Jing Qichi spotted Huan’er immediately among the crowd waiting at arrival. She stood at the periphery, wearing a black wool coat and carrying a fabric bag, her hair tied casually below her neck, looking somewhat lonely among the sea of Western faces. Jing Qichi wheeled his luggage over quickly, nearly bumping into someone in his haste. He uttered a not-so-fluent “Sorry,” and it was precisely this sound that made Huan’er look up. When their eyes met, time seemed to slow down like in a movie scene, and he saw an incredibly beautiful smile bloom across her face.
Like a flower unfurling its petals, it blossomed brilliantly.
Huan’er ran over and hugged him, arms around his neck, burying her head in his chest. She repeated the same words she’d already expressed in her messages: “Why did you come at this time?”
In her mind, Jing Qichi must have come all this way with the desire to watch a match—for someone who had grown up staying up late to watch games, seeing a Premier League match live would probably be on their bucket list. However, it was currently the winter break with all matches suspended, and she couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t wait and instead used up all his annual leave.
Jing Qichi ignored her question and asked instead, “Aren’t you cold-wearing so little?”
Everyone around them was bundled up in cotton coats and down jackets. He felt a pang of distress holding her thin frame.
“I’m not cold. I left late and was worried about missing you, so I took a taxi here,” Huan’er explained, though she didn’t resist when he took off his scarf and wrapped it around her neck, even though she was already sweating from running through the airport.
“I was worried you weren’t taking care of yourself properly, and look what I caught you doing,” Jing Qichi said as he finished arranging the scarf and grabbed her hands. “Not cold? Your hands are freezing.”
He rubbed her hands while breathing warm air on them, but when the warmth was slow to come, he simply unzipped his down jacket and tucked her hands inside. Huan’er wrapped her arms around his waist against his sweater, and the familiar warmth and long-missed scent nearly brought her to tears.
Jing Qichi stroked her head, “I thought you were angry with me.”
During the past three months, their communication had been unlike that of a couple. Although he knew Huan’er was busy and he couldn’t get away easily, that vague sense of distance had always worried him. He seemed to understand why she might be angry, but when he thought about it carefully, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason. Each time he wanted to ask Huan’er, he worried about disturbing her work. This feeling persisted right until the plane landed.
Seeing her made everything better—the moment Huan’er smiled, he knew everything was alright.
It wasn’t that their relationship wasn’t strong enough, nor that there was a barrier between them. It was just that being apart for so long had left those accumulated emotions with nowhere to go, and processing them alone wasn’t easy.
“I was angry,” Huan’er looked up at his face. “But not angry enough to keep pretending now that you’re here.”
She’s too cute.
Jing Qichi suddenly wanted to post a message for the whole world to see—my girlfriend is too cute.
On the subway ride back, Huan’er talked about Qi Qi: “Qi has changed so much, you’d be shocked to see her. During Christmas, she handled all the hotel bookings and train tickets for our trip and even researched some strategies beforehand. Remember when she and Song Cong visited us at school and argued about staying at a guesthouse? Now she can sleep soundly even in a hostel.” Huan’er paused, “She says she wants to stay here after graduation this year, because of the freedom.”
Jing Qichi nodded, “Being out here for so long, handling everything big and small by yourself, anyone would change.”
“It’s a shame though. If Song Cong met her now, the outcome might have been different.” After saying this, Huan’er looked nervously at Jing Qichi, “This stays between us—if Manman heard this, she’d end me.”
“Ha!” Jing Qichi laughed, “They’re too busy to care about that. Du Man is constantly rotating through departments, busy from dawn to dusk. Old Song is almost certainly going to work at their university hospital after graduating this year. Having dinner with those two is like eating at a psychiatric hospital cafeteria—my head spins just listening to them discuss cases.”
“Uncle Song must have mixed feelings about it,” Huan’er giggled, “Four medical professionals in one family.”
“That’s right. No wonder Old Song is holding back from telling Aunt Hao and them. Looks like he’s trying to ease them into it gradually.”
“Didn’t he tell them during New Year?”
“No,” Jing Qichi shook his head. “Aunt Hao secretly asked my mom about it, then my mom came to ask me. I couldn’t handle it anymore and just gave some vague answer about crossing bridges when we come to them.” He then rubbed Huan’er’s head, “I wanted to come earlier to spend Spring Festival with you, but…”
Huan’er interrupted him, “I’d rather you didn’t come to keep me company.”
With Jing’s mother alone, it was natural for her son to stay by her side.
“There’s hardly any festive atmosphere here anyway, and I don’t even get holidays off, just working as usual. You did the right thing staying home,” Huan’er said, not wanting Jing Qichi to feel torn in any way.
“You…” Jing Qichi understood her meaning, and feeling both apologetic and moved, could say nothing more but just hold her tightly in his arms.
“Qichi,” Huan’er spoke in a voice only the two could hear. I was actually angry with you. There were too many things, so many that I couldn’t control my emotions. I felt like you had friends and entertainment back home, living such a colorful life, and what was I here? “Her nose suddenly stung, and her voice began to shake. “I felt abandoned by everyone, even you, who was getting further and further away.”
The subway stopped and started, people hurrying off and others slowly getting on.
“How could that be?” Jing Qichi gazed at her steadily, his eyes brimming with tenderness.
