The sun had dipped below the skyline by the time we left. Shanghai's streets glittered with amber and neon, a city that never truly dimmed.
Jian Hao was still buzzing beside me.
"That was fun. Unexpectedly. But fun."
I shoved my hands into my pockets. "You sound like you're planning a sequel."
"He shot me a look. "You didn't seem so casual when she walked in."
"I was surprised," I said simply.
"Sure," he said, dragging the word out like he didn't believe me. "You barely blinked, but I know that face.That's your 'damn, not now' expression."
I smirked. "That's not a real thing."
"Oh, it's real. You had the same look when we got caught sneaking into the executive panel in the twelfth grade."
I didn't respond.
Because maybe I had been thrown off.
Seeing her outside the school setting, laughing with Mei Chen, more relaxed–she looked…different. "Not softer, just more alive. Like there were layers I hadn't accounted for. And I didn't like not accounting for things.
Jian Hao nudged me. "You kept watching her."
"I was listening," I corrected.
"To her or your heartbeat?"
I groaned. "You're impossible."
He grinned. "You like her."
"No," I said too quickly. "I respect her. There's a difference."
"But respect doesn't make you check your reflection in the cafe glass."
That earned him a shove.
We walked in silence for a while, the air cooler now, scented with street food and faint jasmine from a nearby shop.
"So, when are Aunty and Uncle arriving?" Jian Hao asked, his tone unusually serious.
"This Friday," I replied.
"Oh, and—we're visiting one of my dad's old friends this Saturday," I added casually.
"Old friend?" He raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Turns out, it's Li Wei's parents."
Jian Hao blinked, then burst out laughing. "You're kidding."
I groaned. "I wish I was."
"I see where this is going," he teased, still grinning. "Rom-com level chaos incoming."
"Ugh, I can't with you," I muttered.
He clapped me on the back. "Good luck surviving the weekend."
We exchanged goodbyes, his laughter still echoing as we parted ways.
*****
Saturday night.Outside, Shanghai shimmered under its nighttime coat–a living canvas of motion and light. Neon signs flickered with soft mandarin characters, casting shifting hues across the windshields of passing cars.The streets pulsed with life–from the late-night street food vendors lining the corners to the soft hum of electric scooters weaving through traffic.
"Do you have the wine bottle?" my dad asked from the driver's seat, glancing in the rearview mirror.
My mom, sitting beside him, held it up like a trophy. "Of course. You think I'd forget their favorite?"
I chuckled from the back seat. "You sure we're not attending a reunion instead of dinner?"
"Technically, both," my dad replied with a grin. "Wei ming and I survived accounting classes together. That alone deserves a celebration."
"Survived?" my mom scoffed. "You two cheated your way through half the semester and still somehow topped the class."
"Resourcefulness," he corrected proudly.
I leaned back, letting the familiar rhythm of their banter wash over me.
Somewhere far off, a ferry horn sounded faintly over the Huangpu River. Above us, the skyline glittered–steel and glass kissed by moonlight, cutting sharp lines against the ink-blue sky. Even after all these years abroad, Shanghai at night had a rhythm nothing else could match. Familiar. Restless. Proud.
"You used to visit their house when you were small, remember?" my mom added, turning slightly towards me. "You and Li Wei were practically inseparable for a year or two."
I frowned. "I honestly don't remember much. Just a vague image…braids? And a scraped knee?"
My parents laughed together.
"That's her," Dad confirmed. "She was tougher than half the boys on the block. Used to race you down their corridor and beat you every time."
I blinked. "You sure you're not mixing me up with someone else?"
"Oh you hate losing," Mom said fondly. "Used to pout the whole ride home."
I rolled my eyes, but a grin tugged at my lips. "So, she's always been tough and competitive.
We turned off the main road into a private driveway, flanked by high stone walls and a line of manicured sycamore trees. The iron gate slid open automatically, revealing a sprawling modern villa–sleek glass panels, warm sandstone, and soft uplighting that bathed the entrance in gold.
My das let out a low whistle. "Looks like they've done well."
"They've always been elegant," my mom said, adjusting the wine bottle in her lap. "Cai Yun never liked loud displays–but her eyes for refinement were unmatched."
"Alright, let's go," Dad said, cutting the engine.
"You used to visit here as a kid," Mom reminded me.
"Of course, back then, the house was smaller."
"Right," I said, scanning the structure. "They upgraded."
"Like I said," Dad chuckled. They've done well."
We made our way up the marble steps, lit from below with warm gold runners. Before we could even ring the bell, the tall oak doors opened–and Mrs. Li greeted us with a radiant smile, dressed in an ivory qipao threaded with gold, her smile warm and gracious. Mr. Li stood at the entrance, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, no tie, but every inch the gentleman he was known to be.
"There you are," Mr. Li greeted with a hearty laugh, stepping forward to shake my father's hand. "Still managing to show up five minutes late, just like college."
My father grinned. "Some habits are eternal."
"Welcome," Mrs. Li said, stepping in for a light hug with my mother. "It's been far too long."
They all exchanged warm pleasantries, laughter echoing just past the grand foyer.
"And this must be Rui," Mr. Li turned to me, eyeing me with that same thoughtful sharpness I'd seen in boardrooms. "Last time I saw you, you could barely hold chopsticks."
I shook his hand respectfully. "Thank you for having us, Uncle."
"You've grown into a fine young man," he said with a nod. "Come in."
We were being led through the grand entrance when something shifted in the air—just a small shift, but enough to make me glance up.
And then I saw her.
Li Wei.
She was stepping down the staircase slowly, her hand grazing the polished railing, the soft rustle of fabric echoing faintly in the high-ceilinged foyer. She wore a muted green silk dress, elegant and effortless. soft makeup, no performance—just her usual self, but sharper, quieter.
Composed.
There was something almost cinematic about it—the way the chandelier light kissed her cheekbones, the faint arch of her brows, the steady gaze already locked on the gathering below.
She didn't smile when she saw me.
But her eyes flicked—just slightly—as if acknowledging the weight of this moment.
And I couldn't help it.
For a second, I just… watched her.
Not like a rival. Not like a strategist weighing his opponent.
Just like a boy watching a girl descend into a room she already owned—without needing to announce it.
My mother followed my gaze and whispered beside me, "She's grown up well."
I didn't answer.
Because that flicker of familiarity in her eyes—it wasn't polite or nostalgic. It was something else.
And whatever it was…
I wasn't ready to ignore it.