Zhou Zheng pulled two boxes out from the bottom of the bookshelf: “These are all my collectibles.”
Items steeped in nostalgia — a big red, square, worn-out mooncake tin.
The kind of thing every childhood has some version of — little trinkets sealed unconsciously into some biscuit tin, then years later opened at random, like a kaleidoscope triggering memory, offered up for reminiscence.
Lin Shuang had owned far more as a child — a whole pile of dolls and countless little trinkets — but through several house moves and the family’s dissolution, most of it had been abandoned, whether intentionally or not.
“I had a whole big box of these as a kid too.” She stirred through the box, picking up a colored glass marble.
Besides that there were plastic figurines missing arms and legs, instant-noodle character cards, worn-down pencils and half an eraser, a small boat glued together from cheap seashells, textbook pages folded into little paper boards, stones picked up from water…
Lin Shuang spotted his elementary school graduation certificate.
Inside, pasted to the page, was a small black-and-white photo, its color already yellowed, but the little boy in it was still clear — wearing a red scarf, hair and eyes jet black, pupils extremely bright, features well-proportioned.
Lin Shuang looked at it a bit longer, resting her chin on her hand: “You were pretty cute as a kid.”
Definitely not the soft, chubby, clingy type of child — more like a sapling that had suddenly shot up tall in some grove, running through the mountains, wading through water, shoulders thin but hard, perhaps tanned dark in summer, hot as a furnace in winter.
At the bottom of the box lay a layer of laminated old photos, not many, seven or eight, and she saw more of Zhou Zheng.
Most were from his infancy or childhood — very thin, hair very short, a round head, delicate features, dark eyes staring at the camera, standing rather stiffly.
“Is this… your mom and dad?”
She saw two family portraits — a family of three, Zhou Zheng standing in the middle, the parents on either side with blurred features, silent eyes, carrying that solid, grounded quality about them.
“Yes.”
“Your mom is quite pretty, and her hair’s so long. Dad and Second Uncle look pretty alike.”
“A bit, I suppose. They both look like my grandfather too.” Zhou Zheng glanced at the photos as well.
“When did your aunt and uncle pass away?” Lin Shuang had heard a little from Shunzai before, that it was an accident, but she’d never talked about it with Zhou Zheng himself.
“When I was ten. My parents had contracted the village reservoir for fish farming. One night there was a huge storm — they’d just released the fish fry that day, and the reservoir hadn’t been sealed yet. They got up in the middle of the night to close the sluice gate, and both of them were swept into the water.”
His expression stayed perfectly calm, his tone calm too, gathering the photos off the table quite naturally, no excess emotion showing through.
Perhaps adults didn’t need to let their emotions show.
Then she saw the traces of his middle school years — a rural township middle school student ID, school award certificates, sports-meet medals, a biology-class leaf specimen — but no more photos from this point on. Perhaps he’d simply stopped taking pictures from then on, except for one graduation group photo, him standing in the crowd, wearing the school uniform, looking especially young, hair a little long, lips pressed together, chin tucked, staring at the camera.
There was more from high school — some things she recognized, the Beiquan High School meal card, campus ID card, the school badge, report cards from every year, the graduation yearbook, several graduation keepsake photos, in which Zhou Zheng looked withdrawn and quiet, his expression slightly gloomy.
At the very bottom sat a small box. She asked him: “What’s in here?”
“You can open it and look.” Zhou Zheng glanced at her, his voice unusually gentle.
The box was jammed tight; there wasn’t much inside, just a few scattered odds and ends.
A pack of tissues with a cartoon pattern, a pastel-colored gel pen, a few pieces of fruit candy, one Ferrero Rocher chocolate, a colored little bead.
All perfectly ordinary things — the kind you’d find on any desk at any school without a second thought. What wasn’t ordinary was… that a boy had put them all together, alone, in a box of their own.
“I used to use this brand of pen all the time, writes really well.” Lin Shuang recognized it at a glance. “Whose stuff is this — some female classmate’s?”
“How do you know it’s a girl’s?”
“The tissues smell nice, definitely a girl’s.” She picked up the little colored bead, asking him with a smile, “This is probably a bead off a bracelet, or a necklace or something, right? A token of affection some girl gave you?”
Zhou Zheng lowered his eyes, saying flatly: “No. I found it on the school field.”
“Belonging to a girl you liked?”
Zhou Zheng paused: “I suppose so.”
