The period after separating from Lin Sui could be called the first darkest moment in Zhang Lian’s life. The woman had sought him out more than ten times, sometimes pressuring him with haughtiness, sometimes begging with remorse, and sometimes even threatening suicide with unreasonable tantrums. But Zhang Lian’s attitude remained consistently polite rejection. On the few occasions he softened, he would still persuade her to leave with kind words.

Amid the accusations and tears of his once-beloved ex-girlfriend, he gradually realized that absolute marriage wasn’t the perfect destination for love, but rather a trap loudly promoted yet secretly kept by the world. Entering that trap would bring restraints from multiple directions. Even if he tried his best to be his best self in a relationship, it would be difficult or even impossible to achieve a truly ideal relationship between two people.

He couldn’t demand others to change their ultimate choices about life, because of different family backgrounds, environments, circumstances… everything was different, each with their own dependencies and difficulties.

He didn’t want the other person to bend their knee for him, just as he was unwilling to waver and show weakness.

Could a relationship maintained by mutual compromise at the cost of losing oneself still be called healthy?

This became an unsolvable proof. Years of exploration and refinement only resulted in zero points, or even negative scores.

After finishing this problem, should he face the next one?

Zhang Lian became lost.

Later, for a period, he would carefully think about those peaceful fragments with Lin Sui before returning to China, and the dramatic reversal and subversion after coming back. He would also observe the marriages of relatives and friends, 90% of which were nothing more than trivial matters, just getting by.

Marriage in his eyes was no longer the supreme first page of love. It had become a gray curse paper, suitable for being sealed in the bottom-most box.

When Sun Fengzhi learned of this matter, he flew into a rage, completely baffled: “After several years, you just decided to break up? Whose fault is it? What did Sui Sui say?”

Zhang Lian was concise: “It’s my fault. I don’t want to get married anymore.”

Sun Fengzhi stared at him with a hopeless look, speechless for a long time.

That day, leaving home, the world felt renewed, the clouds light, and the breeze gentle. Zhang Lian welcomed a rare ease that had been absent for months.

“Anti-marriage” seemed like a sufficiently cold and hard protective shield that could envelop him without distraction, obtaining a long-lost sense of safety and tranquility, meticulousness and control, an absolute self and absolute freedom in some sense.

Later, somehow, it spread throughout his social circle. When attending a college roommate’s wedding, the other party brought it up, putting an arm around his shoulder and teasing: “Those who’ve studied abroad are really different, so fashionable now, anti-marriage, you can always be our best man.”

The wedding setup was what Zhang Lian had imagined for his wedding when he was in his early twenties: lawn, white doves, sacred vows, and wedding rings, a beaming couple.

He smiled through the whole event, realizing that he was somewhat of an old-fashioned person.

That day, after the banquet, Zhang Lian took the wedding favor and walked alone through candlelight and night, leaving the venue. Passing by F University, he inadvertently spotted a bar called Fate, with a sign in the quiet blue of cocktails.

Speaking of this, Zhang Lian’s expression showed little fluctuation: “Do you remember the first thing you said to me that day?”

Zhou Mi rubbed her warm and moist eyes, thinking carefully, and finally raised her hands in surrender: “Sorry~ I don’t remember, I drank too much that day, completely forgot my opening line.”

Zhang Lian smiled.

Zhou Mi was curious: “Do you still remember?”

Zhang Lian said, “I remember.”

Zhou Mi asked: “What did I do?”

Zhang Lian said: “You walked straight up to me, poked my arm and said, ‘Ah, it’s real.'”

Zhou Mi shrank her head a little, somewhat disbelieving: “…Really? Was I that stupid?”

Zhang Lian said, “Have I ever lied to you?”

Zhou Mi racked her brain to remember again: “I seem to have some impression, but when I first noticed you, I felt you weren’t quite real, just like I told you that time at my home. Like those white porcelain pieces preserved in museums, with a glass dust cover outside. You can see it, but it’s not easy to touch.”

Zhang Lian smiled slightly: “Yet you immediately reached out and touched.”

Zhou Mi was speechless.

After a moment of silence, Zhang Lian held her wrist, pulled her hand over, and gently rubbed her fingers with both hands.

His natural movement conveyed not a hint of impropriety or frivolity, but rather treasuring and cherishing. Zhou Mi’s ears grew slightly hot, but she didn’t pull back: “What are you doing?”

“Aren’t you curious about what I’m thinking now?” Zhang Lian asked.

Zhou Mi’s dark round pupils shifted: “Not so curious anymore.”

Zhang Lian was puzzled: “Why?”

Zhou Mi said, “Because I’ve figured things out too.”

Zhang Lian asked: “What have you figured out?”

Zhou Mi gathered her thoughts for a moment, like preparing for a speech, even though there was only one listener. But she confirmed that he was truly listening patiently, hearing every movement deep in her heart: “I also want to say sorry to you.”

Zhang Lian paused: “What’s wrong?”

“I never thought you were a bad person,” Zhou Mi’s eyes quickly filled with tears. “I think you’re wonderful, just as wonderful as when I first saw you. That day, I wasn’t trying to force you to marry me; I was just too anxious. My family…” She choked for a moment. “My mom kept asking, and the reason I bought the ring was the same as I said that day. I felt that a thirty-yuan ring wasn’t worthy of you. I hoped you would accept it, proving that I was special to you, the only one, because I liked you so much. I just wanted you to be Zhou Mi’s one and only poet.”

“Just like the text message I sent you that day in the movie theater, not just in that moment, Zhang Lian, I like you so much, I’ve always liked you so much.” She stated this so urgently that she accidentally blew a snot bubble while sobbing. Zhou Mi hurriedly covered her mouth and nose, staring at him red-faced and blushing.

Zhang Lian removed her hand, leaned forward, and held her face with both hands.

The moment his lips touched hers, Zhou Mi’s heart emptied, then immediately felt filled with a great surge of warm water, permeating all her blood vessels. She felt her body reviving, spring returning to the earth, countless white wings fluttering in her heart and abdomen, and birds singing again inside her head.

Another key, another puzzle piece, another gear, her soul was finally restarted, finally whole and turning again.

Zhou Mi’s tears flowed more violently, seemingly both comfort and devotion.

She instinctively closed her eyelids, trying to feel and sink into it, but her lips trembled so excitedly and wildly that she couldn’t respond appropriately.

Zhang Lian sensed this and moved his face back a few inches, his hands still cupping her face, gently wiping her wet cheeks with his thumbs.

Their gazes didn’t shift at all, eyes only for each other.

Zhang Lian looked at her deeply, so deeply, with emotions so concentrated they could no longer dissolve, with that very deep kind of seriousness.

“Zhou Mi, I like you very much too,” he said. “I like you simply because you are Zhou Mi. Marriage isn’t that crucial to me. Whether we get married or not, I want to be the old man carrying your bags decades from now.”

Zhou Mi was stunned for a moment, then cried and laughed, unable to believe it: “What? How do you remember everything I say?”

“I don’t know,” Zhang Lian still looked at her, his lips curving into a smile. “Maybe it’s because you’ve brought the little boy inside me back to life.”