Lu Yicheng was, on this rare occasion, rather persistent.

He finally talked Jiang Ruoqiao into leaving with his patient, gentle coaxing. Lu Yicheng had a feeling that staying up all night was not really suitable for her — and besides, this late at night, it was better for him to be the one standing in line.

Jiang Ruoqiao stepped out of the hospital and, without thinking, tilted her head up to look at the sky.

The Mid-Autumn Festival had just passed, and the moon was still round and full. She thought about Lu Yicheng standing in line in the hospital lobby, and felt genuine surprise. She hadn’t known him long, yet over this short stretch of time, every moment she had felt a sense of relief had been because of him. Her grandparents had two daughters — one was her mother, the other her aunt. Her aunt had a good marriage and a happy family. After her father died in an accident, she had been brought to live with her grandparents by her mother, and later her mother remarried and moved away. Her grandparents doted on her, worried she had no stable home, and had long since spoken with her aunt and uncle — the property in the elders’ names was to be left to her.

Her aunt also pitied her and had no objection.

In Xi Shi, the custom was this: whoever inherited the property took on the responsibility of caring for the elders in their old age.

As far as Jiang Ruoqiao was concerned, she would look after her grandparents regardless of whether there was any property involved.

Her aunt had her own family to manage — a supermarket to run with her husband, and two children to raise. Jiang Ruoqiao understood that her aunt wanted to do more but simply couldn’t, and so after a phone call with her, she said in the lightest, most cheerful tone she could manage that since she had few classes in her third year, she would be the one to take full care of her grandmother throughout this.

Her aunt broke down in tears on the other end of the line, saying thank you over and over again.

Jiang Ruoqiao could not bear to receive that gratitude. She was not a particularly warm or sentimental person — but she knew well enough that without her grandparents, the years of her past would not have been as peaceful as they were.

She could be heartless toward anyone in the world. Only toward her grandparents could she never be.

If Lu Yicheng hadn’t been here, she believed she would have managed everything on her own. She would have steadied herself, brought her grandmother in for treatment, and handled whatever came next. She trusted herself to do that. But she also had to acknowledge — because of him, because of his small, seemingly unremarkable acts of help, she had in fact felt, for just a brief moment, what it was like to exhale.

Stepping out of the hospital, Jiang Ruoqiao had meant to head toward the subway — but she came to a stop in front of a fruit stall.

Something came to mind, and the corner of her lips curved in a faint smile. She stepped inside. She bought some tangerines and bananas, and since the fruit stall also sold snacks, she picked up some peppermint lozenges for staying alert, and some individually packaged bread rolls and vacuum-sealed braised eggs. With her purchases gathered into a bag, she turned around and walked back the way she had come, returning to the hospital.

She stood in the lobby and found him at a glance.

He wasn’t difficult to spot — in that entire row, he was unmistakably the tallest.

He had his head bowed, doing something she couldn’t quite make out.

Jiang Ruoqiao guessed he was probably on his phone — perhaps doing his daily vocabulary drills.

He was lean in build, yet somehow, when it mattered most, he seemed capable of summoning a limitless kind of strength.

Like a poplar. Like a pine.

Strangely, before she had even drawn close, he seemed to sense her — he turned his head, and their eyes met. She walked toward him and made a teasing remark: “I thought you wouldn’t notice me until I was standing right in front of you.”

Lu Yicheng broke into a quiet laugh.

He thought that was strange too — genuinely strange. Because it seemed like he had somehow developed a new ability: he knew it was her before she was anywhere near him.

Was it the sound of her footsteps? Or that faint, indescribable scent she carried… Whatever it was, it felt inexplicable. Mysterious, even.

“Why are you back.” Lu Yicheng paused. “Don’t you know that waiting in a queue for hospital appointments is an art in itself? I have experience — so it’s better if I’m the one standing here.”

He was afraid she might change her mind and insist on queueing herself so as not to trouble him.

Jiang Ruoqiao shook her head, eyes bright with a smile. “I suddenly realized your supplies weren’t actually complete. I came to top them up for you.”

Lu Yicheng: “?”

Jiang Ruoqiao held out the bag to him. He took it, and found it was surprisingly full.

There was a U-shaped travel pillow…

Jiang Ruoqiao took it out and looped it around her own neck, demonstrating. “Like this — when you’re tired, you can rest against it.”

Having completed this demonstration, Jiang Ruoqiao suddenly realized she had done something rather silly.

Of course he knew how to use a U-shaped pillow! They were everywhere! Even someone who had never seen one before would know how to use it just by looking!

Lu Yicheng watched her carrying out this earnest little demonstration with laughter brimming in his eyes. He thought she was being so seriously, so helplessly — a little adorable. Siyan wore certain expressions sometimes that reminded him exactly of her.

Jiang Ruoqiao, slightly embarrassed, lifted the pillow off her own neck and held it out to him. “Anyway, that’s how you use it. It’s for you.”

She had taken a little time picking it out, and thought this dark-blue striped one suited him rather well.

“Thank you.” Lu Yicheng took it and immediately looped it around his own neck.