Lin Shuang couldn’t recall at all that this was her own belonging — she’d owned so much, and this trifle had never registered.
“Which girl? A friend of yours?”
“Not really. She and I weren’t close, had no overlap really, she didn’t even know me.” Zhou Zheng pressed his lips together, admitting candidly, “But she helped me out without meaning to once. I was pretty grateful to her… kept these things as a keepsake at the time, later put them into this box, never opened it again since…”
He and Lin Shuang had almost never interacted directly. They’d crossed paths, had one or two seconds of eye contact, but she’d been like background scenery to him — a face in the cafeteria crowd nearby, a schoolmate walking the same road, an audience member below the stage, a figure passing by on the sports field — forgotten the moment she was out of sight.
“So you had a crush, then, and never took that step.” Lin Shuang’s expression was indifferent, putting the items back. “And then this girl just vanished like that? Or is there more to the story?”
Who hasn’t had one or two crushes when young — ambiguous, kindred-spirited, hazy little feelings — we always think that flutter of the heart in the moment will stay with us for life, but really, a few years later it fades from memory entirely.
She’d been through too many relationships to think much of this now.
Zhou Zheng watched her handling those few items, thinking to himself — was there a need to tell her?
To let her know about his old crush, watch her surprise or delight, then receive her touched reaction or sighing sentiment in return?
There was really nothing here worth being moved by, not even worth bringing up.
He had done nothing at all.
Before they’d ever met, he had never imagined that parallel lines could someday cross. Knowing their paths were different, after graduating high school he’d packed the things away, sealing them into a corner of his heart, letting them become a memory of the past, occasionally recalled, but never taken out and dwelt upon alone again.
No devoted waiting, no lingering longing, and certainly no secret care or looking after from afar. If they’d never met again, he might well have ended up hand in hand with some other girl, walking into an entirely different story.
During the times she’d been in pain, sad, isolated and helpless, he hadn’t even known what she was going through, living out his own life step by step, letting her face those hardships alone.
But in the end, of all things, they’d met. And he had held on to her, tightly.
“I’ll tell you slowly sometime when there’s time — honestly it’s a pretty boring story, not interesting at all.” He gathered the items back up.
If they could walk further together, someday he’d tell her, offhandedly, as if it were nothing — that actually, he’d known her, remembered her, liked her, for a very long time.
“Sure.” Lin Shuang brushed back her own long hair.
A woman as experienced as her had no great interest in a ten-year-old fragment of some boy’s naive romantic feelings.
For some reason, after seeing all these things, both of their hearts suddenly settled into quiet.
That evening, because of Lin Shuang, Second Uncle Zhou’s kitchen fired up early, and dinner at the house started early too — dishes were on the table by lamplight.
Second Aunt sent Zhou Xue upstairs to call Lin Shuang and Zhou Zheng down for dinner.
Zhou Xue kept her head down low, muttering dully: “I’m not going. Go call them yourselves.”
“What’s gotten into you, girl?” Second Aunt was puzzled. “Who’s been bullying you.”
“Sat in her room just now and didn’t say a word, just fiddling with her phone the whole time,” Grandma grumbled. “Talk to her and she doesn’t even hear you.”
Zhou Zheng happened to bring Lin Shuang downstairs to check on Grandma just then.
Zhou Xue was curled up on the sofa, eyes glued to her phone screen, face set, refusing to speak.
Dinner was eaten at Second Uncle Zhou’s house — the two small buildings stood right next to each other, essentially one family, eating together for every holiday and festival. With Lin Shuang visiting, of course Second Uncle’s family, being the closest elders, played host. The meal was lavish, Lin Shuang’s bowl piled into a mound.
At the table the small talk flowed easily, with Zhou Zheng around every topic passed smoothly enough. Second Uncle and Second Aunt heaped praise on Zhou Zheng, then on Lin Shuang, and finally declared the two of them fated for each other — all in all, the mood at the table stayed fairly pleasant.
Zhou Xue, meanwhile, sat as silent background, head down, not saying a word.
Second Uncle and Second Aunt could tell that Lin Shuang wasn’t the down-to-earth, ordinary type of girl — she had certain particular standards too, her manner of eating meticulous, her posture clean and elegant, and she was picky about food too. Whatever Zhou Zheng put into her bowl, she’d give it a once-over first — no fatty meat, nothing with skin-on bone, nothing with an oily or gray tinge to it — a certain spoiled quality underneath it all. They’d rather hoped Zhou Xue would keep Lin Shuang company after the meal, chatting and talking, being the family’s college student after all — but in the blink of an eye Zhou Xue had already vanished, the light on upstairs lit.
