Zhong Yi spent quite a while deliberating which day they should register their marriage.
The wedding was set for May, but until then, there wasn’t any date she felt particularly drawn to.
After weighing the options—either put it off for now or get it done on March 21st—she ultimately chose the latter.
“March 21st,” she said, then added lightly, “Easy to remember.”
Zhou Shiyi glanced sideways at her. His gaze lingered on her face for a beat longer than necessary, silent except for a small nod.
Easy to remember. Three-two-one.
Memorable, yes—but it also felt a little too casual.
Even the driver couldn’t help but glance up at the rearview mirror. He still remembered that it was March 22nd when the two had broken up.
Zhong Yi picking the day before almost felt like she was hinting at something.
Of course, maybe he was just reading too much into it.
Maybe she chose it just because it was easy to remember—one less thing to forget in the future.
As Zhou Shiyi typed a message, he asked, “Are we taking our ID photos in advance or just doing them on the spot?”
“On the spot,” Zhong Yi replied.
One quick photo would do.
They had taken so many photos together in the past. After breaking up, she hadn’t known what to do with them.
She didn’t have the heart to delete them, but keeping them just made her feel worse. Pointless, really.
Zhou Shiyi sent a message to his assistant, booking an appointment before 8:30 a.m. that day.
Boss is getting married?
The assistant had just come back from a three-day break, only to be met with this sudden bombshell.
Suppressing his shock, he replied: Understood, Mr. Zhou.
Zhou Shiyi, worried he might forget, set a reminder for the evening of March 20.
After setting the alarm, his gaze briefly paused on the calendar—right on the number “22”—before swiftly swiping away the page and locking his phone with a click.
Once the date was set, neither of them said much.
Zhou Shiyi leaned back in his seat, turning his head to look out the window—on her side of the car.
She was entirely in his line of sight. He didn’t steal glances. When he wanted to look, he looked openly.
His eyes lingered on her short hair, again and again.
Zhong Yi was focused on her phone, oblivious to his gaze.
Just a minute earlier, she’d seen a blogger claim with great certainty that Lucheng had signed with Kuncheng Auto.
There was no proof, and the comments section was full of people urging the post to be deleted.
“You’re signing…” she began, lifting her eyes from the screen, only to find Zhou Shiyi watching her. His eyes were clear and direct—intense, even—and he made no attempt to look away.
Her voice trailed off.
Zhou Shiyi asked, “You wanted to ask me something?”
Rephrasing, she asked, “Are you taking over Kuncheng Auto?”
“Not yet,” he said after a pause. “Soon. In the next few days.”
“So invested in Kuncheng?” His tone was casual, like making small talk—completely unreadable.
As he spoke, he reached for his phone on the center console and shifted his gaze away from her. He knew her well—questions like that she’d never answer.
He wasn’t one to push, either. Instead, he opened a chat with his cousin: I’ll take over the automotive division. You owe me one.
Zhou Sujin: I’ll try to remember.
Zhou Shiyi: No worries. If you forget, I’ll remind you.
His cousin had always handled Kuncheng.
But lately, he’d been spending most of his time in Jiangcheng with his wife and daughter, while also managing the group’s semiconductor business—he simply couldn’t do both.
So he’d asked Zhou Shiyi to step in.
For years, Zhou Shiyi had avoided the family business for the sake of peace and freedom. Returning meant being under family scrutiny—especially regarding marriage.
After replying to his cousin, Zhou Shiyi turned back to Zhong Yi.
“Why didn’t you turn down the arranged marriage?”
They locked eyes in silence for a few seconds.
With no answer forthcoming, even the driver held his breath.
Zhong Yi said quietly, “I didn’t think that much at the time.”
That was the truth.
The car filled with silence.
Then Zhou Shiyi said, “I’m giving you time now. Think it over. Give me your answer before we get home.”
Zhong Yi instinctively looked out the window, trying to gauge where they were—how long until they arrived.
She didn’t recognize this route. After watching for a while, she still couldn’t tell.
Zhou Shiyi hadn’t expected her to seriously reconsider. He glanced at his watch, then opened the mini fridge and pulled out two bottles of water.
He opened one and handed it to her.
“We’ll be home in about half an hour. That’s enough time to decide.”
“I’m good, thanks. I have warm water,” she said, not taking the bottle.
To prove she wasn’t lying, she pulled out a thermos from her bag.
Carrying a thermos was something she’d picked up from Ning Que—he took that matte black bottle everywhere.
Zhou Shiyi took a slow sip from the bottle, then put the other one back into the fridge.
Of everyone in the car, the driver was the most nervous. He’d witnessed their breakup, remembered Zhou Shiyi’s expression even now.
If things fell apart today, there’d be no coming back from it.
Thanks to his nerves, that half hour seemed to vanish in an instant.
Zhong Yi hadn’t even finished half her water by the time they arrived at her villa.
She hadn’t thought about anything on the ride. Because deep down, she’d never really considered not marrying him.
She packed away the thermos, turned to Zhou Shiyi—and met his gaze again, so unexpectedly it startled her.
“Have you decided?” he asked.
“Will you marry me?”
His voice was low and steady, almost tender. It felt like a proposal.
But his expression remained cool, almost detached—no warmth in his eyes. It snapped her right out of any illusions.
Zhong Yi said, “You don’t need to pick me up that day. I’ll drive myself.”
Then she leaned slightly forward and got out of the car.
