fissure
The days spent with Song Tian were like the gentle breeze of early summer, warm and just right. The dappled shadows of the camphor trees fell on Song Tian's canvas bag, shimmering into a flowing green. His bicycle bell occasionally jingled, startling the sparrows on the branches. The tranquility made Luo Yan almost forget her memories of wind, snow, and icy plains.
Song Tian would ride his bicycle to pick her up after class, his basket filled with freshly bought strawberries. The bright red berries, glistening with morning dew, contrasted with the oil paint smudged on his beige canvas bag, making it look like a painting warmed by the sun.
They would ride slowly along the moat. Song Tian hummed an off-key folk song, the last notes of which were broken up by the wind and drifted away. Luo Yan leaned against his back and could smell the turpentine mixed with the scent of sunshine on his shirt. She could hear the vibrations coming from his chest, like a gentle little animal breathing softly. She felt as at ease as if she were being gently covered by feathers.
Her image began to appear frequently in his paintings. In the one about the library, the arch of her eyebrows when she frowned was depicted in light gold, and the light reflected from the keyboard shattered into stars on the canvas; the one about the balcony was even more wonderful, with Xiao Hei curled up on her lap, the tip of its tail brushing against her ankle, and in the shadow cast by her eyelashes when she lowered her eyes, there was a small sun that Song Tian had secretly drawn.
His brushstrokes were as soft as cotton candy, and his colors as bright as if they were soaked in honey. Every time Luo Yan saw them, she couldn't help but tear up—it turned out that in his eyes, she was such a gentle and tender being.
Song Tianhui took her to the art studio at the academy. The setting sun slanted in through the high windows, casting a grid of light on the floor. He showed her the sketches he was preparing for the National College Student Art Exhibition, a series of quick sketches about "memory containers," with charcoal dust still clinging to the edges of the pages. "I want to capture those easily forgotten moments with lines," he said, pointing to a page with a half-melted orange candy on it, "like the eraser shavings you left on my sketchbook in high school, like the locust leaves you brought in when you came in just now, I want to incorporate them into the painting."
Luo Yan laughed and punched him: "Is this art or scavenging?"
“Art originates from scavenging.” Song Tian held her hand and pressed it onto the sketchbook, the roughness of the paper brushing against her palm. “Look, now, the most important part in my ‘memory container’ is you.”
At that moment, Luo Yan felt her heart fill to the brim, even her breath smelled sweet like strawberry soda. She thought, perhaps this is enough—a stable, warm, and tangible happiness.
However, the comfortable times are like thin ice, seemingly solid, but unable to withstand the gentle knock of reality.
The cracks began to appear when Song Tian was preparing for the National College Student Art Exhibition.
That night, after Luo Yan finished her part-time job, she didn't go back to her dorm but instead went to the spare room Ren Xiangzhou had arranged for her. Song Tian stayed in Luo Yan's room until very late, the light from the desk lamp casting a faint blue shadow on his eyes. He frowned deeply at the detailed images of his work on the computer screen, his knuckles unconsciously tapping the table, the tapping sound unsettling. Luo Yan made him a cup of hot milk; the heat of the porcelain cup made her fingertips recoil slightly. She leaned closer to look: "What's wrong? Is there a problem with the work?"
“No,” Song Tian rubbed his temples, his fingertips brushing against the wrinkles between his brows, his tone a little tired, “It’s because my teacher said that after this art exhibition, there’s an art district in Nanqing with a short-term residency and exchange opportunity, where I can meet a lot of well-known artists… The studios there, converted from old factory buildings, are particularly great. Sunlight shines through the iron bars and casts the shadows of the fences on the canvas. I really want to go.”
Luo Yan paused, the milk cup condensing into droplets that fell onto the table with a soft, sigh-like sound: "Nan Qing?"
"Hmm." Song Tian turned to look at her. The light from the desk lamp shimmered into a small, warm yellow in his pupils. His eyes were filled with expectation, yet also some hesitation, as if he were afraid of breaking something. "Luo Yan, what... do you think?"
Luo Yan paused for a moment, her mind replaying the computer science course schedule, a dense web of coding and lab classes. She had originally planned to return to Lin'an for the summer, even thinking for a long time about accompanying Ren Qin to pick locust flowers. "I should probably stay in Suyi," she thought, "I have a lot of classes, and... my parents don't want me to go any further."
