Spring meets summer, autumn departs for winter.

The colors of the four seasons were like strokes drawn by a pen, completing one circle and then another, and so time passed. Sometimes gently, sometimes in a rush.

Lin Yiran and Qiu Xing’s second three years were noticeably more relaxed than the first, with fewer uncertainties and hesitations. They were more in sync, more like a couple.

At least Lin Yiran unilaterally shifted them into a relationship mode. She had completely figured out the most suitable rhythm for her and Qiu Xing’s relationship, which was to simply ignore the things Qiu Xing didn’t agree with.

Qiu Xing was a paper tiger—intimidating in appearance but without any real danger.

On the eve of Lin Yiran’s college graduation, the four roommates who had lived together for four years gathered for their final meal together.

Three were continuing to graduate studies, and one had chosen to go directly to work at a magazine after graduation. The next day, Li Qianduo and another roommate would be moving all their things out. After this meal, who knew when they would all gather to eat together again?

During these years, the girls had looked after each other, never quarreled, accompanied each other, and grown together.

Now that separation was imminent, tears were inevitable. Li Qianduo had been crying for half a semester already; lately, just mentioning the topic of graduation would make her cry.

That evening, they all drank alcohol, and this time even Lin Yiran didn’t refuse. The four of them laid mats on the floor of their dormitory, sat in a circle, and talked until midnight while drinking.

Like their late-night chats from freshman year, they hugged their knees and talked about the future, about their lives ahead.

Li Qianduo had been accepted to a master’s program in a distant southern city, where neither family nor friends were present. She would again be living alone in an unfamiliar city for three years.

She hugged Lin Yiran and cried pitifully, her eyes and nose bright red, a large pimple swelling on her chin, and a mouth ulcer at the corner of her lips.

“I don’t want to be separated from you, wuwuwu, I can’t do it alone,” Li Qianduo wiped her tears on Lin Yiran’s pajamas and asked tearfully, “When I’m homesick again, you won’t be there to comfort me…”

She sobbed intermittently, and Lin Yiran gently patted her back, saying, “You’ll make new friends, Duoduo.”

“I don’t want to!” Li Qianduo tightly hugged her arm.

Li Qianduo was slightly younger, and Lin Yiran was accustomed to taking care of her. Li Qianduo was very dependent on Lin Yiran and genuinely liked her. Even when they weren’t in class together, she would message Lin Yiran, always thinking of her whenever she saw something good to eat or play with.

“I don’t want to leave you…” she said pitifully, her large eyes swollen and red from crying. “You’re my very, very best friend.”

Lin Yiran felt a sourness in her heart, very sad.

Her personality was different from Li Qianduo’s. Her emotions weren’t as outwardly expressed, always appearing cool, making others feel there was a distance.

Li Qianduo didn’t mind her calmness, bouncing around her every day, telling her everything, yet rarely asking about Lin Yiran’s affairs.

Lin Yiran wasn’t so forthcoming; she habitually kept her guard up with others. Li Qianduo respected and protected this aspect of her.

“I’ve never dated, I’m so envious of Xinran’s sweet romance,” Li Qianduo said, tired from crying, leaning on Lin Yiran’s shoulder and mumbling. “When will a handsome guy date me?”

“Your standards are too high,” Xinran teased her. “You only have eyes for the one-in-a-million handsome guys, but how many of those are there? They’re all already taken.”

Li Qianduo pouted and said, “When will one come to my bowl?”

She turned to look at Lin Yiran and leaned in to whisper, “I’ll tell you a secret.”

“What?” Lin Yiran smiled and asked.

“I like Cheng Yifan,” she said in a very soft voice. “The one who sent you flowers in freshman year.”

Lin Yiran asked in surprise, “The one on the sports field?”

“Yes,” Li Qianduo nodded, lowering her head and sighing with worry. “That bouquet was so beautiful… when it fell into my arms, my heart fluttered.”

“Have you kept in touch since then?” Lin Yiran asked her.

“No, he doesn’t like me, he doesn’t even know who I am. I just picked up the flowers you didn’t want,” Li Qianduo said. “But my heart fluttered at that moment, it was so beautiful, such a big bouquet. I had never seen such beautiful flowers before.”

