Chapter 34

Winter in Jiangcheng is damp and chilling, penetrating to the bone. In December, the plane trees on campus have long since shed their leaves, leaving bare branches piercing the leaden sky. The wind howls through the gaps between the empty square and the teaching buildings. Students, bundled up in down jackets and scarves, hurry along, puffs of white breath escaping their noses and mouths.

Fang Chi had just come out of the lab, carrying several thick volumes of literature and lab notebooks, his fingers stiff from the cold. Today he was wearing a long, dark gray down jacket and a light gray wool scarf, which Zhou Xu had "casually" bought an extra one a while ago and insisted on giving it to him, claiming that "the color was wrong and it would be too much trouble to return it." Fang Chi couldn't refuse, and since the weather was indeed cold, he accepted it, but afterwards he deliberately avoided being alone with Zhou Xu.

He strode towards the new physics department building. This afternoon, the department had an important event: YunChuang Technology, a startup that has been gaining momentum in the field of science and technology education in recent years, was coming to Jiangnan University for academic exchange and to discuss potential collaborations. It was said that the company's founders were two very young alumni who, after achieving success overseas, moved their headquarters back to China. The department valued this opportunity highly and encouraged faculty and students in related research areas to actively participate.

Fang Chi's advisor also suggested that he attend the meeting, as "YunChuang Technology" had some unique technologies in adaptive learning algorithms and STEM thinking modeling, which might inspire his ongoing interdisciplinary research project. He wasn't particularly interested in such commercial activities, but since his advisor suggested it, he agreed.

The event was scheduled to take place in the lecture hall on the top floor of the new building. When Fang arrived late, the hall was already quite full, mostly with graduate students and senior undergraduates, and a few professors sitting in the front row. The air was thick with the warmth of the heating and the hum of low conversations. He found an empty seat near the back, took off his scarf, opened his notebook, and prepared to take notes.

Soon, the department head and several teachers accompanied a group of people as they entered through a side door. The lecture hall quieted down slightly. Fang Chi looked up, his gaze casually sweeping across the room.

Leading the way were the department head and two professors. Behind them were three young men in formal attire. The one on the left, taller and wearing a dark blue suit, had a bright smile and was talking to a teacher beside him; this was He Chen. It had been over a year since I last saw him, and he looked much more mature, with proper manners and confidence in his speech. Only the occasional glint in his eyes still faintly revealed the shadow of the boisterous young man from the past.

Fang Chi's gaze paused for a moment, then shifted to his side.

The one on the right wore a well-tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt underneath, but no tie. He was slender and tall, seemingly a little taller than I remembered, perhaps because of the suit. His hair was meticulously combed, revealing a smooth forehead and clear, deep-set eyes. His skin was the pale white of years spent working indoors, and a pair of delicate, thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Behind the lenses, his gaze was calm and composed as he listened attentively to the department head's introduction, his expression focused and polite, a faint, appropriate smile playing on his lips.

It's Xing Jiayan.

Fang Chi's fingers, gripping the pen, tightened unconsciously. His heart felt like it had been gently bumped; not painful, but dull and empty. He watched the figure seated on the stage, calmly adjusting the microphone, a feeling both familiar and strange. Familiar was the composed expression and the occasional slight furrowing of the brow; strange was the capable aura emanating from that person, so out of place on campus, and the seemingly deeper, more unfathomable gaze behind those glasses.

He's changed a lot. Fang Chi thought. He's no longer the boy who challenged him on the basketball court, argued with him until they were red in the face in the library, or stubbornly knocked on his door on a snowy night. Now, he's "General Manager Xing," an entrepreneur, a successful person sitting on a stage about to give a report. Time has drawn a clear and wide chasm between them.

The presentation began. First, the department head gave an opening address, followed by He Chen, one of the co-founders, who introduced the development history, core concepts, and main products of "YunChuang Technology." His eloquence was excellent; he was humorous yet focused, and his well-prepared PowerPoint presentation quickly captured the interest of most of the audience, eliciting frequent laughter and applause from the auditorium.

