Fang Ya’en’s meatball fell back into the pot with a splash at these words. She held her empty chopsticks, staring at Ye Meng in disbelief: “I’ve just struggled to climb out of the prison of marriage, and you’re planning to blast open the gates with a cannon?”

Ye Meng laughed at her reaction, snapped her fingers at a nearby waiter, ordered a case of beer, and casually asked, “You’re not eating the enoki mushrooms?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Fang Ya’en rolled her eyes dramatically. “I’m warning you, marriage should be taken seriously. Li Jin Yu is rare indeed, but have you thoroughly investigated his family background? Does his family have any outstanding debts? Any difficult relatives? Marriage isn’t something you decide on a whim. I don’t want you to end up like me, falling headfirst into a muddy pit.”

Ye Meng calmly picked up a pair of steaming hot Enoki mushrooms and let them cool in her bowl. Ignoring the question, she said, “I don’t care. If it doesn’t work out, we can always divorce. I’ve been too indulgent with him, spoiling him until he’s become lawless—he even dared to kick the coffee table. Well, I’ll slowly train him after marriage. I can always tame him back.”

“It’s not clear who will be training whom,” Fang Ya’en looked at her somewhat pessimistically and earnestly advised again, “You should think it through carefully. Marriage isn’t so simple. Do you want to spend your life with him? Have you truly fallen in love with him?”

Ye Meng appeared thoughtful, slightly furrowing her delicate brows before resuming her composed demeanor as she ate the enoki mushrooms in her bowl. She countered, “Did you love Chen Jian?”

Fang Ya’en was immediately speechless. Hadn’t she and Chen Jian gotten their marriage certificate on a mere impulse? Not to mention love—after getting married, even the scattered bits of fondness they had before were completely worn away. As she was lost in thought, the waiter arrived carrying a case of clinking beer bottles.

The two women hadn’t drunk together for a long time. Fang Ya’en was a heavy drinker with seemingly bottomless capacity; she had rarely been seen drunk. Ye Meng wasn’t as good—both she and Li Jin Yu were lightweights who could only handle two glasses, though Li Jin Yu was slightly better, able to drink five or six glasses. Ye Meng also had a slight alcohol allergy; typically, after one glass, her neck would immediately turn red all over.

But she was quite skilled at opening bottles, directly using her teeth to open one, and carelessly raising the bottle toward Fang Ya’en, gesturing for a toast.

Fang Ya’en didn’t move, so Ye Meng set down the bottle with waning interest and began to explain: “Isn’t life just like this—difficult to get through, but we get through it somehow? When I was in Beijing, standing on the balcony looking at the city lights, not a single light truly belonged to me. That feeling of not belonging was so lonely. No amount of money could fill the emptiness in my heart. But after being with Li Jin Yu, I realized I hadn’t helped him at all. He’s the one healing me. It’s me who can’t bear to lose this warmth. No man has ever made my heart flutter like this before.”

These words struck Fang Ya’en deeply. Ye Meng rarely expressed her feelings so sincerely, especially for a man. The subtle, flowing radiance in those expressive, lively eyes was truly moving. Fang Ya’en hadn’t felt this way for a long time. Watching Ye Meng in love completely transported her back to that state of budding romance, making her face inexplicably warm.

“You and Chen Jian just lacked passion. You were too calm. Sometimes marriage needs a bit of passion,” Ye Meng said, taking off her jacket as she felt hot. Her slender, fair neck was already showing signs of redness. Once she started drinking, she became talkative. “But honestly, I’m thirty now. Do you think I can still fall in and out of love like a young girl? I have to consider too many practical factors. Like my dad—he’s been single since my mom left, never daring to find someone new. He thinks I don’t know, but cowardly as he seems, it’s because he sees that I haven’t settled down. He’s afraid I’ll feel he’s betraying me, that I won’t adjust well. Even when he meets some nice ladies, he doesn’t dare to associate with them much. And there’s my grandmother, who’ll be turning ninety next year. She feels so guilty—giving birth to three aunts who couldn’t continue the family line, and me refusing to marry. Every day, she recites funeral poems, crying and saying the Ye family will end with her, and she’ll have to apologize to the ancestors when she dies. Her thinking is very traditional, but what can I do? I’ve enjoyed all their love and tolerance. How can I be the unfilial child in the eyes of the ancestors?”

