The length of a road exists only between one person’s thoughts.
Yet even stranger still, the notions of long and short can coexist in the human mind.
The path from Meng Ning’s rental apartment to the little supermarket crossed two streets. Given the silence hanging between them, it felt like an endless journey. Yet knowing Wen Zenian would leave right after buying what she needed made the same distance seem far too short.
Meng Ning had exhausted her entire repertoire of cheesy jokes on the walk to the supermarket last time.
This time, as they set off down the familiar route, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She turned to Wen Zenian. “Why so quiet?”
Wen Zenian curved her lips slightly.
Meng Ning smiled along with her and fell silent too.
At first, Meng Ning let her hands hang loosely at her sides, but then she worried they might swing too close and brush against Wen Zenian’s. She clasped them behind her back instead, fingers twisting together. And then she remembered—this was exactly what she’d done while sitting on the sofa with Wen Zenian earlier.
Was she afraid she’d subconsciously reach out and take Wen Zenian’s hand?
The streetlights bathed the height of midsummer in the glow of autumn, even tinting the green leaves yellow.
Meng Ning and Wen Zenian crossed the street side by side. They stood at the zebra crossing, watching the pedestrian countdown tick from “8” to “7” to “6.” Suddenly, the light flickered, as if the circuit wasn’t entirely stable. In that brief flash, the leaves overhead rustled with a soft whoosh.
It was as if autumn itself was about to tumble down.
That was the moment Meng Ning realized she was truly, deeply sad.
The human body has its self-preservation instincts, after all. So after being rescued that night, Meng Ning had acted upbeat and full of energy. Even after suggesting they part ways with Wen Zenian, she had projected nothing but calm.
Her high spirits had even fooled herself, letting her mind race with silly fantasies and self-deprecating jokes that had her chuckling to herself.
Her calm had fooled her too. She’d scooped cat litter, bought groceries, basked in the sun, all while telling herself in her heart, It’s not that bad.
That phrase she’d harbored in her heart for over a decade—it turned out saying it aloud wasn’t as hard as she’d imagined.
But now here she stood.
Standing before a zebra crossing marred with faded stripes.
Her sneakers right next to Wen Zenian’s slender high heels.
Hands clasped behind her back, she struck the pose of an overly serious old cadre—almost comical.
Like the first fallen leaf landing on one’s shoulder could crush a person.
She gazed at those leaves gilded by the streetlight, and her emotions suddenly spiraled out of control.
She thought, all at once: Wen Zenian was really going to Paris to spend an entire autumn there.
They’d shared what felt like a good stretch of time, but in this infuriating subtropical monsoon climate, all she’d seen, held, and possessed was summer Wen Zenian.
She parted her lips, only to realize how greedy she truly was.
She wanted to see autumn Wen Zenian.
She wanted to ask if Wen Zenian would ever don one of those chunky-knit sweaters from an artsy film, strolling idly through a Paris street corner on some leisurely workday.
A gust of autumn wind stirred. How many fallen leaves had those short boots already crushed?
Meng Ning stared at that leaf masquerading as an autumn one, closed her mouth, and sniffed back the sting in her nose.
Wen Zenian glanced over. “What’s wrong?”
Meng Ning forced a smile. “Wrong? What do you mean?” Her fingers twisted tighter behind her back, nails digging deep into her palms.
Wen Zenian shook her head and said no more.
They walked on. Through a summer night that felt like autumn. Past zebra crossings that resembled lines of sheet music. How many more chances would there be for her sneakers and Wen Zenian’s heels to keep time together like this?
The little supermarket came into view.
The road that silence had made seem interminable ended just like that.
Wen Zenian headed inside, with Meng Ning trailing behind.
Once in the store, Wen Zenian asked, “Where is it?”
“I forgot exactly. I just glimpsed it once before.” The owner was off chatting somewhere. Meng Ning said, “Let’s split up and look.”
Wen Zenian paused. “I don’t even know what it looks like.”
“You don’t?” Meng Ning blinked in surprise. “Then how did Chen Luzi describe it to you?”
Wen Zenian suddenly found her astonishment so vivid—especially after a whole road of suppressed, feigned composure. Those lightly arched brows danced like they were alive.
Wen Zenian smiled softly, her gaze warming. “She texted me. Just the name. Said it’s a local specialty.”
“Well…” Meng Ning fumbled for words to describe it, then pulled out her phone and searched. She held it up to Wen Zenian’s face as the image popped up. “Like this.”
The supermarket’s walls were lined with glass mirrors, smudged with patches of dust. Meng Ning’s phone screen protector had two thin cracks from a drop she hadn’t bothered fixing—too pricey.
But amid all those imperfections, Wen Zenian leaned in close. After sharing cold noodles, chatting on the sofa, walking two streets together—this was the closest they’d been.
Out of the corner of her eye, Meng Ning caught their reflection in the mirror: heads almost touching.
Her heart gave two traitorous thumps.
Wen Zenian straightened up, putting distance between them again. “Got it.”
The aisles were crammed with shelves, narrow as could be. They split to search.
Meng Ning stood before a stack of bamboo baskets. One held the fried beans Wen Zenian wanted. She nearly called out, “Over here!” But she hesitated.
