The breakfast was sumptuous.

The porridge cooked with milk and red dates was fragrant and sticky, with a hint of sweetness. The stir-fried shredded carrots with meat looked beautiful, and the pan-fried beef patties were crispy on the outside and tender inside.

While Cheng Wanyue was showering, Qing Hang had even peeled a small bowl of pomegranate.

As Qing Hang poured water for her, he caught a glimpse of her sitting cross-legged on the chair, lowering her head to smell the beef patty before taking a small bite. Her satisfied expression showed that it must be a flavor she liked.

Before taking her second bite, she broke off half of the beef patty and placed it on his plate.

Qing Hang remembered how she used to be the same way in the past, always sharing half of whatever she was eating with whoever was beside her.

She was quite picky about food and wouldn’t touch anything she didn’t like. Her parents were busy with work, so in high school, she often ate in the school cafeteria. The cafeteria served almost the same dishes every day, and she was never fully satisfied.

That year, when they were deskmates, her drawer was never without snacks. Whenever she ate, she would always leave half for him, regardless of whether he was hungry or had already eaten.

Her appetite deteriorated, and she became depressed and uninterested in everything. These unusual behaviors all happened after she sent that love letter.

But she didn’t know that Yan Ci didn’t miss their meeting because he never received the letter.

Qing Hang knew that hiding the letter was selfish. He even secretly rejoiced—fortunately, Yan Ci liked Zhou Yu. But seeing her heartbroken over Yan Ci every day filled his heart with something as cold as the water from a well deep in the mountains.

She never spoke about it, but she stopped going to the third-year building and even abandoned the bicycle that Yan Ci had taught her to ride.

Cheng Yanqing was close to Yan Ci; they walked to and from school together. She would deliberately lag a few minutes behind each time, resulting in being late at least twice a week. Although the homeroom teacher liked her, he couldn’t show favoritism in front of the whole class, so she practically took over the trash duty.

Qing Hang’s rented courtyard was full of recyclables, and she never complained about it being dirty. But when taking out the trash, she would wrap tissue around her hands and cover her nose.

He offered to help, but she refused. Yet she couldn’t lift the trash can by herself, so every time, the two of them would carry it downstairs together.

She was excessively energetic and always had endless things to say. Qing Hang occasionally found it too noisy, but habits can be frightening—when she did fall silent, he felt uncomfortable.

He would secretly glance at her when no one was looking. She was lost in thought even while walking.

The empty trash can was light, swinging back and forth with their steps.

Yan Ci stood at the back door of the classroom. He was looking for Zhou Yu. Zhou Yu’s father had an accident in the coal mine contracted by Yan Ci’s uncle, and their relationship wasn’t as good as before.

Cheng Wanyue didn’t want to return to the classroom, so she stayed on the field watching others play ball.

She wasn’t happy at all, but Zhou Yu was her best friend.

The desks were made of wood. There was a hole on Qing Hang’s left side and a hole on Cheng Wanyue’s right side. The two desks were pushed together. Every time she looked for test papers, she would turn her books upside down, and Qing Hang often found her things in his desk.

Like this pack of tissues.

She wiped her hands and yawned, resting her head on the desk.

In early May, there was already a feeling of summer in the air. Qing Hang felt the candy in his school uniform pocket, the plastic wrapper making rustling sounds. He hesitated for a long time before taking it out.

Cheng Wanyue was stunned when the first candy was placed in front of her. She remembered that Qing Hang didn’t like sweets. She watched as he emptied his left pocket, then his right, and even the pockets of his school uniform pants had more.

“So many! Did you buy every type of candy from the store?”

Qing Hang looked away. “Eat them slowly. You’ll finish them.”

She leisurely chose one, unwrapped it, and put it in her mouth, her left cheek bulging.

She didn’t like every type of these candies.

Qing Hang could tell from her eyes whether she liked them or not. “Cheng Wanyue, it’s not your fault whether you like something or not.”

He picked out the ones she didn’t like.

“Getting a pimple or two during puberty is normal. You haven’t gained weight. Your eyes are swollen because you were stung by a bee, but they’ll be just as beautiful once the swelling goes down. You got tanned last year, but after a winter, you’re back to being fair. Studying isn’t the only option. You’re not stupid. You have many strengths. So it’s not your fault.”

Cheng Wanyue’s mood improved significantly, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the candy or because of what Qing Hang had said.

“Then compliment me some more.”

“Class is about to start,” Qing Hang said, sitting up straight.

Cheng Wanyue began searching through her messy pile of textbooks for her test paper. Mathematics was always the subject that made her drowsiest, especially when solving problems. For multiple-choice questions she didn’t know, she would just randomly guess an answer.

