Wen Zhixu’s gaze slowly traveled up from the phone screen, and right after Jian Shichu finished speaking, she began to mentally prepare herself.
She breathed lightly, her voice soft as she met Jian Shichu’s eyes and asked calmly, “What’s wrong?”
Today, Jian Shichu was wearing a white top with an inverted triangle open collar where a few stray hairs had fallen. The sunlight just happened to edge her silver earrings with a layer of gold.
Jian Shichu looked at her lazily and said slowly, “You’re missing something.” There wasn’t the slightest bit of anything off about her as her finger lightly tapped the medicine box Wen Zhixu had taken out, as if reminding her.
She quietly looked at how Wen Zhixu was gripping her thumb against her index finger joint, then slowly exhaled, as if in helplessness.
It was a habit Wen Zhixu had when she was nervous. She paused for a second before reacting and immediately let go, letting her wrist drop to her knee as she said, “I’m much better now, so I didn’t bring last night’s medicine.” Her voice was indifferent. After replying, she looked at the bowl in front of her.
Jian Shichu had always had an excellent memory. She wasn’t some genius who had to struggle hard to get into school, but there were those kinds of people who could pluck achievements with ease.
The first time she heard about Jian Shichu was from others’ mouths. Later, this person had truly and solidly stood by her side.
Jian Shichu’s rented apartment had a balcony, not far from school. Leaning against the setting sun, they could even watch the moon rise over the sea. They didn’t like beer and weren’t fond of the taste of alcohol. They shared many hobbies, and what they held most often were the kinds of drinks kids liked.
The orange-tinted glass bottle was patterned with daisies. That year, this brand’s drink was all the rage, and the bubbles inside shifted colors with the bottle.
“What kind of story do you think makes a good story?” Wen Zhixu’s wrist rested on the iron railing, her slightly curled long hair scattered over her shoulders. When she looked at Jian Shichu, she tucked it behind her ear with one hand.
Jian Shichu leaned back against the balcony railing, tilting her head lazily to look at her, and said with a gentle smile, “You… fix your typos first.”
“Typos? Do I have any?”
“Eighteen of them. Didn’t you check while writing? Especially the third line—it has two.” Jian Shichu raised her brow in response, turning her body to face the same direction as Wen Zhixu.
Wen Zhixu just looked at her like that. She really liked looking—beautiful things always had their appeal. Everyone had some vulgarity deep down, and Wen Zhixu knew she was no exception.
The glazed lamp on the balcony just happened to caress Jian Shichu’s features softly. Jian Shichu’s features were beautiful, her brows and eyes without a hint of aggression. Living under the gaze of thousands amplified the scholarly air in a girl’s charm.
“Did I say something wrong? Why are you staring at me?” Jian Shichu felt dubious under her gaze.
Wen Zhixu looked away, sipping through the straw as she replied, “You’re good-looking, so I looked.”
Jian Shichu smiled and thought for a moment before saying, “Then keep looking.”
Wen Zhixu turned her head back to look at her again. After a three-second pause, she smiled and said, “No more messing around. But seriously, how do you have such a good memory?”
Jian Shichu turned to gaze at her intently and said, “Not really. I only remember things about you.” She was very serious, each breath carrying a faint fragrance, the scent of camellia.
Wen Zhixu withdrew her hand, her elbow lifting off the railing. She glanced at Jian Shichu, laughed softly in the cold wind, and asked leisurely, “Where did you learn all this?”
“Isn’t this from your book?” Jian Shichu propped her cheek with her hand, tilting her head to look at her with a smile on her face. “Have you found that feeling of being in love? Or rather, do you like me even a little?”
Wen Zhixu bit on her straw as she looked at Jian Shichu. When she let go, she hummed for a bit. The other just stared at her intently, waiting for her answer.
“Hm? Yes or no?” Jian Shichu seemed to be tempting her to say it out loud, her slightly furrowed brows making her dark eyes look like an unfathomably deep pool.
Wen Zhixu didn’t look at her; the corners of her eyes turned a damp red, as if she were pondering something. Only then did she nod and say, “Yes.” Jian Shichu’s question scratched at her heart, like the chime of a midnight bell—startling amid the utmost solitude.
Jian Shichu didn’t speak, just smiled as she stared at her, then pulled her into her arms and said softly, “Then, a little isn’t enough. I’ll have to work harder.”
That night, the wind wasn’t too strong, but the lingering affections on Beihai’s balcony scattered with a single blow. The romance in Borges’s pen was a labyrinth, inescapable, just like them.
Wen Zhixu only let out a soft sigh. Over these five years, she’d thought she’d forgotten most of it. But the moment she saw Jian Shichu, she realized these memories were merely sealed away—they would stay there forever.
She hadn’t thought about taking her allergy meds when she left today, so she hadn’t brought them. Taking too much medicine wasn’t good, and no one liked being sick—she was the same.
“Where are we going later?” Wen Zhixu asked her, picking up the spoon. Her peripheral vision naturally noticed Jian Shichu still staring at her.
Jian Shichu withdrew her gaze, her elbow on her knee as she pushed the food in front of Wen Zhixu. “Eat first. No rush.”
“Didn’t you say you were busy?” Wen Zhixu glanced at the time and reminded her, “It’s 8:30.”
Xiao Yang, who had just finished cutting the bread, arrived at the table. Their conversation drilled into his ears, and the strange atmosphere between them was palpable without needing to be said.
Jian Shichu seemed not to have heard her. She took the sugar jar from Xiao Yang and played with the spoon, asking, “Add sugar?”
