CS - 79

The two of them edited the photos and captions together, then pressed send simultaneously.

After refreshing their social media feeds, two nearly identical posts appeared one after another.

Cat head: My girlfriend told me to post this [/photo]

Another cat head: My boyfriend told me to post this [/photo]

Lin Zhexia liked his post.

She was just about to say, “This way, I’ll be the first person to like it.”

But as she turned her head to look at Chi Yao’s phone screen, she found that he had silently liked her post as well.

On the way back to school, her phone kept vibrating.

After getting together with Chi Yao, this was the first time they officially posted an announcement-style update on social media. Previously, neither of them had intentionally posted anything, mainly because they were so familiar with each other, and everyone who needed to know already did, so there was no need to post specifically.

Lin Zhexia opened the notifications on her social media and scrolled through the comments.

The first to comment was He Yang: [Thanks, I’m full.]

Then came childhood friends and Xu Ting’s group.

Xu Ting: [????]

Xu Ting: [Damn, is my internet too slow…?]

Tang Shuxuan: [Wow, blessings!]

...

Among a flurry of comments, there were four from parents.

Lin He: Next time, don’t take pictures. You’re not as good-looking as others; taking joint photos makes you look ugly.

Wei Ping replied to Lin He: Our daughter is also quite pretty, a perfect match of talent and beauty.

Chi Hanshan replied to Lin He: Nonsense, our Chi Yao is the ugly one, always wearing a sour face, looking unlucky.

Bai Qin replied to Chi Hanshan: Though he does look unlucky, we shouldn’t say it out loud. Let’s leave some face for our son.

Lin He replied to Bai Qin: [...]

Lin Zhexia looked at this string of comments, returned to the dormitory, and laughed in bed for a long time.

Time seemed to speed up after the winter break. The transition between seasons always felt too fast to catch. Spring passed briefly, and then a dry wind blew, followed by the first faint chirping of cicadas.

In the blink of an eye, summer arrived again.

Everyone shed their heavy coats. In this heat, the entire campus seemed to brim with vitality.

On this day after class, Lin Zhexia went to watch Chi Yao play basketball outside the court.

Chi Yao was eventually persuaded by his former roommates to join a basketball club. As for her, after much deliberation, she ended up not choosing any club.

“Forget it,” she said, troubled, to Chi Yao at the time, “I won’t join this year. Maybe next year.”

Chi Yao remained noncommittal.

She added, “Just right, I can use the extra time to study more.”

“Reasonable,” Chi Yao teased at the time, “after all, slow birds must start flying early.”

“...”

It made her feel like she was back in high school, deliberately setting herself a plan.

The basketball courts, rarely visited during the cold winter, were now packed with people again.

Boys in T-shirts or jerseys crowded onto the court.

“Brother Yao, great shot—”

Someone shouted, and the admired youth raised his hand to tug at his collar, standing under the sun. Even his hair strands were illuminated by the strong sunlight, and his light-colored eyes seemed to hold the light.

By Lin Zhexia’s side stood a bottle of water.

Her seat happened to be shaded by a tree, so it wasn’t too hot.

The first half ended quickly. Chi Yao left the court and walked toward her, bypassing others. She felt this scene was somehow familiar.

Chi Yao squatted down in front of her, his hair damp with sweat. He naturally reached out to grab the bottle of water beside her.

Lin Zhexia tilted her head, staring at his moving Adam’s apple as he drank. Suddenly, she said, “It feels like I used to bring you water before.”

“You had such a bad temper back then,” she recalled high school and couldn’t help but complain, “You even said you were allergic to others’ water and got talked about in posts.”

Chi Yao never browsed forums.

The central figure of such topics didn’t care about the “topics” themselves.

He asked, “What did they say about me?”

Lin Zhexia remembered vividly: “They cursed you, saying you didn’t deserve water.”

“...”

She added, “But you were a bit excessive back then.”

Chi Yao screwed the cap back on and retorted, “I was excessive?”

“Wasn’t it excessive?”

The second half was about to begin.

Someone called Chi Yao’s name from the center of the court.

As he stood up, Chi Yao tossed the mineral water bottle back into her arms: “I only want to drink water given by the person I like. What’s excessive about that?”

Lin Zhexia instinctively caught the water bottle with both hands, hugging it to her chest.

Then, dumbfounded, she waited until he re-entered the court to process his words.

She remembered that he had already liked her back then.