The air fell silent instantly, with only the light from the computer screen flickering on their faces, as if through a layer of fog.
Song Tian was silent for a while before slowly speaking, his voice lower than before: "I know Nanqing is far from home and you are busy with your classes... but that opportunity is really rare. It was a place I circled on the admission brochure when I was drawing until 3 a.m. in my senior year of high school. Being able to come into contact with the most cutting-edge art ideas is especially important for my future creations."
“I understand.” Luo Yan lowered her head, stirring the milk in her glass. The milky white swirl made her eyes water. “Your dream is important.”
"And what about you?" Song Tian's voice lowered further, almost drowned out by the hum of the computer fan. "Luo Yan, would you... be willing to come with me for a while? Even just during the summer vacation? You could find a short-term internship there, or... just keep me company?"
“Song Tian,” Luo Yan interrupted him, raising her head and trying to make her voice sound calm, but the last syllable still trembled, “For short-term computer internships, there are more opportunities in Su Yi’s internet park, and they’re more relevant. Besides, I originally wanted to go home to spend the summer with my parents…”
She saw the light in Song Tian's eyes dim, like a candle flame extinguished by the wind, and even the dark circles under his eyes seemed to deepen. He didn't speak again, but simply minimized the image page, opened a drawing software, and began to draw aimlessly on the screen, the blue he mixed becoming deeper and deeper, like ink soaked in water.
Luo Yan sat back down at her desk, opened her programming assignment, but the code was a tangled mess, with if and else statements winding around and the logic impossible to unravel. A subtle, indescribable awkwardness and estrangement filled the air, like two drops of water falling on the same sheet of paper, yet never quite coming together.
This was the first time they had disagreed about the "future" since they got together. Song Tian's world was canvas, paint, and distant art districts, full of uncertainty and romantic adventures; while her world was code, logic, and a stable life, like a finely tuned gear, allowing no room for deviation.
It turns out that even two people who seem to be a perfect match may go in different directions at crossroads in their lives.
This feeling is strangely familiar.
Luo Yan's gaze fell on the unfinished sports magazine on the desk. The cover featured a photo of a tennis open match, with the green court shimmering and the white ball suspended in mid-air, like a bolt of lightning striking her memory.
Su Yu and Qi Sheng.
The chill in the bookstore crept up my spine, and Su Yu's sobbing voice and Qi Sheng's white knuckles overlapped in my mind's eye. They used to be so close; tennis was their common language, their shared faith. But in the end, they parted ways because of that insurmountable hurdle, because of the fear and uncertainty of the future.
Su Yu never wanted glory on the court, but rather that when he looked at the tennis ball, he would spare a glance for her; that when he discussed tactics, he would remember that she had mentioned wanting to eat strawberry cake from the south of the city yesterday. But Qi Sheng treated tennis as everything; his world consisted only of training, matches, and winning or losing. Su Yu's expectations were like a pebble thrown into an icy lake, sinking to the bottom without even causing a ripple.
When people are not aligned, it turns out that they really can tear a relationship apart.
Tears welled up without warning. Luo Yan quickly lowered her head, pretended to rub her eyes, and wiped the tears on her sleeve. The wool fibers absorbed the moisture but left a cool touch.
Aren't she and Song Tian the same? Song Tian yearns for a broader artistic world, like the companionship and care that Su Yu once longed for; while she, to some extent, seems to be like Qi Sheng, attached to familiar stability, and secretly retreating from the unknown distance.
What alarmed her even more was that when Song Tian suggested going to Nanqing, her first thought wasn't "we can work hard together," but rather "I have a lot of classes" and "I need to go home to be with my mom." This subconscious retreat was like a mirror, reflecting a weakness she herself hadn't even realized she possessed.
She suddenly remembered Qi Sheng again.
I remember the bloodshot in his eyes when he said, "I am not worthy of your light, and I am afraid of your light coming in." I remember the chill that went deep into his bones when he turned away. That was not letting go, but accepting his fate, trapping himself in the past, using calmness as armor to refuse anyone from getting close.
She had been chasing Qi Sheng for so long, from the fleeting glimpse of him as a student teacher in high school—he stood by the playground, a corner of his white shirt fluttering in the wind, his profile dazzling in the sunlight; to the silent graduate student in the sports academy in college, sitting in a corner of the library reading a tactics book, his fingers tracing the pages so lightly as if afraid of disturbing something. She was like chasing a distant star, thinking that getting closer would allow her to feel its light and warmth, only to find in the end that the starlight was nothing but a figment of her imagination, and the star itself was already a frozen, isolated island.
