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In the early hours of the first day of the new year, Li Kuiyi stood on the balcony and talked on the phone with He Youyuan for a long time, her fingers tracing again and again the pattern of the newly pasted paper-cut window decorations on the glass. It was easy to tell that after she’d said those words, He Youyuan was in very high spirits — his voice was warm and meandering, and he rambled on about this and that, asking finally when she was coming back to the city.

School started on the seventh day of the new year. Li Kuiyi planned to head back on the fifth, and He Youyuan immediately asked if they could meet up. She hesitated briefly, then nodded somewhere he couldn’t see, and agreed.

By the time Li Kuiyi hung up and climbed back into bed, it was nearly one in the morning. She hadn’t noticed the cold during the call, but once under the covers she realized her feet were frozen stiff. She curled up for quite a while before they gradually warmed.

She tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

She didn’t know what she and He Youyuan were to each other now. Probably not just ambiguous flirting? Ambiguous flirting, at its core, is a kind of game played in the fog before the window-paper between two people is finally punctured — but He Youyuan had placed his “I like you” directly in front of her, bare and unadorned.

Looked at this way, what their relationship would grow into was, for the time being, in her hands to decide.

Sometimes she felt an impulse to take a step forward and tell him that she liked him too. Of course, she wouldn’t be so blunt about it — she would put on a firm, composed expression and say offhandedly: “Oh, I suppose I like you a little bit, I guess.”

Yes. Just a little.

So, was there anyone who could actually tell her whether she should take that step or not?

Li Kuiyi buried her face in her pillow, plagued by worry, unable to sleep until well past midnight, finally drifting off sometime after three in the morning. She felt as though she’d slept for only ten minutes when she was called to breakfast, but one glance at the clock showed it was already eight in the morning.

She forced herself through a few dumplings with barely-open eyes, then went back to bed. She spent the entire first day of the Lunar New Year in a dazed stupor. From the second day onward, relatives began arriving at the house; the rooms grew noisy, and the rubbish bins overflowed with all manner of shells and drink cartons. Although Li Kuiyi still retreated to the rooftop to read, meals were unavoidable, and with meals came small talk. The older relatives always enjoyed asking her how her grades were, what university she was aiming for, and then jokingly told her to coach their own children a bit.

If the tutoring fee was right, it wasn’t out of the question, Li Kuiyi thought silently.

“What about Xiao Lin? Aren’t you graduating soon?” A cousin-uncle who’d had a little too much liquor turned the conversation toward Su Jianlin.

Su Jianlin said calmly, “Third year now.”

“University, I know — by fourth year you basically have no classes anymore, right?” The cousin-uncle spoke with a thick tongue, the alcohol going to his head. “What are you planning next? Finding work or continuing your studies?”

“Keep studying, probably.”

“That’s good. Undergraduates are everywhere these days — a dime a dozen. Getting a master’s degree at least gives you more of a competitive edge. By the way, what’s your major again?”

“Electrical engineering,” Su Jianlin said levelly.

“Ah, now that’s a good major. Go straight into the State Grid after graduation, and you’re set for life.” The cousin-uncle waved a grand hand and began holding forth on the subject, his tone dripping with a condescension that made it sound as though walking into the State Grid was as simple as pushing open a door. After analyzing the merits of the State Grid at length, he heaved a deeply pained sigh on Li Kuiyi’s behalf, lamenting that she had chosen humanities — what a waste of such good grades.

Li Kuiyi neither agreed nor disagreed, listening quietly without comment. Hearing things she didn’t like to hear didn’t cost her anything. But unexpectedly, the cousin-uncle, mid-speech, narrowed his eyes and let his gaze pass back and forth between her and Su Jianlin several times before suddenly saying, “Hey — I never noticed before, but looking at them now, these two kids look quite alike.”

Everyone at the table glanced over.

Li Kuiyi’s chopsticks paused mid-reach. She looked toward Su Jianlin, and their eyes happened to meet — his, as always, cool and indifferent.

If Su Jianlin were Li Kuiyi’s biological uncle by blood, a resemblance would be unremarkable. But everyone knew Su Jianlin had been fostered here and shared no blood relation with Li Kuiyi — so the remark that the two looked alike landed with a certain awkwardness.

The cousin-aunt who had come with him shot him a look and scolded him in mock exasperation: “I think you’ve had too much to drink — you must be seeing double.”

