“At the tail end of February, winter lingered in the wind, yet the sunlight brimmed with summer heat. Winter and high summer collided in this city—a vividness London never possessed.”

H City Airport, Terminal 2.

“Whazzup with this plane gettin’ delayed, makin’ me wait ’til I’m an old man.”

A boy in a loose, pure white sweatshirt strode forward, holding his phone high. His voice carried the low, magnetic texture of youth, but the bizarre dialect he was speaking made people turn their heads repeatedly.

On the screen, his features were vivid and bright. His black hair ruffled in the wind created by his brisk walk. He was tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. At his age, his lean frame only added to a sense of arrogant vitality, like something growing wildly upward.

The bullet comments scrolled by furiously.

【Can’t understand a thing】
【Did I wake up on the wrong side of the bed?】
【To the guy above, it’s already afternoon…】
【What bird language is this? My head hurts listening to it.】

The boy answered lazily, “Shanxi dialect.”

【Clarify, Shaanxi or Shanxi?】
【Shaanxi refuses to accept this.】
【Shanxi is shaking with cold rage.】
【Sounds like Shaanxi mixed with Chongqing.】
【Chongqing people are practically dialing 110 (the police)!!】

Despite the mockery, the atmosphere in the chat was harmonious, like a big family sitting around cracking sunflower seeds and chatting.

In the top left corner hung the streamer’s info. The avatar was a plain, unremarkable bean. The ID was something everyone felt compelled to curse as shameless upon reading: “Earth’s Ultimate Hottie Dou.” Follower count: 1 Million.

【Just got online, what’s up with him?】
【Sudden live stream. Currently at the airport. Purpose unknown.】
【Bilibili’s March event is ‘Dialects’.】
【No wonder…】
【I figured a dialect still had to be human language, right?】
【You can be down-to-earth, but you can’t be down-to-the-underworld.】

The strap of the bag hanging on his left shoulder slipped. Dou Sheng grabbed it and switched back to his normal voice. “Is it really that hard to understand? I seriously studied it for ten minutes.”

【Humblebrag fail.】
【Playing the lute to a cow.】
【What are you actually doing at the airport?】

Dou Sheng sighed.

“Emergency mission from my mom. Someone is coming to board with us, and I was sent to pick them up. This ancestor also happens to have a birthday today. I was rushing like crazy to order a cake, but who knew the flight would be delayed? All for nothing.”

He had long legs and walked fast, but his normal speaking voice was unhurried, even a bit lazy. Many of his viewers were fans of his voice, loving that casual, slightly roguish, yet soothing tone.

【Boarding? Wow!】
【Male or female? How old?】
【What do they look like? Can we simp?】
【Feb 29th birthday? Once every four years.】
【What’s the relationship to you?】

“I’m pretty lost myself. I just know they’re about my age. Um… let’s call it a cousin.”

【!!!】
【I’m immediately confident! Hi! Wifey!】
【Million follower perk: make her appear on stream!】
【I second this motion.】
【I also second. We want JK uniforms.】
【Black silk stockings?】
【Reported the guy above.】

Dou Sheng curled his lip slightly at the screen. “Bunch of dirty old men. Mute your mics.”

【Already protecting the sister.】
【’Sister-guarding demon’ confirmed.】

It was a sudden development. He was picking up the child of his mother’s teenage best friend. That person hadn’t been in contact for two years, but recently her husband had made a sudden overseas call begging for help. By the time he begged, the unlucky kid was already on the plane.

His mom was confused too. She only managed to dig up a photo saved from years ago. The kid looked delicate and handsome, though even as a child, the eyes looked rebellious.

The reason he lied about a “cousin” was that his chat was full of trolls. If he admitted there was no blood relation, this mob would probably get his account banned with their jokes.

The airport PA chimed, starting a broadcast.

Dou Sheng yawned. “Finally landed.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be soon landing at DDLLD International airport.”

As the announcement played, people in the cabin couldn’t wait to push up the window shades. Intense sunlight poured in. The exhaustion of a dozen hours of flight surged up in that instant, only to be quickly dispelled by the clear weather of home.

In the last row by the aisle, a boy was still sleeping lightly on his backpack. His long legs were curled up in the cramped space, his thin shoulders rising and falling gently with his breath. Amidst a plane full of chatting people, his quietness made him seem out of place, outlining a faint sense of loneliness around him.

