By the time the car reached University A, Yan Lie was already waiting at the school gate. He stood at the entrance to point them toward a direction, then led them to a car park that still had spaces.

After getting out of the car, Yan’s mother dug her camera out of her bag and rushed over with excitement: “Quick, Lielie! Take a few photos with Mom! A day this important calls for plenty of pictures — I’ll pick the best ones to post to my Moments!”

Yan Chengli retrieved one bouquet from the back seat, then pressed the other into Ye Yuncheng’s hands, and stood to the side waiting for him.

Yan Lie spotted them walking over side by side, raised his arm, and called out with a grin: “Uncle! Dad!”

Yan Chengli’s leather shoe came down heavily on the pavement, and something sour rose in his chest.

Of course — of course. The first person Yan Lie saw was Ye Yuncheng.

Was it that his flowers weren’t eye-catching enough?

He was holding red roses, for goodness’ sake!

Yan Chengli handed the bouquet over and said, a little flatly: “Congratulations on graduating.”

Yan Lie didn’t notice his awkwardness, just accepted it with a smile: “Thanks, Dad.”

In truth, neither he nor Fang Zhuo felt much particular emotion about graduating, because their daily life hadn’t changed significantly.

They would both continue to stay at the school, working on projects and writing papers with their respective advisors — shuttling back and forth between the library and the labs, debating which dining hall to go to for dinner. A few classmates who were about to step into the world outside felt the moment more keenly, sensing that life was branching from this point in different directions, and so had dragged Yan Lie around to photograph various spots on campus as lasting mementos.

Yan Lie took the flowers from Ye Yuncheng’s hands and said: “I’ll give these to Fang Zhuo in a bit. She should be almost done. After that we’ll take more photos, then everyone can stay for lunch.”

Ye Yuncheng agreed readily.

Yan Lie said: “Let me show everyone around first — our distinguished guests probably haven’t taken a complete tour of University A?”

Yan Chengli watched him, and was struck suddenly by how mature Yan Lie had become in the way he carried himself and spoke — completely unlike the image he had held in his mind.

Yan’s mother stood beside Yan Lie, alternately patting his back and his shoulder, then tilted her head to observe him for a moment and declared: “Even in graduation robes, my son is the best-looking one.”

Yan Lie was tall, fair-skinned, and carried himself straight — he filled out the loose black graduation gown the way a clothes hanger does, standing out like a landmark among the crowd.

He smiled and bumped his mother’s shoulder: “Mom, let’s take one together at the flower bed.”

Yan’s mother was delighted and immediately linked her arm through his, chose a spot with the best vantage, and asked Yan Chengli to take the photo.

The natural light was generous today — the photos should have come out beautifully.

Yan Chengli took two shots, and through some mysterious capability, managed to produce images in which their faces came out distorted and dark. Yan’s mother was too speechless with irritation to say anything.

Ye Yuncheng, worried an argument was about to break out, stepped in and offered to take over.

He had specifically studied some basic photography skills for the sake of his short videos, which put him far ahead of Yan Chengli in this department. Lighting, positioning, and framing — all considered with care, and above all, with genuine effort.

After seeing the finished results, Yan’s mother was extremely pleased. Even her voice softened considerably. She heaped praise on Ye Yuncheng and promptly pulled him off to another spot for more photos.

Fang Zhuo collected her graduation certificate from the auditorium just as the group was making their way to the small garden behind the library.

She called Yan Lie, got their exact location, and went to find them.

Because the class monitor had sent a message in the group chat urging everyone to return their graduation gowns, Fang Zhuo took a slight detour, returned the gown, and came around via the student activity center.

From her angle, she spotted that distinctive combination from quite a distance.

Yan’s mother was seated beside the ornamental stream, striking a pose. Directly in front of her stood someone acting as photographer, and someone else as creative director. Yan Chengli stood behind them all, cradling two bouquets with a look of quiet resignation — too lacking in the right credentials to even qualify as a backdrop.

Fang Zhuo came quietly to stand beside Yan Chengli. Their eyes met for a moment, and she said: “Hello, Uncle.”

Yan Chengli immediately shed his listless air, tugged his collar down a little — already slightly damp with sweat — and found himself with nothing to say.

Yan Lie spotted them both and picked up the camera, straightening up to face Fang Zhuo’s direction.

Fang Zhuo had always been a little camera-shy. Seeing this, she immediately adjusted her posture — arms down, hands resting at her sides.

Yan Chengli also drew his feet together and lifted his chin.

The two of them, looking rather like dignitaries meeting at an official function, produced polite smiles that conveyed both warmth and a certain gravity.

