Wen Ying ran several laps around the neighborhood, her clothes soaked with sweat by the time she headed upstairs.
The day had been spent writing, and the night was reserved for studying.
These past couple of days, Deng Shangwei had been leaving early and returning late again. Wen Ying guessed he was dealing with Yu Wenhao, though she wasn’t sure how he planned to gather evidence. She texted Detective Luo to ask, and he replied that he’d accepted Deng Shangwei’s commission. They were now investigating the same matter, just with the client shifting from Wen Ying to Deng Shangwei.
Detective Luo even felt a bit embarrassed, thinking the 5,000 yuan he’d earned from Wen Ying was too easy, and offered to refund part of the fee.
Wen Ying couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. No wonder Luo’s detective agency had gone bust multiple times—how could it not with business practices like this?
“No need to refund it. We can be friends instead.”
A refund of a few hundred or a thousand wouldn’t help Wen Ying’s ledger anyway. That money came from Deng Shangwei, not her own earnings.
Honest Detective Luo’s attempt to return the money failed, so he offered to discount Deng Shangwei’s fees instead.
Wen Ying kindly warned him, “Detective Luo, your contract has some serious issues… Never mind, I’ll come by when I’m free and draft you a new one.”
Luo responded with a long string of question marks.
He had lots of little question marks, but Wen Ying wasn’t planning to explain just yet—Qin Jiao was calling.
“Wen Ying, want to grab some barbecue? We’ll pick you up if you’re in!”
Late-night barbecue was a diet’s sworn enemy, and Wen Ying wasn’t keen on it. But staying cooped up wasn’t working either. Going out to unwind might spark some inspiration in a new setting.
“Sure, is Wang Shuang coming?”
“Yeah, him and some other friends.”
Qin Jiao said they’d arrive in about half an hour. Wen Ying changed, noticing in the mirror that her hair was nearly shoulder-length. She grabbed a rubber band and tied it into a half-bun. It exposed her round face but made her look lively and refreshed.
During her week in the hospital after the entrance exam, she’d eaten bland food. Since discharge, she’d watched her diet, mostly cutting sugar. Over half a month, her acne scars hadn’t fully faded, but new pimples rarely appeared.
Studying her moon-shaped face, it seemed less puffy than before.
Youthful metabolism was indeed a blessing—losing weight was easier now. Past thirty, it’d take meticulous calorie counting and regular exercise to avoid gaining… Reborn at sixteen, though a bit rough around the edges, she was over a decade younger. That was worth celebrating.
She told Chen Li she was going for barbecue with Qin Jiao. Chen Li was thrilled she was getting out.
“Do you have enough money?”
“Yeah, I haven’t spent all the allowance Uncle gave me. It’s enough to treat Qin Jiao tonight.”
Before hiring Luo, Wen Ying had 6,200 yuan. The 5,000 for Luo left her with 1,200. After Pan Li showed up at the seafood company with a pregnancy report, Wen Ying, furious, demanded another 5,000 from Deng Shangwei, thinking if she didn’t spend it, some vixen would. She’d blown over 2,000 on clothes in a retail therapy spree, halving it instantly.
Last time shopping with Qin Jiao, a branded tracksuit was bought—Qin Jiao paid. Wen Ying rarely splurged, so with bits and pieces spent, she still had 3,400 yuan in pocket money. Most came from Deng Shangwei’s “support,” with a few hundred from Chen Ru when she arrived in Rongcheng—none counted as her own earnings for the bet. But treating everyone to barbecue tonight? No problem.
Heck, with over 3,000 yuan in 2004 Rongcheng, she could strut into any night market stall short of a Jiuyanqiao bar spree!
Wen Ying assured Chen Li her funds were fine, and Chen Li dropped it. Qin Jiao arrived past nine. Chen Li sent Deng Yaomei downstairs with Wen Ying.
“Call when you’re back—I’ll meet you at the gate.”
“Got it, Auntie.”
