On the third day of the Lunar New Year, Song Cong received a message from Qi Qi—just six words: “Let’s meet this afternoon.”

He stared at the phone screen until it went dark, tapped it once, and saw the lock screen showing two kittens looking at each other.

Qi Qi had changed it to this picture; Song Cong could barely remember what he’d used before.

Probably just the system default—he’d never paid much attention to such things.

“Okay,” Song Cong replied.

They agreed to meet at a dessert shop next to Tianzhong School, a place Qi Qi chose. Song Cong arrived first, ordered a pot of jasmine tea, and seeing the cute cheesecakes in the display case, pointed and said, “I’ll have one of those too.”

“Certainly, please have a seat,” the server responded politely.

Qi Qi arrived fifteen minutes late, wearing jeans and sneakers with a puffy short white down jacket perfect for the northern winter. She waved at him, then sat down directly across from him.

“Been waiting long?” Qi Qi unzipped her jacket and rubbed her hands together.

“Not really.” Song Cong didn’t ask about her lateness, looking around instead. “This place has changed a lot.”

Growing up in a flash, he hadn’t been back to Tianzhong.

“Yes, this used to be a bubble tea shop.” Qi Qi pointed out the window. “After the New Year’s performance in the second year of high school, you all celebrated here—you, Huan Er, Qichi, Xinyan, and many classmates I didn’t know. I was standing right there.”

Song Cong looked in the direction she was pointing, across a one-way street to the Tianzhong school playground. He remembered the performance but had forgotten the details, so he asked her, “Were you there that time?”

“I didn’t come in.” Qi Qi’s gaze remained fixed outside, as if recalling the bitter, awkward feelings of that time, and said no more.

The Song Cong of that time certainly wouldn’t have noticed whether she was there or not.

The server brought their order, smiling as they said, “Please enjoy.”

Song Cong poured the tea and nodded toward the cake, “Try some?”

“Mm.” Qi Qi picked up her utensils and took a bite. The cake was very sweet, but she suddenly felt like crying.

Cheesecake was her favorite dessert.

Over the past two years, she’d dragged him to almost every popular dessert shop in Beijing, sometimes not sure if she was looking for a cake or just wanted to do things that couples do.

“Song Cong,” Qi Qi called out as tears fell directly down her face. Without looking up, she took another bite of cake through her tears. “You did like me, didn’t you?”

Never, not once, had they confirmed this question.

At first, she just contacted him frequently, initially using classmate gatherings as an excuse before it turned into eating meals alone together, crossing two districts to audit classes at that universally admired university, occasionally sharing music and movies he liked or sending him dad jokes, until one time when they were planning to go to an amusement park and Song Cong said he had someone he couldn’t forget.

He was brilliant; of course, he knew what she was doing.

It was the beginning of the second semester of freshman year, and Qi Qi told him it was fine, and that competition should be fair and just.

She continued to orbit around him, without novelty or pretense. Qi Qi had no illusions about wearing down stone with dedication; Song Cong was better than anyone she’d ever met, she liked him and liked being around him, and if one day he said sorry, it wouldn’t work, that would mean it wasn’t meant to be and she wouldn’t have a single complaint.

Later one day, they went to see a photography exhibition. Qi Qi went to the bathroom, and when she came out, she heard someone talking to Song Cong: “This girl’s double eyelids—surgically done.”

She stopped, not moving forward.

Then she heard Song Cong’s voice: “What’s it to you? I like it.”

It must have been someone he knew because he’d said it with a laugh.

At that moment her heart beat more violently than ever before—Song Cong said “I like it.”

As for what they saw in the second half of the exhibition, Qi Qi had no memory at all.

Leaving the gallery, she asked Song Cong, “Did I win?”

Win over the person in your heart.

Song Cong looked at her and said, “Mm, you won.”

On that sun-drenched morning, he held her hand and walked her back to school.

“Stop crying.” Song Cong pulled out two tissues and handed them to her, sighing. “Whether I liked you or not—does that need to be said?”

No need—Qi Qi knew that in the past, or even in this moment as time continued to flow, she had always been liked.

He would accompany her through pouring rain to complete her social survey assignments and stay up several nights in a row helping her find needed references to perfect her thesis. Song Cong was low-key by nature; sometimes when she used his phone to post random moments on social media, he would just smile, neither stopping her nor deleting them, because he knew that beneath her proud exterior lay a soft heart, knew that despite her competitive nature she often secretly felt inferior. Song Cong had always racked his brains to provide security and try to make up for those missed years—Qi Qi knew all of this.

It’s just… it’s just that they couldn’t reach an agreement on too many things.

“Alright, no more crying.” Song Cong clasped his hands and rested his chin on them, finally saying after a long while, “Don’t force yourself. I’ll do what you say.”

He’d already sensed it.

The phrase “hearts linked as one” suits lovers best, because they’ve sincerely given themselves to each other and tried their best to understand each other. In their world of two where nothing could be hidden, they keenly perceived each other’s slightest changes.

The increasingly exposed differences, the exhausting arguments these differences brought, the unsolvable questions these arguments created, and the damage done to their relationship—how could those involved not be clear about it all?

Song Cong even knew Qi Qi had started preparing for the IELTS exam. She hadn’t mentioned it, and he simply hadn’t asked.

The future of two people is the world’s simplest math problem—mine plus yours equals ours.

“I…” Qi Qi rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “Let me think about it some more.”

She’d thought it through clearly before coming, how to speak, what to do, how to say goodbye at this fork in the road, but that small cheesecake in front of her made her hesitate—Song Cong’s heart had always been clear and bright, and she couldn’t bear to part from him.

