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In the distance, dark clouds brewed a low rumble of thunder. Soon after, the sound of drizzling rain reached her ears. Seven years later, City A hadn’t changed much—it still entered its long rainy season every spring.
“So, have you encountered any difficulties during the teaching process?”
At 29, Yin Mengxi sat in the newly renovated Little Red Roof Theater, interviewing the same person with a posture not too different from over a decade ago. The only change was in her tone—more formal and detached, no longer hesitant, shy, or overly cautious as she had been back then.
“Mainly communication issues,” he had changed even less, his phrasing still gentle and deliberate, though his gaze on her was deeper than when she was a freshman. “Every student has unique circumstances and qualities. If a teacher fails to correctly understand them, it might affect their development.”
“Could you elaborate further?” she asked flatly.
“For example, not all students enjoy academic pursuits,” he continued to look at her, his gaze never wavering for a moment. “University education should be richer and more diverse. Its goal isn’t to turn everyone into scholars but to allow each person to freely choose the life they want.”
She subtly tightened her grip on the script in her hand outside the camera’s view, perhaps vaguely understanding the subtext of his words. But she didn’t respond, letting him continue: “A few years ago, I didn’t understand this principle and made some mistakes. If it were now, I’d probably handle things better and avoid hurting others.”
Creak.
The newly repaired floor emitted a faint noise.
She froze for a moment, flashes of old memories racing through her mind—same location, same people. Together, they had tidied up messy props on the half-worn stage, their eyes meeting and kindling something ambiguous, only for it to end abruptly with a similar creak of the floorboards.
—Why dwell on these thoughts?
They were meaningless remnants of the past.
She pursed her lips, regaining her composure and returning to her cold demeanor, continuing to read from the script mechanically: “So, do you have any regrets? For instance, have you ever considered life choices outside academia?”
“No, I haven’t considered other paths,” he replied. “Academia might be my comfort zone—I’m used to its rhythm, and I genuinely enjoy it. The content itself is captivating, and the value of its results is just an added bonus. Being able to turn one’s passion into a career is incredibly fortunate.”
“But there are things I regret…”
Here, he paused momentarily. Through the camera lens, his deep eyes took on a richer hue, like ripples forming on a lake stirred by the wind, spreading calm yet profound echoes through the winding corridors of time.
“…There was one semester when I shouldn’t have given a girl a C.”
Creak.
Was it the floor again? Or had she tightened her grip on the script even more?
Outside, the rain continued to fall, bringing with it a faint haze and dampness. Weeds thrived in such weather, growing knee-high in her heart within mere minutes. Her vision blurred slightly, as if a curtain of rain separated them. The once youthful man before her had matured into a more seasoned figure, seemingly trying to invade her life anew, stirring her small world into chaos once more.
—What was he saying?
Regretting giving her a C…
…Was he fundamentally regretting not salvaging that fragile, flawed first love?
She didn’t understand, and neither did Wei Chi and Yao Ankai observing behind the camera. Yet, everyone could feel the subtle shift in the atmosphere. His eyes seemed to see only her, everything else fading into the background.
And her?
For some reason, she recalled their past farewell amid this reunion. The 15 minutes before handing in her exam paper replayed endlessly in her mind. She was a helpless audience member without the power to change channels, forced to endure the same scene repeatedly.
Regret…
That fragile first love… what was there to salvage?
Her eyes were already red, her fingers trembling slightly. Even after so many years without contact, he still managed to stir her emotions so easily—and now, he was still gazing at her, as if determined to force tears from her eyes, to make her crumble before him once more.
Dream on.
I won’t let you succeed.
A strange stubbornness quietly flared up. She wasn’t as soft and vulnerable as she had been in college, especially when sparring with him. Perhaps subconsciously, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, so she simply pretended not to understand his words, her expression stiffening further, like an unfeeling clay figurine.
Braving another hour of interviews, the grueling fieldwork finally ended.
As soon as the cameras turned off, she stood up from her chair, abandoning all professionalism. She didn’t even bother to exchange polite farewells with the interviewee, instead instructing Yao Ankai briefly on wrapping things up before turning to leave the nostalgia-laden Little Red Roof.
Walking out of the theater’s main entrance, her emotions were complex. She both hoped he wouldn’t come after her and shamefully anticipated some unexpected twist. When footsteps sounded behind her, her tangled emotions doubled. It was him, finding her. His cool hand directly grasped her wrist without asking permission, trapping her in the corner of the corridor. His talent seemed to make even dominance appear gentle—an incredible feat.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Amidst the fine patter of raindrops hitting the glass, she looked up at him. The gloomy sky deepened the contours of the man before her. His hand still firmly held hers, their bodies less than five centimeters apart, their breaths almost intertwining.
