It was said that Zhou Qingsui had stayed outside the opposite room all night. Dong Chen, abandoned by his girlfriend, was playing games in Zhu Ran’s room until midnight. When he came out to return to his room, Zhou Qingsui’s presence startled him.
Zhou An’ran slept until 11 AM the next morning.
Sheng Xiaowen vomited again later and dozed off until the early hours. Feeling unwell, she got up to take a shower.
Zhou An’ran, awakened by the noise and worried that Sheng Xiaowen might still be drunk, also got up to keep watch outside the bathroom.
The hotel curtains weren’t fully opaque. The scorching late morning sunlight filtered through the thin fabric, illuminating the room.
Upon waking, Zhou An’ran turned her head to see Sheng Xiaowen sitting on the bed, her hair disheveled, staring blankly at her phone.
Suppressing her lingering drowsiness, Zhou An’ran sat up as well.
Zhang Shuxian and Yan Xingqian, sleeping in the other bed, were still asleep. Zhou An’ran lowered her voice and asked, “How long have you been awake? Why didn’t you wake me? Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m fine,” Sheng Xiaowen seemed to snap out of her daze. She held out her phone to Zhou An’ran. “Zhou Qingsui says he made some congee and asks if I want to go across the hall to have some and talk with him.”
Still a bit groggy, Zhou An’ran rested her chin on her knees, keeping her voice low. “Do you want to go? He seemed quite concerned about you yesterday.”
Sheng Xiaowen turned back to her phone, staring at the screen for a few seconds. Then, as if having made a decision, she abruptly turned off the screen. “I’ll go. It’s better to clear things up once and for all.”
Zhou An’ran nodded. “Call me if you need anything.”
Sheng Xiaowen agreed, already swinging one leg off the bed. Suddenly, she turned back and hugged Zhou An’ran. “Thanks for taking care of me last night.”
“It was nothing,” Zhou An’ran smiled, shaking her head. “That’s what friends are for.”
Hearing Zhou An’ran’s gentle tone and seeing her sweet dimples even without makeup, Sheng Xiaowen couldn’t resist pinching her cheek. “Chen Luobai is so lucky. If I were a guy, I would have competed with him for you back then.”
Zhou An’ran laughed. “Go get ready.”
When Sheng Xiaowen returned from across the hall, Zhang Shuxian and Yan Xingqian were already up.
Zhang Shuxian, always curious, had been eager for news since Zhou An’ran mentioned Sheng Xiaowen going to see Zhou Qingsui. If the conversation had gone poorly, she might have restrained her gossipy nature, but seeing Sheng Xiaowen enter with a happy expression, Zhang Shuxian immediately approached her, wrapping an arm around her neck.
“You look so happy. What happened? Did Zhou Qingsui agree to be with you?”
Sheng Xiaowen shook her head, still smiling. “He said he wants to pursue me instead.”
Zhang Shuxian smiled too, clearly happy for her friend. “Then why did he let you come back so early?”
“Dong Chen messaged me saying Zhou Qingsui probably didn’t sleep all night,” Sheng Xiaowen explained. “He has a part-time job this afternoon, so I told him to get some rest first.”
*
Since Zhang Shuxian and the others had been to Beijing before and they had a concert to attend that night, the group didn’t go sightseeing in the afternoon. After lunch, Chen Luobai booked the largest suite on the top floor of the hotel. The large group split into several smaller ones in the suite’s living room – some watched movies, others played games, and some played mahjong.
Those watching the movie occasionally complained about the noise from the mahjong players but that didn’t stop them. The gamers, when their characters died, would occasionally look up to catch a bit of the movie plot and join in the discussion.
Perhaps this is what friendship is – finding joy even in wasting time together.
Zhou An’ran was initially curled up in Chen Luobai’s arms watching the movie with Sheng Xiaowen and the others. But in the mid-afternoon, Bao Kun left his mahjong game to join Dong Chen and the others playing video games, leaving Zhu Ran’s mahjong table one player short.
Seeing they couldn’t find a fourth player, Zhou An’ran moved to the mahjong table.
It was Zhou An’ran’s first time playing, but she was familiar with the rules from watching Mrs. He play with relatives during New Year celebrations.
As soon as she joined, Chen Luobai followed.
He had never played either, but he was always quick to learn. He quickly grasped the rules and could even help her calculate tiles and give advice.
Maybe it was beginner’s luck, but Zhou An’ran drew good tiles for several rounds in a row.