They held the pose and waited. It was unclear whether Yan Lie had pressed the shutter or not. Behind the camera, his eyes carried a visible hint of amusement.

He deliberately gave neither of them a signal to relax, and simply tilted the screen for Ye Yuncheng to see.

The photo on the screen was not a candid shot of two people with low emotional intelligence — it was a digitally edited wedding photo.

Fang Zhuo stood barefoot at the edge of the ocean. Her dark eyes reflected the light, and the expression on her face — laughing just a touch over the top — was rendered extraordinarily captivating against the blue backdrop that seemed almost to merge with the sea.

The original had been taken during the birthday holiday trip in Yan Lie’s second year of university.

That day, the two of them had been lying in bed, breathing hot air into the small space between them, listening to the fine sound of rain outside the window.

On the day of his twentieth birthday, Yan Lie had already planned the life he wanted to be living at forty — and at sixty.

He could have Fang Zhuo, and be lucky enough to have her for the rest of his life.

Ye Yuncheng was taken aback for a moment. First he looked up at Yan Lie, then he turned to look at Fang Zhuo.

The brilliant midday light softened the features of everyone in it. No matter how high Ye Yuncheng tilted his gaze, he could only make out Fang Zhuo’s general outline.

She had worn a black fitted dress today, to look good in photos.

Fang Zhuo rarely wore dresses, but in fact her legs were long and straight — this kind of outfit suited her very well.

Ye Yuncheng remembered clearly: in Fang Zhuo’s final year of high school, she had appeared at his doorstep in shoes that had been washed so many times they’d gone pale.

She had been guarded then, scanning the room from the corner of her eye with a careful wariness, putting on an expression of indifference, exchanging a few quick words, and leaving without expression.

Entirely unlike the person in front of him now, so vivid and alive.

“I will take good care of her,” Yan Lie said. “Will you permit me to propose to her?”

Ye Yuncheng felt a tangle of emotions he couldn’t sort through. The skin of his face quivered with the effort of holding back what was stirring inside. He pressed his lips together. His eyes grew wet. There was reluctance, and there was deep relief. He turned in a slow circle, seeing nothing in particular, thinking of many things — and after a long moment, nodded in silence.

Yan Lie drew a breath, held back the joy rising in his chest, and said with genuine sincerity: “Thank you, Uncle.”

Fang Zhuo had been watching from across the way. When she saw the faint glint of moisture cross Ye Yuncheng’s eyes, she walked quickly over.

Ye Yuncheng noticed her approach, turned away, and under the pretense of saying something to Yan’s mother, drifted to the edge of the ornamental stream.

Yan Lie smoothly drew Fang Zhuo back, and gave her an uncomplicated smile.

Fang Zhuo asked: “What were you just saying to Uncle?”

Yan Lie bent down and said softly into her ear: “Said you’re beautiful.”

Fang Zhuo slanted a look at him, reached to take the camera from him, and was outmaneuvered — Yan Lie stepped back and held it out of reach.

Yan Lie stepped back and called out to the group: “Ladies and gentlemen, is anyone hungry? What do you say we all go home for a meal? Zhuozhuo bought a lot of ingredients ahead of time — shall we make dumplings today?”

Yan’s mother was always the first to respond to any suggestion involving group activity, clapping her hands together: “Dumplings! Mom hasn’t had home-made dumplings in so long!”

Yan Lie gave a gentlemanly bow and made a gesture of invitation: “Wonderful. Let me return my gown first — Zhuozhuo, would you mind taking everyone home?”

The apartment Yan Lie had originally rented was simply and plainly furnished. The two of them hadn’t accumulated many things and had only added some basic appliances, so the rooms looked clean and bright — if anything, a little bare.

Yan Chengli peered in through the gap, took in the whole space, and felt a small sense of relief. He followed Ye Yuncheng in, changed into the new house slippers, and stepped inside at an unhurried pace.

He was still carefully looking around the living room when Yan’s mother, unhampered by any such restraint, grabbed Fang Zhuo’s arm and asked: “Can I go have a look at the inside?”

Yan Chengli tried to intervene — thinking it wasn’t right to go prying into the lives of a young couple — but Fang Zhuo had already led her off.

The bedroom had also been cleaned neatly. There was nothing private or peculiar left on the surfaces of the furniture.

Yan Chengli peered in from outside for two seconds, then wandered to the next room to look at the various books with unwieldy titles on their shelves.

Soon, Yan Lie came back, carrying a bag of fruit and several bottles of fresh milk.