Although the elderly’s thinking was traditional, it was a deeply rooted influence passed down through generations, impossible to change. And as children, most people don’t want to disappoint their elders.

At this point, Ye Meng sighed, “I’ve never told anyone I love them, probably because I’ve never truly been in love. Also, I feel that love is too heavy, a burden for the other person. If you constantly remind someone, aren’t you just asking them to remember this sentiment? Anyway, it’s better if he doesn’t say it either, otherwise I’d feel burdened. Besides, marriage is sometimes just something you do on impulse. If someone told me they wanted to get married after careful consideration, I’d think they were an idiot.”

Fang Ya’en was left speechless by her words, unable to refute—indeed, why would a woman with such good conditions want to bind herself with marriage?

She finally opened a bottle of beer in the crowded restaurant and raised it to Ye Meng: “To free women, and to our passionate, independent souls.”

The two exchanged smiles. As the drinking continued, the restaurant gradually emptied, and half the lights dimmed, leaving only their disorderly corner. Under the influence of alcohol, Ye Meng lay crookedly sprawled on the table, her entire body flushed red. White halos spun before her eyes, making it impossible to focus. She buried her head in discomfort and said to Fang Ya’en in a muffled voice: “Send Li Jin Yu a message. Ask him to come pick me up.”

Li Jin Yu was tutoring Cheng Kairan’s sister, though it wasn’t tutoring. Cheng Jingjing wanted to apply to join the memory club at school next semester and asked Li Jin Yu to give her some intensive preparation in advance. Despite Cheng Kairan’s numerous objections, he couldn’t resist his sister’s enthusiasm. He didn’t understand what this nonsense about “memory palaces” was—just a technique for picking up girls. Why say others merely memorized by rote while Li Jin Yu was professional? It was just because this guy was handsome!

“There’s another method, the thousand-digit memory palace, which correlates the numbers 0-9 with consonants,” Li Jin Yu taught casually, lazily leaning back in his chair, chatting as if having a casual conversation, not at all like a teacher. “For example, 0 resembles D, so the corresponding consonant for 0 is D. The first letter in the pronunciation of 1 is Y, so the corresponding consonant for 1 is Y. 2 resembles Z, so the corresponding consonant for 2 is Z… 4 and 6 are special—they’re inverted shapes corresponding to H and G respectively.”

Li Jin Yu took a piece of paper, listed all the corresponding consonants for 0-9 in a table, and handed it to her. “First, memorize this table. Except for 1, 3, and 5, which use the initial sound pronunciation, the consonants for the remaining numbers are represented by their shape or inverted shape.”

Cheng Jingjing accepted it in a daze, quickly memorizing it. “What’s next?”

Li Jin Yu twirled the pen between his fingers and looked at her. “Every three letters form a group, creating thousand-digit memory palace code posts. This can help you quickly remember numbers that flash by in daily life, like license plates, and phone numbers, or even memorize texts. I once used it to memorize Han Yu’s ‘On Teachers.'”

Cheng Jingjing was incredibly curious. “Say a couple of lines. What’s the principle?”

Li Jin Yu explained, “The worst part about memorizing texts is when you get stuck and can’t continue, but our instinct can remember numerical sequences. Number code posts help us memorize in order, so you’re less likely to get stuck when reciting texts. For instance, with a text, you can translate the entire thing into numbers. I once translated ‘On Teachers’ using the code 221-256. You just follow this code to recite.”

Cheng Jingjing had a moment of enlightenment. “You can play it like that?”

