DXXZL - 42

Jiang Tu seemed to have lost touch with everyone. Aside from Lin Jiayu, who occasionally managed to contact him, no one else could reach him. He was busy attending classes, working part-time to earn money, and rejecting the girls who pursued him.

He couldn’t quite understand why some girls liked him—or rather, what exactly they liked about him. He had nothing to offer.

“Jiang Tu, the department beauty called again.”

In late November, Jiang Tu walked into the dormitory against the biting cold wind. Yuan Yang pointed to the landline phone by the window. The receiver was still off the hook, and the call was still connected. Jiang Tu frowned, walked over, and hung up the phone. Yuan Yang and Du Yunfei stared at him in disbelief.

Yuan Yang cleared his throat: “The department beauty is really pretty, you know. She’s so enthusiastic about pursuing you. Why don’t you give her a chance?”

Jiang Tu countered: “Is she really that pretty?”

Du Yunfei widened his eyes: “How can you say she’s not?!”

Jiang Tu fell silent and didn’t continue the conversation.

The department beauty was a bold and passionate girl who paid no mind to Jiang Tu’s cold demeanor. She persisted relentlessly, almost shamelessly.

On January 19, 2010, Jiang Tu’s 20th birthday, the department beauty once again cornered him at the entrance of the dormitory building, holding a gift. Jiang Tu refused it and tried to walk past her toward the dormitory door. She quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his way, and repeated the same question: “You don’t have a girlfriend, so why won’t you give me a chance?”

Jiang Tu was growing increasingly irritated. He gave her a cold glare and sneered: “If you’re with me, there will be hardly any dates. I won’t accompany you shopping or dining or having fun. I probably can’t even afford a decent gift. And if we ever go to a hotel room, you’ll likely have to pay for it.”

The department beauty froze, her expression stiffening.

This exchange was overheard by passersby and somehow spread around. Soon, everyone knew that Jiang Tu was an impoverished student who couldn’t even afford to rent a room with a girlfriend. Yuan Yang looked at Jiang Tu in shock and sighed: “Are you planning to become a monk? I bet you’ll stay single all four years of college.”

Jiang Tu shrugged indifferently: “Sure, I’ll bet on you winning that wager.”

Sometimes, the power of rumors can be terrifying. What started as “Jiang Tu is so poor he can’t even afford to rent a room with his girlfriend” eventually morphed into “Jiang Tu is so poor that when he rents a room with his girlfriend, she has to pay for it.”

Zhu Xingyao heard this rumor from Li Xixi.

Li Xixi: “Did you know? Brother Tu has a girlfriend now.”

Li Xixi: “You definitely didn’t expect this—he’s not only dating, but they’ve already hit third base! Men really are creatures driven by their lower halves, huh? Oh, and the kicker? The girl even paid for the room!”

Li Xixi: “Wait, hold on… Didn’t his family get compensation from the demolition? After paying off the high-interest loan, they should still have had some money left. So why is he like this? Did failing the college entrance exam hit him so hard that he’s spiraling into debauchery?”

At the time, Zhu Xingyao was on a plane, returning home for the Spring Festival.

After landing and turning on her phone, over a dozen messages from Li Xixi popped up.

The last one read: “Actually, back when Jiang Tu beat up Zhang Sheng for your sake, I kind of thought he might like you. I just never told you because I didn’t want you to overthink it. Anyway, now that he has a girlfriend and you’re with Lu Ji, it doesn’t matter anymore. Just thought I’d mention it.”

Jiang Tu had a girlfriend?

Zhu Xingyao sat in the car, staring blankly at the messages.

So, it wasn’t just her imagination? Perhaps she had grown a little older, or perhaps stepping away from that environment had made her memories clearer. Reflecting on it now, she sometimes felt that he might have liked her—a faint, elusive affection that was hard to pin down.

As the car passed familiar streets, she straightened up and gazed out the window.

Lao Liu, sitting in the front seat, said: “This is Hexi Lane. It’s been completely demolished. Do you still recognize it?”

Zhu Xingyao looked at the vast expanse of flattened ruins, where bulldozers were parked and surrounded by isolation fences. A wave of sadness washed over her. There would be no more Hexi Lane—forever. She had never even gone inside to take a proper look, and now it was gone. Everyone had scattered far and wide, and the city she once knew was becoming unrecognizable due to the passage of time and progress.

She had lost all contact with Jiang Tu.

That evening, while still in Beijing, Lu Ji called Zhu Xingyao. She was sorting through old belongings, squatting in front of her wardrobe. She found the more than eighty love letters hidden inside and sat on the carpet, murmuring: “Lu Ji, I just found the letters you wrote me back then. I never counted them before, but I just did—there are eighty-seven! Actually, after graduation, I got used to receiving a letter every Friday, and now it feels strange not to.”

