Wen Qi was twenty-two years old this year. He had studied abroad for many years, lived alone for a long time, and wasn’t good at dealing with people, nor did he have anyone to confide in.

He completed his undergraduate studies at Imperial College London. The main campus of this school was located in South Kensington, London, with three museums near the school. In his free time, he often walked alone in the museums or sat on a bench by the street feeding a flock of pigeons.

Wen Qi remembered that during the first month of his undergraduate studies, he often stuck with his classmates. Later, he gradually discovered the tedium and dullness, monotony, and redundancy of various social activities. During holidays, some classmates from different departments would upload their travel and dinner photos on QQ Space, showcasing their colorful extracurricular lives. Those photos were all similar—travel photos featured blue skies and white clouds, seas and castles, while dinner photos showed rice, hot pot, home-cooked dishes, wonton and dumplings… Wen Qi’s fingers quickly swiped past without leaving any comments.

When classmates sent him messages inviting him to gatherings, he would reply only after several days: “Studying, can’t make it.”

As time went by, no one invited him anymore.

He felt relieved.

He had completely adapted to a solitary life and increasingly rejected all group activities.

For him, socializing was an extra burden, while solitude was a rare nourishment.

Classmates called him “elusive,” and he made the excuse that he “loved studying”—this was a lie. Wen Qi knew clearly that he didn’t love studying; studying was just a form of entertainment and pastime when he was alone.

But occasionally he would feel lonely.

Whenever this happened, he would post his assignment grades and exam scores on QQ Space.

Classmates would exclaim in surprise at his terrifying high scores, and many would ask him about his study methods or directly inquire about his assignment approaches. He would summarize his thinking patterns, but few could understand him—or rather, those who truly understood him would never send him messages like: “Please help, big brother, teach this little bro, how many exam points are there, how to do the assignments?”

Fortunately, Wen Qi’s undergraduate grades were excellent.

It would be strange if they weren’t—he read books from morning till night.

After finishing his three-year undergraduate program, Wen Qi completed a one-year master’s degree at Cambridge, where he met his doctoral supervisor.

In the autumn of the second year, Wen Qi successfully evolved into an even more reclusive, introverted, and isolated doctoral student.

On rare occasions, he would imitate normal people, letting out hearty laughs and attempting to strike up conversations with others, all ending in failure.

In Wen Qi’s research group, Lin Zhixia was universally recognized as a “kind, cute, talkative, and gentle” girl, with all senior students speaking highly of her.

Even so, when Wen Qi chatted with Lin Zhixia, their conversations never exceeded five sentences—after five sentences, awkward silence inevitably followed.

The Korean senior student Yin Xiuen didn’t understand Wen Qi’s true personality. She boldly invited Wen Qi to attend a banquet, and Wen Qi initially wanted to refuse, but later, for reasons unknown even to himself, he actually agreed.

However, tonight’s banquet was almost the death of Wen Qi.

Alumni from various major companies took turns asking after his well-being, and there was even a French person who greeted him with cheek kisses. His social anxiety instantly reached its peak, and he became so nervous he almost vomited. While hurriedly running to the restroom, he accidentally bumped into Jiang Yubai’s shoulder, pushing his embarrassment beyond the critical point.

As the saying goes, “when it rains, it pours,” and Wen Qi felt this deeply.

He had brought a cigarette pack but no lighter.

He couldn’t relieve his psychological pressure by smoking.

Jiang Yubai certainly didn’t have a lighter either.

Jiang Yubai walked past Wen Qi and headed straight out, passing through an area where light and shadow intersected. His friends were all waiting for him. He rejoined his circle, still standing in the most central position, like the moon surrounded by stars.

Wen Qi glanced at Jiang Yubai from a distance.

Suddenly, a hand rested on his shoulder, and he heard a girl’s voice: “Are you Wen Qi?”

Wen Qi turned his head to see a girl wearing a laurel leaf hairpin. The girl introduced herself as Miao Danyi, born in Myanmar, raised in Malaysia, and had also lived on Hainan Island for a period.

They were both hiding in a secluded corner—a blind spot from everyone else’s view.

The lighting was dim, but her eyes were bright.

Wen Qi thought that this girl, like him, was avoiding socializing at the banquet. He didn’t speak to her. But he took out his phone and exchanged contact information with her.

*

After ten o’clock in the evening, the night was as thick as ink, the moon hidden behind dark clouds, and fine rain pattered against the windowsill.

Lin Zhixia hugged a strawberry pillow, sitting quietly on the bed, still in a meditative state. She was organizing the thoughts in her mind and had a new burst of inspiration. She opened her eyes and lay down, completely relaxed.

Before going to sleep, she sent Jiang Yubai a text message: “Jiang Jiang Jiang Jiang Yubai, are you home yet?”

After several minutes, Jiang Yubai replied: “I’m back, Lin Lin Lin Lin Zhixia, did your meditation go well?”

Lin Zhixia called him directly. She said, “The meditation went very well. I sorted out many problems, and I need to email my supervisor tomorrow morning. Next week I’ll write the first draft of my paper… What about you? Did your banquet go smoothly?”

“It was fine,” Jiang Yubai described briefly.

Lin Zhixia wanted to hear more details. She also wanted to share the steps and gains from her meditation with Jiang Yubai. They agreed that tomorrow morning, Jiang Yubai would come to her dormitory to visit, and she would treat him to breakfast.

The next morning, the sky cleared, everything looked fresh, and a post-rain coolness floated in the breeze.

Lin Zhixia walked to a nearby Tesco supermarket. She bought many vegetables, fruits, snacks, and drinks, filling two large plastic bags. She carried the plastic bags back to her dormitory, with red marks left on both hands from the straps. But she was full of energy, not feeling tired or exhausted at all.

She quickly prepared bread, ham, fried eggs, and fruit salad.

Not long after, Jiang Yubai arrived at her building.

Lin Zhixia happily ran to greet Jiang Yubai. She held his wrist and led him into her room.

With a “click” of the closing door, the dormitory became an enclosed space. The curtains blocked the outside view, and the sweet fragrance of fruit juice wafted through the room.

“Have a seat,” Lin Zhixia warmly invited.

It was now mid-October, with wind and rain, and the temperature was low, but the dormitory was warm. Lin Zhixia wore a sea-blue dress, and when she sat down, the hem lifted slightly, revealing her snow-white and slender legs even more. She pressed her knees together and tugged at the hem, saying, “This dress shrinks more with each wash.”

Jiang Yubai’s gaze wasn’t on Lin Zhixia at all.

All the plates had been arranged by Lin Zhixia on the desk. Jiang Yubai faced the desk and said softly, “You look good in anything.”

Lin Zhixia leaned sideways against his shoulder: “I think you look best in formal wear and swimwear, although I’ve never seen you in swimwear, but I can imagine.”