Contract and Dawn
Two days have passed since that "rescue" in the rain. The campus, devoid of its usual hustle and bustle, is exceptionally quiet on the weekend. Lin Wanxing sits in her study, staring at her laptop screen, but unable to concentrate on a single word.
Many more ginkgo leaves have fallen outside the window, making the branches appear sparser, and the sky is a clear, almost transparent blue. Her thoughts kept drifting to the student named Jiang Chen. She repeatedly recalled his calm eyes, the natural angle at which he tilted his umbrella, and his impeccable words in the coffee shop, "I often hear the evening stars mention you."
A strange, subtle anxiety lingered over her. She couldn't quite put her finger on it—was it unease about the unpaid "transaction"? Or was it a sense of unease about this ambiguous relationship?
On Monday morning, sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds, casting zebra-striped shadows on the wooden floor. Lin Wanxing had just prepared breakfast—a cup of black coffee and two slices of whole-wheat toast, simple to the point of being perfunctory. The doorbell rang abruptly, shattering the morning's tranquility.
Somewhat puzzled, she walked to the door and peered through the peephole. The sight that met her eyes stunned her instantly.
Jiang Chen stood outside the door. He was still wearing the same gray knit sweater with a black jacket over it, but he looked refreshed and energetic. He wasn't carrying an umbrella; instead, he was holding a paper tote bag with the logo of a well-known congee shop printed on it, from which steam was faintly rising.
She hesitated for a moment, then opened the door.
"Good morning, Teacher Lin." Jiang Chen's voice was as fresh as morning dew. He held up the bag in his hand. "I passed by a porridge shop and thought you might not have had breakfast yet, so I bought some. Their yam and barley porridge and shrimp dumplings are pretty good." He paused, then added naturally, "I got your address from Miss Su Xiao. I hope you don't mind."
His attitude was so natural, as if they were longtime friends, not strangers who had only met three times and whose relationship was based on an absurd "recruitment" arrangement. Lin Wanxing was momentarily at a loss for words and stood frozen at the doorway.
"I...I've already eaten," she said subconsciously, her gaze involuntarily falling on the steaming bag. A warm aroma of food filled the air, a stark contrast to the lonely, slightly cold cup of black coffee on her table.
Jiang Chen seemed unconcerned by her refusal. His gaze swept over her shoulder, quickly and politely surveying the living room before returning to her face, his eyes filled with an undeniable seriousness: "Teacher Lin, regarding the 'help' you mentioned last time, and my previous...work request, I think we might need a clearer...agreement."
The agreement. This word brought Lin Wanxing to his senses completely. This was what he had come for. Not by chance, not for a whim breakfast, but to put that absurd "recruitment" into practice.
She stepped aside to let him in. Jiang Chen walked into the living room with steady steps, his eyes quickly and carefully surveying the surroundings—clean, but lacking a sense of life; the bookshelves were crammed with books, and a thin blanket was casually draped over the sofa, making it seem somewhat deserted.
He gently placed the porridge bag on the table, right next to her cold cup of coffee. As his gaze swept over the open book on her table, his fingers unconsciously tightened their grip on the bag—the annotations on it were in that notebook, in that person's unique handwriting. He suddenly dared not look her in the eye, afraid she would see a hint of embarrassment in his eyes.
"Sit down." Lin Wanxing pointed to the sofa, then sat down on the single armchair next to it, subconsciously hugging a cushion as if she needed some support.
Jiang Chen sat down as instructed, his back straight, his hands resting naturally on his knees, like a graduate preparing for an important interview. He took two sheets of A4 paper from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed them to Lin Wanxing on the coffee table in front of her.
"This is a detailed service agreement based on the requests you wrote on the wishing wall." His tone was calm, devoid of any emotion. "Please take a look and see if it's suitable."
Lin Wanxing picked up the two sheets of paper in disbelief. The title was a striking "Life Assistance Service Agreement," and the terms listed below were a detailed version of her unreasonable demands:
Article 1: Response Mechanism. Party A (Lin Wanxing) may contact Party B (Jiang Chen) by phone or WeChat when necessary, and Party B shall respond within a reasonable timeframe. Note: Emergency situations require immediate response; for non-emergency matters, Party B may coordinate a timeframe according to the course schedule.
Article 2: Emotions and Attitudes. Party B shall provide services with patience and a positive attitude, and maintain emotional stability.
Article 3: Personal Preferences and Respect. Party B must be familiar with and respect Party A's personal preferences and taboos regarding diet, rest, environment, etc. (A table template was even attached, noting known information such as two sugars in coffee and aversion to cilantro.)
Article 4: Specific Scenario Services. These include, but are not limited to, tilting an umbrella in the rain, coping with family and social pressures, and handling simple everyday problems.