After she won several games in succession, Zhu Ran protested: “You two are playing as a couple. Isn’t that a bit unfair?”
Tang Jianrui chimed in: “Yeah, Luobai, it’s not right for you two A University top students to bully us like this.”
Chen Luobai lounged lazily in his chair, his hand resting lightly on Zhou An’ran’s shoulder. Hearing this, he raised an eyebrow, looking completely unapologetic and insufferably smug: “Jealous? If you’re jealous, go find yourselves some high-IQ girlfriends too.”
Zhu Ran muttered under his breath: “As if we don’t have any.”
Huang Shujie immediately became alert: “One Luobai is enough to make us lose. You’re not allowed to bring in any more reinforcements!”
Chen Luobai laughed: “Even if he brought someone, it wouldn’t help. He’d just lower their average IQ.”
Zhu Ran drew a tile and placed it, freeing his hand to grab his phone: “Chen, say that again. I’ll record it for your sister to hear.”
“What good would complaining to my sister do?” Chen Luobai glanced at him calmly. “My girlfriend is right here. You don’t think she’d take your side, do you?”
Zhu Ran: “…”
Zhu Ran looked up at Zhou An’ran, then grumbled reluctantly: “Damn.”
With Zhou An’ran present, Yu Bingqin might not necessarily side with him.
“Zhou An’ran,” Zhu Ran looked at her. “I’ve been curious for a long time. Why does Sister Qin like you so much? How do you usually interact with her?”
Zhou An’ran: “…?”
“We just interact normally,” Zhou An’ran drew a tile and placed it. Chen Luobai reminded her to discard the six dots, so she obediently discarded them. Then she looked up at Zhu Ran again. Seeing he wasn’t joking but seemed to be sincerely asking for advice, she thought seriously for a moment. “Sister Qin is just kind. Maybe she thinks I’m introverted, so she takes extra care of me.”
“Is that so?” Zhu Ran pondered.
Huang Shujie drew a tile and rolled his eyes at the scene: “Zhou An’ran is naturally introverted. You talk more than a dog, so don’t try to imitate her.”
“Don’t say that,” Tang Jianrui also drew a tile. “What did dogs do wrong? Dogs are man’s best friend.”
Zhu Ran turned to Tang Jianrui: “What do you know? You still don’t have a girlfriend.”
Tang Jianrui: “…”
Tang Jianrui felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest. He casually lifted the tile he had just drawn, and his face instantly lit up: “Sorry, self-draw. I win!”
He pushed his tiles forward and reached out to Zhu Ran: “Come on, pay up!”
Zhu Ran glanced at the tiles: “Just a small concealed hand, it’s only one yuan. What are you so smug about?”
Tang Jianrui mimicked him: “What do you know? Forget about concealed hands, you haven’t won a single game yet.”
Zhou An’ran couldn’t help but laugh.
Somehow, throughout the entire afternoon, Zhu Ran hadn’t won a single game.
Fortunately, they were just playing for fun, and the winnings amounted to just a few milk teas.
As dinner time approached, Zhu Ran pushed away his tiles: “I’m done, I’m done. Considering I’ve been losing all afternoon, it’s not too much to ask for a favor, right?”
“What favor?” Tang Jianrui asked.
Zhu Ran: “After the concert tonight, don’t rush off. It’s Sister Qin’s birthday tomorrow. I want to prepare a surprise for her. You don’t need to do anything, just help me stall for time so I can get ready.”
Tang Jianrui and Huang Shujie readily agreed.
As soon as Zhou An’ran’s hand left the mahjong table, it was caught by someone beside her. Just like when they used to study in the library, he played with her fingertips.
Her face flushed slightly, and she nodded in agreement.
*
After dinner, the group walked to the LiveHouse.
Zhou An’ran wasn’t particularly interested in this type of performance. She and Chen Luobai were mainly there as quasi-hosts to accompany the others.
But the charm of a live performance can only be fully appreciated in person. After the show, Zhou An’ran began to understand why this band had become so popular recently. Their stage presence was indeed powerful.
The tickets Yu Bingqin had given them were for the front row.
After the performance ended and the band members retreated backstage, many audience members behind them were reluctant to leave.
Until someone shouted: “They’re greeting fans by their van outside!”
The remaining fans quickly exited.
The LiveHouse was suddenly empty except for their group.
As silence fell, Zhou An’ran felt the man beside her lean in slightly, his voice low near her ear: “Zhu Ran asked me to sing a song to buy some time.”