“Right, I know you wouldn’t. But I just wanted to think that way and couldn’t help feeling that way.” Huan’er sighed, “Everyone says I’m lucky, and looking back, I am lucky—lucky enough to make people envious. Maybe I’ve gotten too much, so when even a little is taken away, it feels unreasonable and unfair. I’m too fragile.”
“Truly fragile people don’t realize their fragility,” Jing Qichi tweaked her nose. “Our Huan’er is as strong as iron and steel, how could temporary difficulties tie her down?”
Huan’er gave a soft laugh, “You’re right.”
“In my heart, you’re stronger than anyone. But Huan’er…” Jing Qichi held her hand, “You can cry, get angry, and vent. I want to be your fallback position. When you’re discouraged, sad, or lost direction—at all these times, don’t force yourself to push through. You can safely retreat to me.”
“And then what?”
“And then…” Jing Qichi blinked, “We’ll fight the monsters together until we clear the final level.”
Hearing this, Huan’er comfortably rested her head on his shoulder, her bones suddenly going slack.
Since coming here, she had never, not once, felt as relaxed as this moment. Though her eyes still met foreign faces, many subway stops remained unfamiliar, and the English conversations around her still had indistinguishable accents—nothing had changed, yet with Jing Qichi’s arrival, everything seemed different. She felt a thorough, complete, inside-and-out sense of peace.
“Why did you have to come at this time?” Huan’er asked again.
“To spend Spring Festival with you.”
“But you didn’t need to use up all your annual leave, did you? The league matches will start again soon, don’t you want to watch them?”
Jing Qichi chuckled, “Since when did you start caring about the Premier League?”
“Not just the Premier League,” Huan’er rattled off knowingly, “We could tour around Europe, watching Ligue 1, Serie A, La Liga—traveling and watching all the major leagues.”
“Wow, you’ve improved, young lady.” Jing Qichi exclaimed, then added, “Even if I had the time, where would you get such a long holiday?”
“I…” Huan’er paused slightly, “Maybe I’ll have it by then, don’t worry about it.”
Jing Qichi, who had been staring at the route map in the carriage, now tugged her hand, “We get off at the next stop, right?”
Huan’er looked at the current station and nodded, “Yes. You researched even this?”
In her memory, Jing Qichi wasn’t someone who remembered routes well. Whether going to Si Shui or visiting Du Man’s home before, with Song Cong around, he never worried about anything. Even when they went out in Beijing, his home turf, Huan’er would look up the routes and transportation while he followed behind. As Song Cong often said—we’ve spoiled him.
“I even looked at Google Street View through a VPN,” Jing Qichi said proudly. “There’s a flower shop below your building, right? And at the end of your street, there’s a huge Tesco.”
“Haha,” Huan’er laughed, “So you know how to get to the university too?”
“To the university…” Jing Qichi pulled out his phone and showed her Google Maps, “In the information age, you don’t need to remember everything.”
The map displayed the locations he had marked in advance: home, school, supermarket, restaurant.
Huan’er curiously pointed at the restaurant, “What’s this?”
“The highest-rated restaurant within two kilometers of you. We should try it sometime.”
“Sure.” Huan’er then pointed at the school, “You don’t need to mark this one, I could take you there with my eyes closed.”
“I wanted to be able to pick you up,” Jing Qichi put away his phone and, seeing they were about to arrive, stood up with one hand on his luggage and the other around Huan’er’s shoulders. “If I’m going to pick you up, I need to know how to get there myself.”
Just as they reached street level, Huan’er received a call from Mark, “Chen, why didn’t you say you were taking leave today?”
“I emailed David, and you were CC’d.”
Mark countered, “Why wasn’t I in the main recipient line? You know I don’t usually check CC’d emails.”
Huan’er calmly rejected this, “Mark, I didn’t know about your habits.”
Seeing her expression darken, Jing Qichi mouthed “What’s wrong?”
Huan’er shook her head.
“Well, now you know,” Mark’s tone still implied Huan’er was at fault. “Today is very busy, everyone has tasks to do, and this means I have to reassign work, which is very inconvenient.”
Huan’er remained silent.
Mark continued, “David told me about your application. Let’s talk about it when you come to school tomorrow.”
“I won’t be coming in tomorrow, I’m on leave until Monday,” Huan’er said somewhat defiantly. “We can talk any time that’s convenient for you next week.”
There was a brief silence on the other end, then Mark said, “Fine. Your part of the thesis needs to be submitted on Monday—in fact, you’re the only one who hasn’t submitted it.”
“OK,” Huan’er asked, “Anything else?”
“That’s all, see you Monday.” Mark hung up.
After she put away her phone, Jing Qichi finally asked, “Colleague?”
“My co-supervisor.”
“You and he…”
“Mm, we don’t get along well,” Huan’er wanted to vent her frustrations but thought he must be tired from the flight, so she sighed, “Let’s talk about it when we get back.”
Jing Qichi heard the undertone in her words and asked with furrowed brows, “Is he bullying you?”
At those words, Huan’er suddenly felt overwhelmed with grievance, tears welling up in her eyes.
She forced them back and changed the subject, “Look, that’s my building.”
She hadn’t cried, but her voice was trembling.
“It’s okay,” Jing Qichi, keenly aware of her emotions, swung their clasped hands, “When we get back, I’ll tell you some good news.”