Fang Chi listened, taking very brief notes. His gaze mostly fell on the person sitting silently beside him, only adding a technical point or two when necessary. Xing Jiayan spoke very little, but every time he did, it was concise, to the point, and logically sound. His voice was also lower than before, with a steady magnetism, and a cold quality coming through the microphone.

It was Xing Jiayan's turn to give a technical presentation. He walked to the front of the stage, adjusted his speech, and calmly swept his gaze across the audience. His gaze seemed to pause for an extremely brief moment in a certain direction in the back row, so quickly that it seemed like an illusion, before returning to its original composure.

"Hello everyone, I am Xing Jiayan. Next, I will briefly introduce our company's exploration in adaptive learning algorithms and cognitive model construction..." His opening remarks were simple, without any pleasantries, and he went straight to the point.

He began explaining the complex technical principles and mathematical models. His language was precise, his logic clear, and his concise slides presented the profound content in a well-organized manner. His pace was unhurried, and his expression focused, as if he were completely immersed in his field, with the audience merely observers of his logical deductions.

Fang Chi listened intently. Xing Jiayan's presentation was indeed profound and related to some of the questions he was pondering. He could follow the train of thought, and even, on certain details, different ideas or questions would instinctively pop into his head. It was a long-lost, intellectually familiar feeling. But at the same time, a more complex emotion was also spreading in his heart. The person on the stage was so excellent, so dazzling, yet so distant. Between them, apart from these cold formulas and algorithms, there seemed to be no other connection.

The report was a great success. During the Q&A session, many students and teachers actively participated. Xing Jiayan and He Chen answered each question with excellent teamwork. As the event drew to a close, the department head announced that the next part would be a free discussion period, and students interested in further exploration could stay behind.

The crowd began to move. Some left, while others gathered around, either wanting to exchange business cards with the two founders or to discuss specific issues. Fang Chi remained seated, not moving. He looked at Xing Jiayan, who was surrounded by the crowd. Xing Jiayan was slightly bowing his head, listening attentively to a graduate student's question. His profile, under the bright lights of the lecture hall, was sharply defined and cold.

Fang Chi suddenly felt somewhat superfluous sitting there. He had already achieved his purpose in coming and heard valuable information. As for the exchange… he didn't know what role to play or what topic to discuss with that "President Xing." Should he ask him if he remembered any high school physics problems? Or should he ask him why he left without saying goodbye back then?

He gave a self-deprecating smirk and began packing his things.

Just then, a familiar voice sounded beside him: "Fang Chi, you're still here? What do you think of the report?"

Fang Chi looked up and saw Zhou Xu. He had arrived at some point and was now standing next to Fang Chi's seat, smiling at him and holding a notebook in his hand.

"It's alright. It gave me some inspiration," Fang Chi replied briefly, continuing to wrap the scarf around his neck.

“President Xing is indeed impressive. I’ve heard his company has great potential.” Zhou Xu sat down naturally in the empty seat next to him, turning to face him, his tone familiar. “I happen to have a few algorithm questions I’d like to ask him. Shall we go together later? And I can introduce you two while I’m at it? You two… seem to be high school classmates?”

Fang Chi paused in tying his scarf. "No need. I have something to do later."

"Oh, that's a pity." Zhou Xu smiled, but his gaze remained on Fang Chi's face with gentle concern. "You don't look too well. Are you too tired from the lab? Let's have dinner together tonight. I know a good Cantonese restaurant that just opened off campus. It's light and refreshing, which will help you recover."

His voice wasn't loud, but it could still be heard clearly in the relatively quiet back of the lecture hall. The intimacy and concern in his tone were obvious.

Fang Chi frowned, about to refuse, but out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Xing Jiayan, who was surrounded by several people not far away. Xing Jiayan seemed to have finished his conversation with the current questioner and his gaze inadvertently swept in their direction.

His gaze was faint and fleeting, like a bird skimming across the water, barely lingering. Yet, Fang Chi felt inexplicably uneasy, as if he had been burned by that calm, unwavering gaze.