Once they bought those fried beans, Wen Zenian would leave, right?
Meng Ning thought: Was this their last meeting?
She drew a soft breath.
So, could she be selfish for three seconds?
She wouldn’t try to keep Wen Zenian here. She’d just silently count to three in her mind, stealing three extra seconds of Wen Zenian’s presence.
With her back to Wen Zenian, she closed her eyes and counted inwardly: One, two—
“Meng Ning.”
Meng Ning’s eyes snapped open. She turned.
Wen Zenian said, “I found it.”
What? Meng Ning thought. Did this old-school specialty sell that well? There were two spots in the store.
She walked over to Wen Zenian, lips twitching into a faint smile—
Life really never lets you count to three.
Before, when Wen Zenian had wanted to finish counting to three before Meng Ning left, Meng Ning had bolted at “two.”
Now fate had flipped it—Heaven getting even for Wen Zenian.
Meng Ning reached her side and glanced. “Yeah, that’s it.”
She looked back at the empty checkout counter. The owner still wasn’t back.
“Probably chatting nearby. I’ll go find him,” Meng Ning said.
She stepped out and circled the area. Sure enough, the owner stood with hands clasped behind his back, watching two old men play Chinese chess. Something about his stance struck Meng Ning as familiar—like her own—and she almost laughed.
She called out as she approached, “Boss.”
He glanced up. “What good fortune’s got you smiling like that?”
She shook her head, lips curved. “No good fortune for me. You’ve got the business coming your way.”
“No good fortune? Hmph, I don’t buy it.” He stole another look at the chessboard, then ambled back to the supermarket with her, hands still behind his back, shaking his head.
See? Meng Ning thought. Appearances could be so deceiving.
On this night when others thought she’d hit some stroke of luck, she might well be facing her final goodbye with the person she liked most—the one she loved, her only one.
She couldn’t keep her hands behind her back with him doing it too. Back at the supermarket, she saw Wen Zenian at the counter. Besides the fried beans sat a Green Mood ice pop. “Treat’s on you.”
That familiar imperative tone.
Meng Ning ground her back molars dramatically. “You’ve already grabbed it. If I don’t pay, I’d look cheap, huh?”
She pulled out her phone to scan the code. To the owner: “I’ll cover the Green Mood. She pays for the fried beans.”
Wen Zenian laughed softly beside her.
“Plastic bag?” The owner held up the scanner. “Who’s paying for that? One mao.”
“Her, of course,” Meng Ning said. “You don’t bag a Green Mood. Gotta be for the fried beans to take away.”
“I’ll get it,” Wen Zenian said.
The owner shot Meng Ning a grin and rang her up—twelve yuan for the beans, one mao for the bag.
Meng Ning thought, What’s so funny?
As if they were still on such great terms.
Wen Zenian reached for the bag on the counter, but Meng Ning snatched it first. “I’ll carry it. Aren’t you eating the ice pop?”
Wen Zenian said nothing, just picked up her Green Mood.
Her crisp suit clashed hilariously with the Green Mood, but the owner didn’t laugh. Instead, he said warmly, “Come back anytime.”
Meng Ning’s heart ached for the first time when she’d seen the streetlights turn the treetops to autumn leaves.
This was the second.
It was a hard feeling to bear. Like a sheet of homework paper torn out and mercilessly crumpled by a giant hand. You painstakingly smooth it flat—only for the hand to seize it again, crushing deeper creases, the corners nearly tearing.
That flimsy paper was your life. And the hand? Life itself.
Or, in plainer, old-fashioned terms: some people are fated to meet but not to be together. Meng Ning almost laughed, feeling like the heroine in some vintage romance drama.
She tugged at her lips and found them heavy.
Some words are utterly ordinary—until the moment hits, and they land like a fatal blow. Anyone looking at her and Wen Zenian would think they’d go on forever here, popping in anytime for fried beans. But some people pass an ordinary crosswalk, say goodbye, and that’s it—gone forever.
As they left the supermarket, Meng Ning zoned out. Wen Zenian asked, “Wanna sit for a bit?”
Meng Ning snapped back and saw Wen Zenian nod toward the roadside bench they’d shared before, lifting her ice pop.
“Oh.” Meng Ning said, “Sure.”
Sure. Perfect, even.
At least it stretched their final moments a little longer. No more lame jokes from her. She’d let the silence stretch, making these last three to seven minutes feel eternal.
She wondered again: Would Wen Zenian bite the ice pop or let it melt on her tongue?
A bite meant three minutes. Licking, seven or eight.
Meng Ning sat on the bench, palms braced on the edge, leaning slightly forward. Wen Zenian sat back a bit, not quite level with her.
From Meng Ning’s angle, she couldn’t see Wen Zenian. Just like last time, she stared across at the traffic light, watching streetlights paint the treetops autumn-gold.
“Don’t break up, okay?”
She didn’t know how long they’d sat when Wen Zenian’s voice broke the quiet. Soft, carrying a hint of the Green Mood’s cool sweetness.
Meng Ning fell apart.
She couldn’t bear hearing Wen Zenian speak to her like that.