“That girl doesn’t know how to behave herself.” Second Uncle laughed apologetically. “A-Zheng, it’s rare Shuangshuang’s come by, take good care of her — walk her around the village entrance after dinner, show her the place.”
Winter meant the sun set early, and the countryside offered little in the way of entertainment for its sparse population besides watching TV, playing on phones, and visiting neighbors. Zhou Zheng asked Lin Shuang: “Want to take a walk?”
Lin Shuang shook her head.
The two of them stayed with Zhou Zheng’s grandmother in her room, watched an episode of a TV drama, chatted a while. Zhou Zheng fetched water to help Grandma wash up, and Lin Shuang went back upstairs first.
When Zhou Zheng went up, the room was empty. He searched around and found Lin Shuang standing on the clothes-drying balcony, smoking, gazing up at the starry sky, the ember in her hand flickering on and off.
The wind stirred her long hair, her silhouette carrying a rare kind of gentleness.
She’d already finished her first cigarette, and was onto the second.
He walked over slowly and stood beside her.
“Grandma’s asleep?” she asked softly.
“Mm, she’s lying down.”
“Pretty early.” It was only eight thirty.
“Old folks go to bed early.”
“Let’s talk, Zhou Zheng.” Her voice was very soft, her tone almost a murmur.
“Talk about what?” Zhou Zheng answered.
“Anything.” Her tone carried a smile. “Whatever you want to talk about.”
“All right then.” He held out a hand, his voice slightly deep. “Give me a cigarette.”
Lin Shuang glanced at him and put the cigarette pack and lighter from her pocket into his hand.
Zhou Zheng tapped one out, his motion lighting it a bit hurried, taking a drag between his fingers.
A woman’s cigarette, the taste mild, carrying a hint of cooling mint — not unpleasant to smoke, and he didn’t mind the flavor.
His brow furrowed, his throat catching slightly, his voice a little hoarse: “Go ahead. I’m listening.”
Lin Shuang held her cigarette without moving for a long while, finally tapping off the ash, taking a deep drag: “I won’t change myself for anyone, for anything.”
“Who’s asking you to change?” His tone turned hard and blunt. “Has someone asked you to change?”
Lin Shuang’s eyes stayed fixed ahead of her, silent, giving no response to his words.
He took another drag, coughing lightly, lowering his head: “Has my family made you uncomfortable?”
She nodded.
“Uncomfortable how? You can’t accept this kind of poverty? Or you don’t like my family relationships?”
She said flatly: “It’s a difference between us as people… you need a family. And I — I don’t need a family…”
Hearing her words, his brow hardened, his tone turning slightly cold, carrying an odd trace of mockery: “I hadn’t even thought about it, and you’ve already thought all the way to the word ‘family’? When did I ever ask you for a family?”
Lin Shuang looked at him quietly and stubbed out the cigarette in her hand.
“And besides, how would you even know what kind of family I’d want.” His voice was muffled, low. “I haven’t said anything, haven’t asked for anything.”
“But we’re both heading in that direction.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, head lowered. “There’s no avoiding it.”
He asked her: “What decision do you want to make?”
Lin Shuang lowered her eyes, saying nothing.
She couldn’t get the words out.
He took his last drag, stubbed out the cigarette, his eyes turning sharp, saying flatly: “Tomorrow morning, first thing, we’ll head back. Whatever you want to say, say it back there — not today, not at this moment.”
“Okay.”
The two of them went back into the room.
Zhou Zheng went to run hot water in the bathroom, found her a towel: “Make do with it tonight.”
She hadn’t washed her hair, came out quickly, changed into one of Zhou Zheng’s old T-shirts. The AC in the room was running; Zhou Zheng worked on his laptop while Lin Shuang curled up in bed playing games.
The countryside night was especially quiet. For some reason, she found herself easily drowsy in this environment, and dozed off on the bed without realizing when — somewhere in her sleep she vaguely registered a few sounds, footsteps, a door closing, the breathing of someone beside her.
When she woke, everything before her was pitch black, dark as could be.
Lin Shuang couldn’t find her phone by feel, but knew there was someone lying beside her — the warmth under the blanket was cozy, Zhou Zheng a little distance away, and she could vaguely make out his outline.
