Chapter 89

“Wait a moment, I’ll reply to a message.”

“Who is it? Such a buzzkill.”

Ruan Hongzhuang walked back and casually said one sentence.

“A friend. I’d made plans with him today, but since I’m on a date with you, I’ve just stood him up,” Shen Siyuan said.

Upon hearing this, Ruan Hongzhuang didn’t press further; they had only just met and weren’t close enough to ask personal questions freely.

“I’m waiting for you at Blue Sea Internet Cafe. I’ve already turned on the machine. Hurry up.”

Hong Wenqing’s message carried a hint of urgency.

So early in the morning, he went to an internet cafe—after all these years, he really hasn’t changed his ways.

“Not going. On a date.”

With Hong Wenqing, Shen Siyuan didn’t hold back—he spoke plainly.

“Hahaha.gif.” Hong Wenqing sent a laughing emoji.

“You? On a date? Don’t make me laugh.”

“You’re looking down on me?”

“Yeah, I am looking down on you. Come quick, don’t waste time—I’m today organizing a 16-player dungeon run, and I’ll bring you along. You still have plenty of achievements left, right? Let’s do them together—maybe you’ll even get a divine gear…”

“I really am on a date. If you don’t believe me, I’ll send you a photo.”

Shen Siyuan turned to look at Ruan Hongzhuang beside him.

“I said I’m on a date, but my friend doesn’t believe me. Can I take a photo and send it over? Don’t worry—I won’t show my face.”

“Why not show your face? Because I’m not good-looking enough?” Ruan Hongzhuang smiled.

She then leaned in and linked arms with Shen Siyuan.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Take it.”

Ruan Hongzhuang tilted her head toward Shen Siyuan and flashed a bright smile.

She understood perfectly what Shen Siyuan meant, but her personality was straightforward—she disliked childish pretense.

If they were dating, there was no need to hide it—let the world see them openly.

She’d taken plenty of photos today and planned to post them on her Moments—she had no intention of concealing her feelings at all.

Since Ruan Hongzhuang didn’t mind, Shen Siyuan took two photos of them showing their faces and sent them over.

And then—

And then Hong Wenqing fell silent.

“What did he say?”

Ruan Hongzhuang was curious about her friend’s reaction.

She was confident in her looks—she’d surely make Shen Siyuan look impressive in front of his friend.

Seeing no response for a long while, Shen Siyuan said, “Forget him. Let’s keep taking photos.”

But the moment he finished speaking, Hong Wenqing’s WeChat message arrived again.

“You’re dead.”

Ruan Hongzhuang leaned over curiously, then burst into laughter, revealing a row of white teeth. She thought she was being too rude, so she covered her mouth—but the laughter wouldn’t stop.

“Do you and your friend always talk like this?”

“We were college roommates and lived in the same dorm. After graduation, we’ve kept in touch, so our bond is naturally stronger than with others.”

As he spoke, Shen Siyuan sent another message to Hong Wenqing.

“Little Hong, withdraw. Don’t disturb my peace. (Kick him away.gif)”

After sending the WeChat message, he immediately muted Hong Wenqing’s notifications and pretended nothing had happened, continuing his date with Ruan Hongzhuang.

“Is this okay? This way, we capture the sea behind us, and the trees below the hill are included in the frame too…”

Ruan Hongzhuang had great camera sense—as if born to be the center of attention.

Sixty percent of Shen Siyuan’s phone photos were of her.

But this time, Shen Siyuan shifted the lens slightly to the right, because a mother and son had entered the frame.

Ruan Hongzhuang seemed to sense Shen Siyuan’s gaze and turned her eyes toward the side too—she saw a boy leaning on the railing, staring blankly at the sea.

More accurately, he was a teenager—fifteen or sixteen years old, wearing a black sports jersey, black sun-protective arm sleeves, a large backpack slung over one shoulder, and a water bottle hanging diagonally across his chest. His skin was dark, as if he’d traveled far.

“Do you know him?”

Ruan Hongzhuang walked back and whispered in Shen Siyuan’s ear.

Shen Siyuan shook his head. “No.”

But his gaze fixed on the woman beside the boy.

The woman was young, no more than thirty.

Perhaps because of Ruan Hongzhuang’s movement, or perhaps because Ruan Hongzhuang herself was so striking, she noticed them and glanced over.

But that glance revealed the young man seemed to smile at her—she thought she’d imagined it.

Most people would have let it go, dismissed it, and gone on with their business.

But she wasn’t human—others couldn’t see her, so she had far fewer inhibitions.

She walked straight over, wanting to see what the young man had taken a photo of—she’d noticed he’d been aiming the camera toward them; perhaps her son was in the shot.

Throughout this journey, her greatest regret was that her son had so few photos.

Shen Siyuan had indeed taken one photo of the boy: gazing at the sea, his eyes melancholy, his brow knotted as if burdened by an unbreakable sorrow, a strand of sunlight falling on his face—yet somehow symbolizing a bright future, all suffering destined to become the past.

Ruan Hongzhuang glanced once, then moved on—she was drawn to a wild guava tree beyond the railing, its branches stretching inward, blooming with cream-colored flowers.

So when the woman leaned forward to look, Shen Siyuan asked directly: “How’s it look?”

“Very nice. My son’s handsome,” the woman replied casually.

Then she realized and widened her eyes, staring at Shen Siyuan in shock: “You’re talking to me?”

Then he realized and widened his eyes, staring at Shen Siyuan in shock: “Are you talking to me?”

“You can see me?”

The woman was both startled and delighted.

Shen Siyuan gave a slight nod, then turned to Ruan Hongzhuang, who was crouched by the railing, studying the wild guava blossoms: “Tilt your head slightly to the right.”

He added softly: “Of course I can see you. Just speak—I’ll listen. Don’t want anyone thinking I’m crazy.”

Then he added softly: “Of course I can see you—just say what you need to say, so no one thinks I’m crazy.”

Clearly, this was the first time she’d met someone who could see her—and speak to her. She was deeply moved.

So Shen Siyuan took photos of Ruan Hongzhuang while listening to the woman’s story.

The woman was Chen Haiyan; the boy was her son, Zhou Jinbei. He’d just finished junior high and would enter high school next year, and was currently cycling around the island.

But due to family circumstances, he didn’t plan to attend high school, which worried Chen Haiyan deeply.

Chen Haiyan didn’t know Shen Siyuan’s background, so she spoke only briefly, avoiding deeper personal details.

“He’s too young to skip school.”

“Who says it isn’t? But I died early, and his father doesn’t care for him. He’s actually a good student,” Chen Haiyan said, her expression tinged with regret but no deep sorrow.

“Do you have anything you want to tell him?”

Shen Siyuan murmured, eyes fixed on his phone.

“Can you deliver a message to my son for me?” Chen Haiyan asked, surprised and hopeful.

“Will he hear me if I deliver it? He might think I’m a fraud or crazy.”

Chen Haiyan’s expression darkened.

“These things are best said by you directly,” Shen Siyuan said.

“As for these matters, it’s best you tell him yourself,” Shen Siyuan said.

Chen Haiyan was puzzled, then her eyes widened slowly.

“You mean… I should speak to him myself? But he can’t see me or hear me…”

Chen Haiyan wasn’t foolish—she spoke these words, yet looked at Shen Siyuan with hopeful expectation.

Shen Siyuan could see her and speak to her—he must be someone with ability. Perhaps he could make her son see her too.

But Shen Siyuan didn’t answer, because Ruan Hongzhuang had walked over.

But Shen Siyuan did not answer her, because Ruan Hongzhuang had come over.