Wen Ying offered to bring back skewers, but even Deng Yaomei declined. “I won’t eat. Sister Chen says late-night food makes you fat.”
—Yaomei, you’re overthinking. Your weight’s got nothing to do with this meal.
As Wen Ying got in the car, Qin Jiao’s eyes lit up. “Your hairstyle’s kinda unique!”
A little tuft atop her head looked casually tied, but on closer look, it had a playful charm.
Girls notice girls’ changes—academic prowess didn’t dull Qin Jiao’s eye for beauty.
Wen Ying grinned. “Like it? I’ll teach you. This is a half-bun. All up is a full bun.”
Wang Shuang, in the front seat, held his breath.
Girls were so weird. How was this cute? Bun? More like a Taoist priest’s topknot.
He grumbled inwardly but didn’t dare say it.
He’d been itching to expose Wen Ying and break her “fake” friendship with Qin Jiao, but badmouthing her only pushed Qin Jiao away.
Wen Ying spotted Wang Shuang and greeted him naturally. Surprisingly, Young Master Wang seemed in a good mood today—his tone was normal, even warm.
Huh, were they that close?
Probably after their first meeting, Qin Jiao said something to him, shifting his attitude.
Wang Shuang was Qin Jiao’s friend—Wen Ying wouldn’t grovel, but if he dropped the snark, she’d be fine being casual pals for Qin Jiao’s sake.
With Wang Shuang’s change and Wen Ying’s easygoing nature, the car’s vibe turned harmonious.
Qin Jiao mentioned two other boys and a girl joining them, coming from another direction to meet at the spot.
Before arriving, Wen Ying declared she’d treat tonight. Qin Jiao smiled, “Cool, I’m eating extra then.”
Wang Shuang wondered—could a barbecue stall bankrupt Wen Ying even if they went all out? Should he eat more or less?
The car soon reached a bustling night market street in Rongcheng. Summer nights brought shirtless guys chugging beer and eating barbecue.
From end to end, there were spicy noodles, dry pots, beef offal hotpots, cold pot fish—but barbecue joints dominated. In 2004, this street outshone 2019’s version. Unregulated sidewalk setups let thriving stalls plop tables right in the road to lure customers.
It smelled amazing!
For a moment, Wen Ying’s diet resolve wavered hard.
Why diet? Was barbecue not tasty? Dry pots not good enough?
She scanned the street—still lively three years later. In college, she’d raided it with roommates; post-grad, with coworkers in Rongcheng. After moving to Modu in 2013, she rarely returned.
Revisiting felt nostalgic amid the food’s allure… but something seemed off, a fleeting thought she couldn’t pin down.
At the street’s busiest barbecue spot, Qin Jiao led Wen Ying to their friends. Two boys—high schoolers like Qin Jiao and Wang Shuang—and a girl, Li Mengjiao, fresh from middle school exams like Wen Ying. Pale, petite, with a dimple when she smiled, she was adorable.
Wen Ying hadn’t expected to see Li Mengjiao at a barbecue stall.
How did she know Qin Jiao?
Li Mengjiao, like Xie Qian, had been Wen Ying’s classmate in her past life.
Back then, Wen Ying was an ugly duckling, her high school years stifling and drab. Li Mengjiao was different—a literary star, with a lovely voice and classical dance skills, the undisputed class belle. In her first year, she’d stunned the school at a talent contest.
Wen Ying knew she’d try out for *Super Girl* next year. Decent among amateurs, she’d hit the Rongcheng division’s golden era and fall short of the top 20.
Her boldest memory? Half a month after Xie Qian transferred in, Li Mengjiao publicly declared she’d pursue him.
She’d planned romantic confessions multiple times, all flops. Yet classmates didn’t mock her—they admired her bold, honest spirit. But the kicker? Wen Ying never knew she and Qin Jiao were friends!
In her past life, Qin Jiao gave a speech to the whole school post-gaokao as an outstanding student. With such a stellar friend, how had Li Mengjiao never mentioned her once?
That didn’t fit Li Mengjiao’s personality at all!