He looked into the bag and was genuinely surprised.

There were tangerines and bananas for fruit, bread rolls and braised eggs and peppermint lozenges for snacks, and even a packet of instant coffee and a can of mint-flavored sparkling water.

Jiang Ruoqiao said, a little ill at ease: “This brand of instant coffee is passable, at least. If it’s not to your taste, don’t worry about it — the sparkling water should probably be more to guys’ liking.”

Lu Yicheng bit back a smile. “Thank you. I’m very happy with all of it.”

There was admittedly rather a lot. He didn’t really have the habit of eating late-night snacks either.

A brief silence settled between them. Jiang Ruoqiao said: “When I was ten years old, my grandparents took me on a trip. We traveled by green train. They bought me so many snacks along the way…” She paused. “I didn’t expect to still find this brand of braised eggs after all these years. From what I remember, the flavor was quite good.”

Perhaps the scene around her had stirred something in her.

She found herself telling him this — something that was precious to her and probably utterly unremarkable to anyone else.

Lu Yicheng gave a quiet nod. “I know this brand of braised eggs. I’ve had them too. There was a period in junior high when my appetite was quite poor, and my grandmother assumed I liked eating these kinds of things, so she would specially buy them and put them in my noodles. To be honest, I always thought my grandmother’s own braised eggs tasted better than these…”

He caught himself mid-sentence, realized what he had said, and immediately looked up at her in alarm, hurrying to explain: “I didn’t mean it that way — please don’t think anything of it. I’ll definitely eat these, I genuinely will. They’re quite good, actually. I’m not saying they taste bad.”

He was practically stumbling over his own words.

Jiang Ruoqiao smiled warmly. “Why are you so flustered? Do I look like someone who’d get upset over a small thing like that?”

Lu Yicheng went quiet.

Jiang Ruoqiao gave a long, resigned sigh. “Siyan has really done a number on my reputation.”

Lu Yicheng broke into a laugh. “Not at all.”

He was just a bit nervous himself.

Then he said: “My grandmother always used to say she never had any schooling and didn’t know how to teach me properly. From as far back as I can remember, she told me to read — read more, and keep reading. She said my parents were gone, so there was no one to teach me how to be a decent person in this world, and that I should read more than other children because of it. She said the wisdom in books came from people far wiser than herself. She said: treat all those learned people in books as your teachers — as your parents.”

Jiang Ruoqiao found herself in wholehearted agreement. “I think your grandmother was remarkable.”

Because of that old woman’s guiding words, Lu Yicheng had grown into the person he was today.

The two of them didn’t really go particularly deep in their conversation.

When two people are truly talking, it is very hard to say they have fully opened their hearts. That is the nature of human connection — you knock on the door first, and wait for the other person to answer before you step inside. Once inside, there is some courteous exchange before you can speak freely and openly. Right now, Lu Yicheng stood at Jiang Ruoqiao’s door. He did not dare knock. He could only wait at the threshold, hoping that one day she would come and open it herself — he didn’t dare move rashly, didn’t dare disturb her.

What Lu Yicheng didn’t know was that he had already been invited inside by Jiang Ruoqiao.

Lu Siyan was still at home waiting for Jiang Ruoqiao. She didn’t linger — at the fastest pace she could manage, she made her way to Lu Yicheng’s rented room and took Lu Siyan away with her.

When Jiang Ruoqiao brought Lu Siyan back to the apartment, her grandparents were sitting on the sofa watching a drama. Both elders looked up in surprise when they saw their granddaughter walk in with Siyan. “What’s this?”

Lu Siyan had no intention of treating himself as a stranger.

This was his mama’s home. And mama’s grandparents — which made this basically his own family coming home.

Jiang Ruoqiao said: “Lu Yicheng had something come up and asked me to look after Siyan for the night.”

Her grandparents: “Oh?”

Their granddaughter and that young man were already close enough for her to look after his child? Now that was saying something!

Jiang Ruoqiao kept her eyes away from her grandparents’ curious, searching looks, gave Lu Siyan a few instructions, and then went to the bathroom.

At first her grandparents had been startled and curious — but the moment they laid eyes on Lu Siyan, their hearts simply melted. It was the strangest thing: one look at this child and their hearts went warm right through! That night, Lu Siyan slept in the same bed as Jiang Ruoqiao. Kindergarten graduate Lu Siyan still had school the next day…

That night — perhaps because her thoughts were in such turmoil — Jiang Ruoqiao had another dream.

In the dream, she was once again an observer. Something had happened — she wasn’t sure what — and that version of “herself” had lost her graduate school exemption. But “she” was resolute: she would work while preparing for the graduate entrance exam. Her grandmother had missed the best window for treatment, and by the time it was discovered, the situation had become somewhat critical. “She” brought her grandmother to Jing Shi to seek medical care, and just as “she” was nearing the end of her endurance, someone hacked her social media accounts. Overnight, all manner of rumors and slander came pouring down on her.

People said “she” sought out wealthy men and leeched off them; that out of greed and vanity, “she” had callously abandoned a boyfriend who had loved her with his whole heart.