He subconsciously turned his head away, avoiding Zhou Xu's overly close gaze, and said in a colder tone, "Thank you for your kindness, senior, but I have plans for tonight."

Zhou Xu seemed to sense his resistance. Her smile remained unchanged, but she sat up slightly and created some distance between them. "Alright, then next time. You go ahead and get busy."

Fang Chi said no more, quickly packed his things, stood up, and walked towards the back door of the lecture hall. He could feel two gazes behind him, one gentle and persistent, the other cold and silent? He didn't dare to turn around to confirm.

Stepping out of the lecture hall, the cool air in the corridor invigorated him. He took a deep breath, suppressing the inexplicable irritation and a vague sense of embarrassment that lingered in his heart.

He walked quickly down the corridor toward the stairwell. As he approached the stairwell, a calm voice came from behind him, not loud, but clearly penetrating the faint echo in the corridor.

"Fang Chi".

Fang Chi suddenly stopped. That voice…

He slowly turned around.

Xing Jiayan stood alone a short distance away, his suit jacket draped over his arm, revealing only a white shirt and waistcoat, making his figure appear even more slender and upright. He held a black briefcase in his hand, his face expressionless, only his eyes behind his glasses silently watching him. The light from the corridor's overhead lamp fell on him, half bright and half hidden in shadow, making it impossible to discern the true emotions in his eyes.

The two men stared at each other, a few meters apart. The air seemed to freeze, with only the faint sounds of laughter and conversation drifting from the distant lecture hall.

"President Xing," Fang Chi spoke first, his voice calm, even carrying a hint of polite distance, "Is there something you need?"

The way he addressed Xing Jiayan caused his brow to furrow almost imperceptibly, but it quickly relaxed. "It's nothing," he said calmly, his voice revealing no emotion. "I just saw you and wanted to say hello."

"Oh." Fang Chi nodded. "The report was excellent. Congratulations to President Xing on his success."

Xing Jiayan was silent for a few seconds, his gaze lingering on his face as if carefully discerning something, or perhaps weighing his words. "You..." he paused, "...are you doing well at Jiang University?"

"That's good," Fang Chi replied quickly and briefly.

Another silence fell. The air in the corridor seemed even colder. Between the two lay more than two years of time and countless unspoken memories.

"That person just now," Xing Jiayan suddenly spoke, his tone still calm, as if discussing the weather, "was he your classmate?"

Fang Chi paused for a moment before realizing he was referring to Zhou Xu. "Yes, senior."

Xing Jiayan nodded and didn't ask any more questions. His gaze shifted slightly downwards, seemingly landing on the scarf around Fang Chi's neck, or perhaps just drifting aimlessly. Then, he raised his eyes again, looking at Fang Chi, his lips seemingly trying to curve into a smile, but ultimately only moving very slightly.

“You look,” he said, his voice lower, with an indescribable, complex meaning, “not quite the same as before.”

"President Xing has changed a lot too." Fang Chi met his gaze and replied calmly.

Xing Jiayan seemed momentarily choked by those words, his gaze behind his glasses deepening. He pursed his lips and suddenly asked a question that caught Fang Chi off guard: "You're in a relationship, aren't you?"

It's not a question, it's a statement. The tone is very certain, even carrying a hint of understanding? Or perhaps, a sense of relief after confirmation?

Fang Chi was completely stunned. He hadn't expected Xing Jiayan to ask this, especially in this tone. Dating? With whom? Zhou Xu? He felt it was absurd, and a surge of inexplicable anger mixed with an indescribable bitterness welled up inside him.

"This seems to have nothing to do with President Xing." His voice turned cold.

Xing Jiayan looked at his suddenly cold expression and resistant eyes, and seemed to have obtained some kind of answer. The last trace of emotion in his eyes, which he himself was unaware of, completely subsided, returning to a deep, unfathomable stillness.

“I’m sorry,” he nodded slightly, his tone losing all its previous politeness and calmness, “I was being presumptuous. It was just a casual question from an old classmate. I wish you… success in your studies.”

