The next day, Chen An was awakened by rustling sounds downstairs.

He threw off the blanket and slowly pulled open the curtains. The dazzling sunlight made him squint. When his eyes refocused, he looked down at the small courtyard below.

Cheng Lele was holding up a bamboo pole, seemingly about to do something.

Chen An went to the bathroom for a quick wash and, without drying his face, went downstairs. The first-floor door was still closed. He walked to the rusty fence and got a clear look. That bamboo pole was a makeshift stick for picking pomegranates, made when the two of them were still teenagers. A custom-made large pair of scissors was tied to an extension pole, operating like a giant pair of pliers. This way, they didn’t need to climb the tree—they could pick pomegranates directly.

It was just that this pomegranate tree didn’t bear much fruit. If you didn’t pay attention and look for them, you could miss the ripening period entirely.

Chen An asked through the fence: “What are you doing?”

Cheng Lele pointed at the pomegranate tree overhead and smiled: “Older brother, I found a pomegranate.”

“Open the door.”

“Oh.” Cheng Lele ran over to open the door, saying as she opened it: “Don’t have a key to my house anymore? I’ll get one made for you later.”

Chen An pretended not to hear and didn’t say whether it was good or bad.

Many years ago, he had a key to the Cheng house. He had just lost it before going to Jilin for winter camp. Later, things became too complicated, and he never had the chance to replace it. Thinking about it now, losing the key seemed like a bad omen. Chen An thought superstitiously that if Cheng Lele gave him a key, perhaps life would develop in a good direction.

While thinking this, he walked into the courtyard first: “Are there still pomegranates in this month?” He squinted and looked up at the tree, his gaze wandering among the half-green, half-yellow leaves: “Where is it?”

After that bit of movement just now, Cheng Lele couldn’t quite remember where it was either.

She followed his gaze upward, and as her eyes wandered, they swept across Chen An’s face.

Chen An was tilting his head back at a large angle. His Adam’s apple protruded prominently like a small hill, and the blue-tinged stubble on his chin was clearly visible. He had probably just casually washed his face—the water droplets remaining on his face were made especially crystalline and translucent by the sunlight. The dancing spots of light and scorching sunlight merged into one on his body, emanating a flavor that was both ascetic yet passionate, clean yet tempting someone to make him dirty.

Hiss.

Cheng Lele thought, she had written too much rainbow-fart literature for idols when she was young—she still had aftereffects even now.

Not hearing any sound for a while, Chen An looked down at her: “Hey, what are you spacing out about?”

Cheng Lele shook her head and, with sharp eyes, pointed in a certain direction: “There!”

Chen An saw it and, holding the tool, found an angle to reach over. Cheng Lele kept shouting “Wait a moment,” ran into the house to get a large bag, opened it up below, and said: “Cut it.”

Chen An applied some force, and the pomegranate fell into the bag.

After searching around again, they couldn’t find a second one.

Cheng Lele took out the pomegranate and looked at it. The yellowish-brown skin was uneven and bumpy, ugly in appearance—it probably wouldn’t be very sweet either. She closed her eyes and boasted nonsensically: “This is called the sole surviving fruit.”

“Oh.” Chen An put away the tool and placed it in the simple shed built on the side.

Cheng Lele chased after him and stuffed the pomegranate into Chen An’s hands: “I’ll give it to you.”

No one had entered the simple shed for many years, and it was full of dust inside. Chen An clapped his hands to shake off the dust and said casually: “Why are you giving me this?”

Cheng Lele thought, with no money in my pocket, all I can give you is a pomegranate. But what she said aloud was sweet and genuine: “When I saw something unique, I wanted to give it to you.”

Chen An’s hand paused in dusting off the dirt.

Cheng Lele secretly observed Chen An’s indifferent expression and thought that this gift was indeed too casual after all.

Chen An took the pomegranate and said: “Thank you.”

Cheng Lele recalled the pile of gifts she had once given him on his bookshelf. By comparison, this pomegranate seemed truly too shabby, so she tried to take it back: “Never mind, I’ll give you something else later.”

Chen An shifted his body slightly, dodging Cheng Lele’s hand: “You gave it to me—how can you take it back?”

Cheng Lele laughed and teased: “Then you’d better preserve it properly—don’t let it rot without even knowing.”

Chen An ignored her and, holding the pomegranate, walked upstairs.