The slightly frozen atmosphere at the table seemed to sober the cousin-uncle slightly. He laughed and scratched his head: “You’re right, I think I’ve had a bit too much. My eyes are going.”

“Then absolutely no more drinking for you.” The second aunt quickly removed the liquor from in front of him, then looked Li Kuiyi and Su Jianlin over with a cheerful expression and stepped in to smooth things over: “Even if Xiao Kui and Xiao Lin do look alike, it’s not surprising at all. Do you all remember — when Xiao Kui was little, she loved following Xiao Lin around. She’d want to be stuck to his side every single day. The longer you’re together, the more you start to resemble each other.”

Li Kuiyi: “…”

She didn’t remember ever having clung to Su Jianlin at all.

Everyone agreed with the second aunt’s words, laughed a little, and the meal ended on an awkward note, neither particularly comfortable nor entirely tense.

That afternoon, Li Kuiyi took her books up to the rooftop, only to find Su Jianlin there again. This time he wasn’t smoking; his face was still pallid from the wind.

Did she and he really look alike?

In truth, Li Kuiyi didn’t think so. The most she could say was that they shared a similar quality — a certain coolness that radiated from both of them.

Li Kuiyi walked over to Su Jianlin and leaned against the railing beside him. After a brief silence, she asked: “Are you planning to apply for postgraduate study next?”

“I’ll try for a guaranteed place first,” he said.

“At your own university?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impressive.” Li Kuiyi said it with genuine admiration.

Su Jianlin actually gave a faint smile: “It’s not certain I’ll get it.”

“If you don’t, will you try the entrance examination? Would there still be time?”

It was rare for Su Jianlin to volunteer so many words: “I’ll see how it goes. If my grade point average makes the guaranteed-placement route look risky, I might consider going directly for a doctorate — that can actually be more stable than the guaranteed placement.”

What kind of logic was that? A direct doctorate more stable than a guaranteed master’s placement?

High school student Li Kuiyi could not wrap her head around it.

But she had caught a rare trace of contentment in Su Jianlin, and so she offered another round of admiration: “Wow, a doctorate — that really is impressive.”

Su Jianlin heard the exaggerated tone in her voice and seemed to find it mildly amusing. He looked at her unhurriedly for a moment.

Li Kuiyi found herself bewildered by his gaze and couldn’t quite make sense of it, her thoughts turning inward. Had she really been clingy with him when she was small?

What she remembered was only that she had wanted to be near him. Young children have a particular tendency — they love to play with children who are a little older than themselves. And at that time she’d had neither toys nor playmates her own age.

Su Jianlin was already in primary school by then. When he did his homework, she would lean against the edge of the table and watch him, her attention fixed, though in reality she had no idea what he was doing. Later, she was drawn to the illustrations in his textbooks and began flipping through them page by page — so many times, in fact, that even before she could read, she could accurately recite what kind of image appeared on every single page of the third-grade Chinese language textbook.

Once she started school and learned to read, the books Su Jianlin brought home became her treasure. By the time she was in fourth grade, she had made her way through Dream of the Red Chamber — though only half-understanding it at the time. She hadn’t much liked that sort of work then; what she loved was Robinson Crusoe.

Come to think of it, it was really his books she had clung to, more than him.

But in certain ways she had genuinely come to resemble him. Young children like to imitate the words and ways of older ones, and since Li Kuiyi had little affection for the adults around her, Su Jianlin had become her unconscious model.

They shared the same detached eyes and the same reserved expression, at least at first glance.

On the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, Li Kuiyi returned to the city on her own. She first met up with Fang Zhixiao to see a film, and afterward they wandered around the area near the cinema together, sipping bubble tea as they drifted in and out of little gift shops. Inside one, Fang Zhixiao picked up a soft ball of yarn and, with a shy smile, said she wanted to knit a scarf for Zhou Ce, which earned her a thorough eye-roll from Li Kuiyi.

Being in love really does make people go absolutely out of their minds!

Does a scarf really need to be hand-knitted? And on top of that — after so many years of friendship, Fang Zhixiao had never once treated Li Kuiyi to such devotion.

That evening, He Youyuan came as arranged to meet her, and Li Kuiyi went downstairs to wait. Standing beneath a streetlamp at the side of the road, she lowered her head and nudged a small pebble around with her foot, telling herself that even if she and He Youyuan started dating, she would never knit him a scarf. She had principles.