Li Jin Yu leaned back in his chair with a smile. “This method works best for memorizing ancient poems. In exams, don’t we often have to fill in the blanks in poems? You have the first line but can’t remember the second?”

Cheng Jingjing nodded repeatedly as if he had touched a sore spot. “Especially when they give me the second line, and I can’t for the life of me remember the first, even though the second line is so, so familiar!”

Cheng Kairan spat from the doorway. So mysterious, just showing off.

“Brother Jin Yu, do you have something to attend to?” Cheng Jingjing asked cautiously, noticing his eyes turn cold and silent after checking his phone.

“No,” Li Jin Yu said coldly, tossing his phone onto the table, only to pick it up again moments later. While replying to Fang Ya’en’s message, he asked Cheng Jingjing, “When do you start school?”

“I’ll go back at the end of the month,” Cheng Jingjing replied.

Li Jin Yu made a sound of acknowledgment. “In a few days, I’ll give your brother the memory palace book. Read it first—we’d need to start a proper class to teach it. I’m self-taught, without formal training. If you’re interested, I can lend you the book.”

Cheng Jingjing was only interested in the palace part and waved her hands excitedly. “Good, good, good! I’ll just have my brother come get it. I’ll rely on your book to keep me going!”

Considering it would be too troublesome for Li Jin Yu to take a taxi, Fang Ya’en hired a designated driver to directly deliver Ye Meng intact to his doorstep. When Li Jin Yu arrived, Ye Meng was sitting on the ground by his door in a daze, hugging her knees, her head buried between them like a small, helpless silkworm cocoon, huddled in the dim corner of the entryway, looking pitiful.

Hearing the sound of keys being inserted into the lock, Ye Meng raised her head vaguely in the moonlit corridor, resting her chin on her knees as she looked up at him with clouded eyes.

“Bang!” Li Jin Yu went inside, even closing the door behind him. Ye Meng propped up her head and smiled briefly, then buried her head again in discomfort. He didn’t want her anymore.

The next second, the door opened again.

Ye Meng felt herself being lifted in someone’s arms. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, burying herself in his cool nape, and asked softly, “Where did you go just now?”

“Cheng Kairan’s place.”

“Why did you go see him?” she mumbled in confusion.

“To tutor Cheng Jingjing.”

“Cheng Jingjing is already in college. What does she need tutoring for? Does she like you?” She deliberately poked his nose as she spoke.

The room hadn’t been lit yet. The egg-yolk-like moon hung in the jet-black night sky, its light unreservedly illuminating this small courtyard in a dim glow. Nothing had changed—it was almost seamlessly connected to that night. Li Jin Yu had somehow gotten through these days; it seemed he hadn’t tidied up at all. Even the coffee table that had been fiercely kicked by him that day remained in its original state, brazenly askew, half of it pushed far away, with a shallow track left by the table leg on the floor.

Outside the courtyard, the moon hung high, the street lamps glowed yellow, and occasionally passersby would walk by the straw edge with a slight creaking sound, startling Ping An who was lying down enjoying the moonlight. His ears perked up as he carefully listened to the sound.

“So now you want to make up for it at my place, is that it?”

Li Jin Yu said this as he carried her to the sofa. Ye Meng reacted quickly, firmly hooking her arms around his neck, not letting him stand up. Li Jin Yu was forced to bend over, looking down at her with no expression.

Feeling his breath, Ye Meng felt dizzy, her heart skipping a beat. Lying back on the sofa, she let her hair spread out, using all her strength to cling to him. The delicate skin of her neck showed prominent veins. Those eyes that usually held a sense of pride now lowered all pretenses, looking at him with both affection and caution: “Do you not want me anymore?”

Tick-tock, tick-tock—the wall clock’s pendulum could be heard.

Li Jin Yu just looked at her like that for a long time, until Ye Meng felt parched. Finally, Ping An got up from the ground, lazily shook himself, and peeked through the door gap, seemingly eagerly waiting for today’s portion of “dog food.” However, in his dim black-and-white world, he could only vaguely see two intertwined figures on the sofa.

