a city of millions, they had managed to live without crossing paths—until now. And in that instant, she realized how close they still were. The hatred buried in her heart surged up, filling her veins with ice.
She turned away quickly, walking off with her colleagues, but her body trembled despite the thick coat. She finally understood why she hadn't truly healed—because she still hated him.
When she got home, her phone buzzed. A text.
Her heart jumped—then sank when she saw it was from a colleague: "Winter has come; can spring be far behind?"
She smiled bitterly. After a moment, she typed back two words: "Thank you."
What else could she say? She wasn't stupid; she knew he liked her. But her winter hadn't ended yet.
And maybe—her spring never would.