Lu Ji was silent for a few seconds before letting out a soft laugh.

Zhu Xingyao pouted: “What are you laughing at?”

Lu Ji’s voice sounded distant: “Nothing. I’m just happy you’re back.”

What he was really thinking was: How much did Jiang Tu like Zhu Xingyao? What actions had he taken that made her misunderstand their relationship? And how had those actions pushed her step by step into his arms? He also wondered: Had Zhu Xingyao always liked Jiang Tu deep down?

After hanging up, Lu Ji walked in from the balcony and picked up a cigarette belonging to Xu Xiangyang.

Xu Xiangyang was playing a game with Li Xixi. He looked up and asked: “I thought you didn’t smoke?”

“Just trying it,” Lu Ji replied. He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. Smoking came naturally to men; he took a deep drag, feeling a bit choked. He exhaled a puff of smoke, but the frustration and helplessness in his heart remained unchanged.

In Zhu Xingyao’s understanding, relationships were supposed to be simple and pure. But the relationship she was currently experiencing was neither. She didn’t know how to describe her feelings toward Lu Ji. There always seemed to be a veil between them. Sometimes she sensed that he was unhappy, but his emotions shifted so quickly that she wondered if it was just her imagination.

During the National Day holiday in 2010, Zhu Xingyao flew back to Beijing from Germany to participate in a concert at the National Center for the Performing Arts with Chen Lan’s orchestra. It was her first time performing on stage at the venue. The day after the concert ended, Lu Ji took her out to dinner with his classmates. Xu Xiangyang was in the same class as Lu Ji, and Li Xixi, who was also studying in Beijing, had long been familiar with their group. She had already spilled the beans about Lu Ji and Zhu Xingyao being together since high school.

Of course, everyone also knew about Lu Ji’s grand gesture of creating a starlit installation to confess his feelings.

In the KTV private room, Zhu Xingyao was pulled into a game of Truth or Dare. She lost and opted for Truth, assuming that everyone would be friendly and wouldn’t ask anything too embarrassing.

One of Lu Ji’s roommates smirked mischievously: “Where did your first kiss with our god-like Lu Ji happen?”

Not even Li Xixi knew the answer to this question.

Zhu Xingyao blushed deeply, glanced at Lu Ji, and whispered: “In the hospital.”

Everyone cheered, asking for details. But Lu Ji’s expression faltered. He looked at Zhu Xingyao—their first kiss hadn’t happened in the hospital. Lu Ji lowered his gaze, picked up a beer, and took a long swig. He chuckled bitterly, suddenly feeling pathetic. Even though Jiang Tu had disappeared from Zhu Xingyao’s life, the traces he left behind kept surfacing—love letters, the first kiss, the starlit installation. What else was there?

As Lu Ji replayed everything in his mind, he realized with growing bitterness that he might have been dating Zhu Xingyao on Jiang Tu’s behalf. It was suffocating, frustrating, and utterly unfair.

One night in early December, after drinking too much, Lu Ji called Zhu Xingyao. His voice was low as he asked: “Zhu Xingyao, if I told you that the starlit installation wasn’t mine, would you still have agreed to be with me back then?”

Zhu Xingyao was stunned: “It wasn’t yours?”

He let out a self-deprecating laugh: “Let me tell you a little secret—I’m kind of afraid of heights.”

The trees in that grove were tall and dense. If Lu Ji was afraid of heights, how could he possibly have hung thousands of stars there? He was telling her that he couldn’t have done it. Zhu Xingyao’s mind suddenly became a tangled mess. She stuttered: “Th-then… who did it?”

Lu Ji was silent for a long time before softly asking: “Who do you think it was?”

“I…”

The face that flashed in Zhu Xingyao’s mind was Jiang Tu’s calm, stoic expression. More than two years had passed since she turned 17. She didn’t know how to describe the emotions surging within her at that moment. All she could do was tremble uncontrollably: “Then why didn’t you tell me before?”

“You can think of it as me being selfish.” Lu Ji had pursued Zhu Xingyao for three years, and he genuinely liked her. He had his own pride, and he wasn’t about to explain every single mess Jiang Tu had left behind. In a low voice, he said: “Zhu Xingyao, think carefully—do you really like me?”

The next evening, while practicing with Jiang Mi, Zhu Xingyao was distracted. Jiang Mi came over and pinched her cheek: “Oh, my little star, what’s got you so lost in thought?”