From the corner of her eye, Zhou An’ran saw Yu Bingqin, sitting at the far end, looking down at her phone, seemingly oblivious. She nodded and whispered back: “Go ahead.”
Chen Luobai released her hand and walked towards the backstage.
Perhaps because they had been holding hands throughout the performance, Zhou An’ran felt her palm was slightly damp, as if she had been sweating.
Whether it was Zhu Ran wanting to prepare something or not, the moment Chen Luobai’s silhouette disappeared, all the lights in the LiveHouse suddenly went out. The surroundings became so dark that she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
Zhou An’ran was oddly reminded of that Doraemon cold joke.
She realized she hadn’t told it to him yet.
After a moment, a warm yellow spotlight illuminated the stage in the pitch-dark LiveHouse, dimly lighting up the figure on stage.
Chen Luobai had somehow changed his clothes.
White shirt, black trousers.
It was similar to what he often wore during his internship at the Supreme Court, but less formal since he wasn’t going to work today. The top button was undone, the collar slightly loose, revealing a glimpse of his pale collarbone. The shirt sleeves were rolled up halfway, exposing his well-defined arm muscles. It was less austere, more relaxed and casual.
His posture was also casual, one leg slightly bent on the high stool, the other long leg lazily resting on the ground. He held a guitar, with a standing microphone in front of him. The warm light cast a soft, fuzzy edge around his sharply defined profile.
He looked breathtakingly handsome.
Zhou An’ran heard Zhang Shuxian softly click her tongue from the other side.
“Guitar, white shirt, standing microphone – any of these paired with a handsome guy is enough to drive the audience crazy. It’s a good thing all the spectators have left, otherwise, Ran Ran, you’d probably have a whole bunch of new love rivals tonight.”
Zhou An’ran couldn’t help but laugh.
Just as she was about to reply, the person on stage tested the microphone.
A slightly low “Hello” came through.
His voice had always been pleasant to hear, and when amplified by the microphone, it became even more captivating.
Zhou An’ran’s attention was drawn to him. She turned her gaze back and saw Chen Luobai look up in her direction, the corner of his lips seemingly curling up slightly.
“This song is for my girlfriend.”
Zhou An’ran’s lips also curved into a smile.
Chen Luobai was singing a Cantonese song.
Perhaps because the staff hadn’t left yet, the lyrics of the song lit up on the big screen behind him.
“The sky at dawn and in the long night is the same
The stars here and in Antarctica both shine”
Up until this point, Zhou An’ran hadn’t noticed anything unusual. It wasn’t until after he had sung two more lines that Chen Luobai, who had been looking down since he started singing, suddenly raised his eyes to look at her under the spotlight, singing softly—
“I will always admire you in any form
I will always like you”
The lyrics glowed faintly on the big screen behind him. Chen Luobai looked directly at her from a distance that was neither too far nor too close. His dark eyes were profound, his expression as serious as the night he had confessed to her years ago.
Zhou An’ran suddenly understood something, as if divinely inspired. Her heart began to race uncontrollably, so much so that she couldn’t hear clearly what he sang in the next few lines.
So it wasn’t Zhu Ran preparing a surprise.
It was him preparing a surprise for her.
Zhou An’ran wanted to turn her head to look at the expressions of the others beside her, to confirm her guess.
But she couldn’t take her eyes off him for even a moment.
After the first chorus was a guitar solo.
Perhaps afraid of making a mistake, Chen Luobai lowered his head again.
Zhou An’ran’s gaze also fell slightly, seeing the young man’s slender fingers on the guitar strings, his technique incomparably more proficient than when he had played “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” for her here before.
After meeting his parents during that winter break, they returned to school just a few days later. Since then, almost all of his spare time outside of studying had been spent with her.
She didn’t know when he had learned this song behind her back, or how long he had been secretly preparing.
The melodious guitar tune lingered in her ears, and Zhou An’ran began to feel a familiar ache in her nose.
Zhou An’ran gripped the strap of her bag tightly, her heart still racing, but this time she finally heard the lyrics.
On stage, Chen Luobai had already raised his head again.
His posture was still relaxed, but the way he looked at her carried a kind of determined love, just like the lyrics he was now singing softly—
“Never feeling lost halfway, my attitude has always been the same
No matter how the world changes, whether the road is near or far
Heading towards where you are, that’s my direction”
As the song finished, the other lights in the LiveHouse remained off.
