Neptune

Pan Qiu sat at her desk in her bedroom, the same thesis document still open on the screen. Several revised printed pages were piled up in the corner, with red pen annotations forming a crisscrossing network. She reached for her cup, only to find that the coffee had long since gone cold, carrying a faint bitter aroma.

Her phone lit up—a meeting reminder from her calendar. She stared at the message for a few seconds. Then, the screen lit up again. Ethan's message was brief: "Are we meeting again this week?"

Pan Qiu stared at that line of text, a slight sense of relief creeping into her heart. She already knew how to revise the paper; she would send him each comment she resolved immediately, even more efficiently than face-to-face. Besides, she didn't want to experience that silent atmosphere of the meeting again.

She hesitated for a moment, then typed a reply: "I'm fine for now, I'll send it to you gradually after I've finished making the changes."

A few minutes later, Ethan replied, "Okay, keep it up."

And just like that, the meeting quietly disappeared from the schedule.

Pan Qiu breathed a sigh of relief, as if she could finally focus all her attention on making revisions.

At that moment, Ethan stared at the chat window, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Neither of them spoke their minds, yet the outcome was unexpectedly perfectly in sync.

Since that meeting after spring break, they went from meeting once a week to once every two weeks, and now it has been almost three weeks since they last met.

Final exams are approaching, and the summer vacation is fast approaching. Zhiwei's departure is just around the corner. Panqiu hasn't been to the department for almost a month, instead working from home—to spend more time with Zhiwei, and also to escape the summer.

Zhiwei's room gradually emptied. Two large suitcases leaned against the corner, poised to depart at any moment. The bookshelves were cleared out, leaving only empty shelves, and the wardrobe doors were wide open, with hooks swaying gently in the empty space, except for the clothes she frequently changed. She moved the desk, chair, and lamp aside, so that every few days a Chinese classmate would come to collect something.

One by one, the items were taken away, and the room gradually returned to its original state, leaving only the bed standing alone.

Standing at the door, Panqiu suddenly recalled the scene when she first arrived. Back then, Zhiwei filled the room, relying entirely on "piecing together" bits and pieces: a secondhand bed from a WeChat group, a bookshelf and lamp found at a flea market, casually without regard for color or style. She always said, "As long as it works," and this casual piecing together somehow magically brought out a bohemian sense of freedom, which Panqiu secretly admired.

Now, the life she once casually pieced together has been scattered and broken up by her. Just as easily as she arrived, and just as freely as she left.

Panqiu watched Zhiwei's "relaxed and carefree" demeanor, but she couldn't seem to learn it herself.

Lately, Pan Qiu's life has been almost entirely driven by her thesis. Her desk is piled high with printed copies and notebooks, while the dining table is often empty. When she does eat, she usually just grabs a piece of bread or has a cup of coffee to tide her over.

Zhiwei saw this and would always shake her head, saying earnestly, "You can't do it this way." Her tone was just like a parent's.

Zhiwei's days seemed more relaxed. Her transfer was complete, and her research here had come to an end. Her main task was to slowly tidy up and restore her room to its clean state. She was a restless person; in between tidying up, she often went to the supermarket alone to replenish the family's supplies of meat, eggs, milk, and vegetables. When cooking dinner, she would also prepare Panqiu's portion.

Panqiu knew perfectly well that this was all Zhiwei's deliberate care. She didn't point it out, but silently remembered it in her heart—it was the affection and tacit understanding accumulated over four years of getting along. Zhiwei was never one to openly say "take care of you," she was just used to filling in the gaps in her relationships.

"Don't always frown," she would occasionally remind her at the dinner table, gesturing to smooth out the wrinkles between Panqiu's brows.

That evening at the dinner table, Zhiwei brought out the last plate of scrambled eggs, clapped her hands, and said, "Let's eat. Hey, what's wrong with you lately? Last semester you were a model employee with perfect attendance, leaving early and coming home late every day. But after spring break this semester, you've suddenly become a disappearing warrior?"

Pan Qiu was serving herself rice when she asked with a forced smile, "What the hell is a hidden warrior?"

"It means you vanished into thin air," Zhi said with a grin, placing a piece of meat in her bowl. "Your department doesn't think you resigned and ran away, do they?"

Pan Qiu shook her head, pretending to be serious as she retorted, "I revise my thesis every day; that's important work. How could I have vanished?"

"Serious business? I think you're preoccupied." Zhiwei narrowed her eyes, her tone suddenly becoming meaningful. "So, tell me, what's going on between you and Ethan? Has he stopped caring about you?"

Pan Qiu lowered her head, slowly stirring her rice, and said dejectedly and evasively, "Of course he cares about me, otherwise how would he revise my thesis? It's just... things are a little different now. The atmosphere during the meeting was so strange, I felt really uncomfortable."

Zhiwei pressed further: "So, have you figured it out yet? Does Ethan really have a wife and children? How come there was absolutely no word about it before? He hid it so well!"

Pan Qiu choked, her chopsticks stopping in her bowl. "This is none of my business, and I don't want to know! Whether it really makes no difference to me or not..."

She spoke with righteous indignation, but when she glanced at Zhiwei's knowing, mischievous smile, she couldn't help but glare at her: "You should just change your name from Zhiwei to Zhixin."

Zhiwei immediately seized the opportunity: "Oh, is that how you describe me? Then I'll change my name to 'Big Sister Zhixin' from now on, and I'll always be there to help you out."

Pan Qiu chuckled and shook her head: "Never mind, I always become talkative when I'm with you."

"Isn't that great?" Zhi smiled with genuine tenderness. "At least it shows you don't have to pretend with me."

Panqiu wanted to retort, "Where did I pretend?" but she lacked confidence, as if her thoughts had been seen through, so she lowered her head and ate her rice with gusto.

Zhiwei picked up a piece of food, then, as if suddenly remembering something, smiled and said, "Oh, by the way, I've found you a new roommate."

Pan Qiu looked up: "Huh? So fast?"

“Yes, her name is Yueyue.” Zhiwei drawled, blinking. “She’s truly qualified to be your confidante in matters of the heart.”

Pan Qiu paused for a moment: "That sounds very unreliable."

Zhi smiled meaningfully: "Unreliable? Humph, that's what everyone says. She's too flashy with her beauty; just standing there is enough to generate a lot of gossip."

She deliberately lowered her voice and put on a gossipy expression, saying, "Her nickname is 'Sea King'—her romantic history is richer than her resume. You know? The gossip-loving public loves to watch her love life."

Pan Qiu couldn't help but roll her eyes at her: "So you're arranging a gossip generator as my roommate?"

Zhiwei shrugged and winked mysteriously: "Hmph, what's going on outside is outside business. As for what kind of person she really is—you'll only know after you get to know her yourself."

After she finished speaking, she meaningfully picked up a piece of food and put it into Panqiu's bowl.

Pan Qiu stared blankly at her, her chopsticks pausing in her hand. —Sea King?