On the second day of the holiday, Du Man treated Song Cong to a meal. It was intentional—she had first asked about his vacation days, then switched night shifts with a colleague to free up a day. Of course, it didn’t take much effort—she was already a prospective graduate student at Peking University Medical School, and barring any unexpected circumstances, she would continue in these circles. Adults understand that more connections mean more opportunities.
Even the supervising teacher who had coldly rebuked her with “if you don’t want to work, get out” and had given her the cold shoulder for so long specially came to congratulate her. “It’s indeed hard to both intern and prepare for graduate school, we should be more understanding of things others don’t comprehend.” Yet this kind and friendly attitude somehow made Du Man feel a bit lost.
She mentioned this to Song Cong, and the young man asked in confusion, “Why?”
“I later realized it’s really not his fault,” Du Man said frankly. “The hospital has its system, rotations have their rules, and even if it’s grunt work, it’s what I should do since I chose to be there. I squeezed in study time during work hours, and colleagues not picking on that was kindness, not obligation.”
“So?”
“If he had stayed that way, I would have thought, oh, he’s just a bit rigid.” Du Man pushed the vegetables around in her bowl with her chopsticks. “But as soon as he learned I got admitted, his attitude just… suddenly improved.”
Song Cong understood at this point, “He thinks you might outrank him in the future?”
Du Man sighed, looking at him, “Is the prestigious school halo really that effective?”
Song Cong thought for a moment, then nodded, “It works for a while, that’s true.”
“But not forever, right?” Du Man sighed again. “After graduation, don’t we all start from scratch? You and I understand this logic, how come he doesn’t?”
“Maybe he’s looking even further ahead.” Song Cong smiled. “Who knows, after your master’s you might want to pursue a PhD, soar to success and become Dr. Du whom all hospitals fight over—wouldn’t it come in handy then?”
Du Man waved her hand with a laugh, “Like you and Huan’er? I don’t have that kind of perseverance.”
“Huan’er?” Song Cong frowned. “Huan’er is pursuing a PhD?”
“Yes, at our school, combined master’s and doctoral program. She’ll apply around the end of the month.” Du Man didn’t think much of it. “She hasn’t told Jing Qichi yet, probably didn’t tell you either for fear you might leak the news.”
Song Cong fell silent.
He understood better than anyone what a doctorate meant—time.
Even though he knew Chen Huan’er was no longer the small-town girl who had barely made it into Tian Zhong High School with all her might, she had never stopped pursuing her goals. It was precisely those firm, steady steps that had brought her to higher and farther places today.
These years at Yan Yuan had made Song Cong increasingly understand that while some people are indeed born with certain superior talents—perhaps he was one of them—more people carve out their paths through unbreakable determination and incomparable tenacity, like Du Man before him, and like his friend Chen Huan’er.
Song Cong would certainly not stand in their way, but still…
“You have to trust them,” Du Man propped her arms on the table. “To be honest, I don’t know Jing Qichi well, but I understand Huan’er. She only does things when she believes she can handle them—whether it’s academics or relationships.”
“Qichi should be the first to know.”
“Yes, I agree,” Du Man nodded. “But he should hear it from Huan’er’s own mouth.”
Song Cong remained worried, “If he knew a day earlier, he could plan earlier. Several years isn’t a small matter.”
Du Man watched his furrowed brows, blinked, then leaned back in her chair with her arms crossed.
“Song Cong,” she called out to him, sitting there at ease, “do you know what your biggest problem is?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“What about me?”
Du Man quietly studied him for a moment, then rested her chin on one hand while tracing his silhouette in the air with the other, “You need to learn to be a bit more naive.”
Song Cong heard every word clearly. He frowned and pressed his lips together.
“For example,” Du Man first looked around the small restaurant, then back at him, “you didn’t have to choose this place considering my budget. When I said I wanted to treat you to a nice meal, it was genuine gratitude for your help—a meal isn’t much.” Du Man paused briefly, then continued, “You’re only in your twenties, why do you always rush to think about problems with a forty-year-old’s mindset?”
After a moment of silence, Song Cong said quietly, “I’m used to it.”
He had gotten used to doing this even before he was an adult, as if only by thinking far and wide could he wrestle with whatever unexpected events might be waiting.
“Yes, that’s how you are.” Du Man neither agreed nor disagreed, continuing quietly, “When I lived in the staff quarters, I had already heard about your mother. Everyone encounters changes in life, big or small, but that doesn’t mean we have to plan everything meticulously in advance. Anticipating everything isn’t always good.”
Song Cong stared at her, his gaze indecipherable.
“You need to learn to be a bit more naive,” Du Man repeated her earlier words, meeting his gaze with a faint smile, “Taking things one step at a time has its own joy.”