Wen Zhixu glanced at her. “No need.” She tucked her hair behind her ear with her fingers before eating from the bowl.
From yesterday to now, Wen Zhixu felt Jian Shichu growing more and more unfamiliar. The shadows that should have been there were being erased bit by bit by the person before her. Back then, what she’d liked about Jian Shichu was her detachment from the worldly snow and wind—the doctor had told her that too.
After that, they didn’t speak again. She ate little, only finishing a bowl of porridge and touching nothing else.
Jian Shichu went outside midway for some air, without any intention of avoiding her. Smoking wasn’t allowed inside the shop, and Xiao Yang took the chance to smoke at the door. The swirling smoke just blocked Jian Shichu’s figure.
When Wen Zhixu pushed the door open to go out, Jian Shichu was waving away the smoke drifting toward her face and stepping back.. Xiao Yang considerately moved his hand aside.
Wen Zhixu’s forearm brushed right up against it. The burning heat stabbed her arm, and ash rolled down with the heat wave. Xiao Yang exclaimed in surprise, blowing a faceful of mist at Wen Zhixu.
“It’s fine.” Wen Zhixu endured the pain and looked at the ash mark on her arm—it wasn’t serious.
Jian Shichu pulled her to her side, lowering her eyes to check, pinching her arm. In that instant, her eyes seemed covered with an indescribable urgency.
Xiao Yang kept apologizing nonstop. “Sorry, sorry! I really didn’t notice.”
Jian Shichu returned to normal in three seconds and said seriously, “I’ve told you many times, don’t smoke at the door.” There was a hint of anger in her tone.
Xiao Yang’s face turned red, the stuffiness making the atmosphere even more stifling.
Wen Zhixu pulled her hand free. “It’s okay. Be careful next time.” She avoided Jian Shichu—even her reminder was light and casual.
A slight ripple stirred in her heart. She turned and walked around Jian Shichu toward the outside.
Jian Shichu followed behind her and stopped when Wen Zhixu did, the words in her throat held back.
Wen Zhixu turned her head and asked, “Where to?”
“Grand Theatre.” Jian Shichu replied, pulling out a printed schedule from her bag and handing it to Wen Zhixu. “My recent itinerary.”
It wasn’t much, but it filled several days. Wen Zhixu’s gaze traveled up to Jian Shichu’s face as she asked, “I remember the car only got a bit of paint scratched. Does it need this long to fix?”
Jian Shichu looked away and cleared her throat. “Want to back out? Still time.” Her attitude was nonchalant as she crossed her arms and looked at her, her expression still mild and warm.
“I didn’t say that.” Wen Zhixu said, “Since I promised you, I won’t go back on it.”
Jian Shichu’s eyes suddenly darkened at those words, like a thorny rose hidden under shelter. Her breathing slowed, and after a pause of a few seconds, she slowly said, “I’ve heard that line once before.”
Jian Shichu had broken the balance, dragging out the story they’d avoided mentioning. Wen Zhixu reacted quickly—in truth, she’d remembered the moment she spoke. A long time ago, she’d said the exact same thing to Jian Shichu.
“That’s in the past. We’re talking about the car.” Wen Zhixu’s tone was even. “We’ll do just as this paper says.”
Wen Zhixu seemed utterly unperturbed, her eyelids lowering.
The A4 paper still held the residual warmth of the sun’s scorch, damp fingerprints left in the corner.
—
At ten in the morning, Wen Zhixu parked the car in the Grand Theatre parking lot.
As a landmark of Chongqing, the Chongqing Grand Theatre was on Wen Zhixu’s itinerary. She had to visit the dragon head of Jiangbei District.
Back in university, she never had time off during breaks. Chongqing was a place with nurturing feng shui, and Jian Shichu had said she wanted to take her to see the places from her childhood.
In the end, they hadn’t made it through this one before breaking up. From the Grand Theatre, they walked along the road. Summer vacation wasn’t over yet, and crowds surged.
Wen Zhixu’s steps fell amid the people. The theatre overlooked the river, where the Qiansimen Grand Bridge was visible, and across the river was Hongyadong.
It was like a real-life 2D world constructed by Miyazaki, though it looked better at night with the lights blazing. In the daytime, it felt more down-to-earth. She zoned out, then heard Jian Shichu’s reminder.
“Let’s go, or you’ll get heatstroke.” Jian Shichu didn’t stop her when she walked further down but let her reach this spot to take in a corner of Chongqing. This city that belonged to Jian Shichu seemed to have her shadow everywhere.
Even though this was their first time walking together along the riverbank, Jian Shichu had the flavor of an authentic Chongqing girl—always straightforward in speech. These things wouldn’t change just because of that breakup years ago.
Wen Zhixu caught up and asked, “Aren’t you going to take care of some business? I’ll wait for you at the coffee shop.” Her tone was always very light, as if she was just that kind of person—back then and now.
However, after being swept into the long river of time, all her youthful innocence had been stripped away. She couldn’t withstand any torment; with the slightest mishap, she would slide into the abyss, just like that year when she nearly got trapped in her mental world.
Jian Shichu didn’t look at her and replied, “I don’t want to look for one. It’s more convenient if you come with me.”
Jian Shichu wasn’t here on official business today either. Bai Xue had reminded her many times to go watch the theater performance together today—a musical stage play. Jian Shichu had bought the tickets herself, and she didn’t want to leave Wen Zhixu waiting outside.
After all, Chongqing’s summers were really hot, and waiting for someone was always the most boring thing.