She lay with eyes open, taking in the darkened room.
Suddenly there was a faint greenish-yellow glow before her eyes. She stared at it for a long while — the light was flying about, its brightness shifting from a single dot to a streak.
“Zhou Zheng, there’s a light.” She called to him.
Zhou Zheng wasn’t asleep, and opened his eyes at the sound of her voice.
“On the ceiling, in the corner on the right.” Her voice was hushed, her eyes tracking the light source as it moved. “It’s moving.”
“It’s a firefly.” He watched for a moment. “A firefly flew in.”
It couldn’t find its way out, circling endlessly near the curtain.
“There are fireflies in winter too?” She rarely saw fireflies, finding it quite novel.
“There are, though very, very few. Maybe the room’s warm enough that it flew in to get warm.”
The two of them watched the tiny glowing insect together.
“Fireflies get cold too, don’t they — can we let it sleep in the room?” She turned to ask him.
“It won’t stay in the room. It’ll keep searching for a way out, and in the end it’ll wear itself out and die.”
Zhou Zheng got up and pulled the curtains open with a swish.
The moon had risen to the middle of the sky, its faint light spilling into the room, and everything in the room brightened, taking on distinct shape.
Outside was bright too — the night sky deep blue, tiny, crowded stars hanging across the heavens, the ridges of farmland and the forest clear and crisp.
Zhou Zheng opened the window and stood quietly, waiting for the firefly to fly out.
She also threw off the blanket and got up, hugging her own arms as she walked to the window, gazing at the scenery outside, sighing: “The night’s so beautiful.”
A crescent moon, a few wisps of cloud, a sky full of stars, the faintly cold breath of air and the vast, silent earth.
More genuine than the city.
“Careful you don’t catch cold.” He took the coat draped at the foot of the bed and put it over her shoulders.
“What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.”
Usually at this hour she’d still be awake back home, and now too she had no trace of sleepiness, leaning by the window, taking in the tranquil countryside scenery.
Not a single sound anywhere — not even the chirp of insects or the call of birds.
He stood off to the side, watching her eyes stay fixed, unblinking, her expression earnest as she gazed out the window, a pure and lonely kind of beauty.
Zhou Zheng embraced her from behind, his arms wrapping around her waist, enveloping her whole body, burying his face into the curve of her shoulder.
She reached back and stroked his soft, fluffy hair.
The two of them stood quietly like that for a long while.
In this moment, their breath connected, their pulses beating in sync, even their souls seemed to run through one another.
“Zhou Zheng…” She gazed down at the fields below, her voice soft, light. “I don’t want to change myself. I don’t want to have children.”
“No one’s asking you to change, no one’s asking you to have children.” He held her tighter. “At least, I’m not asking that of you… Shuangshuang, you’re living with me — just live however you want, however freely you please. Leave everything else to me. Have a little faith in me, will you.”
“Then what about ‘family’?” she said, downcast.
“Compared to family, I’d rather have happiness.” He held her hand. “My parents have been gone many years now. My grandmother still has one son. There’s very little binding me — I got very little from the past too. I want someone who brings me happiness, whether in body or in spirit.”
“Are you happy being with me?” She turned her head, asking him earnestly. “I press you every day, bully you — doesn’t it tire you out? When I lose my temper, doesn’t it annoy you?”
“Like me a little more, love me a little more.” He coaxed her. “When you smile at me, I’ve never once felt tired. When you lie beside me, I’ve never once felt annoyed.”
Her eyes stung, and she buried her face into the crook of his neck.
He lowered his head and pecked her cheek.
They kissed beneath the clear moonlight.
The little firefly finally found its way out, flying out of the room.
The bedroom curtains were drawn shut again, the room falling into darkness.
He carried her back to the bed, the kiss interrupted just as it grew heated and dazed.
“There’s no protection here.” He rested his forehead against hers, kissing her flushed, red lips, forcing himself to stop. “Let’s sleep.”
Lin Shuang wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight, unable to restrain herself as she pressed against him, breathing lightly: “Do you want to? If you want, go ahead. I’m in my safe period.”
She pressed against his chest, murmuring low: “Zhou Zheng… be good to me…”
Only he — only he could bring this out in her.
“Is the safe period really safe?” Zhou Zheng held her, waiting quietly for himself to settle down, stroking her cheek. “Let’s wait until we’re home tomorrow.”