So... he just wanted to drink water brought by her, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask or knew how to make the request.

His “liking” for her had always been hidden in countless details she had overlooked.

Summer temperatures continued to rise, and the cicadas grew louder.

Nearly a year into college, most people had fully adapted to campus life, free from parental and teacher supervision, living and studying at Lian University.

Free from constraints, everyone entered a phase where they could freely date, and many successfully became couples during this period.

The second person in Lin Zhexia’s dorm to get into a relationship was Lan Xiaoxue.

She was naturally outgoing, often coming and going like the wind, acting on whims. A few months after joining the skateboarding club, she came back to the dorm shouting, “Friends, I have news for you—I’ve got a boyfriend!”

Lin Zhexia casually asked, “Who?”

Lan Xiaoxue: “The president of the skateboarding club. You’ve all met him before.”

“Your taste in aesthetics, I really have nothing to say about it,” Qin Lei pulled back the curtain and poked her head out, “I just hope he’s a good guy. After all, if he hurts you later, even if we all team up, we won’t stand a chance against him.”

Lan Xiaoxue waved her hand: “He’s not that kind of person.”

Qin Lei: “I hope he really isn’t that kind of person.”

As it turned out, Lan Xiaoxue’s romance was different from what everyone had imagined.

Two months later, she announced their breakup: “Friends, let me tell you another piece of news—I’m single again.”

“...”

Lin Zhexia sat at her desk, lifting her head from a pile of coursework and asked, “The reason?”

Lan Xiaoxue sighed: “Love faded too quickly.”

“...”

Qin Lei: “Please speak plainly.”

“Cooling-off period,” Lan Xiaoxue said. “I found it boring, so we broke up.”

Lin Zhexia put down her pen: “Cooling-off period?”

The term “cooling-off period” was unfamiliar to her.

She and Chi Yao had been dating for such a long time, and she had never considered this issue.

Lin Zhexia calculated the time and said, “But you two have only been... together for two months.”

Lan Xiaoxue showed no signs of heartbreak; instead, she felt relieved and lay down on the bed: “Two months is already very long! A whole two months, sixty days, enough for all the hormones between us to dissipate completely.”

“...”

Lan Xiaoxue didn’t think there was anything wrong with this: “Isn’t this normal? When two people first meet, they always have a lot to say, everything feels fresh. Even asking what takeout the other person plans to order can lead to lively conversations. But over time, as the novelty fades and they enter the cooling-off period, there aren’t as many things to talk about anymore.”

“Probably since last week, our chats on WeChat have significantly decreased,” Lan Xiaoxue recalled. “I tried hard to find topics, but then I realized that apart from skateboarding, we don’t have much else in common. Even when we skateboard together, club activities aren’t held every day, so there’s a lot of free time outside of those activities. I found it boring and decided to break up.”

“He didn’t try to stop me much either. It was mutual understanding, so we split.”

Lin Zhexia made an “oh” sound, then couldn’t help but wonder before sleeping that night if she and Chi Yao would ever experience a cooling-off period.

She and Chi Yao had been together for such a long time, and they were extremely familiar with each other.

Would he ever feel “bored” at some point?

...

Lost in thought, Lin Zhexia fell asleep.

The next day was the weekend, and she went to Chi Yao’s place.

“Do you want to go out?” Chi Yao asked her.

Lin Zhexia shook her head: “It’s too hot. It’s already difficult for me to get here.”

After discussing, they decided to watch a movie at home.

She picked a highly-rated old movie she hadn’t seen before and turned off the living room lights.

The air conditioning was set very cold, and she had a blanket covering her legs.

Just as the movie began, following the dim light cast by the TV, Chi Yao habitually reached for her hand.

He leaned back slightly, seemingly watching the movie, but his hands didn’t stop moving. He played with her fingers, sometimes tightening his grip, sometimes loosening it to pinch her knuckles. Compared to the movie, her hand seemed more interesting to him.

After playing for a while, he lowered his head to look at the hand resting in his palm.

Lin Zhexia didn’t have the habit of painting her nails.

Her nails were clean, neatly trimmed, round and smooth. Her fingers were slender and even felt soft when pinched.

While Lin Zhexia watched the movie, thoughts of what Lan Xiaoxue said last night came to mind. With a sense of trial she herself couldn’t quite understand, she subtly pulled her hand away.

After a while, Chi Yao grabbed her hand again.