The moment the plane touched down, he woke up suddenly. His well-defined fingers grabbed the collar of his sweater and pulled it down, tilting his head back against the seat to rouse himself.

The light from the window cast a band across his face, an interplay of light and shadow. His profile and features possessed a softness and clarity unique to youth.

A moment later, he opened his eyes, stood up to take a violin case from the luggage rack, hung a black camera bag on his backpack strap, slung everything onto his right shoulder, and quickly weaved through the passengers stretching their legs in the full cabin.

The flight was delayed by two hours. Xie Lan’s luck was bad; his phone, used for over three years, had suddenly gone black a while ago, entering a loop of automatic restarts before finally dying completely after a few hours of struggle. It wouldn’t charge.

He had no checked luggage. He quickly shook off the main crowd, was the first to pass customs, and appeared alone in the arrival hall.

Xie Lan didn’t know the person picking him up, and he hadn’t had time to memorize the phone number.

The hall was surging with people. His gaze swept rapidly over the strange faces, trying to find a sign that said “Xie Lan” or “Lan Xie.”

Unfortunately, there was none.

Xie Jingming had only accepted the reality that his son was really returning to China when Xie Lan arrived at Heathrow Airport. The Xie family had been rooted in the UK for over a decade and had no relatives here anymore. After looking through his contacts, the person he finally begged to pick him up was his wife’s childhood friend, Zhao Wenying. The whole situation reeked of unreliability.

After staring down the massive crowd of pick-up people for half a minute, Xie Lan, feeling withdrawn, pulled his sweater collar back up, lowered his eyes, and walked away quickly, intending to find a place to borrow a computer to salvage his phone.

There seemed to be an ancient Chinese poem that described this mood. How did it go again?

Ten years of life and death, two vast unknowns.

He couldn’t remember the next line.

Oh, the wanderer returns, heart cold as ice.

Very smooth.

He could feel his talent for Chinese reawakening rapidly as he stepped onto this land.

---

The convenience store proprietress craned her neck behind the counter, staring at Xie Lan’s phone. The other end of the data cable was plugged into her computer. No matter how she fiddled with it, the phone wouldn’t light up, and the computer couldn’t read the device.

“It’s bricked. No hope,” she sighed.

Xie Lan had a standoff with the black screen for a few more seconds, then unplugged the cable and whispered a “Thank you.”

He automatically stepped aside to let the person behind him pay.

“Just bubble tea, I don’t know how to choose.”
“Don’t know what flavor she likes.”
“First time meeting, don’t know much.”

The person next to him spoke with a perfunctory tone, but the voice had a cool, textured quality that sounded very comfortable. Xie Lan subconsciously looked back, seeing a phone first, then the face behind the screen.

The boy raised his eyes carelessly and looked over at Xie Lan, his wrist tilting with the movement.

Xie Lan quickly shuffled a step to the side.

Taking the hint, the person turned the screen away, covering it against his clothes, muttered a low “sorry,” and brushed past with the bubble tea.

Just as Xie Lan was frowning and about to put his phone back in his pocket, he was suddenly yanked by a fast, precise, and fierce force. It was like a hook, dragging him half a step to the right without explanation. He steadied himself and looked up blankly, only to see that rushing guy walking away with his camera bag dangling from the guy’s backpack.

Xie Lan: “Hey—”

He stopped abruptly.

He got stuck.

How should he address him?
Friend, Sir, Boy—none seemed quite right.
In the UK, he could just shout “Mate,” but what is the Chinese for “mate”?

My little partner?

A tiny linguistic point, but enough to choke someone with a scrambled language system to death.

Xie Lan had been taken abroad before he was three. At Xie Jingming’s insistence, his upbringing language became English, destroying his previously cultivated Chinese system. Only his grandfather, who visited London annually for a short stay, would speak Chinese with him. His grandfather passed away three years ago, severing that link.

If one had to define it, his Chinese was barely at a first-grade level, maybe even less. Although his daily spoken accent sounded fine, his word choice was often shockingly inaccurate, he easily got lost listening to long paragraphs, and his reading and writing were basically nonexistent.

