Lemon Soda Candy - 68

After applying the Band-Aid, Zhou Anran stepped back to put some distance between them, knowing it was best to say goodbye now. The longer she stayed with him, the more likely she’d slip and reveal her feelings. Yet, this rare moment to be alone with him made her reluctant to leave.

His low, brooding mood from earlier still lingered in her mind.

She hadn’t forgotten why she’d left her test paper in the classroom.

After hesitating for two seconds, Zhou Anran lowered her head and spoke softly, “Can I ask you something?”

Chen Luobai felt a faint itch where her fingers had brushed his elbow through the Band-Aid. Her question snapped him out of his daze. “What?”

Zhou Anran: “Why is Doraemon’s world so dark?”

Chen Luobai: “?”

“Why?”

Zhou Anran balled her hand into a fist and held it up. “Because Doraemon can’t see his own fingers when he stretches out his hand*!”

(*The phrase “伸手不见五指” (reaching out and not seeing your own fingers) is a Chinese idiom meaning complete darkness.) 

Chen Luobai: “…”

Zhou Anran waited a second, but no response came. She peeked up and, sure enough, saw a faint look of exasperation on his handsome face. Regret tugged at her. Did he not like corny jokes, or was this one just not funny enough? If only she’d memorized a few more when Yan Xingxi told her jokes.

Lowering her head again, Zhou Anran racked her brain for other ways to cheer him up when his voice broke the silence.

“You noticed I’m upset?”

Zhou Anran’s heart skipped lightly.

He was so perceptive.

If he’d ever paid attention to her before, she’d probably have given herself away a hundred times tonight.

Zhou Anran nodded. “You comforted me on the rooftop that day.”

Chen Luobai glanced down at her. The hand she’d held up earlier now hung by her side, still clenched into a small, delicate fist, strikingly pale against her black skirt. Her joke was admittedly lame, but her unexpected presence tonight had distracted him from his troubles.

“I didn’t just comfort you with one sentence that day, did I?”

Zhou Anran: “?”

She looked up at him again.

Chen Luobai tilted his chin toward the sports field. “Walk with me over there?”

Zhou Anran’s heart swelled with surprise.

But perhaps her attempt at cheering him up had been truly awful—his jawline tightened again, as if that low-pressure mood had returned, her joke failing to spark a smile.

She didn’t dwell on why he’d asked her to walk with him, nor did she worry about exposing her feelings.

He’d helped her so many times; she wanted to return the favor, even just once.

Zhou Anran gave him a slight nod.

Chen Luobai was genuinely caught off guard this time.

“Zhou Anran,” he said, looking down at her, “all I did that day was hand you a pack of tissues. I didn’t cast a spell on you or anything.”

Zhou Anran: “…”

She’d slipped up again, too easily.

“But I was really grateful.”

When he appeared and helped her that day, it reassured her that she hadn’t fallen for the wrong person.

Even when she mistakenly thought he liked someone else, the tangle of sadness and regret in her heart never once made her regret liking him.

She lowered her head, kicking a pebble by her feet, scrambling for an excuse: “If not for you, I would’ve been too upset to focus on the exam the next day.”

Chen Luobai recalled how she’d cried harder when he suggested skipping class that day and chuckled. “Such a good student.”

Zhou Anran: “…”

Chen Luobai bent down to pick up the basketball from the ground. “Let’s go.”

On the way to the sports field, Chen Luobai stayed quiet. Zhou Anran, unsure how to comfort him, didn’t speak either. He’d asked her to walk with him, so she’d walk with him, that was enough.

She trailed silently beside him, pulling out her phone to send a message to Ms. He, saying she’d run into a classmate at school and would be back a bit later.

When they reached the sports field and stepped onto the rubber track, his voice finally broke the silence.  

“My parents are planning to divorce.”

Zhou Anran froze, her steps halting abruptly.

Chen Luobai noticed her looking up at him, her almond-shaped eyes wide and round. He chuckled again, turning to face her, one hand holding the basketball, the other in his pocket, walking backward. “No need to look so shocked. It’s not some dramatic soap opera plot. They’re just both getting busier, both strong-willed, and clashing more and more.”

Zhou Anran shook her head. “I didn’t think that.” She stepped forward, following him. Seeing the smile that didn’t reach his eyes, she clumsily tried to comfort him. “They love you so much; they might not actually go through with it.”

Chen Luobai raised an eyebrow slightly. “How do you know they love me?”

Zhou Anran: “…”

It was like playing whack-a-mole.

Her feelings and knowledge about him kept popping up despite her efforts to hide them.  

Because you’re always so carefree, laughing easily, and despite your bold front, there’s a kind of refined upbringing you can’t mask—a sign you grew up in a warm, loving home.

“Because…” Zhou Anran tugged at her backpack straps, trying to suppress this ‘mole’. “If they didn’t love you, you wouldn’t be so upset about their divorce, right?”

Chen Luobai: “Fair point.”

Fearing he’d probe further, Zhou Anran quickly changed the subject. “Actually, I almost transferred schools this semester.”