Ye Meng wouldn’t let go, so Li Jin Yu simply sat down on the floor, one leg bent, hand resting on his knee, his back against the sofa, allowing Ye Meng to hold onto his neck. In the pitch-dark room, he bit a cigarette and lit it, not looking at her as he casually tossed the ball back to her: “It was you who didn’t want me.”

Ye Meng took his cigarette away, arms around his neck, leaning forward to bring herself closer. “Kiss me.”

Li Jin Yu ignored her, giving her a sidelong glance before lowering his head to continue playing lazily with the lighter.

“Kiss me,” Ye Meng repeated.

He frowned slightly, seeming to have no way out of her persistence, and very perfunctorily lowered his head to peck her on the lips.

Li Jin Yu straightened one leg, just reaching the edge of the coffee table, while the other remained bent, one hand resting on his knee. He looked as if he had taken root on the ground, determined to stay put, motionless. Ye Meng could hardly be satisfied with this. She rolled off the sofa, pressing him against the edge of it, and bent down like an unreasonable little beast to bite his Adam’s apple.

Li Jin Yu leaned back, still playing with the lighter in his hand, but he didn’t push her away. He let her bite.

In the darkness, the sound of Ye Meng’s kisses, interspersed with the occasional “click” of the lighter and the regular ticking of the clock, was like fine sand, gradually filling the hole in his heart.

As she kissed him, she asked, “Are you afraid I’ll go to Beijing and something will happen to him?”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll get together with someone else while you’re gone?” Li Jin Yu reminded her. “Like Liu Yiyi.”

Ye Meng suddenly stopped, cupping his face. “Are you serious?”

Li Jin Yu turned his head away, not letting her touch him. “I don’t know. I don’t have good self-control. I’ve never been able to restrain myself. Maybe if she pursues me a bit more, I won’t want to be with you anymore.”

“…”

Ye Meng got off him and sat beside him, lighting a cigarette. The silent atmosphere felt somewhat tense. Neither spoke. Ping An pushed the door, and Li Jin Yu got up to pour him some dog food. When he returned, Ye Meng had finished a cigarette, seeming slightly more sober. She carelessly extinguished the cigarette butt in the ashtray—though it had already burned out, she still pressed it down absently, her eyes scattered as she stared at that spot, suddenly saying: “Li Jin Yu, let’s get married.”

Li Jin Yu may not have heard, as he silently took some water from the kitchen for Ping An and came back in. Ye Meng thought he hadn’t heard and was about to repeat herself when he said, “I can’t marry you.”

Ye Meng was taken aback, instinctively asking, “Are you already married?”

Li Jin Yu stood in front of the refrigerator, taking out two packs of noodles, and finally gave her a serious look. “No. You know my situation. Marriage would only burden you.”

With that, he walked into the kitchen, preparing to cook two bowls of noodles—one for Ping An, one for himself.

Ye Meng followed him, coldly leaning against the kitchen door and staring at him. “So you never thought about marrying me?”

Li Jin Yu turned on the fire, leaning against the counter, waiting for the pot to heat up. “No.”

Ye Meng finally understood where that elusive feeling had come from. It was as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over her in the middle of an icy winter day. She couldn’t even smile anymore and said with a rigid expression: “So, Li Jin Yu, you’re the one playing with me.”

“I’m not,” he turned around to add water to the pot.

Ye Meng gave a cold laugh: “Mm, you’re not. You just enjoy having a woman willing to chase after you so desperately, pouring her heart out to you. You enjoy it, right? Just keep dating, keep stringing her along. Eventually, she won’t be able to marry anyone else and will have to cling to you. How cool you are—just wave your hand, and people are willing to throw themselves at you.”

Ye Meng turned to leave. He heard the urgent and angry sound of her changing shoes outside. Li Jin Yu knew that if she left this time, she might never come back to find him. They would be over.