Article 5: Working Hours and Remuneration. The service hours provided by Party B shall be flexible, with the primary principle being to meet Party A's needs. Party A shall pay Party B RMB 1,000 per month, which may be advanced as needed or settled daily.
Article 6: Confidentiality Clause. Party B shall strictly keep confidential all private information of Party A that it learns during the course of this agreement and the service process.
Article 7: Termination of Agreement. This Agreement may be terminated by either party with seven days' prior notice.
The terms were clear, the responsibilities and rights were well-defined, and it even carried a touch of the rigor and formality of a legal document. This was completely beyond Lin Wanxing's imagination. She had originally thought it was just a farce, but Jiang Chen had so solemnly turned it into a written "contract."
She looked up at him. The sunlight shone directly on his profile, and he calmly looked back at her, waiting for her response without urging or unease.
"You...you're serious?" She finally found her voice, which was a little hoarse.
“Of course.” Jiang Chen nodded. “An agreement is the foundation of cooperation. This is more responsible to both of us.” He paused, then added, “Regarding salary, if you feel it’s not suitable, we can discuss it further.”
Lin Wanxing's fingertips gripped the two thin sheets of paper, yet they felt incredibly heavy. She looked at the young man before her; he still seemed a student, albeit with a touch of naiveté, yet his methods were astonishingly sophisticated. This agreement, less of an employment contract and more of a demarcation of clear boundaries for himself and for her, was telling her that this was merely a transaction, that he wouldn't cross the line, and asking her… not to overthink it.
The feeling of having her thoughts read made her somewhat embarrassed, yet strangely relieved. Clear boundaries were perhaps exactly what she needed.
"One thousand yuan, sure!" She took a deep breath, her head spinning, and inexplicably picked up a pen. Before she could even think it through, the pen tip was already on the client's signature area, carefully writing her name stroke by stroke.
Even she herself didn't know why she had agreed to this absurd "cooperation." The paper was scratched by the pen tip, making a soft rustling sound, like signing a contract with the devil, or quietly pushing open a door to the unknown.
As Jiang Chen watched her sign her name, something seemed to settle gently deep within his eyes.
He took the agreement signed by Lin Wanxing, his fingertips touching her signature, and suddenly added in a low voice: "I will remember the 'preferred memory' in the agreement, but... if I do anything that doesn't meet your expectations, you can say so at any time."
But as soon as he said it, he regretted it—not because he was afraid he wouldn't do well enough or meet her expectations, but because he was afraid she would see that person's shadow in him. He didn't have the courage to voice this concern hidden in his heart.
He then took out a pen and signed his name in the "Party B" section.
Lin Wanxing's gaze followed the movement of his pen, watching the strong, upright handwriting fall on the word "Party B." Each stroke exuded an undeniable determination, decisive and without the slightest hesitation. Only when he put down his pen did she notice the old wristband wrapped around his wrist. The dark rope was worn smooth and shiny, with slightly rough edges, carrying a rough feel that had been weathered by time, which seemed somewhat out of place on him.
"It's a pleasure working with you, Professor Lin." He put away his copy of the agreement, stood up, and his tone returned to its previous calmness. "The porridge is getting cold. Please eat it while it's hot. I'm going to class now."
He turned and walked towards the door, his movements swift and decisive. Just as he opened the door to leave, Lin Wanxing, as if possessed, blurted out, "Jiang Chen."
He stopped and looked back at her, his eyes questioning.
"Thank you for breakfast," she said softly.
Jiang Chen's lips seemed to twitch slightly upwards, forming a faint yet genuine smile. "You're welcome. It's what I should do." He paused, then added, "Article three of the agreement."
The door closed gently. Silence returned to the room, leaving only the sunlight and the warm aroma of food in the air. Lin Wanxing walked to the dining table, opened the still-warm porridge box, and the soft, fragrant aroma of yam and barley wafted out. The shrimp dumplings, translucent and glistening, lay quietly in the small compartment beside it.
She picked up the spoon, scooped up a small spoonful of porridge, and put it in her mouth. The warm, perfectly sweet taste melted on her tongue, and the warmth spread down her esophagus to her stomach, and then, strangely enough, it seemed to warm her limbs as well.
She looked up and gazed out the window. Under the vast autumn sky, the ginkgo leaves shimmered with their last brilliant gold in the sunlight. The young man's figure had long since vanished, but the "agreement" he left behind and the bowl of warm porridge, like a faint yet persistent ray of morning light, forcefully pierced the thick layer of ice on the lake of her heart, casting a shimmering, warm sliver of light.
The ice seems to be really starting to melt. Starting with the smallest cracks.
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