“Until when do you plan to keep avoiding me…”
He sounded like he was about to surrender, though he looked down at her from above, his tone pleading.
“…Do you really have nothing to say to me?”
She had grown far stronger than before. How could she have endured hearing him speak like this in the past? A smile from him would’ve drawn her to him through wind and rain, her eyes sparkling like stars scattered across the sky. Now, she could suppress the tremors in her heart, encasing herself in a shell of dry mud, dulling sensations of heat or cold.
“Didn’t we run out of things to say long ago?”
She countered him, her expression still cold, though her voice quivered slightly at the end of the sentence.
“…You thought I was a stranger back then. Now, I’m even less like who I was. What’s left to say?”
…What words.
Were they sarcasm or accusation?
Was she rejecting him?
Or was she revisiting grievances from the past, using this method to provoke him into comforting her?
…How frustrating.
“But I have…”
He moved closer, just a breath away from kissing her. The tall man’s broad, steady chest tempted her, urging her to indulge her desires and honestly lean against him once more.
“…I have so much I want to say to you.”
No matter how beautiful the rainy season was, it couldn’t surpass the allure of his clear eyes. The once-clear lake seemed to have aged into a mellow wine, intoxicating with a hundredfold fragrance. Her grievances swelled further, and the more kindness he showed her, the sadder she felt. At this moment, she couldn’t help but bare her fangs again, presenting her hardened, disagreeable self to him.
“Does it matter?”
“Can it change anything?”
“We’ve been apart for seven years… Do we even know each other anymore?”
“Who are your words meant for? The Yin Mengxi from seven years ago? Or the one from freshman year?”
“I’ve become worse—greedier, more stubborn, and less willing to work hard than before.”
“I’m utterly rotten. Are you sure you want to talk to someone like me?”
Forceful.
Belligerent.
She appeared hysterical, yet her eyes quietly reddened once more.
He tightened his grip on her, his palm burning hot, just as it had been during their first kiss in the movie theater. His gaze remained piercing, seeing right through her with even greater intensity than before.
“To you,” he answered, as if the previous interview were still ongoing, still committed to every response he gave. “Anytime, any version of you.”
“You’ve never been anything but perfect…”
“…The one who always made mistakes was me.”
Liar.
Big liar.
She was nearly overwhelmed by indescribable emotions, wanting to cry and throw a tantrum all at once. The thick shell of dry mud around her heart suddenly cracked open, and all sensations of heat and cold became tenfold clearer in an instant.
“But I don’t want to hear you.”
She persisted in her excessive stubbornness, even with reddened eyes, putting on a fierce demeanor to show him her iron will, leaving no room for doubt about her determination.
“I don’t want to recall the past.”
“I don’t want to waste effort untangling an unsolvable knot.”
“I don’t want to see you again or get entangled with you anymore.”
“You go ahead and pursue your academics, find your childhood sweetheart, and live the life you want.”
“I’ll do the same—earn my money, produce my shows, and live the life I want.”
“After seven years apart, if there were things left unsaid, they probably weren’t necessary to begin with. So why waste each other’s time? Let’s continue walking our separate paths.”
…Such awkward words.
The first few lines sounded reasonable, but the later ones grew increasingly passive-aggressive. Is this what real decisiveness looks like? It sounded as though she resented him for not coming sooner, for allowing everything from seven years ago to happen.
He wanted to explain, to tell her what he’d intended to say back then, but she struggled, trying to wrench her hand free. Rarely did he not yield to her will, but this time, his firmness overpowered gentleness. His other hand touched her shoulder, just a step away from pulling her tightly into his embrace.
Ring-ring—ring-ring—ring-ring—
But her phone rang—a WeChat voice call. Without checking who it was, she seized the opportunity during his moment of hesitation to escape his grasp. In that moment, whether she felt relief or loss, her emotions remained tangled, unreadable even to herself.
Turning quickly, she walked briskly toward the exit of the Little Red Roof. Coincidentally, Wei Chi and Xiao Yao emerged from the theater with their equipment. He had no chance to call out to her again. As expected, their separation unfolded once more, the world shrouded in an endless rainy season, its beginning and end impossible to discern.
Stop raining.
…Spring is almost over.
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