The Maybach didn’t linger. As soon as the door closed, she stepped back to a safe distance, and the car drove off.
She hadn’t even reached the steps when her father came out of the house.
Jiang Jingyuan glanced toward the driveway. Only their own cars were there. He looked at his daughter.
“Zhou Shiyi left?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you invite him in for tea?”
“He had a bottle of water in the car. Didn’t seem thirsty.”
That made Jiang Jingyuan laugh.
Zhong Yi handed him her canvas bag and looped her arm through his, heading indoors together.
“Did you two talk about the wedding?” he asked.
“Nope.”
They had exchanged fewer than ten sentences the whole ride. Unfortunately, her memory was too good—she remembered every single one.
“But we picked a date to register,” she added.
“The 21st.”
Jiang Jingyuan hadn’t dared to hope for much—just that they could discuss things calmly. He hadn’t expected them to voluntarily schedule the registration.
“That’s great. Really great.” He repeated it twice.
Inside, Zhong Yi took off her sneakers and slipped into soft wool slippers, still holding her father’s arm.
“Is the 21st some special day?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Just an ordinary date. Nothing special.”
“Well, once you register, it won’t be ordinary anymore.”
Her dad had always known how to comfort her. Zhong Yi smiled.
In the following days, she didn’t contact Zhou Shiyi again.
The next time she saw his name, it was in a financial news article.
Kuncheng Auto had just announced: after discussion by the group’s leadership, Zhou Shiyi had officially been appointed as CEO.
Another topic trending alongside it was #LuchengKunchengSpokesperson.
Others might not understand the implications, but she did. If the contract wasn’t finalized yet, and Zhou Shiyi had just taken over, there was no way Lucheng would remain the spokesperson.
She didn’t click the hashtag, just exited the trending list.
These days, she avoided anything related to Lucheng.
She had no idea what roles he’d played in the past few years, how many concerts he’d held or where.
Her phone buzzed on the desk—it was Ning Que calling.
He’d seen the same news.
Not long ago, he had confidently told her Zhou Shiyi wouldn’t take over Kuncheng, urging her to dive into the autonomous driving project between Kuncheng and Jinghe.
Well, that aged like milk.
“You were right not to get involved,” he admitted, before quickly changing the subject.
“Anyway, I called to tell you—our whole department’s moving to the industrial park.”
Jinghe’s park was more remote than its central headquarters, which was smack in the heart of the city with everything nearby.
But the park had its perks—no big bosses lurking nearby, and lunch by the lake.
“There’s a manmade lake in front of our building. We can take a stroll after lunch.”
He rambled a bit before circling back.
“Do you have anything personal in your office? If not, I’ll have the team start packing.”
Zhong Yi had taken home all her important stuff during her three-month break. The rest was just office supplies and books.
“Nothing secret. Go ahead and pack.”
“When’s the move?”
“Twenty-first.”
Her finger froze on the mouse.
“Is that some kind of auspicious day?”
“Super auspicious. Good for moving, getting married, signing contracts, travel—take your pick.”
Zhong Yi hadn’t expected the date she chose to be so… universally lucky.
“Are you free that day?” Ning Que asked.
“If you are, come celebrate with us—red bean lattes on the house.”
“Probably not,” she replied.
“I’m registering my marriage that day.”
Ning Que wasn’t doing anything else at the moment, so he was sure he’d heard correctly.
He was silent for a while before recovering.
“Wow. Congrats.”
“Thanks.” Ning Que didn’t always get along with her—but he probably understood her better than most.
Not beating around the bush, she added, “It’s with Zhou Shiyi.”
She could already picture his jaw dropping.
Sure enough, there was another long pause on the other end.
“Congrats again,” he finally said, sincerely.
“So that day you left work early—you went to see him?”
“No. My dad arranged it.”
“What does your dad do? That’s impressive.”
“Full-time stay-at-home dad.”
She didn’t want to reveal her parents’ identities yet, so she kept it vague.
“He knows about my history with Zhou Shiyi. Took the initiative to talk to him.”
He’d swallowed his pride—for her happiness.
“Definitely a true stay-at-home dad,” Ning Que joked.
Then he added more seriously, “Your father has great perspective. I’d love to raise a toast to him someday.”
After chatting a bit more, they hung up.
Just then, Ning Que’s secretary knocked to ask when Zhong Yi’s office should be packed up.
There were only three days left. If they didn’t start now, it’d be too late.
“I’ll do it,” Ning Que said.
“Just think of it as my wedding gift.”
He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
Zhong Yi’s collection of books was quite large. Ning Que began moving them from the shelves to the floor, stacking them neatly.
He had to stand on tiptoe to reach the top shelf. Suddenly, a small card slipped out of one of the books and fluttered to the ground.
He bent down and picked it up—a fancy bookmark that had come with the book. He had the same book himself, though a different edition, so no bookmark.
Out of curiosity, he flipped the card over to see the design on the back.
To his surprise, it was blank—except for two names written in different handwriting in the corner, in blue-black ink.
The first name: Zhou Shiyi
Right below: Zhong Yi
He recognized the first set of characters immediately—elegant, relaxed, unmistakably hers.
The second—bold, vigorous strokes—must’ve been Zhou Shiyi’s.
Their names shared a homophone. They’d swapped characters and left a piece of each other in their own names.
The ink hadn’t faded. Back then, they probably never imagined there’d come a day they’d be apart.