Yan Chengli had only been distracted for a moment. By the time he returned to the living room, everyone was already busy.

Fang Zhuo had brought all the ingredients to the kitchen to wash and clean, then fed them into the food processor before mixing the filling together with Ye Yuncheng.

Yan’s mother sat on the sofa watching television, and in between shared the photos taken earlier with her friends in the chat.

Only Yan Chengli had nothing to do.

Wanting to be part of things, he edged over to the kitchen doorway and stood at the entrance, listening to the three of them chat.

Yan Lie asked: “Uncle, why doesn’t the spicy dipping sauce I mix taste as fragrant as yours?”

Ye Yuncheng went through the recipe again.

“Right,” Yan Lie said, “but Fang Zhuo says the flavor’s a little different.”

Ye Yuncheng smiled: “Maybe that’s just a matter of the feeling you bring to it?”

Noticing Fang Zhuo cutting scallions, Yan Lie pulled out a fresh bowl from the cabinet and said attentively: “Keep the filling separate — I’ll mix one without any scallions in it. I know Uncle doesn’t like scallion in his dumplings.”

Something felt wrong in Yan Chengli’s chest. He silently asked himself — do you know what your own father likes?

The three people inside all turned their heads and looked at him at the same time.

Yan Chengli jolted, and only then realized he had said it out loud by accident.

He was about to reach for a convenient excuse to brush past it, when Yan Lie looked at him with a puzzled expression and answered: “I do. You like lots of scallion. Water chestnuts are fine, but no corn. No corn.”

Yan Chengli froze. He hadn’t expected Yan Lie to actually know.

Yan Lie wiped his hands on a cloth and asked lightly: “And do you know what I like?”

A charged quiet settled over the air. Yan Chengli’s numbness deepened into helplessness. His gaze drifted: “Well…”

Yan Lie didn’t make it hard for him. Seeing he couldn’t answer, Yan Lie went back to what he was doing.

Yan’s mother had appeared at some point behind Yan Chengli, and gave a cold, satisfied laugh: “Serves you right.”

Yan Chengli felt the words lodged like a fishbone in his throat.

Fang Zhuo divided the filling into several portions. One bowl she seasoned according to Yan Lie’s taste, and silently placed it in front of him.

“Thank you, girlfriend,” Yan Lie said, leaning against her. “Can I eat the dumplings you wrap today?”

Fang Zhuo said nothing — she just gave him a restrained, unreadable look.

Yan Chengli couldn’t hold back any longer and stepped in to help. The narrow kitchen became very crowded.

Fortunately, everyone soon moved the operation to the living room, gathering around to wrap dumplings together.

Yan Chengli’s enthusiasm ended up scattering bits of filling and flour across the living room and kitchen floor.

But it was the most genuinely satisfying family meal Yan Lie had experienced in a long time.

He watched Yan Chengli scrambling to clean up the mess, and his mood was inexplicably light — he laughed to himself several times.

Once the family elders were seen off, the two of them set to cleaning up busily.

Fang Zhuo found two large red envelopes tucked behind the sofa cushions. She counted them — together they came to exactly ten thousand yuan. There was also a smaller envelope containing two gold rings. From the wear on them, they had been around a long time, and the color had gone nearly black — the meaning behind them, she couldn’t quite decipher.

Yan Lie told her to keep them — said it was a joy for the parents, not to be refused. Fang Zhuo put everything away in the bedside table drawer.

Once the rough cleaning was done, Fang Zhuo was dripping with sweat. She came out of the bathroom after a shower to find Yan Lie sitting at the computer, his hair still damp, concentrating intently on something.

When she came over, he beckoned to her and placed the mouse in her hand, saying: “That game I made before — I upgraded it based on your suggestions. Help me test it again.”

Fang Zhuo was mildly alarmed, thinking to herself that a game like that could actually be upgraded? That was quite something.

Yan Lie pretended not to understand her expression and pressed on her shoulders to seat her in the chair, urging her to click Start.

Fang Zhuo clicked on the red icon in the middle with mild reluctance, and once the screen loaded, looked over the instructions.

It really was different. The most obvious change was the map.

The parameters had been updated to their current apartment, and a small matchstick figure had appeared in the living room — the very same one as last time, the one who had cried his cape soaking wet and then stubbornly refused to leave: Yan somebody.

Fang Zhuo moved around the space and then steered the matchstick figure toward the front door to push it out.

Yan Lie had apparently anticipated her mischief. Halfway to the door, the figure grabbed the leg of the table and sat down on the floor, wailing pitifully.

