"What do you mean, 'I suppose so'?"
"When you stand at the front desk, you look like the spirit of the hotel."
Wang Yong had always found the idea charming. But now, with that spirit sitting beside him—her mellifluous voice echoing in his ears, a faint fragrance drifting past his nose—it felt more than just an idea. It felt real.
He gazed into You Meiji's eyes.
Whether or not she truly was a spirit of this place, at that moment, she had become the spirit in Wang Yong's heart.
"Hotel spirit?" She gave a soft laugh. "What a lovely way to put it. It'd be nice, really, to be one."
Wang Yong smiled. "To me, you already are."
It was a line that felt like it might have gone too far.
So Wang Yong pivoted.
"But… no one really stays in a hotel forever. Doesn't that ever bother you?"
"True," You Meiji replied. "Though if something did linger… it might feel a bit haunting."
That wasn't something most girls would say, was it?
Ordinary girls want something real, don't they?
But I'm different.
I don't even know why.
"I don't think you're strange," Wang Yong said. "Just… unsettled."
He took a long swig of his drink.
Maybe that's what he needed right now.
Wasn't his entire existence just like that of a traveler—arriving quietly, vanishing quickly?
She looked at him, genuinely surprised. "Huh? How did you know that?"
"I just… know."
"It wasn't easy for me to memorize that line," Wang Yong muttered inwardly. "I did it just to get closer to you."
But urban women these days… they all had this restlessness in them, this soft uncertainty—
Even men harbored the same.
Some people search for stability within, while others are drawn to things that vanish in a blink.
Not the ones that linger and leave, leaving behind traces and unspoken goodbyes—those just deepen the sorrow.
You Meiji paused in thought. "Tell me about you."
Wang Yong turned the base of his glass, watching it catch and scatter the light.
"Me? I suppose you could call me a traveler. This—"
He glanced around. "—is just one of my stops."
She seemed eager for more.
"I travel all over," he said, locking eyes with her. "Learning about different knowledge systems, cultures, ways of life… feeling what it's like to live differently, even if just for a while."
"I don't quite understand," she said, shaking her head. "But I like it. You're like some kind of phantom in this world—drifting, never settling, ready to disappear."
…
They had drunk quite a bit—neither of them could remember how many glasses they'd ordered.
Wang Yong could usually hold his liquor, but even he was starting to feel it.
Besides, Snow might return tonight—and he didn't want her to see him like this, smelling faintly of alcohol, a little unsteady on his feet.
She checked her watch and said she had to be up early. Time to go.
Wang Yong offered to get a taxi.
He paid the bill, and they took the elevator down.
Thankfully, the sixteenth floor didn't act up tonight.
You Meiji, a little tipsy, clung tightly to his arm.
Outside the hotel, snow was falling in soft, elegant sheets.
At that moment, Wang Yong felt like he could hear his own heartbeat.
They hailed a cab and set off toward her apartment.
In the car, they talked about everything and nothing—
The snow, the cold, her work schedule… little things.
Theoretically, things could've gone further.
But Wang Yong had never been in this kind of situation before.
And, truthfully, he was exhausted.
Even with You Meiji right beside him, her presence stirring something primal in him, he knew Snow would probably be on the twenty-sixth floor tonight.
This wasn't the right time.
He wrestled quietly with the fire burning in his chest.
The taxi pulled up in front of her building.
"Sorry," she said, a little embarrassed. "Would you mind walking me up? Sometimes there are weird people in the hallways this late."
Wang Yong told the driver to wait five minutes.
He offered his arm, and she took it.
Together they walked carefully along the ice-slicked path, up to the building, and then up the stairs to the third floor.
Wang Yong was somewhat used to a girl holding onto him—
But before, it had been someone like Susan, a delicate little thing.
Not like this.
You Meiji's chest pressed firmly against his arm, making him a little uncomfortable, a little thrilled.
They reached the door marked 306.
She fumbled in her bag for her keys, offered him a clumsy smile.
"Thank you," she said. "I had a really nice time tonight."
Wang Yong couldn't help but echo it. "Me too."
