At 10:30 in the evening, a desk lamp was on in Duan Shuce's room.
Outside the window was a deep night, with occasional sounds of passing vehicles, but silence soon returned.
His desk was right next to the window, and his lowered profile was reflected in the glass - his black hair slightly covered his eyebrows, his nose was high, and his lips were pressed into a straight line, making him look extremely focused.
Spread out on the desk was a collection of math competition questions, densely packed with formulas and graphs occupying every page. His pen tip slid lightly across the paper, making a subtle rustling sound, occasionally pausing before continuing to write.
——He almost never gets stuck when solving problems.
Duan Shuce's grades are so good that people are used to it.
The ranking of first in the grade was like a fixed label engraved next to his name. No one would question it, and no one would be surprised.
When teachers mentioned him, they would always say, "Duan Shuce? That kid is nothing to worry about."
When students discuss difficult problems, they always end up saying, "Forget it, let's ask Duan Shuce tomorrow."
But he himself never thought it was anything special.
For him, learning is just...a matter of convenience.
The light from the desk lamp softly enveloped the table, illuminating his slender fingers and clean nails. His handwriting was so neat that it was almost rigid, and each line of formula was aligned as if it had been measured with a ruler.
When he was writing a geometry problem, he suddenly stopped writing, tilted his head slightly and thought for a few seconds.
Then, he let out a soft "ah" and raised the corners of his lips slightly, as if he had discovered something interesting.
The room was so quiet that you could hear the ticking of the clock.
His phone sat face down on the bedside table, unlit all night. There were no new messages on his social media, and few people in his address book would contact him at this hour.
But he didn't feel lonely.
Or rather, he had long been accustomed to this state of being alone.
At 11:20, he closed his exercise book, tidied up the desk, and put his pen into the pen holder.
Before turning off the lights, he stood by the window and looked out at the night. The glow of the streetlights seemed particularly warm in the darkness, and there were still a few lights on in the distant tall buildings.
He sat on the edge of the bed, recalling the scene he had witnessed in the afternoon: Ye Qingliu and Bai Zhiye were talking and laughing on their way home from school...
(——————Two years ago——————)
The hospital corridor was cold and empty, the stench of disinfectant stinging the nose. Duan Shuce stood at the door of the emergency room, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the mint candy in his pocket, the wrapper crunching beneath his fingers.
——Bai Zhiye is no longer breathing.
The lights in the emergency room dimmed, and the doctor came out, took off his mask, and shook his head.
Duan Shuce didn't move. His eyes passed the doctor and fell on Ye Qingliu who was standing in front of the bed.
The boy was wearing a black school uniform that was soaked by rain. The ends of his hair were still dripping, and the water droplets slid down his chin and hit the hospital floor.
His fingers were tightly gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles turning white and veins bulging, as if he wanted to crush the metal railing.
"Zhiye."
Ye Qingliu called her name, his voice so soft, almost inaudible.
Then he let go of her hand and turned away.
Duan Shuce followed three steps behind him.
Ye Qingliu's back was straight and his steps were steady, as if he had no emotions at all. The rain was still falling, and the puddles at the hospital entrance reflected the pale streetlights. Ye Qingliu walked straight into the rain without a trace of hesitation.
Duan Shuce's fingertips dug into his palm.
——He knew what kind of person Ye Qingliu was.
——The calmer you are, the more likely you are to collapse.
Sure enough, after less than ten steps, Ye Qingliu's body suddenly swayed and his knees slammed heavily into the puddles. Duan Shuce rushed over and held him up.
Ye Qingliu's body was burning hot, and his breath sprayed hotly on Duan Shuce's neck. There was still rain on his eyelashes, and his gray-blue eyes were dull and empty.
"roll."
He said coldly, his voice extremely hoarse.
Duan Shuce didn't let go, but tightened his arm: "Ye Qingliu, are you crazy?"
Ye Qingliu struggled but couldn't break free. Suddenly he chuckled softly, "She's dead."
These three words were as light as a sigh, but they made Duan Shuce's heart tighten. The next second, Ye Qingliu's body suddenly sank, and he fell into his arms.
——He fainted from the fever.
——In the rain, ten minutes after losing Bai Zhiye.
The heating in Duan Shuce's apartment was turned on very high.
Ye Qingliu lay in bed, his face paler than the sheets, with only an abnormal flush on his cheekbones. The family doctor had just left, leaving behind a few bottles of fever-reducing medicine and nutritional supplements. He looked down at Ye Qingliu and said in a hoarse voice:
"Clear stream..."
———He seldom calls him that.
———As a regulator, he should have kept his distance.
———But at this moment, he was like a helpless parent, watching his most beloved child suffer.
Duan Shuce sat by the bed, his fingertips gently brushing aside Ye Qingliu's sweat-soaked hair. The boy's eyelashes trembled, his lips pale, and only the red string remained stubbornly wrapped around his wrist, its bright color blinding.
——This was given to him by Bai Zhiye.
——In the spring of my second year of junior high school, under the cherry tree.
Duan Shuce remembered that day, Ye Qingliu smiled rarely, although only the corners of his lips rose slightly, but his always cold eyes were filled with tiny lights.
And now, those eyes were tightly closed, the eyelashes trembled restlessly, and a few vague syllables escaped from between the lips and teeth:
"Zhiye...don't go..."
Duan Shuce's fingers froze in mid-air.
——Still can’t forget it?
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