Zhu Xingyao didn’t know how to explain. She felt like a bad person. She couldn’t understand why every time she thought of Jiang Tu, her heart ached so much that she wanted to cry. But what about Lu Ji? If the eighty-seven love letters and their first kiss represented the budding of young love, then the starlit installation was the most direct act of madness. She couldn’t picture Jiang Tu’s expression or emotions while making those stars. Just thinking about it made her feel sad. He must have known that the entire school misunderstood him, yet he never once clarified the truth. Even when she ended up with Lu Ji because of it, he still stayed silent. What could he have been feeling at the time?

Jiang Mi thought for a moment and said: “I think women might always remember the men who made them cry, but not necessarily the ones who made them laugh. After all, happiness is far more common than pain in life. There are plenty of people who can make you happy, but the man who makes your heart ache so much that you want to cry—there might only be one of him.”

…

December 11, 2010. That night, after returning to the dormitory, Jiang Tu turned on his computer and logged into an old QQ account he hadn’t used in a long time. He saw a message from Zhu Xingyao sent over ten days ago.

Star in the Distant Sky: “Brother Tu, was that starlit installation a gift from you?”

Jiang Tu froze, staring intently at the computer screen. He didn’t know why she suddenly asked this question. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting several times before he finally closed the chat window and logged out of QQ.

Even if he admitted it was his doing, what difference would it make?

He still couldn’t do anything about it. Why should he trouble her with unnecessary worries?

Before the Spring Festival of 2011, Zhu Xingyao broke up with Lu Ji, bringing an end to their hazy and passive first love. That Spring Festival, Zhu Xingyao met with Li Xixi and Lin Jiayu. Jiang Tu hadn’t returned to Jiangcheng. Li Xixi asked: “Didn’t he go to his girlfriend’s house?”

Lin Jiayu froze, then shook her head furiously: “What girlfriend?! Those rumors were all fake! Jiang Tu absolutely, positively cannot have a girlfriend. With his personality, if he had one, I’d have ten boyfriends by now!”

Zhu Xingyao held her warm drink in her hands, head bowed, silent.

In the spring of 2011, encouraged by her roommates, Li Xixi signed up for the XX Female Voice competition. Unexpectedly, she advanced all the way to the finals.

The previous year, Zhu Xingyao had won first prize in cello at the ARD International Music Competition in Munich and toured with Chen Lan’s orchestra. Coupled with her striking beauty, every public appearance left a deep impression on the media, gradually increasing her fame.

When Li Xixi reached the finals, Zhu Xingyao took the stage to support her.

On June 11, 2011, Jiang Tu received a QQ message from Zhu Xingyao.

Star in the Distant Sky: “Brother Tu, Xixi is participating in the XX Female Voice competition. If you have time, could you help vote for her?”

In H University’s male dormitory, Jiang Tu sat in front of his computer, staring at the chat box. He recalled the summer vacation during their first year of high school when Zhu Xingyao and Li Xixi accidentally wandered into a male singing competition. A faint smile crossed his lips. He didn’t reply to Zhu Xingyao, but he went online to check the voting process. Then, turning to Yuan Yang, he said: “I sent you a link. Could you help vote for my classmate?”

Yuan Yang opened the link, finding it odd. Since when did Jiang Tu start campaigning for votes?

The next day, Jiang Tu added: “Keep voting for her in the future, and I’ll treat you guys to late-night snacks.”

Yuan Yang asked: “Do you need help gathering votes?”

Jiang Tu paused, then said: “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Over the past two years, Jiang Tu had helped everyone out quite a bit. His academic performance was excellent, and whenever someone sought his advice, he patiently explained things. When working part-time outside, he often brought things back for others. It was rare for him to ask for help, so Yuan Yang and Du Yunfei mobilized all their connections to help Li Xixi gather votes.

Li Xixi made it to the national finals.

In September, on the night of the live final broadcast, Yuan Yang opened the live stream on his computer. Everyone except Jiang Tu gathered around to watch. After all, they had contributed many votes and considered themselves “fans.” They ordered barbecue takeout and beer, eating and watching together.

Jiang Tu leaned against the balcony door, holding a can of beer, gazing absently at the starry sky outside. He wondered what Zhu Xingyao was doing at that moment. Suddenly, a voice came from behind—Lao Yuan (as they called Yuan Yang) shouted: “Hey, hey! That girl playing the cello is so beautiful!”

Jiang Tu abruptly turned his head toward the computer screen.

The live camera had already moved on, and he couldn’t see clearly.

He walked over and stood behind Lao Yuan, staring intently at the computer screen. Li Xixi was singing “The Brightest Star in the Night Sky,” a song released by Escape Plan in April of that year. The camera briefly panned to the cellist.