Song Cong turned away, silent.
“Are you angry?” Du Man was still smiling.
“No.” Song Cong scratched his eyebrow. No one had ever done this before—pointing out his thoughts so directly without any beating around the bush. His mind was just a bit confused.
Very rarely, a bit confused.
Du Man reached across the table to tug at his sleeve, “Little Song, harsh words are hard to hear.”
That nickname made Song Cong laugh, “Little Song?”
“You are Little Song,” Du Man’s eyes curved like crescents, “I strongly suspect you’ve just been aged by Jing Qichi calling you old—my dad only calls your dad Old Song.”
Hearing this, Song Cong asked her, “How’s your dad’s health?”
Two years ago, Du Man’s mother had sold the hospital shop and moved the family to the countryside. Song Cong later learned from Huan’er that Du Man’s father had undergone an examination due to persistent shoulder and back pain, and the results showed his heart wasn’t good enough for high-stress work. After leaving the staff quarters, they took over an orchard through a friend’s introduction, becoming melon farmers far from the bustle of Tian He city. No one had tasted their watermelons yet, but judging from Du Man’s demeanor, life was at least stable and comfortable.
“He’s doing great, treats those melons better than me.” Du Man extended an invitation, “When Huan’er comes back, you all should visit my home. We have a kang bed, a big pot—if nothing else, there are plenty of watermelons.”
“Kang?” Though he had been to the countryside before, Song Cong had never seen the legendary heated brick bed.
“Yes, my dad built it himself.” Du Man showed no concern about this, instead beaming with pride, “Come on, let the Du family show you something new.”
“Alright!” Song Cong answered, then tugged at the corner of his mouth, “When the mind is at ease, the body naturally follows.”
“I’m scared too, actually.” Du Man looked at him. “But who doesn’t have things they fear? One day passes and you think today was okay, then another day and another. Living a life being scared but also happy—that’s not too bad.”
“Look who’s talking?” Song Cong rubbed his chin, looking at her with interest, “Du Man, a naive person wouldn’t say things like that.”
Du Man was startled, then broke into a grin, “That’s why I’m still learning too.”
Before this meal began, neither of them had imagined the conversation would extend this far. About friends, about family, and about that self who always tried to think of everything. Once in the same classroom, he was the top student praised by teachers and envied by classmates for excelling in everything, while she was the quiet girl who buried herself in studies, desperately climbing up while clutching at a straw that might change her fate. They had almost no interaction, or perhaps until this moment, they had maintained a pristine, formal friendship, each other’s existence more like a fixed image that could be sketched in just a few strokes.
In Song Cong’s eyes, at this moment Du Man became vivid—what she cared about and wanted to change, what she persisted in and strived to maintain, everything made him feel a mixture of regret at not meeting sooner and gratitude for finally understanding.
For Du Man, that person could finally move from the category of classmate to friend—the sun-like excellent Song Cong became an ordinary person, one with flesh and blood, with pretenses but also sincerity, just an ordinary person.
Learning to be naive isn’t easy, so after returning to school, Song Cong still sent Huan’er a message: “I heard from Du Man about your plans for a PhD. You should tell Qichi soon.”
Huan’er received the message while the dinner gathering was still ongoing—after yesterday’s soccer game, programmer Xiao Tao had been called back by his boss to rescue a crashed server, forcing Da Lin to postpone the meal to the next evening. The brothers who hadn’t met in a long time reminisced about that match they could have won against the International Students College to avenge their previous defeat, then lamented about life’s difficulties, endless overtime, and imminent baldness. The group was still unwilling to head home even as they drank themselves into confusion late into the night. As one of the family members, Huan’er could only fulfill her duty of accompaniment. She didn’t find it tedious, because they told her many things she didn’t know, things that happened one by one during the blank period when she and Jing Qichi kept their distance and observed each other from afar. Through their conversations, she gradually filled in everything about him as an observer.
The law school girl who pursued him until she was exhausted and finally gave up, that time in sophomore year when he almost got disciplined for hacking the school server on a bet with classmates, and how one winter he unexpectedly bought a women’s sweater as a gift but it ended up being given to Da Lin’s girlfriend at the time—only then did Huan’er learn that he had silently prepared a birthday gift for her.
By coincidence, the half-drunk Da Lin pulled up his friends-only Moments to show the style of that sweater—a pure white mohair pullover that looked all fluffy, showing Jing Qichi’s consistently good taste.
Huan’er replied to Song Cong, “Mm, I know.”
But what good does knowing do?
At this moment, even as she looked at him, she couldn’t say it out loud, because under the dinner table, Jing Qichi was holding her hand tightly, his knuckles distinct, veins protruding, as if saying—it’s so good, we’re almost through this.