Xu Chen did not sleep particularly well.
That realization arrived around 6:12 in the morning when he opened his eyes before the alarm and immediately noticed the faint ache behind them. Outside, Dali remained wrapped in pale grey mountain fog, the early light still weak enough that the villa looked half-submerged inside drifting cloud.
The previous night remained sitting quietly somewhere in his chest.
Not painfully.
Worse.
Steadily.
His phone rested beside him on the nightstand. The last message remained open.
Then I will also go.
Xu Chen stared at the screen for several seconds before locking it again.
The problem with Aum was that he rarely said more than necessary.
The bigger problem was that Xu Chen had started understanding meanings that existed underneath those few words anyway.
He sat up slowly.
The villa was silent.
His father was usually awake by now.
Professor Xu Yuheng had maintained the same schedule for nearly twenty years—tea at six-thirty, reading by seven, work shortly afterward. The consistency had once irritated Xu Chen when he was younger. Now he understood it differently.
Some people built routines because routines prevented collapse.
Xu Chen stepped into the hallway.
The smell of tea reached him almost immediately.
As expected.
He entered the kitchen to find Yuheng already seated at the table near the window, reading glasses low on his nose while several pages of printed research material sat beside his untouched breakfast.
"Morning," Xu Chen said.
His father glanced up briefly. "You are awake early."
"I could say the same."
"You inherited the habit from me."
Xu Chen opened the cabinet for another cup automatically.
Then paused.
The movement happened so naturally he almost missed it himself.
His hand had reached for three cups.
Not two.
Noticing it made something shift unpleasantly inside his ribs.
Xu Chen closed the cabinet more carefully than necessary and selected only two.
Yuheng, thankfully, remained focused on the papers in front of him.
"What are you working on?" Xu Chen asked quietly while preparing the tea.
"Signal irregularities," Yuheng replied. "The university forwarded additional environmental readings late last night."
Xu Chen's shoulders remained still.
Only his grip on the kettle changed slightly.
"The mountain project?"
"Yes."
The answer came casually.
Too casually.
Xu Chen poured the tea without looking up.
Yuheng continued reading for another moment before speaking again.
"You know," he said absently, "Dali has become unusually interesting recently."
Xu Chen placed the teacup carefully onto the table.
"How so?"
"The magnetic inconsistencies alone should not be behaving this way." His father frowned faintly at one of the papers. "Several patterns refuse to stabilize mathematically. It almost feels like the environment itself was disrupted by something sudden."
Xu Chen sat opposite him quietly.
The steam from the tea curled upward between them.
Yuheng looked up finally.
"You seem distracted this morning."
"I slept late."
"Hm."
His father studied him briefly in that calm, observant way professors often watched students attempting to hide unfinished work.
Then, unexpectedly:
"Are you avoiding something?"
Xu Chen's gaze lifted immediately.
The question landed too close.
But Yuheng only reached for his tea.
"You become quieter when something occupies your mind," he said. "You did the same thing before your doctoral defense."
Xu Chen exhaled slowly through his nose.
"That was different."
"Was it?"
The kitchen fell silent again.
Outside the window, fog drifted through the trees lining the lower road beyond the villa. Somewhere farther downhill, a dog barked once before the sound disappeared into the mountain air.
Xu Chen looked toward the papers spread across the table.
Environmental fluctuations.
Magnetic disturbances.
Signal instability.
His father was getting closer.
Not consciously.
But closer anyway.
And sooner or later, people like Xu Yuheng always followed anomalies until they found their source.
The realization sat heavily beneath Xu Chen's ribs.
"You're returning to Beijing this week?" he asked finally.
Yuheng nodded once. "Tomorrow evening, most likely. I have meetings on Monday."
Something inside Xu Chen loosened slightly.
Not relief exactly.
Temporary postponement.
Yuheng took another sip of tea before adding, almost casually:
"Though I may stop by Renmin Road once more before leaving."
Xu Chen's fingers tightened around his cup instantly.
His father noticed this time.
Only slightly.
But enough.
"A-Chen."
Xu Chen looked up.