She unlocked the door and slipped the keys back into her bag.
Click. The sharp, dry snap of the metal clasp echoed faintly in the quiet hallway.
Then she looked at him—really looked.
Her eyes studied his face like it was a complicated equation on a chalkboard.
She hesitated.
Confused.
The word "goodbye" caught in her throat.
Wang Yong understood.
"Well, goodnight then," he said, a little stiffly.
"Goodnight," she said softly, and gently closed the door.
"Hey," Wang Yong called out.
The door opened a crack—barely fifteen centimeters. Her face peeked through.
"Can I ask you out again sometime?"
His voice was nervous, but natural.
No need for rules or rehearsed lines here.
She rested her hand against the doorframe, took a deep breath, smiled faintly—and then, suddenly, the smile was gone.
"Of course."
And then the door clicked shut again.
Wang Yong let out a long breath, heart racing, cheeks flush with color.
He felt it bubbling up—joy he couldn't contain.
Did that count as success?
Was this his first real date?
Not Susan. Susan didn't count—childhood friends never do.
Still, once you find the right entry point, it's not all that hard.
Of course, without prior knowledge, the chances of finding that entry point are next to nothing.
The taxi driver was still parked, flipping through a sports paper, looking bored.
Wang Yong slid into the backseat again and gave the name of the hotel.
The driver glanced up, surprised. "You're really heading back?
From the way you two looked, I figured I'd be driving home solo. That's how it usually ends."
"I'm just too tired," Wang Yong muttered, not quite understanding it himself.
"Mm."
Back at the hotel, Wang Yong forced himself to stay awake as he returned to the twenty-sixth floor.
He ordered a glass of soda water.
That's when he noticed the girl sitting at the table to his right.
She looked no older than twelve or thirteen, with headphones clipped over her ears and a straw in her drink.
She was strikingly beautiful.
Her hair fell in long, unnaturally straight sheets across the table—light and soft.
Her lashes were long, and her eyes shimmered like autumn water—so clear it made you hesitate to meet them.
Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the tabletop—
A small detail, but the only thing that hinted at her youth.
There was something about her, though—
Not malice. Not superiority.
Just… distance.
As if she were surveying the world from a window high above—
Not engaged, but not uncaring either.
She wasn't actually looking at anything.
It was as if the entire scene around her fell outside the scope of her vision.
She wore blue jeans and white sneakers, a hoodie with "genesis" printed across the chest, sleeves pushed up to the elbows.
She tapped the table with full focus, her lips occasionally moving to the rhythm of whatever was playing in her headphones.
"She's drinking lemon juice," a waiter explained as he passed. "Waiting for her mother to return."
Wang Yong, of course, knew exactly who she was—
Snow.
The most unforgettable character from Dance, Dance, Dance.
To him, it felt like catching a glimpse of light in the midst of an eternal night—
Fleeting, but pure.
Like a spring welling up from deep within stone, bringing with it a clarity he'd long forgotten.
He smiled, without even realizing it.
Just then, a man wearing a badge labeled "orz" approached her table.
Wang Yong gave a small, cynical twist of the lips and stood to leave.
But just as he did, he saw Snow lift her eyes—
Look straight at him.
Her gaze lingered on his face for two, maybe three seconds—
And then, so subtly it was almost imperceptible, the corner of her lips curled into a smile.
Or maybe it was just a twitch.
But to Wang Yong, it was a smile—
For him.
He felt his heart shift in his chest,
Like she had chosen him with just one glance—
The same soft tremor in his soul as that rainy afternoon beneath the camphor tree years ago.
Confused and breathless, Wang Yong took the elevator down to the fifteenth floor and returned to his room.
He could still hear the thumping of his heart echoing in his ribs.
Still couldn't believe it.
Snow really is the kind of girl who hits you with a beauty so precise, it stuns the soul.
Genesis.
That word kept ringing in his mind.
Snow's pale fingers tapping the table.
Melting ice cubes.
Genesis...
Wang Yong forced himself up, washed his face, collapsed into bed—
And fell into a sleep so deep, it felt like death.