“Almost transferred?” Chen Luobai stopped walking.

Zhou Anran nodded. “Over the summer, my dad got a great job offer in another city. They promised to arrange work for my mom and my school transfer if he took it.”

Chen Luobai looked at her.

Chen Luobai looked down at the girl in front of him. They weren’t exactly close, and he wasn’t sure why he’d shared his parents’ situation with her.  

Maybe because Zong Kai had brought Yin Yizhen tonight, Zhu Ran was late, and he was already irritated.

And she just happened to show up.

Everything seemed to align perfectly.  

But if she’d transferred this semester, their connection might’ve ended his casual “see you next semester” from last term.  

They might not have crossed paths this semester at all.

“Did your dad give up the offer?”

Zhou Anran nodded again. “He probably thought I’m too shy, that switching to a new school would take me a long time to adjust, and it might mess with my studies. Parents always seem to make compromises for us.”

Chen Luobai resumed walking backward, still watching her. “But those compromises don’t always make them happy.”

Zhou Anran pressed her lips together, then said softly, “I’ve felt guilty about it, too. Like I was being selfish. I overheard them talking and could’ve told them not to worry about me, but I couldn’t guarantee my grades wouldn’t slip at a new school. Just like they couldn’t be sure the new job would definitely work out. Since your parents are only planning to divorce, they’re probably still unsure. They don’t know if divorce will definitely be better than staying together, right?”

Chen Luobai looked at her, a faint smile flickering across his face, this time with a hint of warmth reaching his eyes. “Getting comfortable with me, huh? That’s a whole speech you just gave while looking right at me.”

Zhou Anran: “…”

Why was he suddenly teasing her?

Her ears warmed inexplicably.

Chen Luobai noticed a flush creep across her pale cheeks, and something in his chest stirred faintly, like a ripple. He opened his mouth to say something, but Zhu Ran’s voice cut through from behind.

“Chen Luobai!”

Zhu Ran jogged over, still a distance away, already rambling. “Why’d you come out here? I texted you, and you didn’t reply. Wait, there’s a girl with you, hold on, Zhou Anran?! You two—”

Zhou Anran, worried Zhu Ran might misunderstand and tease them, which could annoy Chen Luobai, quickly cut in, “We just ran into each other.”

Chen Luobai raised an eyebrow, giving her a sidelong glance.

Zhu Ran didn’t seem to overthink it, clearly assuming that was the most likely explanation.

He stopped and turned to Chen Luobai. “Why’re you out here by yourself? Where’s Zong Kai?”

Chen Luobai: “He brought Yin Yizhen along.”

Zhu Ran’s brow furrowed. “Is he out of his mind? He—”

Realizing Zhou Anran was still there, he swallowed the rest of his words.

At that moment, Chen Luobai’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out and answered. Whatever was said on the other end made his face shift in an instant, a flicker of panic crossing his features like Zhou Anran had never seen before.

The orange basketball slipped from his arm, rolling a few times across the ground as he sprinted off, already meters away.

Zhu Ran grabbed the ball and chased after him.

Zhou Anran snapped out of her daze and hurried to follow.

Chen Luobai ran straight out of the school gates. No taxis were in sight, so he pulled out his phone to open a ride-hailing app.

Zhu Ran, clutching the basketball, caught up beside him. “What happened, A-Luo?”

Chen Luobai didn’t look up. “Help flag down a taxi first.”

Zhu Ran, sensing the urgency, didn’t press further. He scanned the road and spotted a taxi with an ‘empty’ sign approaching.

“Taxi’s here.”

Chen Luobai closed the app mid-address and waved the car down.

Zhu Ran suddenly remembered: “Oh, right, Zhou Anran’s followed us too.”

Chen Luobai paused, turning his head.

Zhou Anran reached him, her white T-shirt and black skirt outlining her slender frame, now slightly curved from the effort of running. Her chest heaved, and she coughed a few times, likely from exertion, her fair face flushed red.  

“You followed too?” Chen Luobai asked.

Still catching her breath, Zhou Anran asked, “Did something happen? Do you need help?”

The taxi pulled up beside them.

With no time to think or explain, Chen Luobai opened the door, tugged the girl next to him into the back seat, and slid in after her.

Zhu Ran, no longer in a teasing mood, hopped into the front passenger seat.  

The driver turned. “Where to?”

“Shengyuan Tower A,” Chen Luobai said, his voice tight with urgency. “Please hurry, there’s a fire there.”

Zhu Ran whipped his head around. “Aunt Fang’s law firm caught fire?”

Chen Luobai closed his eyes briefly and grunted, “Yeah.”

Zhou Anran’s heart clenched.

The driver didn’t ask more, starting the car immediately. Zhou Anran stared out the window at the scenery flashing by and at Chen Luobai’s taut profile, wanting to comfort him but feeling anything she said would feel futile. 

She bit her lip, then, as if struck by a thought, opened a map app on her phone. After finding what she needed, she held it out to him, her voice soft: “Don’t worry too much yet. The nearest fire station to Shengyuan is only 800 meters away. They’ll respond quickly.”  

