June in Shanghai brought the first chirps of cicadas, like the city’s initial sigh of revival.

On the day the lockdown lifted, the streets were still sparsely populated, but the air carried a joy of regained freedom, like the first rays of sunlight after hibernation. Fang Zhe stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his office, watching the streets below slowly come back to life. The morning-lit world was so serene, it was hard to imagine the hardships it had endured. On his phone, he hesitated for a moment before typing a short message: "Want to go look at some apartments?" As he sent it, his heartbeat quickened slightly. The idea had been brewing in his mind for a while but had never found its way out. During the lockdown, their relationship had grown beyond mere physical attraction, their roots intertwining silently underground like two plants. Yet suggesting they live together felt like a cautious move, like stepping onto thin ice.

Lin Jingxue didn’t reply for a long time. Fang Zhe understood her hesitation. She wasn’t the type to easily lean on others—this much had become clear over the past few months. She was more like a solitary bamboo stalk, willing to break before it bent.

It wasn’t until dusk, as the sky darkened outside, that she finally responded: "Are you sure?" How typical of Lin Jingxue. Not a direct refusal, not an eager yes, but a question turned back on him. It was as if she’d already seen through his inner turmoil: his family, Jiang Caihong, and the tangled web of social ties that bound him like a giant net, hard to escape.

They viewed three apartments. In the end, they chose a secluded yet peaceful neighborhood, a quiet corner away from the world. With few words and exchanged glances, they both understood what this meant. It wasn’t just renting a place—it was the start of a secret journey, a small rebellion against fate.

They picked a weekend to move in. Fang Zhe had offered to hire a professional moving company, but Lin Jingxue calmly said she didn’t have much and could handle it herself. True to her word, her belongings were minimal—just the essentials, plus some scripts and books, like a traveler always ready to set off.

"You know, I changed my major," Lin Jingxue said suddenly while unpacking books, her voice as calm as still water.

Fang Zhe looked up at her. "Not screenwriting anymore?"

"Switched to broadcasting," she said flatly, as if it were a trivial matter. "I felt the acting world might not suit me." Fang Zhe set down the book in his hand, gazing at her profile, which looked especially radiant in the sunlight. He knew how passionate she’d once been about performing, how many dreams she’d held for the stage. How much of this decision was because of him? Had the weight of their relationship bent her pursuit of those dreams?

But he didn’t ask. Some changes happened quietly, like new leaves sprouting in spring, altering the tree’s shape without a sound. All they could do was accept it and move forward.