After speaking, he didn't linger. He turned and walked in the opposite direction from the stairwell, towards the VIP lounge. His back was straight, his steps steady, and he quickly disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

Fang Chi stood there, watching the figure disappear, the scarf clutched in his hand crumpled into a ball. His chest felt like it was stuffed with damp cotton, suffocating and bloated, making it hard to breathe. Xing Jiayan's calm words, "You're in a relationship, aren't you?" were like a cold awl, unexpectedly piercing a corner of his defenseless heart, bringing a sharp pain, followed by an overwhelming emptiness and anger.

What gives him the right to ask that question? And what gives him the right to use that knowing and nonchalant tone? Who does he think he is?

And that phrase, "I wish you success in your studies," was so distant and polite that it chilled me to the bone.

A cold wind blew in through the window at the top of the stairs, stinging his cheeks. He turned abruptly and rushed down the stairs, almost running, fleeing the building, the suffocating corridor, and the reunion that had lasted only a few minutes but had completely thrown him off balance.

The campus was gloomy in winter, as if snow could fall at any moment.

In the lecture hall, the free exchange was gradually coming to an end. He Chen finally managed to slip away from the crowd and find Xing Jiayan. He discovered that Xing Jiayan was standing alone in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of the VIP lounge, looking at the gray sky outside, holding a glass of water that had long since gone cold, his back exuding an indescribable loneliness.

"Brother Yan, what are you doing hiding here? The department head said we should have a casual dinner together tonight," He Chen said as he walked over.

"No, thank you." Xing Jiayan interrupted him, her voice a little hoarse. "I'm a bit tired. You represent the company at the business dinner tonight. I'm going back to the hotel to rest."

Looking at his pale face, He Chen asked worriedly, "Are you alright? Are you feeling unwell?"

"It's nothing." Xing Jiayan turned around, placed the water glass on the table next to him, and picked up his coat. "I guess I haven't fully adjusted to the time difference yet. I'll be going now."

He walked to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob, paused for a moment, and did not turn around.

"He Chen".

"Um?"

"It's nothing." Xing Jiayan ultimately said nothing, opened the door, and walked out.

The corridor was deserted, so quiet that he could hear his own footsteps and slightly erratic breathing. He walked to the elevator and pressed the button. The metal doors reflected his blurry figure; he was dressed in a suit and tie, his face calm and impeccable.

Only he knew that somewhere in his chest, a silent, bone-chilling cold was collapsing.

The elevator doors opened, he stepped inside, leaned against the cold wall of the elevator car, and closed his eyes.

Just now in the corridor, when Fang Chi said coldly, "This doesn't seem to have anything to do with President Xing," he clearly saw the resistance and a hint of offended anger in the other's eyes. And that light gray scarf, and the natural intimacy that Zhou Xu displayed when he approached him.

Everything now has a reasonable explanation.

He came back and I saw that he was doing well, had a new life, and probably had new companions.

That's for the best. Isn't this exactly what he hoped for when he chose to leave? I hope he won't be dragged down by his chaotic family and hasty departure, and that he can continue his shining life on a clean track.

Why does my heart hurt so much? It feels like it's being gripped and twisted tightly by an invisible hand, making it almost impossible to breathe.

The elevator reached the first floor, and the doors opened. Xing Jiayan took a deep breath, reopened his eyes, and his gaze was now calm and indifferent. He straightened his back, stepped out of the elevator, and walked into the biting winter wind of Jiangcheng, heading towards the rented black sedan in the parking lot.

The car started and drove away from Jiangda campus. In the rearview mirror, the campus, which held countless youthful memories, gradually shrank under the gloomy sky and finally disappeared around the street corner.

He knew that this time, it was truly time for him to leave completely—as an old classmate, a business partner, and a stranger.

Those unspoken youthful stirrings, those intellectual clashes in late-night forums, that clumsy kiss on a snowy night and the honest confession of "I'm just a little naughty sometimes," and the deep-seated concern that never faded but could only be buried... all should be forever buried in the cold winter wind with this hasty and chilly reunion.

From then on, we were separated by vast distances, each living our own lives in peace.

This is fate, the final epitaph written for their ill-fated youth.