What would she even be like in a relationship? Li Kuiyi couldn’t picture it — but she was absolutely certain she would never act coy or spoiled with him. She was made of sterner stuff. She couldn’t do things like that.

While she was lost in these musings, a clear, bright ring of a bicycle bell rang out. She looked up and saw He Youyuan come flying toward her from a distance, coat flapping, hair blown loose and tousled, his face bright with a dazzling smile. The spirited young man brought his bike to a sharp stop right in front of her with a clean, sweeping slide of the rear wheel. It was only then that she noticed he had a backpack on, its zipper left open, and inside was a handful of fresh, dewy pink-and-white roses.

Li Kuiyi’s eyes went wide. Good heavens — what was he up to now?

He planted his feet on the ground, swung the backpack off his shoulders, took out the flowers, and handed them to her. Then he reached back inside and pulled out a box of chocolates.

“What… what’s this for?” Li Kuiyi asked, stumbling slightly over the words.

“What do you think?” He tilted his chin back at her as though the answer were obvious.

Li Kuiyi genuinely couldn’t figure him out and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Dummy.” He relaxed a little in his posture, leaning back slightly. “You don’t know what flowers and chocolates mean?”

Li Kuiyi thought about it and ventured cautiously, “Last time you gave me these, it seemed like it was to apologize.”

He Youyuan: “…”

He climbed off the mountain bike, parked it to one side, and came to stand in front of her. He scratched his head, licked his lip, and said: “This time it’s different. I… I just want to tell you — I like you.”

How did he always manage to say things like this so suddenly?

Li Kuiyi was equally flustered, gripping the hem of her jacket: “I… I already know.”

“I know you know.” His throat moved. “But the last time I told you, it wasn’t very formal. I wanted to say it formally, just once.”

He paused, then continued: “These flowers — they’re roses, because everyone uses roses when they say things like this. If you prefer another kind of flower, I’ll get you something else next time — but today it could only be roses. And the chocolates — I tried them in the shop. They’re not too sweet, just right. I think you’ll like them.”

Inside Li Kuiyi’s chest, her heart was pounding furiously, as though a small butterfly were trying to break free from its spring cocoon.

“And also…” He Youyuan bent slightly at the waist and looked into her eyes, his voice growing softer and slower. “I’m telling you all this — I’m not looking for an answer. Li Kuiyi, I just want you to know that I like you.”

Li Kuiyi gazed into his clear, bright eyes. Her lips moved, but no words came.

She took the bouquet and the chocolates and held them tightly to her chest.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. She lay perfectly straight in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, her thoughts in disarray, her head on the verge of bursting.

School resumed quickly. On the first day back, there was no evening study session — classes ended in the afternoon and everyone was dismissed. The light had already begun to fade; He Youyuan still rode her home, the two of them traveling the familiar road back beneath a soft, blurring darkness.

Li Kuiyi hadn’t said a word the whole way. When He Youyuan spoke to her, she gave only a vague “mhm” or two, as though her mind was elsewhere.

He Youyuan rode all the way to the entrance of her apartment building. Once they stopped, he could tell something was off and asked her directly: “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you responding when I talk to you?”

Li Kuiyi lowered her head and thought for a moment. Then, all at once, she bit her lip — as though she had made some kind of decision — and set her backpack down. She tugged open the zipper, reached inside, and pulled out a small bouquet of flowers.

Without looking at him, she pushed the flowers into his arms.

Then, haltingly, she said: “I… I don’t have any artistic talent, and I didn’t know which flowers look good together, so I just… put it together randomly…”

She couldn’t get any further than that. She turned to the side, half-facing away from him.

He Youyuan looked down at the flowers in his arms, stunned. For a long moment he said nothing. Then he slowly lifted his gaze and let it settle on her face — and saw that her eyelids were still lowered, the thin skin of her face flushed so deeply it looked as though it might bleed, her expression shy and flustered, as though the act of saying those words had drained every last bit of her courage, leaving her now completely at a loss.

What did she… mean by this?

Was this… her way of answering him?

A great surge of joy welled up in He Youyuan’s chest. He couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from lifting. He couldn’t wait any longer — he needed to know her answer urgently. He leaned forward, dipping his head toward her face, his eyes bright as he asked her: “Li Kuiyi! Do you like me?”

Li Kuiyi caught her breath, her face growing even hotter. She shot him one quick glare, fierce and sharp, and said:

“I hate you!”

And with that, she spun around and went “tap tap tap” up the stairs into the building.