Fang Zhuo found it delightful and kept chasing it off. Yan Lie leaned forward over her shoulder, suppressed a laugh, and asked: “What are you doing? Looking forward to watching me cry?”

Fang Zhuo said vaguely: “I’m just testing the game’s hidden plot triggers.”

Yan Lie turned his face slightly toward Fang Zhuo and murmured something into her ear. Fang Zhuo held her breath, turned around in silence, and gave him a firm shove.

Yan Lie didn’t mind at all. He laughed twice and walked away, leaving her in peace.

Fang Zhuo gave up trying to evict the matchstick figure and went looking for clues around the space. She guided the little character through a walk of the whole apartment and picked up a search-and-find quest.

The design of the daily tasks was still on the tedious side, though this time there was slightly more entertainment value — the tasks had been restructured as a quiz.

Some were academic questions, others were compatibility tests. Tucked throughout were many details relating specifically to Yan Lie.

For instance: Yan Lie has two pears, one large and one small. How would he distribute them?

Answer: both go to Fang Zhuo, because Yan Lie doesn’t like pears.

Amid all the strange and quirky questions, many of Yan Lie’s small, private thoughts were concealed — like some creature peering out from behind a wall, occasionally poking its head out, and the moment it sensed the other party taking the bait, going further and further.

Fang Zhuo progressed without obstacle, until she finally collected the final clue to the lost item. The missing object was on the matchstick figure itself.

This was the most engaged Fang Zhuo had ever been playing a game. And yet for the first time, she encountered a bug she couldn’t understand.

She walked circles around the matchstick figure, but no prompt appeared — only a simple cartoon expression jumping and bouncing above the figure’s head to signal its happiness. When she moved away, it became downcast and aggrieved.

Fang Zhuo tried several times, went back to cross-check the clues, and still got nowhere.

She set down the mouse, stood up, and went to the bedroom. Yan Lie was lying on the bed reading. Hearing movement, he looked up and smiled at her.

Fang Zhuo knew this particular smile of Yan Lie’s all too well. It generally only appeared when his motives were less than pure.

She walked over and started rummaging through his trouser pockets.

Yan Lie was wearing pajamas now — only the pants had two pockets — and both were empty. He lowered his hands and let Fang Zhuo search, adopting an air of complete helpless surrender, while still managing to get a word in: “In broad daylight — taking liberties with me.”

Fang Zhuo looked up and studied his face carefully. She finally spotted, along his neck, a silver chain half hidden by his collar, and reached in to pull it out.

When her fingers touched Yan Lie’s neck, the violent pulse beneath his skin transmitted directly through to her, and even his temperature seemed slightly higher than usual.

Fang Zhuo deliberately slowed her movements, as though suddenly becoming clumsy — made several attempts before pulling the chain free, and found two rings hanging at the bottom of it.

The person across from her went quiet, his gaze fixed steadily on her face. When she looked back, he quickly flicked his eyes elsewhere.

Fang Zhuo examined the rings, turning them over and over in her hand. Then she slipped one onto her own ring finger — and the other, in full view of Yan Lie’s escalating alarm, onto her own thumb.

Yan Lie reacted as though someone had stepped on his tail. His face, already on the verge of flushing deep red, shifted from tense to outright fury. Every part of him bristled as he said: “Fang Zhuo!”

Fang Zhuo found it funny, slanting her eyes at him. She watched his chest heaving dramatically, his eyes blown wide, practically vibrating like an over-inflated balloon about to burst — then said, with a marginally more serious expression: “All right.”

She slid the men’s ring off and put it on the still-rigid Yan Lie.

Yan Lie’s emotions had been on quite a ride, and had not fully settled. He gave a muffled huff and said in a rougher voice than usual: “Take that one off too!”

Fang Zhuo did as told, and Yan Lie quickly took it back.

His fingers trembled with a barely suppressed tremor that he couldn’t control. He closed his fist around the ring, so tightly his fingertips went white. Once he had finally slipped it onto Fang Zhuo’s finger, he let out a long exhale. Worried she might make another joke, he pressed both hands over hers and held them firm, not letting her take it off.

“Good — mine,” Yan Lie said, with a kind of fierce tenderness. “So — tomorrow for the certificate, or the day after? Strict attendance policy. No absences permitted.”

Fang Zhuo said: “You just proposed, and you’re already gritting your teeth like that?”

Yan Lie went limp and sagged forward, arms wrapping around her. His voice was low and steady: “Because I cannot accept you saying no to me.”

Fang Zhuo was quiet for a moment. Then her arms circled around his back, and she turned her head to rest against his, and said: “Neither can I.”