Lin Yiran stroked her head and said, “In the future, there will be even more beautiful ones, Duoduo’s own, not picked up from anyone else.”

“Later I thought, maybe I didn’t like Cheng Yifan, I just liked that bouquet,” Li Qianduo said slowly, cupping her face with both hands. “Because when I imagine Cheng Yifan being with you, I still feel he’s not good enough for you, so I probably don’t like him that much.”

Although all four roommates got along well, they naturally formed closer pairs.

As the conversation continued, they split into their pairs, sitting side by side with their partners across from each other.

Li Qianduo rested on her bent knees, muttering to Lin Yiran, “Though I like handsome guys, not many of them are good, and none of them are good enough for you. Wait until you find someone good before dating, don’t run into scumbags. Me too.”

Lin Yiran had drunk quite a bit, and her head was already spinning.

She also rested her chin on her knees and said, “Duoduo, I’ll tell you a secret too.”

“What secret?” Li Qianduo lowered her voice, asking mysteriously.

Lin Yiran said, “Actually, I already have a good one.”

“A good what?” Li Qianduo asked.

Lin Yiran thought for a long time, not knowing how to define him. Not a boyfriend, not a suitor, not a classmate—if pressed to say, only “good neighbor” was accurate. But none of this mattered. For Lin Yiran, he was simply a “good Qiu Xing.”

Lin Yiran smiled and said softly, “A good man.”

Li Qianduo gave an exaggerated “Wow,” then asked in a lowered voice, “Since when!”

Lin Yiran said, “Always.”

“Huh?” Li Qianduo was completely surprised but didn’t ask Lin Yiran why she hadn’t mentioned it.

After a while, Li Qianduo asked with some disappointment, “Is he good to you? Do you like him?”

Lin Yiran, with her eyes closed due to dizziness, answered, “Good… like.”

Li Qianduo felt a shallow jealousy, as if her friend had been taken away. She pouted and asked, “How much do you like him?”

Lin Yiran was already a bit disoriented, her mind turning slowly, and her responses were delayed.

She paused for a few seconds, only vaguely repeating her previous answer: “…really like.”

Li Qianduo pouted for a while, then asked sullenly, “What kind of person is he? To make you like him so much. Is he handsome? A top student?”

Lin Yiran didn’t answer the last two questions. She thought for a moment and said with a smile, “He’s a stubborn person.”

“What’s good about that?” Li Qianduo said unhappily. “Being stubborn isn’t a virtue.”

Lin Yiran buried her face in her knees and didn’t answer further.

Though stubbornness might not be considered a virtue, Qiu Xing had many other virtues.

For instance, he was so excellent, so ambitious.

For instance, he always stood tall and straight, responsible and dependable.

For instance, he always claimed to be cold and hard-hearted, yet he was often soft-hearted.

*

After starting graduate school, Lin Yiran became busier than before. Professor Han was often invited to give lectures around the country, and Lin Yiran would either accompany her or stay behind to teach the undergraduate courses.

She was talented and hardworking, and Professor Han valued her greatly, often mentioning her prized disciple when meeting friends. Every circle relies on connections, and having entered Professor Han’s tutelage, Lin Yiran was naturally aligned with her faction.

There were similarities in her writing to her teacher’s—those gentle yet cruel words, the crisp quality between the lines.

There was a sharp comment on Douban saying she must either be from a single-parent family or an orphan. When the editor showed it to her, Lin Yiran thought with a smile that she was both.

Shortly after starting her first year of graduate school, the collection of works she had published in magazines was finally published as a book.

In the current declining publishing industry, her collection of short stories made some waves, frequently seen on various platforms. Of course, this was partly due to the publisher and booksellers’ promotion, as well as borrowing Professor Han’s influence. The book was reprinted four times within half a year and displayed on central displays in bookstores.

The following year, Lin Yiran’s book was shortlisted for a new writer award from one of China’s top literary prizes. Although she didn’t win that one, she received two other awards that same year. They weren’t authoritative awards, but they carried weight—at least enough for her to enter the circle, for the name Lin Xiaozhou to enter the vision of literature enthusiasts.

