At the end of August, Huan’er arrived in London.

Qi Qi came to pick her up at the airport—having completed her business degree to please her parents, she had made her rare act of rebellion by reapplying to study English Literature. After being obedient for so long, she finally needed to do something for herself.

Huan’er hadn’t specifically told anyone about her future arrival in Great Britain; Qi Qi learned about it from her social media posts. She didn’t mind at all—because of their past estrangement, Qi Qi knew that during those teenage years, she had caused her friend pain.

People change with their environment. In three years abroad, she hadn’t returned home once. Initially, it was fear of crossing paths with Song Cong in familiar surroundings. Though their breakup hadn’t been earth-shattering with each going their separate ways, it certainly wasn’t a case of meeting again as old friends chatting happily. Their parting had been silent, suppressed, even tinged with an ineffable melancholy. Yet Qi Qi knew, and she knew Song Cong understood too, that they would never return to how things were before.

Deliberate avoidance was also a statement—don’t worry about me, we can both start anew.

Once life got busy, there was no energy left to dwell on the past. There were exams to face, graduation theses to prepare for, new environments to adapt to, and new friends to make. In her second year abroad, Qi Qi started running her own social media account. Initially, it was just to practice writing and record her experiences in a foreign country. Who would have thought that her article about applying to study English Literature would be reposted by an influential overseas education agency, gradually gaining her some followers? Later, her piece “A Scottish Love Story” caught the attention of a domestic new media company. She somewhat bewilderedly signed a cooperation agreement, handing over her public account to a professional team while becoming their primary writer. Though she no longer had to deal with the tedium of formatting and finding images, she found joy in focusing on writing submissions. Now, Qi Qi could finally see the shape of the dream she’d held since childhood.

She had always wanted to become a pure writer. Not as her parents had hoped—wearing tailored suits with perfect makeup, working in an enviably prestigious company. The overseas education they’d wished for ultimately gave her the right to choose. Right or wrong, good or bad, Qi Qi had chosen this path on her own.

Huan’er almost didn’t recognize her friend at the airport—Qi Qi had cut her long hair, wore no makeup, and was dressed in an army-green rain jacket and skinny jeans that showed off her well-toned calf muscles. She pulled back her jacket’s hood and waved, then came close and hugged her, saying, “I was worried I wouldn’t catch you, but the timing was perfect.”

The rain jacket was wet, smelling of rain.

Huan’er felt somewhat embarrassed, “Why did you come all this way? It’s so far.”

Qi Qi studied in Glasgow—the largest city in the Scottish Lowlands. Huan’er didn’t know how long the journey took, but she had checked the distance—over 400 kilometers from London.

“I know the way around,” Qi Qi smiled, taking her large suitcase. “I’ll show you around so you won’t get lost later.”

Having done her foundation year and first master’s degree in London, Qi Qi naturally knew the local situation well.

The two chatted while heading to the airport’s underground station, with Qi Qi talking about her circumstances while introducing the surroundings, from ticket machines to city zone divisions, showing such attention to detail that Huan’er saw her in a new light.

The tube was crowded, and it took several stops before a seat became available. Qi Qi pushed Huan’er to sit down while standing in front of her, “We still have a way to go. Couldn’t sleep on the plane?”

“No,” Huan’er shook her head, involuntarily yawning, “Both nervous and excited.”

“Oh right,” Qi Qi took out her phone, “Let me share my hotspot so you can let your family know you’re safe.”

Just then, a drunk man passed behind her, bumping into her either intentionally or not, causing her phone to fall to the ground. Qi Qi turned around without hesitation and scolded in English, “Watch it!”

The red-faced drunk seemed to take interest, mumbling and leering at her.

“Far away.” Qi Qi emphasized each word, while gesturing to indicate a safe distance, “Please.”

People around them turned to look as her expression grew stern.

The drunk man snorted and stumbled away to another carriage.

It would be a lie to say she wasn’t scared—newly arrived, Huan’er knew nothing about this foreign place.

Qi Qi bent down to pick up her phone, seemingly unfazed, “Ignore him, there are crazy people everywhere. Here, the password is all zeros, quickly send your messages.”

“Okay.” Huan’er entered the numbers, first sending a message to her parents, then informing Jing Qichi—safely arrived, met with Qi, don’t worry.

Within seconds, Jing Qichi replied, “OK, leave a message if you need anything.”

The Chen family chat remained silent, and the stark contrast moved Huan’er deeply.

One day, there’s someone who seems to care about you even more than your parents do, and that feeling is far beyond mere emotion.

Qi Qi saw her phone screen and asked softly, “Qichi hasn’t slept yet?”

It was 2 AM in China—he had been waiting for this message.