Only a warm, gentle spotlight suddenly and precisely shone on Zhou An’ran.
On stage, under another spotlight, Chen Luobai stood up from the high stool, placed the guitar on the ground beside him, and raised the standing microphone with his hand.
Whether it was rehearsed beforehand or not, his movement of adjusting the microphone was skilled and casual, looking particularly cool.
Then Chen Luobai, with his hand on the microphone stand, called her name very softly.
“Zhou An’ran.”
Zhou An’ran knew he probably couldn’t hear her, but she still responded quietly, “Mm.”
Chen Luobai’s gaze fell on her: “You’re so smart, you’ve probably guessed what I want to do. I originally didn’t want to make you wait this long, but learning this song took some time, and getting everyone together took some more time.”
Tang Jianrui laughed below: “I’ve been so busy if it wasn’t for Luo-ge’s sake, I would have just slept for three days and nights during the May Day holiday.”
“That’s right,” Zhu Ran chimed in, “I even had to act for you. My performance this afternoon was almost Oscar-worthy.”
Chen Luobai stood on stage smiling, unusually not sarcastic: “Thanks.”
As he said this, his gaze was still fixed on Zhou An’ran.
He called her name again, very softly.
“Zhou An’ran.”
Chen Luobai paused.
The lighting was dim, and Zhou An’ran couldn’t see his expression.
She only heard him speak after a few seconds, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
“Seems like I’m a bit far from you.”
Huang Shujie also called from below: “Luo-ge, don’t be a coward, you’re my idol.”
Bao Kun also laughed: “Never thought there’d be a day when Luo-ge would be nervous.”
Chen Luobai: “That’s because you don’t know, I was nervous as hell when I first confessed to her.”
Zhou An’ran was about to cry, but this sentence made her laugh again.
Chen Luobai’s gaze remained on her as he called her name again: “Zhou An’ran.”
Then another second of pause.
After that, he asked: “Wait for me?”
Zhou An’ran nodded at him.
Chen Luobai raised his hand to undo the first button of his white shirt collar, then casually pulled out half of his shirt.
At his current height of 187cm, with broad shoulders and long legs, he was a perfect clothes hanger. With the shirt pulled out like this, the sense of restraint disappeared, replaced by a hint of wildness.
Then, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
In an instant, that vigorous youthful energy from back then seemed to burst out again.
Chen Luobai smiled and looked back: “Teachers at the back, thank you for your trouble.”
Teachers at the back?
Did he mean the staff at the back?
Zhou An’ran was slightly puzzled for a moment.
In the next second, the lights in the LiveHouse gradually lit up one by one.
At the same time, countless pieces of confetti burst out from the machines in front of the stage, flying into the air and then fluttering down.
Amidst the shower of confetti, Zhou An’ran saw that the stage had been decorated beautifully and dreamily at some point.
She saw that the big screen behind him, which had just been displaying lyrics, started playing their photos. The individual photos of her taken at Wucheng No.1 High School and the individual photos of him in the No.1 High School uniform were placed side by side as if changing from separate “her and him” to “them” together as if they had never been apart.
She saw Chen Luobai bend slightly, his right hand pushing off the stage as he leaped down. The white tails of his shirt fluttered for a moment behind him, just like that day during high school orientation when she stood at the staircase, watching him run up to the third floor.
And then.
The boy she fell in love with at first sight.
The boy had now grown into a dazzling adult.
Step by step, he walked to her, kneeling on one knee.
“I thought of many lines in advance this time too,” Chen Luobai looked at her, “But I still feel I should ask you in a cliché, solemn, and formal way—”
He paused, and like the day he confessed, he called her name again softly.
“Zhou An’ran.”
Zhou An’ran looked down.
All the lights in the LiveHouse had been turned on earlier, making it as bright as day inside, so this time she could finally see his expression.
His dark eyes were deep and focused, his smooth and handsome jawline tense, seeming even more nervous than the day he confessed.
Perhaps to avoid disturbing them, their friends around tactfully fell silent.
For a moment, Zhou An’ran could only hear her heartbeat, each beat faster than the last.
Confetti covered the ground, balloons floated overhead.
The roses on the stage were vibrantly red.
Then she saw Chen Luobai slowly open the velvet box in his hand, his voice soft yet solemn.
“Will you marry me?”
Zhou An’ran’s eyes welled up with warmth, and she nodded at him solemnly.
“I’d love to.”