It wasn’t until the sound of high heels in the hallway faded away completely that Sheng Min returned to the sofa. The tea he had poured for Zhang Shan was untouched, so he took it and drank it all. He still felt thirsty, a thirst that seemed to weigh on his heart—perhaps because the two conversations had been mentally exhausting.
He suddenly thought of Li Xuan but still hadn’t received any messages. The texts he sent went unanswered. Waiting was something Sheng Min was good at, but at this moment, it felt like torture. He finally dialed Li Xuan’s number, the phone rang for a long time before turning into a message: “Sorry, the person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable.”
Even after lunch, with the recording session about to begin, the call still couldn’t get through. At this point, worry had overtaken anxiety.
“Head to the studio first.” Glancing at his watch, he instructed Yang Xu, “There are still five minutes. If the director asks, just say I’ll be there shortly.”
He quickly stepped into the adjacent emergency exit. Thankfully, he hadn’t misplaced Qi Boyuan’s business card. After a moment of hesitation, he called the number, and finally, someone answered.
“Hello, who’s this?”
“It’s Sheng Min.”
“Oh…oh.” Qi Boyuan was clearly taken aback and cautiously asked, “Is there something you need?”
“Is Li Xuan there?” For some reason, the question made Sheng Min feel a little embarrassed, but he pushed through, “He’s not answering his phone.”
“I don’t think so… Let me double-check.” Qi Boyuan sounded awkward but agreed. Soon, there were footsteps in the background. Shortly after, he replied, “He’s not in the office. I haven’t seen him all day. Weren’t you two together yesterday?”
“We had dinner last night, and then he went back to the company. Isn’t he staying there now?”
“Let me ask someone.”
It sounded like he asked a colleague—possibly someone from administration—if they’d seen Li Xuan.
“No, I haven’t,” a woman’s voice replied faintly. “I got in late today and haven’t seen him at all… By the way, Qi Ge, here are some resumes I sorted. I’m planning to leave after finishing up next week.”
“Got it. Hand them over… Oh, can you try calling Li Xuan?”
There was a pause before the woman’s voice returned: “No answer.”
“He’s not here. He might’ve gone out.” Qi Boyuan relayed, “I asked my colleague to call him, but it didn’t go through either.”
“I see… Thanks anyway.”
“No problem.” Sensing Sheng Min’s low mood, Qi Boyuan awkwardly tried to reassure him, “He is probably just busy. When he’s focused, he often doesn’t pick up.”
Sheng Min hesitated briefly: “If he comes back to the office later…”
“I’ll remind him to call you back.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t worry. He’ll get back to you when he sees your message.”
Yet by the time the day’s recording ended, Li Xuan still hadn’t returned his call.
Sheng Min thought he shouldn’t keep trying. Qi Boyuan was right—there was no reason Li Xuan wouldn’t return his call if he’d seen it. But why hadn’t he seen it? Staring at his phone, the screen reflected the furrow in his brow.
Maybe just one more call. He thought… Yet once again, the voice he longed to hear didn’t answer.
“Enough already, Ge.” Yang Xu couldn’t bear to watch any longer and snatched his phone. “If he doesn’t answer, then forget it. What’s so great about him anyway?”
“Give it back.”
“I won’t—” Yang Xu’s protest faded under Sheng Min’s steady gaze. Reluctantly, he handed the phone over, just as it beeped with a low-battery warning.
“See? It’s about to die,” Yang Xu muttered quickly. “Let me charge it for you. If he calls, I’ll give it back. You keep staring at it like this—aren’t you tired? If he wants to call, he will. If not… staring at the phone won’t make flowers bloom.”
“Since when did you become so talkative?” Sheng Min’s tone was flat, his lowered gaze unreadable.
Yang Xu hesitated, unsure of his mood. “You’re not thinking of looking for him now, are you? We have a flight soon.”
The driver had already pulled up, the white headlights casting a dull shadow on the wall.