Chen Luobai glanced at her phone, then up at her eyes, wide with concern.

Their school wasn’t far from Shengyuan, and the driver knew the route, avoiding long traffic lights, they arrived quickly.  

Zhu Ran paid the fare ahead of time.

As soon as the taxi stopped, the three of them jumped out.

A fire truck was parked prominently in front of Shengyuan Tower A, surrounded by a crowd, many in formal attire, likely office workers forced out by the fire.

Chen Luobai spotted someone from the law firm instantly.

He ran over, calling out to a middle-aged woman: “Aunt Zhang, how’s the law firm? Is the fire bad? Where’s my mom?”

The woman, addressed as Aunt Zhang, turned. “Luobai, the law firm’s fine, it’s the floor below that caught fire. The fire truck got here in time; it’s not a big deal.”

She paused, as if recalling something. “Your dad called you, didn’t he? He called the law firm looking for your mom, and I picked up. I told him the floor below was on fire, but he misheard it as the law firm and rushed over just as frantic as you, now he’s with your mom over there.”

Aunt Zhang pointed them in a direction.  

Zhou Anran followed her gesture and saw a tall man holding a woman in a suit tightly in his arms.

“A-Luo,” Zhu Ran said, pulling his gaze back, “I’m starting to think your parents’ divorce might not happen.”

Chen Luobai stared at the couple still embracing for a couple of seconds, then tilted his head with a soft laugh. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” Zhu Ran asked.

“There’s a good place across the street.” Chen Luobai gestured with his chin, his gaze settling on the girl trailing behind him, his voice softening inexplicably. “In a hurry to get home? If not, how about I treat you to a late-night snack?”

Zhou Anran, caught off guard, realized how late it was. She pulled her phone from her backpack and saw a message from He Jiayi asking why she wasn’t home yet.

Suppressing the spark of longing in her chest, she shook her head. “My mom’s urging me to get back.”

“Where do you live?” Chen Luobai asked.

Zhou Anran: “?”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, lips curving slightly, his mood visibly lighter. “You came to help me out. I can’t just let you go home alone, can I?”

Was he… offering to take her home?

Zhou Anran’s heart raced again.

Once again, she found herself utterly unable to refuse him.

Clutching her phone, she quietly gave him her address.

“Not far,” Chen Luobai said, nodding toward the road where they’d gotten off. “Come on.”

Zhu Ran watched their exchange, as if they’d forgotten he was there. “Hold on, what about me?”

Chen Luobai slowly turned to him, as if just recalling his presence. “Go eat at that place across the street. I’ll come find you after I drop her off.”

Zhu Ran’s eyes darted between them, his tone turning suggestive. “Alright, take your time. Just don’t forget to cover my bill.”

They parted ways.

Zhu Ran headed to the underpass to cross the street, while Zhou Anran and Chen Luobai flagged another taxi.

In the car, heading back the way they came, the urgency from earlier was gone. Zhou Anran didn’t dare stare at him directly, so she turned to her window.

The dim light in the taxi reflected his handsome profile on the glass.

Outside, neon lights and street lamps streaked past, casting vibrant trails across the window.

It felt like a surreal, dazzling dream.

And the boy she liked was in it.

Chen Luobai was in her dream.

Neither spoke the whole way until the driver broke the silence. “Is this the place? Which gate?”

Zhou Anran snapped back, realizing she’d been stealing glances at him through the window’s reflection, and only now noticed the familiar buildings outside. They were already in her neighborhood.

The ride felt so short.

“This is it. Just stop at the main gate up ahead.”

Dreams always end.

She wondered if, come next week at school, they’d slip back into being near-strangers.

Thinking this, Zhou Anran couldn’t help glancing at him.

He turned at the same moment, catching her gaze.

Her heart skipped a beat.

But it was only right to say goodbye before getting out. She steadied herself, holding his gaze.

Chen Luobai didn’t seem to think much of it, just asked softly, “We’re here?”

Zhou Anran nodded.

The driver pulled over.

Chen Luobai rested his hand on the door handle. “Want me to walk you in?”

Zhou Anran nearly nodded again.

But considering his emotional rollercoaster tonight; he should rest sooner. Plus, if a neighbor saw him walking her in, it’d be hard to explain to her parents.

Reluctantly, she shook her head. “No need. You should rest early. My neighborhood’s lively this time of night—lots of parents with kids playing downstairs, and aunties and grandmas doing square dances.”

Chen Luobai tilted his head, watching her.

The way she described the scene, a faint dimple appearing at the corner of her lips, sweet and gentle, like she was painting a picture she loved.

His fingers paused on the handle, then pulled back. “Alright.”

Zhou Anran slung her backpack over her shoulder. “I’m getting out then.”

As she opened the door, he suddenly called her name.

“Zhou Anran.”

It was the third time tonight he’d said her name, and it still felt like a dream.

She turned back, her eyes meeting his dark smiling gaze.  

Chen Luobai pulled his hand from his pocket, waving his phone at her, his voice low and warm in her ear. “Add me on WeChat?”

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