Tongjiang. She was going to be a middle school teacher.
I didn’t know exactly what had happened between Ah Song and Wen Lingyu, but when she said this, I wasn’t surprised.
She appeared delicate, but inside, she seemed far stronger and more decisive than I had imagined.
At that moment, I felt inadequate compared to her.
She knew clearly what she wanted, and she could act on it.
Wen Lingyu met Xu Zirong’s puzzled gaze and smiled, her warmth like spring wind melting frost. “What’s that look? I found a job, shouldn’t you be happy for me?”
Xu Zirong looked away and rubbed his nose. “I am happy for you, of course. But… isn’t it wasting your talent? Tongjiang is a remote county. I remember you once said you wanted to go to a major city or stay in Yancheng to develop your career. How did it suddenly become Tongjiang? With your school’s reputation and your achievements, it’s really a pity.”
When he said “Tongjiang,” his brow instinctively furrowed—an expression of concealed pain.
After everything we’d gone through, Tongjiang had taken on different meanings for the four of us.
Wen Lingyu smiled faintly, a touch of self-mockery in her tone. “Waste of talent? I did want a big city before, but now I don’t. Isn’t that what they say: ‘Plans can’t keep up with changes’? If every step is exactly as planned, life would be boring. I think Tongjiang is great. This decision came after a lot of thought.”
Her soft-spoken words sent a shiver through me. A sudden clarity washed over my limbs and chest.
If every step is planned, if everything happens exactly as expected, life would be too dull. Life always needs a variable. Without it, the long years become stagnant water—no matter how strong the wind, no ripple arises.
And Shen Jianqing had been that variable in my life. He had stormed in uninvited, broken through my defenses, and boldly carved into my heart.
Like a parasite.
I suddenly realized the root of my pain. It wasn’t just about love, or letting go, or being together or apart.
The key was this: when the variable came, when I should have changed, when I was closest to a new life, I clung to my old routine, unwilling to deviate. I feared that if I changed, I would get neither what I wanted nor the past life back.
So I held on to those so-called “plans.”
The conflict between my subconscious desire for change and my long-ingrained adherence to routine had trapped me in deep suffering.
Xu Zirong seemed thoughtful and nodded slightly.
The three of us finished our meal. Xu Zirong had to return to the rehabilitation center for more tests and therapy, while Wen Lingyu and I headed back to school.
On the way, Wen Lingyu walked beside me.
The snow had stopped, melting into puddles and mud on the ground. A thin layer remained on tree branches, like white trim from afar. The initial excitement over snow had faded; people were dispersing in small groups.
Walking through the crowd, Wen Lingyu suddenly said, “Li Yuze, I actually liked you before. Someone like you—at first glance, so capable—who wouldn’t like you?”
I froze, surprised by her sudden confession, and teased, “What do you mean, ‘at first glance’?”
“It means you’re great, but there’s always an ice wall between us,” Wen Lingyu said seriously, looking down. “I realized in the Miao village that I’m not the right person for you.”
“Huh?”
“You’re reliable and decisive. Being your friend or teammate is great. But whenever Lu Lu jokes with us, you stay silent and distant. Maybe you don’t even realize it, but your eyes show the detachment and rejection so clearly, it’s almost glaring.”
Her tone didn’t carry any reproach; on the contrary, there was even a hint of a smile, like a joke between friends.
The fact she could speak so calmly showed she had truly let go.
I touched my own face and said, “Really? It’s probably fine, right?”
“Of course it is. I’ve wanted to take a photo of you several times,” Wen Lingyu thought for a moment, then added, “I think you can only be with someone passionate, someone who can persistently cling to you…”
As she spoke, Shen Jianqing’s figure involuntarily appeared in my mind.
It fit perfectly.
It turned out Wen Lingyu had long understood something I hadn’t yet figured out.
I brushed aside a branch in my path, and the falling snow scattered around me. I said, “You’re going to work in Tongjiang because of Ah Song, right?”
At the mention of Ah Song, Wen Lingyu’s expression softened.
“There are some things I really don’t know who to talk to about. People might laugh at me if I said them. Many tried to persuade me not to go to Tongjiang. But I knew only you could understand my reasons,” Wen Lingyu said, glancing at me.
Indeed, I realized we were trapped in the same Miao region.
“In the village, Ah Song helped me a lot. But at the time, I couldn’t understand him; I just thought he had ill intentions. But when we got lost in the forest, he suddenly appeared like a god. He liked me, I could see it. In that environment, whatever he wanted to do, we couldn’t have stopped him. But he didn’t—he didn’t even dare to hold my hand.”
Wen Lingyu sank into her memories, a gentle smile on her face, though the corners of her bright, large eyes held unshed tears.
“Xiao Wen…” I comforted her, patting her shoulder.
When we had met at the café that day, she had pressed me about Ah Song, and I had changed the subject, never telling her. Now, I didn’t know how to bring it up either.
This outcome had to feel cruel to her.
“I’m fine. I just feel a little regret. When we left the forest that day, I was so panicked. If I could go back and look at him one more time, hug him once more… That would have been enough,” Wen Lingyu turned away, her hand lightly brushing her cheek. Her voice was soft, almost buzzing. “I don’t think I’ll ever see him again, but I feel some lingering reluctance. Maybe one day I’ll meet someone else who loves me deeply, but right now, my decision to go to Tongjiang isn’t impulsive. I’m willing to go somewhere closer to him, even if he’s not there.”