“He’ll sleep now.” Huan’er put away her phone, not wanting to disturb his rest any further.

“You two,” Qi Qi looked at her friend with a smile, “It’ll be hard to end any other way than marriage.”

Exhausted from the journey and jet-lagged, Huan’er’s mind had gone blank for a moment. But hearing this, she responded almost instinctively, “Of course, we’ll get married, there won’t be anyone else.”

With a familiar friend beside her, her guard dropped and drowsiness suddenly overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes, her head drooping slightly.

In her half-asleep state, she heard Qi Qi’s voice, “That’s wonderful.”

After successfully checking into the apartment, Qi Qi helped organize the room and unpack while explaining the administrative matters that needed handling next. School registration, police registration, bank card, phone card—covering all aspects of life, even detailing transit routes to Chinese supermarkets in the city. Finally, she said to Huan’er, “I don’t know if you government-sponsored students will have teachers helping with these things. When I was dealing with it, just getting the internet box set up took a whole month. The signal kept cutting out, and when people came to fix it, I could barely understand them. It was such a hassle.”

These miscellaneous matters sound simple but are crucial to life abroad, and it’s hard to imagine how Qi Qi, who had been sheltered since childhood, managed to get through it all.

Huan’er watched in surprise as her friend pulled out a large pack of wet wipes from her backpack, “You even brought these over?”

“Thought you might not have time to buy them right away.” Qi Qi efficiently began wiping down the desk and chair. “The bathroom looks pretty clean, but we can wipe down the shower and toilet again later if you’re worried.”

Huan’er stopped her hand, “Let me do it, you don’t have to.”

“You can clean the wardrobe,” Qi Qi said casually. “Then we can hang up your clothes.”

“Qi,” Huan’er looked at her steadily, “You’ve changed so much.”

Whether it was fearlessly confronting the drunk man, her current methodical efficiency, or even that not-particularly attractive but highly functional rain jacket lying on the bed—after their long separation, the changes in her friend caught Huan’er off guard.

She even wondered if Song Cong had met this version of Qi Qi, would they have had a happy ending?

Qi Qi threw the used wipes into the trash bin and smiled at her, “Was I pretty terrible before?”

“No,” Huan’er shook her head in denial, “I just feel you’ve changed a lot.”

“When I first came here, I really couldn’t adjust. No friends, no help, eyes swollen from crying but still having to go to class the next day. I called my mom saying I couldn’t take it and wanted to go home. You know what she said?”

Huan’er shook her head again.

“She said no.” Qi Qi grinned helplessly, “Just two words: ‘Not allowed.'”

“Auntie probably… probably had high hopes for you.”

“Looking back now, I’m quite grateful to my mom. If I’d just given up and skulked back home then, I would’ve become a laughingstock for sure.” Qi Qi turned her gaze to the window, “Huan’er, I know I’m changing.”

The sky was gloomy—it seemed to always be raining in London.

Both fell silent.

Qi Qi looked back at her friend, “How’s Song Cong?”

“Good, how could heaven’s chosen one not be good?” Huan’er joked, then hesitated about whether to continue.

“You…” Qi Qi sighed, “I can see Du Man’s social media posts, Huan’er, I’m not stupid.”

They hadn’t officially announced their relationship, but posting similar scenes from the same activities on the same day—social networks made everything traceable.

Huan’er didn’t know which side she should stand on, and could only say softly, “Qi, I…”

“Why are you getting all awkward?” Qi Qi came over and ruffled her hair, “It’s all in the past, Song Cong and I are completely past tense, ‘there was.’ I don’t want you caught in the middle looking both ways—we’ll all be at your wedding later anyway.”

“Wedding?” Huan’er didn’t remember what she’d said on the subway, though that had also been her answer in her drowsy state.

“Aiya, I don’t know whether to be happy or worried for Qichi.” Qi Qi took her hand, “Let’s get to work, once we finish organizing I’ll take you to the supermarket, there’s lots to buy.”

Diligently moving forward in time changed many people, and these changes also soothed many unsettled matters of the heart. The good and bad, the hesitant and lingering, the long-hovering and deeply etched—since memories cannot be erased, let them remain. When picked up again, they’re just events that happened once upon a time.

Filing away the past is one of adulthood’s required skills.

“Huan’er,” Qi Qi suddenly said, “You and me, you with Song Cong and Qichi—it’s been ten years.”

Huan’er started, “It has.”

From that summer vacation when she moved to the faculty housing in ninth grade—ten years had passed, with its ups and downs yet also its mundane moments.

“Time flies,” Qi Qi mused, amazed that ten years of life had passed just like that.

At this moment, she felt no sadness at all but was happy for both Song Cong and herself.

Because only with endings can there be new, unknown beginnings.