The girl—no, she was already twenty years old, slightly more mature than in high school. She wore a custom black gown and still had the star pendant necklace around her neck. Her collarbones were elegant and prominent, her presence radiant. She looked even more dazzling than she had at seventeen.

Li Xixi still had short hair and was slim. She moved around the stage, coming close to Zhu Xingyao as she sang passionately:

Oh, brightest star in the night sky

Can you remember

The figure that disappeared with me in the wind

I pray for a transparent heart

And eyes that can shed tears

Give me the courage to believe again

Oh, cross the lies to embrace you

...

Jiang Tu stared at the computer screen, swallowing hard. The cigarette in his hand burned down to the filter, scorching his fingers before he snapped out of his daze.

Du Yunfei pointed at the computer: “Hey, who’s this girl? She’s prettier than a lot of celebrities. I’ll look her up on Baidu. From today on, she’s my goddess.”

Lao Yuan burst out laughing and turned to ask Jiang Tu: “Isn’t she pretty?”

If the department beauty wasn’t pretty enough, surely this one was?

It was just a joke, and Lao Yuan didn’t expect Jiang Tu to respond. But Jiang Tu murmured softly: “She’s beautiful.”

At that moment, Lin Jiayu was also watching the live broadcast. She saw the song Li Xixi sang and Zhu Xingyao suddenly appearing on television. Her eyes reddened. She didn’t know if Jiang Tu was watching.

If he saw it, how would he feel?

Jiang Tu had done so much, created so many lies for Zhu Xingyao. Anyone in his place would find it hard to forget, and hard to let go without resentment.

Standing on the balcony, Jiang Tu tilted his head back and took a swig of cold beer. He was twenty-one now, a young man with sharper, colder features. His phone rang—it was Lin Jiayu. As soon as he answered, her voice, tinged with a nasal tone, asked: “I just saw Zhu Xingyao on TV.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips: “Mm, I saw her too.”

Lin Jiayu suddenly didn’t know what to say. She sighed.

A few days later, Lin Jiayu registered a pen name on the Jinjiang Literature City website. She began writing a fragmented, true story of unrequited love, titled Waiting for Stars . The book didn’t gain much popularity, but a trickle of readers slowly came.

In 2012, Zhu Xingyao stopped sending messages to Jiang Tu. That year, she held two solo concerts and collaborated with renowned symphony orchestras. Some hailed her as a rising star in the cello world.

Whenever Jiang Tu searched for “Zhu Xingyao” online, a flood of information about her appeared.

On January 1, 2013, Hexi Gymnasium opened to the public. Built on the site of the demolished Hexi Lane, it was the largest gymnasium in the province. In early February, the afternoon after Zhu Xingyao returned to China, she wrapped a thick scarf around her neck, half her face hidden, and had Lao Liu drive her to the gymnasium.

Zhu Xingyao stood outside, gazing at the magnificent building. There was no trace of Hexi Lane left. She couldn’t remember the way and wandered aimlessly. Standing at the edge of a row of shops, she spotted a vaguely familiar man in the distance. A woman stood in front of him, and they seemed to be arguing. Suddenly, the woman burst into tears.

The man turned out to be Chen Yi.

He roughly grabbed the woman and dragged her away.

Zhu Xingyao breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to run into Chen Yi. She continued walking and turned to see a duck blood vermicelli shop. The sign looked familiar—it was the old sign from Hexi Lane. Delighted, she walked in.

“Chen Yi has become such a bastard over the years. Even with his girlfriend, he’s so rough. I don’t know what girls see in him.”

“When has he ever been decent? Thinking back, the most infuriating thing was the incident during the 2009 college entrance exam. To this day, I still feel sorry for Jiang Tu. Chen Yi pinned him down and wouldn’t let him leave, beating him until he was injured and missed the exam. If it weren’t for that accident, he might have been the provincial top scorer that year. Instead, he ended up at H University.”

“I remember that too. I even saw the police car speeding to take him to the exam. Gambling ruins lives. Don’t ever touch it. Look at the residents of Hexi Lane—except for the Jiang family, everyone else got new houses and lived comfortably with the demolition money.”

Zhu Xingyao froze at the entrance, her mind buzzing as if suffering from sudden tinnitus. She only vaguely caught a few key phrases—Jiang Tu’s college entrance exam mishap wasn’t due to a car accident; he was forced by Chen Yi. His injuries weren’t from a car accident—they were inflicted by violence. He didn’t receive any demolition compensation. Their house had been mortgaged, leaving him burdened with debt...

The uncle sitting by the door looked at Zhu Xingyao in shock.

“Hey, little girl, why are you crying?”