The guy had already reached the door, speaking quickly into his phone, “I’m gonna dig out the pick-up sign, logging off for now.”

Then he locked his phone, shoved it in his pocket, and swung his backpack forward. With a snap, the snagged camera bag fell to the ground.

“…”

Xie Lan followed him silently.

“This can fall out too?”

The boy muttered as he picked up the camera bag, unzipped it, took out a compact, latest model C-brand mirrorless camera, skillfully flipped open the screen, and pressed the power button—all in one fluid motion.

If he said it was his own camera, Xie Lan would have almost believed it.

While the guy was blabbering and adjusting the exposure, Xie Lan walked up behind him, hesitated, and then reached out to tap him lightly.

“!!!”

It was as if he had accidentally hit a ‘crazy’ switch.

The guy jumped violently to the side, lost his grip, and the camera dropped again with a crack.

This time there was no protection. The landing was crisp. It died a horrible death.

“…”

He picked up the camera, looked up, and said unhappily, “Taking pictures from behind? You sick?”

Xie Lan was even more annoyed than him. “Check if the camera is broken.”

The boy wiped the lens with his sleeve, tried to turn it on again, but found the power button caved in, the surrounding casing cracked, and a corner of the screen shattered.

He sucked in a breath, his speech speed suddenly taking off. “I say—I just got this camera, my creative passion is burning like a raging fire, cheating 50,000 coins a day wouldn’t even stop me, and now you smash it with a sneak attack from behind?”

He hadn’t noticed before, but this guy was a master talker.

Disrespect intended.

But Xie Lan couldn’t keep up with that speed. He only managed to understand the first few words—”Just got it” (implies theft to him), and some intermittent keywords later like “cheated 50,000 coins.”

He pondered for a moment. Swiping the camera might have been intentional or accidental, but based on this speech pattern, this person was likely a thief.

Looking vivid and bright, but actually a good-looking villain.

The guy frowned deeper. “The camera is done for, are you going to say something? I’m in a rush to leave, no time to argue with you. Brand new retail price 3999. WeChat or Alipay? You scan me or I scan you?”

Xie Lan frowned, digesting this rapid-fire string of words. He got as far as “I’m in a rush to leave” and forgot the rest.

Unimportant. Key information acquired.

“Leave where? Caught you. I hit police.” (Mistranslation of ‘Call the police’).

“?”

A trace of confusion crept into the eyes opposite him.

“You what?”

Xie Lan didn’t want to waste words. He looked down at his bricked phone, then reached out his hand irritably.

“You have phone, right.”

“What for?”

“Hit police.”

The other party was silent for a moment, his speech slowing down. “If anyone’s reporting this, it should be me, right? No, wait, you led me astray. Hit what police?”

“You hit is fine too.” An idiom floated into Xie Lan’s mind. “Mao Sui recommends himself (Volunteer yourself), that is also okay.”

“…”

Passersby were rushing to and fro; no one cared about the two boys locked in a standoff at the convenience store entrance.

After a long silence, the guy hissed, “Is there something wrong with your bra—”

Halfway through, he glanced at the violin case on Xie Lan’s back, and his tone took a turn. “But you can play violin?”

Xie Lan grabbed his empty backpack strap in annoyance. “Phone. Hurry.”

Perhaps because he repeatedly emphasized ‘hitting the police,’ the guy finally knew fear. His expression changed subtly several times, finally revealing a hint of softness. He looked at Xie Lan and sighed lightly.

It made one’s back feel inexplicably cold.

“Are you sure you want to hit the police? Maybe reconsider.”

“Begging useless.” Xie Lan was iron-faced and merciless.

Suddenly, a female voice rang out from behind.

“Hey, hey, is this yours?”

The convenience store proprietress jogged over, carrying a very familiar black camera bag.

She sighed in relief when she saw Xie Lan. “Good thing you didn’t go far. You left this on my counter.”

Xie Lan took the camera bag, froze for two seconds, and then understood everything in an instant.

It took only 0.1 seconds to go from cold and merciless to having red ears.

It took only the realization-filled, drawn-out “Ohhhhh—” from the guy next to him for his ears to go from red to completely blood-congested.

The guy looped the broken camera over his wrist and raised an eyebrow gently.

“So, still gonna hit the police?”

“…”

Returning to the country was off to a bad start.