People said the reason “she” had looked so polished and put-together during her university years was because of certain unspoken, unsavory arrangements with certain people.

People said “she” had absolutely no right to the title of A University’s campus beauty — glamorous on the outside, rotten within.

Things “she” had never done were described in vivid, convincing detail, as though “she” had truly done them.

Things “she” had genuinely done were exaggerated and distorted beyond recognition.

In short, someone had made it their mission to destroy “her” reputation and turn “her” into a monster.

And this person was frighteningly capable — they managed to have “her” accounts permanently banned from the platform. The platform’s explanation was repeated reports from other users, and the reasons that had led to those successful reports were baffling and beyond all logic. “She” knew perfectly well that someone was deliberately targeting her.

“She” had no recourse. It was only at this point that “she” realized: what “she” had believed was a career — it was more fragile than she had ever imagined.

“She” was utterly spent.

From her vantage point as observer, she watched as “her” grandmother, lying in her hospital bed, overheard people speaking about “her” granddaughter — using words so ugly they were unbearable to hear. Her grandmother was exhausted in body and spirit, and yet she refused to let “her” granddaughter worry. So she kept it all hidden and said nothing — all while enduring the torment of illness, and all while her heart ached with boundless, helpless tenderness for her granddaughter. The old woman even clumsily and secretly went online to argue with the people attacking her granddaughter, typing out a few words only to be mocked: “Did a primary school student write this? Too many typos — you clearly haven’t even finished learning the alphabet. How much is that person paying you to be a keyboard warrior?”

The old woman was so furious her chest ached.

The scene shifted. In the year “she” turned twenty-three, her grandmother passed away, the resuscitation efforts unsuccessful.

“She” wept inconsolably in the mourning hall. In the memorial portrait, her grandmother was smiling — the same eternal, gentle warmth — as if to say: Qiaoqiao, don’t cry.

When Jiang Ruoqiao woke, her expression was hollow and numb.

She wanted to cry, but it was as though someone had their hands around her throat and would not let her. What lodged there instead was cluster upon cluster of bitter, suffocating feeling.

She got up, washed up, helped Lu Siyan wash up as well, had breakfast with her grandparents, smiled as she said goodbye to them, took Lu Siyan’s hand and walked out of the complex, and stood at the place where the school bus stopped. After Siyan boarded the bus, she sank down with empty eyes onto a nearby ledge.

Her mind was full of everything, and empty of everything.

Partway through, she received a call from Lu Yicheng. His voice on the other end was light and bright: “I got the appointment — and it’s for Dr. Huang’s afternoon session today. I’m on my way to bring you the appointment slip now!”

Jiang Ruoqiao tugged the corners of her mouth into something like a smile. “Alright. Thank you.”

They arranged to meet at the entrance, and Jiang Ruoqiao got up and started walking out. Someone was riding an electric scooter, and though they had honked their horn, Jiang Ruoqiao — lost in her own emotions, unusually slow to react in a way that was unlike her — hadn’t heard it, or had heard it but hadn’t moved fast enough. The scooter clipped her, and she fell.

The rider grumbled a few words. Jiang Ruoqiao stared ahead vacantly, then her eyes gradually cleared. She said to the rider: “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it — it was my own carelessness.”

The rider, faced with someone so easygoing about the whole thing, actually felt a little guilty. “Well… I’ll be off then. I live in this complex — building twelve. If anything comes up, you can find me there.”

Sometimes it was exactly like this — if you ran into someone itching for a fight, then nobody would come out of it well; but if you happened to cross paths with someone like this, so agreeable and reasonable, you found yourself thinking maybe you ought to be a bit kinder too.

Jiang Ruoqiao: “Alright.”

After the rider left, Jiang Ruoqiao didn’t get up right away. She bowed her head and looked at her knees. Both her knees and her palms had been scraped. She pressed lightly at her knee.

The pain spread through every limb and fiber of her body. It was as though only now did she have any feeling at all. Tears fell, one drop at a time.

Lu Yicheng hadn’t found her at the entrance and had come into the complex to look. From a distance, he could see her sitting on the edge of a flower bed — and it seemed like she was crying.

He walked a little closer, and noticed that her knee was injured.

She was indeed crying.

Over the time they had spent together, he had seen so many different expressions on her face — furrowed brow, displeasure, genuine happiness, forced happiness — but never once had he seen her shed tears.

He didn’t know why, but he had always had a feeling: she wasn’t crying because she had fallen and scraped her knee. Rather, it was that she had finally found a reason to cry.

He understood her — though he didn’t know what had happened to her, he had been through something like this himself. A long time ago, when he was still very young — someone had said to him that he had no father or mother, that he was an orphan, and he hadn’t cried. It was only when he got home and missed a step on the stairs and fell that he finally cried.

But he hadn’t cried because of the fall.

He looked at her, and walked over. He sat down beside her. While she cried — without making a single sound, completely silent — he reached out his hand, hesitated for a few seconds, and then with quiet certainty, gently patted her on the shoulder.