Of course, some said her writing still showed signs of immaturity, revealing the author’s young age. Others said those in the know understood she had connections.

Professor Han said this was normal, that the path of writing was like a person’s life: youth has its sharpness, but with age, even the sharpest pen becomes weathered.

Lin Yiran didn’t mind this. She could never associate herself with the title “writer”—having only written a few short stories, she couldn’t yet bear that name.

She was still a student at school, busy but very simple. Her world still contained only three things—school, writing, and Qiu Xing.

*

Xiaozhou: [Are you coming back today?]

Qiu Xing: [Don’t know.]

Xiaozhou: [Starry eyes.jpg]

Xiaozhou: [Waiting for you!]

Qiu Xing had gone out on business, saying he would come to her place before going home. In the morning, Qiu Xing said his business was finished, so Lin Yiran left school at noon, wrote a bit in their little house in the afternoon, and then took a nap.

After waking up, she went to the supermarket and bought beef, fish, and some vegetables.

The flights were always the same few, and Lin Yiran knew what time he would arrive. She deliberately sent the message asking him just when she knew his plane had landed.

He visited her more often than before, sometimes passing through on business trips, sometimes coming specifically to see her, sometimes at Lin Yiran’s request. Later, for convenience, Qiu Xing directly rented a place near her school, so she wouldn’t have to bring many things every time she came out.

When he wasn’t there, Lin Yiran still lived at school, only coming out when Qiu Xing visited.

This was her secret base; apart from her and Qiu Xing, she had never brought anyone here, neither roommates nor friends.

Here were her daily necessities: Qiu Xing’s towel, toothbrush, and razor, and Qiu Xing’s clothes.

There was also a windowsill of succulents and a few easy-to-care-for pothos plants. Lin Yiran had decorated the place like a small home.

When Qiu Xing opened the door and came in, Lin Yiran had just put the last dish into the wok.

With the range hood on, she didn’t hear Qiu Xing enter. After finishing cooking and turning off the heat, while plating the food, a piece of beef fell onto the countertop. She had just wiped it clean before cooking, so she thought it wasn’t dirty and simply picked it up and ate it.

She turned around to see Qiu Xing leaning against the wall by the bathroom door, watching her.

Lin Yiran had her hair tied in a ponytail and wore no apron. Afraid of dirtying her clothes, she was wearing Qiu Xing’s t-shirt and pants, which already had oil splattered on the front.

Looking at Qiu Xing, her eyes gradually curved into a smile. She put the dish on the table, turned back, and with bright eyes asked Qiu Xing, “When did you come in?”

Qiu Xing tugged at the shoulder of her shirt and asked, “You wear other people’s clothes to cook?”

“Yours are easy to wash,” Lin Yiran naturally tilted her head slightly, smiling and nuzzling Qiu Xing’s hand. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

“Just picking things up from wherever and putting them in your mouth,” Qiu Xing added.

Lin Yiran smiled, hugging Qiu Xing’s waist, looking up at him and saying, “Shall we eat?”

“I’m hungry,” Qiu Xing said.

Lin Yiran occasionally cooked meals. At first, she wasn’t very good, but later she became excellent.

Each time, Qiu Xing would appreciatively eat everything and even offer a few words of praise.

Qiu Xing’s demeanor had become more mature; he was already twenty-seven years old. Taciturn and reserved, his features increasingly profound, he was gradually becoming a mature man.

Outside, Lin Yiran remained that cool, distant goddess of the Literature Department, bearing the title of a beautiful writer, keeping people at a distance, refusing to dine alone with men, let alone engage in ambiguous relationships.

Yet in front of Qiu Xing, she displayed unhidden attachment.

She liked wearing Qiu Xing’s oversized clothes, casually tying her hair up, preparing a few dishes, waiting for Qiu Xing to return and eat with her, after which Qiu Xing would wash all the dishes.

This place was like an ordinary little home, where Qiu Xing was a handsome, busy young husband, and she was Qiu Xing’s wife.