After saying this, she exhaled slowly.
I had read in books that strength isn’t just a word for boys; even outwardly delicate girls can have strong hearts.
Finally, I saw it in Wen Lingyu.
She knew what she wanted, how to get it, and what she should do.
“Xiao Wen, you really are an amazing girl,” I said sincerely.
Wen Lingyu shrugged, smiling softly. “Really? I’ve held these feelings in for so long; finally saying them today feels much better. And I can only tell you, you know.”
As we talked, we reached the entrance of the History Department. Wen Lingyu whispered a goodbye and, without looking back, strode up the steps and into the building.
I stood there, watching her long hair sway lightly with each step, her pace steady and confident. I suddenly remembered what Qiu Lu had repeatedly emphasized:
Our Xiao Yu is the department flower of the History Department!
At that moment, I finally realized it wasn’t about appearances—it was about the heart.
The weather this year was unusual. The snow fell on and off, never really ending. The novelty of snow had worn off, and people began to miss sunny days.
When the snow finally stopped, the year had nearly run its course.
School was about to break for New Year’s. Senior-year courses had ended, the few remaining professional classes had finished finals, and we had essentially entered early vacation mode.
“Ding—ding—ding—”
My phone started buzzing early in the morning.
I opened my drowsy eyes and reached a hand out from under the covers.
At the same time, a rustling sound came from the nightstand. Honghong, from the potted plant on the bedside, stretched and climbed onto my hand.
At first, I had planned to leave Honghong outside, but every night it quietly snuck into my room. The gap under my bedroom door could block people but not the little bug.
In the end, I had no choice but to place a short potted plant on the nightstand and put it in there at night.
I picked up my phone—it was Zhang Xu.
“Hello?”
Zhang Xu’s brisk voice immediately rang out. “Ah Ze, sounds like you’re still in bed?”
Me: “…What’s up?”
“Well, it’s vacation time, right? I was thinking of organizing one last class activity before everyone goes home. Next semester, our major won’t have classes; lots of people will either work or study for exams. We probably won’t all gather together again.”
I snapped fully awake and agreed immediately: “Sure.”
I couldn’t believe how fast four years had flown. In the blink of an eye, we were about to go our separate ways. My former dormmates all came from different parts of the country—after we parted, it would be hard to meet again.
Perhaps due to the cold winter, Honghong had grown sluggish. But whenever I went out, it insisted on crawling into my sleeve.
Probably a little shadow follower.
This activity was set in one of the school’s small classrooms, just to gather everyone for some nostalgic games. I found it boring while Zhang Xu described the plan, but he just wanted everyone together.
Over thirty students from our major showed up—surprisingly, everyone came.
Zhang Xu made a brief opening statement and then said, “Let’s start by talking about who left the deepest first impression on everyone.”
Immediately, everyone started talking at once. Four years—neither long nor short—but they were the most precious years of our youth. Some had found friendship, some had found love, and everyone laughed and joked together with those around them.
Yet no one mentioned me.
Wen Lingyu had been right: even in a crowd, I always seemed to drift on the outskirts.
When it was Zhang Xu’s turn, he said, “Actually, the person in our class who left the deepest impression on me is Li Yuze.”
I instinctively focused on him.
Zhang Xu continued, “When I first entered the dorm, he was the first person I saw. Wow, what a handsome guy! I thought to myself, I hope I don’t drag down the average attractiveness of our major!”
The room erupted with laughter.
The atmosphere brightened, and Zhang Xu beamed with pride. He quickly added, “Who would’ve thought such a handsome guy would talk in his sleep!”
All eyes turned toward me. I awkwardly tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Then someone asked, “What did he say? Spill it, come on!”
“Yeah, it’s graduation soon, let’s fulfill the sisters’ wish!”
Zhang Xu’s smile froze.
He looked at me, unsure whether to continue joking or to drop the topic. He looked like a guilty child—pitiful and helpless.
What had I said? Nothing more than calling out Shen Jianqing’s name.
If this had been in the past, I would never have wanted to make it public. I knew not everyone could calmly accept the closeness between two people of the same gender. Saying it out loud might have drawn unwanted attention.
But Wen Lingyu’s words had clarified many things for me. Sometimes, I simply cared too much about others’ eyes and trapped myself in the process.
I cleared my throat and spoke up: “I often call out a boy’s name in my dreams. So what?”
“Wow!” The classroom seemed to explode.
I saw a mischievous glint of curiosity in many classmates’ eyes.
Since the words were already out, I summoned courage and said, “I really like him. Dreaming about someone you like isn’t strange, right?”
Everyone shook their heads, though their expressions were priceless.
Zhang Xu stood there, dumbfounded, looking utterly ridiculous. After a moment, he slowly raised his hand and gave me a thumbs-up from across the room.
Yet inside, I felt an unprecedented ease.
So this is what it felt like to speak honestly and openly.
These secrets had weighed on my heart for so long, almost taking root and sprouting a bitter flower.
But now, speaking them out had not drawn the criticism I had feared.
Maybe there would still be some, but what did that matter?
At that moment, I could finally admit it—I had come to understand my own heart.