She pulled it back once more.

This time, after reaching out, he held her hand even tighter.

Lin Zhexia struggled a bit. When she tried to pull it away again, she couldn’t manage to do so.

She looked up at Chi Yao and found that he had been looking at her all along.

With the living room lights off and curtains drawn, it was very dark, making his gaze appear deep.

After a while, he finally spoke: “Do you have ADHD?”

“...”

“No.”

She confessed: “I heard that couples who have been together for a long time will experience a cooling-off period. I wanted to see if you’ve cooled off toward me.”

Rather than wanting to see, she was afraid that Chi Yao might also experience a cooling-off period towards her.

Chi Yao averted his eyes: “I retract my previous statement—you don’t have ADHD.”

Lin Zhexia nodded, thinking, “Of course I don’t have ADHD.”

Immediately after,

Chi Yao’s next words were: “You’re the one with a problem in your head.”

...

Even worse than having ADHD.

Chi Yao genuinely wanted to pry open her head and see what was inside.

Lin Zhexia also thought her previous attempt at testing was foolish. She wanted to pretend nothing happened and skip the topic, so she pointed at the TV: “The protagonist is fighting someone now. This part is important. I think we shouldn’t miss it.”

But as soon as she finished speaking,

A “click” sound.

Chi Yao directly turned off the TV.

After the TV was off, the entire living room became darker. In the dim light, an invisible pressure surged through the air.

Chi Yao held her hand, moved downward, stopped at a certain spot, and locked his gaze on her: “If you really wanted to see if I’ve cooled off.”

Lin Zhexia’s hand suddenly became very hot. She wanted to pull it back but couldn’t move at all.

Unlike winter, summer clothes were thin. The light fabric couldn’t cover the heat underneath, making the sensation on her palms even more pronounced. No matter how low the air conditioning temperature was set, the heat from their bodies kept rising.

“Let’s test if it’s cool or not.”

Lin Zhexia tried to shift to the side and whispered, “...I don’t want to test anymore.”

“...”

No matter how much she insisted she didn’t want to “test,” she was still pinned down on the sofa for a “test.”

Her last memory of that day was Chi Yao stopping at a critical moment and asking her in her ear: “Am I being cool?”

Not cold.

Not at all.

Lin Zhexia’s eyes reddened at the corners, and her hand weakly rested on his shoulder. All she could do was whimper, unable to form words.

Afterward, Chi Yao pulled her into his arms. Beneath the sofa were crumpled tissues, and the air was filled with their intertwined scents. He didn’t touch her further but instead lowered his head to kiss her hair and asked, “Why would you think I might become cool towards you?”

“Because,” her voice was still a bit hoarse, “we’ve known each other for a long time and have been together for a long time...”

“People say that many couples will experience a cooling-off period after being together. So I’m afraid that one day, you might also feel that being with me isn’t as exciting as it was at the beginning, and maybe starting from some day, you’ll find it boring.”

Chi Yao didn’t answer directly but instead asked her: “How long have we known each other?”

Lin Zhexia counted, starting from when she was seven years old.

“Twelve years.”

They had known each other for twelve years.

Exactly twelve years.

“For these twelve years, I’ve never found being with you boring. So even if another twelve years pass,” Chi Yao’s voice came from above her head, “and another twelve years after that, I still won’t find it boring.”

“Perhaps in the future, I might start to find many things in this world gradually becoming uninteresting—but except for you, you will never be uninteresting.”

Lin Zhexia blankly looked up at Chi Yao.

She had forgotten.

They were different from everyone else.

When she was little, she used to watch cartoons that she no longer watches now. She was once addicted to a mobile game and begged Chi Yao to sign in for her. Unknowingly, she abandoned the game and never logged into that account again.

There was a dessert shop near the entrance of their neighborhood. Back then, she loved eating the taro bread inside and thought she would never get tired of it. After dragging Chi Yao to eat it for seven consecutive days, she announced she never wanted to see taro again in her life.

She also remembered that Chi Yao used to love playing Rubik’s cubes when he was little, but he hasn’t touched them since.

For a while, he was particularly fond of modifying things, but his enthusiasm lasted less than three months.

…

And countless other similar small events.

Throughout their growing process, indeed, they gradually found many things “uninteresting.”

Except, of course, for each other.

As Chi Yao said, they had already walked through such a long journey. Even if they had another twelve years ahead, there would never be a day when they would grow distant.