Xia Yao never imagined that today would mark a major turning point in her life. It wasn’t until years later that she realized how truly memorable this day had been. Of course, that’s a story for another time.
Had Xia Yao’s intuition been just a tad sharper, or if she cared about her appearance like most girls, she wouldn’t have casually grabbed the nearest white hoodie from her closet and pulled it over her head. Nor would she have applied sunscreen without any other makeup. But being casual was simply Xia Yao’s nature.
At seven in the morning, Los Angeles still held a hint of coolness. Xia Yao let her long hair fall loose, pulled her hood up, and quickened her pace toward the coffee shop near her apartment.
Don’t be fooled by her early start—Xia Yao was definitely not the energetic type. Without her morning cup of coffee, she couldn’t function properly all day. Her biological clock was as regular as a clockwork: drowsiness would wash over her like a tidal wave by 11 PM, and she’d open her eyes promptly at 6 AM. In her own words: “ Too animalistic.”
Clutching a steaming medium-sized cup of black coffee, she settled into a corner window seat, pulled out her laptop, and began working. Now a junior, this was her third year in Los Angeles. While the pace at American universities was undeniably intense, after so much training, no matter how demanding it got, she handled it with ease.
She covered her mouth with a yawn, took a sip of the still-scorching coffee, and continued editing the paper she’d finished the night before.
The sun had risen, and in Los Angeles, its early rays were already formidable. Xia Yao pulled off her hat, knowing her hair was a bird’s nest. She gave it a quick tug to tidy it up, her focus entirely on the paper as she continued typing away. Her slender, pink fingers danced across the keyboard, a sight to behold.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over her, accompanied by a crisp, clean scent. Xia Yao looked up to see a tall man dressed entirely in black from head to toe. The hood of his sweatshirt and the brim of his baseball cap obscured his face, but his high, straight nose and sharp jawline stood out distinctly.
One of Xia Yao’s rules was never to stare at someone unless you were certain they were looking at you. So she quickly refocused on her thesis. But the distraction had already occurred—the man sat down beside her.
The café’s single and double tables were small round ones, placed close together with chairs pressed tightly against them. Thus, that crisp scent lingered right under Xia Yao’s nose. She noticed he also had a medium cup of American coffee—only his was iced.
Guys have it easy, she thought. They can drink ice-cold stuff without a care. If it weren’t for dreading the excruciating pain of her period days, Xia Yao wouldn’t have ordered hot coffee either. Now she was staring longingly at it, waiting for it to cool.
The man sat to her right, holding his coffee in his left hand. Her coffee sat on her right side. Her eyes fixed on her thesis, she reached for her coffee and took another sip. It was still slightly hot. As she set the cup back down, she caught sight of the ring on his left index finger, and her heart skipped a beat.
It was a limited-edition Cartier matching pair. If she remembered correctly, only ten sets existed worldwide. Xia Yao wasn’t particularly drawn to luxury goods. Such items, constantly testing the limits of one’s financial capacity while relentlessly elevating taste standards, always left her wrestling with rational consumption. The reason this pair of rings left such a deep impression on her—the reason she recognized it instantly, like meeting an old friend—was because of its owner: Ouyang Xun, the rapper who had been red-hot in Asia at the time.
Before being “corrupted” by American universities, Xia Yao had been a fiercely passionate teenage fan herself. It was no exaggeration to say she had devoted her entire youth to Ouyang Xun.
***
Ouyang Xun debuted when Xia Yao was in fourth grade. Back then, she had just learned to use a computer, and the MP3 player had only recently hit the market. Xia Yao wasn’t fortunate enough to be at the forefront of trends or technology.
Her infatuation with Ouyang Xun blossomed in sixth grade. By then, she was a computer whiz and owned her own MP3 player—filled exclusively with his songs. To prove her loyalty, she refused to download any other artist’s work.
This obsession lasted seven years, consumed by studies and idol worship.
While her classmates held reunions, she pooled resources with online friends to attend concerts. While others formed cliques over petty love-hate dramas, she battled rival fans and haters in online polls and flame wars. While others flirted and dated, she shouted “husband!” at Ouyang Xun’s photos and videos. While others saved for makeup and dresses, she saved for concert tickets, albums, and merchandise.
Xia Yao’s three years of middle school coincided with Ouyang Xun’s peak career years.
The music scene constantly produced new talents, and popular music styles rapidly evolved. By the time Xia Yao entered high school, Ouyang Xun’s fame had cooled somewhat, but her passion remained undiminished, her loyalty unwavering.
What ultimately forced her to scale back her fandom activities was the inhuman demands of the American university admissions grind. Had she known, she wouldn’t have poured so much effort into SAT prep. Even if she didn’t get into Caltech, she’d still have Ouyang Xun to chase. Clearly, the latter mattered more to her.
Now, about that ring. Five years ago, it made its debut at the airport alongside Ouyang Xun. Her sharp eyes spotted it on airport preview photos—a ring on his left index finger. But the more observant fan community leaders immediately dug deeper, publishing every detail about the ring with photos and text: a limited-edition Cartier matching pair, only ten sets worldwide.
Whether ten pairs or just one, matching rings were a major no-no for fans! The finger didn’t matter—it was an official announcement he had a girlfriend! The comments section erupted in wails and lamentations, and Xia Yao was no exception. She shed genuine tears. These days, if you’re chasing a young heartthrob, you’re either a girlfriend fan or a mother fan!
Heartbreak aside, there was business to attend to—finding that woman! That’s why Xia Yao could sketch those rings with her eyes closed.
According to these Sherlock “fans,” besides Ouyang Xun, the matching rings were also bought by a middle-aged Hong Kong couple and a mainland Chinese couple. Even random passersby were tracked down, yet Ouyang Xun’s girlfriend remains a mystery. So who exactly saved the galaxy? Who accumulated eight lifetimes of virtue? It remains an unsolved mystery to this day.
***
The moment she caught sight of the rings, her nearly three-year-dormant idol-chasing dream was suddenly reawakened! Speculations exploded in Xia Yao’s mind, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would leap out of her chest. She kept stealing glances, searching for an opportunity to see his face again.
“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here?” A fair-haired youth with delicate features stopped before Xia Yao.
She glanced around—there were clearly plenty of empty seats. Obviously, he was hitting on her. After three years in America, failing to recognize this tactic would mean she’d wasted her time there. But outright rejection would be rude and disrespectful.
Xia Yao cast a pitying glance at her half-edited thesis, then lifted her head with a smile. “Not at all,” she replied, already plotting in her mind how to swiftly wrap up this encounter with the pretty-boy across from her.
The boy pulled out a chair with grace and sat down. Xia Yao seized the chance to glance to the side—and nearly spilled her coffee. It really was Ouyang Xun!