Li Jin Yu sat on the sofa watching her change shoes. Ye Meng had been drinking and probably wasn’t thinking clearly. She struggled with the buckle on her high heels, unable to fasten it. She didn’t look her thirty years at all, with her slender figure. Li Jin Yu suddenly recalled a line from “The Story of the Western Wing” when Zhang Sheng met Yingying: “In heaven or on earth, seeing Yingying is better than holding a ceremony. Her warm fragrance and soft jade-like skin are beyond comparison.”

Ye Meng was now like an old lady trying to thread a needle, unable to fasten the buckle no matter how hard she tried. Growing impatient, she simply decided not to wear them, picking up her shoes barefoot and preparing to leave.

Li Jin Yu hunched his back, hands resting on his knees as he smoked, tapping the ash. Without looking at her, he said coldly, “Take your camera with you.”

Ye Meng came back, still carrying her shoes.

Just as her hand reached out to grab the camera, in the next second, a warm hand seized hers. Li Jin Yu pulled her directly onto his lap. His other hand held the cigarette, held high as if afraid of burning her, while Ye Meng, losing her balance, was pressed onto his legs.

“How can you say that?” Li Jin Yu looked up at her. Ye Meng now saw that his eyes were red—a deep, dark red, like a small beast in a universe on judgment day. “You’re the one who made promises, you’re the one who went back on them, you’re the one who leaves whenever you want. You say ‘Let’s get married’ and expect me to comply like a dog? Don’t I deserve a chance to breathe? I never thought about marriage, but damn it, I’ve never liked anyone but you. Have you given me time to consider? Have you called me once these past few days? Send me a single message. Do you know how I’ve been living? You come to comfort me when you’re happy and ignore me when you’re not. How do I know after we’re married, you won’t ignore me for days? Huh?”

“That’s not fair, you didn’t call or message me either—” she reflexively felt something warm, and looking down, she exclaimed, “Why is your hand bleeding? Did you cut yourself in the kitchen just now?”

“None of your business,” he made to pull back.

Ye Meng immediately took his index finger into her mouth, sitting on his lap, not letting him move. Sucking it, she mumbled, “Don’t move. Don’t you ever cook? The kitchen knife must be rusty! Be careful of tetanus. Do you have a first aid kit? Let’s disinfect it first, then take a taxi to the hospital.”

Li Jin Yu could cook, he just rarely did—first because it was bothersome, and second, because his grandmother complained his cooking wasn’t good. So they usually bought food, and occasionally when he was alone, he would make a bowl of noodles. The kitchen was just for show, and the rusty knife was inevitable.

Li Jin Yu looked at her for a long while, his expression somewhat uncomfortable as he turned away, finally saying:

“The household registry is with my grandmother.”

Ye Meng froze, holding his finger in her mouth, momentarily pausing. Li Jin Yu became even more uncomfortable, extremely annoyed. He leaned back on the sofa, eyelids drooping as he glanced at her: “Do you really have to get married?”

“Yes,” she sucked his finger firmly once more, nodding.

The Civil Affairs Bureau wasn’t open on weekends, so the two went early Monday morning. Li Jin Yu had gone to the hospital the night before to get the household registry from his grandmother. The old woman thought he wanted to sell the house and hid it even more securely, trembling as she said, “What do you need the household registry for? My old broken house isn’t worth much.”

Li Jin Yu stood tall in the hospital room like a grim reaper, a messenger from hell, looking at her coldly: “Who’s selling your house? I’m getting married. Once this opportunity passes, it won’t come again. I’ll count to three.”

“One.”

“Whoosh!” The household registry fluttered its pages like it was caught in a tornado, crashing against his chest, accompanied by the old woman’s indistinct yet forceful cry: “Hurry up and secure this deal!”

On Monday, with two loud “bangs,” two red stamps were firmly applied.

That day was the “Awakening of Insects,” like spring thunder crawling across the top of the sky—deep and explosive, awakening all the world’s chaos and the devout future of gentle breezes and light rain.