The classroom was quiet. Qing Hang was already working on the more difficult problems at the end. She gently poked him with her pen, but he didn’t respond. So she took a milk candy, her favorite, and passed it to him through the holes in their desks.

Qing Hang was still solving problems. He was always serious during class. Cheng Wanyue waited for a while before he finally put down his left hand that was holding the test paper and took the milk candy.

She glanced at the teacher’s podium, then raised her chin at him, signaling with her eyes.

She wanted him to eat it now.

Her candy wasn’t finished yet, but she wanted him to join her. The math teacher liked to ask questions during class, and she had rarely escaped being called on since the semester began.

The wrapper of the Want Want milk candy was red with a little character on it. Qing Hang held it—the candy inside had already softened a bit. He squeezed it out and put it in his mouth.

“Alright, everyone finished?” The teacher’s voice broke the silence. His gaze moved from the back row forward. Most students were looking down. “Qing Hang, what’s your answer?”

Qing Hang stood up but didn’t speak because he had something in his mouth.

The teacher only noticed now. “This question isn’t difficult. You haven’t worked out the answer?”

Qing Hang shook his head.

The teacher’s expression was truly indescribable. “Desk mate, stand up and answer.”

Cheng Wanyue, struggling hard not to laugh, merely stood up. Usually, she would never let a teacher’s question go unanswered, whether she had worked out the solution or not. Today, she didn’t even venture a wild guess.

The milk candy slowly dissolved, but they both stood through the second half of the class.

…

There was a bite mark on the half of the beef patty Cheng Wanyue had broken off for Qing Hang, but he ate it naturally.

He had just teased her for being quick, so after she was full, she started thinking mischievously. She stretched one foot under the table and placed it on his leg. “Help me get my phone.”

Qing Hang handed her his phone. “Use mine.”

“No,” she wiggled her toes inside his shirt, grazing his waist. “Hurry up, I’m in a rush.”

Qing Hang had no choice but to get up and go to the bedroom, where he found her phone under the pillow and brought it to her.

Cheng Wanyue sat across from him. He didn’t know what she was doing, but the phone on the table vibrated once. Thinking it might be work-related, he picked up the phone out of habit to check.

Only after opening WeChat did he realize it was from her.

But she wasn’t looking at him.

Qing Hang opened the message and first saw the emoticon she had just sent—a yellow Teletubbies wearing a white gauzy dress, spinning and dancing.

Above it were two voice messages.

One had been retracted.

They were all from last night.

Qing Hang had no recollection. He looked up at her, then played the voice message.

“Qing Hang, apart from your grandfather, who do you love the most?”

“Cheng Wanyue.”

The next one played automatically.

“Apart from your grandfather, who treats you the best?”

“Cheng Wanyue.”

The air fell into silence.

He seemed frozen, not moving, very stiff.

Cheng Wanyue stretched lazily, went into the bedroom, and picked out a T-shirt from the closet that could be worn as a dress. She had leggings underneath, so there was no risk of exposure.

She stood by the bed, changing clothes, with only the sound of her humming filling the house.

“Enigmatic gaze, heart like a needle at the bottom of the sea, just guessing makes me lose my appetite, a bit annoying, yet a bit enchanting.”

Qing Hang watched as she bent down to pick up the black underwear from the foot of the bed.

“No talent for romance, reactions too slow, not cautious enough, picking flowers of the wrong color, but contradictorily, I like your clumsiness.”

She dressed slowly, but Qing Hang cleared the bowls and plates even more slowly, nearly dropping a dish.

After Cheng Wanyue put on her shoes, she waited for ten minutes before Qing Hang finally dried his hands and came out of the kitchen.

She was in a good mood, her face bright with a smile, dangling the car keys at the door.

“Before I go home, shall I drop you off at the hospital for work? Or you can drive me.”

“Mm,” Qing Hang did have a driver’s license.

Cheng Wanyue was somewhat surprised. “Why did you agree so quickly?”

Qing Hang casually took her bag. “Didn’t you bewitch me with a love potion?”

Cheng Wanyue: “…”

She withdrew her hand, and Qing Hang paused.

“You insulted me yesterday, so I won’t let you hold my hand,” Cheng Wanyue put on her sunglasses and walked ahead.

Qing Hang looked at her back, trying to recall what had happened last night, but all he had were fragmented images that couldn’t be pieced together into a complete memory.

He had both insulted her and begged her.

The text messages in his old phone weren’t just the ones she saw; there were many more that he had deleted letter by letter before sending.

If longing could speak, he would surely be a successful orator.