Yuheng tilted his head faintly. "Did I accidentally offend you somehow yesterday?"
"No."
"You reacted strongly when I mentioned that bookstore employee."
Xu Chen's pulse shifted once.
His father's expression remained calm, thoughtful rather than suspicious.
"He reminded me of someone," Xu Chen said evenly.
"Someone you disliked?"
The answer almost escaped before Xu Chen could stop it.
No.
Instead he lowered his gaze briefly toward the tea.
"No," he said quietly.
The honesty inside the word made the silence afterward heavier than expected.
Yuheng watched him carefully for another second.
Then, unexpectedly, smiled faintly.
"Interesting."
Xu Chen frowned slightly. "What is?"
"Nothing." His father returned to the papers. "You simply look more awake discussing him than anything else this morning."
Xu Chen said nothing after that.
Because there was nothing safe to say.
The bookstore was quieter than usual that afternoon.
Aum stood near the back shelves reorganizing recently returned inventory while soft instrumental music played faintly through the shop speakers. Outside, tourists drifted through Renmin Road beneath hanging fabric banners already being prepared for the approaching Sanyuejie festival.
The city itself felt different this week.
Denser.
Louder.
Humans appeared to increase collective activity before cultural events in ways Aum still found structurally inefficient.
"You're doing it again," Meera said from nearby.
Aum looked up.
She sat cross-legged atop a small stool near the counter with an open geology journal resting across her lap, though she had spent more time observing Aum than reading.
"Clarify."
"You keep checking your phone every six minutes while pretending you're not checking it."
"That measurement is inaccurate."
Meera lifted an eyebrow. "Only six?"
Aum looked back at the shelf.
The truth was closer to four.
Which was objectively irritating.
Their conversation last night had not been extensive.
But something subtle had changed afterward.
The distance no longer felt complete.
Which meant awareness kept returning unexpectedly.
Xu Chen had become difficult to categorize again.
Aum adjusted another stack of books carefully.
Then stopped midway.
"Meera."
"Hm?"
"Is anticipation considered psychologically normal here?"
Meera looked delighted instantly.
"Oh, this is excellent."
Aum frowned slightly.
"That reaction suggests danger."
"It suggests progress."
"That is not reassuring."
Meera closed the journal completely now, attention fully sharpened.
"What kind of anticipation?"
Aum considered the question.
Then answered with irritating honesty.
"I am aware Xu Chen intends to attend the festival."
"And?"
"And the knowledge has altered my concentration baseline repeatedly since morning."
Meera stared at him for two seconds.
Then laughed so suddenly she nearly dropped the journal.
Several customers glanced over.
Aum waited for the reaction to stabilize.
Eventually Meera wiped briefly at the corner of one eye.
"You know," she said, still laughing faintly, "for two people with scientific backgrounds, both of you are catastrophically unequipped for this."
Aum processed that silently.
Then his phone vibrated lightly against the counter.
Both of them looked down immediately.
Meera's smile widened in dangerous satisfaction.
Aum ignored her and picked up the phone.
One message.
Xu Chen.
My father had come to Dali, he leaves tomorrow evening.
Aum stared at the sentence.
No greeting.
No unnecessary explanation.
Still, the meaning arrived immediately.
Not safe yet.
But safer soon.
Meera leaned sideways shamelessly trying to read the screen.
"What did emotionally unavailable mountain scientist say now?"
Aum locked the phone calmly before she could see.
Meera gasped dramatically. "You hide things from me now?"
"Yes."
"Heartbreaking."
Aum looked toward the bookstore window.
Outside, fabric lanterns shifted softly in the wind above Renmin Road.
Then he unlocked the screen again.
His reply came after only a few seconds this time.
Understood.
A pause.
Then, before overanalyzing the decision, Aum typed another message beneath it.
You sound less tense today.
He stared at the sentence afterward.
Meera noticed immediately.
"Oh my God," she whispered theatrically. "Look at you voluntarily observing emotions."
Aum ignored her completely.
But he did not delete the message either.
Two seconds later, Xu Chen replied.
You noticed?
Aum's gaze lingered on the screen.
Then very slowly:
I usually do.