The tea had gone cold. Song Cong stood up and took her hand. “Let’s go, I’ll walk you back.”

His palm was very warm.

Qi Qi followed him out the door, smiling as she asked, “Are the three of you meeting tomorrow?”

Song Cong had mentioned Jing Qichi’s new job, and that Huan Er was returning from her hometown tonight.

“What kind of meeting would that be, just chatting at someone’s house.” Song Cong asked, “Want to come?”

She’d just visited a top application consultant with her mother and had an appointment tomorrow to revise her statement of purpose.

“I won’t go,” Qi Qi replied lightly.

Song Cong nodded, still not asking further.

As they passed Tianzhong’s main gate, Qi Qi looked over. The campus remained unchanged, with its flat paths and evergreen cypresses. She suddenly recalled scene after scene that had happened here—the memories weren’t quite continuous but were extraordinarily full. She asked Song Cong, “Why didn’t you tell Huan Er back then?”

Just like confirming his feelings, she had never verified whether it was Huan Er.

That afternoon returning from the exhibition to school, whether driven by competitiveness or curiosity, Qi Qi began to analyze who exactly was the person Song Cong had mentioned. His schedule was packed; in his spare time, he either played basketball or soccer and was never seen being particularly close to any girl. If it wasn’t someone he met in university, was it a classmate from when he transferred to the experimental school? But if he couldn’t forget her, surely he would want to know how she was doing and keep in touch regularly—there was no such girl in Song Cong’s contact list. Going further back led to their shared time at Tianzhong, where the only one who seemed to be around him was class monitor Liao Xinyan, but Xinyan… Xinyan had other intentions.

After thinking it through, Qi Qi suddenly realized she’d forgotten someone.

Huan Er—why couldn’t it be Huan Er, who went to and from school with him every day and couldn’t have been more familiar?

As the answer surfaced, Qi Qi was flooded with complex emotions interweaving desolation, relief, and nervousness.

So that evening she made a phone call to her former best friend, wanting to express—and knowing Huan Er would understand—that whatever had happened during their adolescence had all become past tense.

“It was just… timing.” Song Cong glanced at the empty playground, then looked away. “Even if I could choose again, I wouldn’t say it. Looking back now, I’m grateful I didn’t speak up.”

Of course, he didn’t know that Qi Qi had already told Huan Er.

They had all grown up and developed the tacit understanding adults have about keeping secrets.

This understanding guarded a boundary line.

Qi Qi nodded without comment, and they walked on together, leaving the silent Tianzhong behind them.

Early the next morning, big news spread through the staff housing complex—Dr. Zhou’s son Zhou You and Dr. Xiu Xian’s daughter Shanshan had registered their marriage in America.

The reason it was called big news rather than good news—this audacious young couple had acted first and reported later, their unorthodox approach catching their parents in China completely off guard.

Song Cong brought the news—upon hearing it, Dr. and Mrs. Zhou had gone to apologize to their in-laws first thing in the morning, and before leaving, Old Song from Orthopedics was entrusted with covering their shift.

Huan Er had arrived at the staff housing complex late and only knew the names but not the people, while Jing Qichi and Song Cong had grown up following these older kids around. The two of them exchanged meaningful looks with plenty of “holy cow” and “that’s wild.”

To these two, marriage was like following an electronic workflow, with approval procedures.

Jing Qichi chuckled, “Uncle Zhou usually criticizes Zhou You brother to no end, wishing he could pin him down somewhere. Must be panicking now.”

“You bet,” Song Cong described vividly. “Called my dad at 6:30 in the morning—probably saw the message and was scared awake. Heard Zhou You brother had asked for birth certificate notarization and such before, but Uncle Zhou didn’t even ask questions, thinking it was just for green card renewal. Sister Shanshan didn’t say a word either—planned and strategized for a long time.”

The parents’ panic wasn’t hard to understand—they were born in an era of transition, when marriage was no longer “parents’ command and matchmakers’ words” but still followed a process of meeting first, then family introductions, and finally obtaining a marriage certificate. But the 80s and 90s generation grew up pushed along by the new world, and by the time they could take responsibility for themselves, marriage had become just one of many decisions—lovers who were deeply in love wanted to be closer to each other, and complicated formalities weren’t even considered.

“Uncle Zhou’s temper won’t let them off,” Jing Qichi raised his eyebrows at Huan Er. “Summer—by summer at the latest you’ll see them in person. Uncle Zhou will drag them back for a wedding ceremony even if he has to do it by force.”

Huan Er couldn’t help but exclaim, “That’s so cool.”

A phone vibrated, and the three identical phones without cases sat neatly on the table. Huan Er, being closest to the table, didn’t know whose it was, so she randomly tapped one of them. She meant to determine whose message it was and pass it to them, but when the screen lit up, she saw the message—

Song Cong, let’s break up.

No need to think about knowing who the sender is.

Huan Er froze for a moment. Instead of returning the phone immediately, she asked Song Cong, “Are you and Qi Qi having problems?”

Song Cong, being so clever, looked at Huan Er. “Mine?”

“Mm.”

“It’s okay.” Song Cong read the result from his friend’s grave expression and gave a bitter smile. “I expected it.”

Jing Qichi, not knowing the cause, looked first at Song Cong and then at Huan Er. “What’s wrong?”

Huan Er remained silent.

“Give it to me, I’ll reply.” Song Cong took the phone without even looking at the message, and calmly told them, “Qi Qi and I… this is the end.”