Even if he wanted to find him, where would he go? Sheng Min glanced at his phone in Yang Xu’s hand. He couldn’t reach him and didn’t even know where he was.
“Let’s go.” He said nothing more and climbed into the car.
On the way to the airport, Sheng Min remained silent. Even in the waiting lounge, his spirits were low.
“Ge, are you okay?” Yang Xu handed him a cup of green grape juice.
“Yeah.” Sheng Min smiled faintly, taking the drink without sipping it. “How long until boarding?”
“Twenty minutes.”
Sheng Min pressed his lips together. “Is the phone charged? Hand it over.”
“You’re going to call again…” Yang Xu muttered under his breath, reluctantly handing it back. “But it’s no use—”
Before he could finish, two missed call notifications popped up.
“I didn’t turn off silent mode!” Yang Xu exclaimed, eyes widening, though he sounded uncertain. “At least…I don’t think I did…”
That’s right. Sheng Min suddenly remembered he had silenced the phone before recording and never turned it back on.
Staring at the name on the screen, he felt a weight that had hung over him all day finally lift.
He stepped aside to a quieter area and dialed Li Xuan’s number. It rang only once before being answered.
“Hello.” Li Xuan’s voice sounded a little rushed.
“What’s going on?”
“Are you boarding soon?”
“Yeah.”
For some reason, Li Xuan sounded slightly out of breath. “I didn’t see your calls or messages this morning.”
“It’s okay,” Sheng Min said gently. “I forgot to turn my phone’s sound back on earlier.”
He wanted to ask where Li Xuan had been that morning, but something held him back. After a moment’s hesitation, he simply asked, “Where are you now?”
Li Xuan was silent for a moment, the faint sound of static crackling over the line.
Sheng Min’s heart tightened, and he blurted out, “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Li Xuan sounded puzzled. “Huh? I’m fine. Why would you ask that?”
Relieved by his reaction, Sheng Min bit his lip. As long as Li Xuan was okay, nothing else mattered. In a soft voice, he said, “It’s nothing. I was just overthinking. You should go back to whatever you were doing… I…I need to board now.”
“Sheng Min.” Li Xuan quickly interrupted, his tone slightly panicked. “I…”
Before he could finish, a loud announcement cut through the call on Li Xuan’s side: “Attention passengers on Air China flight CA1234 to Yunnan, we regret to inform you that your boarding gate has been changed…”
Sheng Min froze for a moment, instinctively looking toward the broadcast playing the same announcement. “Where are you?”
Li Xuan didn’t respond. Sheng Min sighed helplessly. “I’ve already heard it.”
The other end seemed to let out a sigh. “Share your location with me. I’ll come find you.”
From the time he hung up to the moment Li Xuan appeared before him, it took exactly 372 seconds. Sheng Min silently counted in his mind, feeling like he had countless questions to ask and countless things to say. But when they finally met and locked eyes, he simply stepped forward and lightly wiped the sweat from Li Xuan’s forehead. “Why were you running so fast?”
“I was afraid I’d be too late and you’d leave.”
“I thought I wouldn’t see you again until I came back next time…” Sheng Min’s voice unconsciously softened as he smiled faintly at Li Xuan. “But it’s actually not that long—just a week, and I’ll be back for two days for the promotion.”
He didn’t know whether he was comforting himself or Li Xuan. Li Xuan raised his hand and gently ruffled Sheng Min’s hair. “I wasn’t ignoring your calls on purpose.”
“I know,” Sheng Min said, his gaze always warm and full of understanding.
Li Xuan’s Adam’s apple moved slightly. “I…”
“It’s okay.”
“But it’s not okay.” Li Xuan pressed his temples, looking at Sheng Min as though he had made a difficult decision, reluctantly adding, “I hadn’t realized before—during the recording of ‘Pick Your Moon’, audience members are required to hand in their phones.”