This chase felt like a long dream.
She once worked hard to understand tennis because of this "love," looking up those difficult tactical terms, and even staying in Suzhou, a city that wasn't really hers. She treated this feeling as a kind of belief, supporting her as she moved from the oppressive high school to the relatively free university. But now, the dream is fading, and her belief seems to be crumbling.
Luo Yan lay slumped over the desk, her shoulders trembling slightly, her forehead pressed against the cool surface, where the scent of wood mixed with old books wafted. The light from the computer screen reflected her tears, spreading small, cold spots of light across the desk.
She suddenly realized that she and Qi Sheng were actually the same kind of people.
They both harbored feelings of inferiority, yet were unaware of them. Qi Sheng's inferiority stemmed from that failure and pain; he felt unworthy of Guangming. Her inferiority, perhaps, stemmed from her awe of the "different world," from a subconscious feeling that her "ordinariness" was unworthy of Qi Sheng's "specialness," and also unworthy of Song Tian's "passion."
They were both used to running away. Qi Sheng ran away from the past, from Su Yu, from the possible happiness; while she ran away from her true feelings for Qi Sheng: it was heartache, understanding, and the urge to be with him, but she dared not admit it. She ran away from the differences between herself and Song Tian about the future, and even just now, she subconsciously used "too many classes" and "spending time with my parents" as excuses to avoid the challenges they needed to face together.
They yearn for warmth, yet fear being burned by it; they long for light, yet fear its brightness will expose their cowardice and vulnerability.
This realization was like a dull knife, slowly cutting into her heart, causing her so much pain that she could hardly breathe, and even her breath tasted rusty.
Song Tian seemed to sense something was wrong with her. He put down his paintbrush, the chair leg scraping softly on the floor. He quietly walked behind her, reached out his hand, hesitated for a moment, then placed it on her shoulder, his fingertips still cool from the paint, and gently patted it: "Luo Yan, I'm sorry, was I... too hasty?"
Luo Yan shook her head, but no sound came out; her throat felt like it was blocked by cotton. Tears streamed down her face like broken beads, falling onto her programming textbook and leaving tiny ink stains.
Song Tian didn't say anything more, just quietly stayed with her. The only sounds in the room were her suppressed sobs and the occasional car horns outside the window, which sounded like someone crying from afar.
After an unknown amount of time, Luo Yan gradually calmed down. She looked up and saw Song Tian's worried eyes, his eyelashes still glistening with tears, and her heart was filled with guilt.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffed, her voice hoarse as if it had been sanded, “it’s not because of you… I just… remembered something else.”
“It’s okay.” Song Tian squatted down, looking her in the eye. The light from the desk lamp rippled like a gentle lake in his pupils. “If you don’t want to talk about it, then don’t. But if you do want to talk about it, I’m here.”
Looking into his sincere eyes, Luo Yan opened her mouth, but found that she still couldn't easily speak about Qi Sheng, about those deeply buried emotions. They were like secrets locked in a box, which even she herself hadn't fully figured out; the key had been lost in Su Yi's snowstorm.
"I just feel a little tired." She ultimately chose a vague explanation, her fingertips unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes, causing fine wrinkles in the fabric, just like her heart, which was in turmoil at that moment.
Song Tian reached out and wiped away the remaining tear stains on her cheeks, his fingertips warm to the touch, like a soft feather brushing against her: "Rest if you're tired. No matter what, I'll always be here for you."
His words were like a gentle medicine, temporarily relieving her pain. Luo Yan nodded and took his hand. His palm was warm, warming her icy fingertips.
But the swamp in her heart that had just been touched—about Qi Sheng, about herself, about escapism—began to slowly spread, like moss after the rain, silently climbing up the corner of the wall, reminding her that some problems cannot be truly solved by escaping or diverting attention.
The night outside the window grew deeper and deeper. The lights of Su Yi stretched into a gentle sea in the distance, while only the direction of the gray apartment building of the Sports Academy remained dark, like an unlit puzzle piece. Luo Yan leaned on Song Tian's shoulder, feeling his steady breathing, but her mind was in turmoil, like a sketchbook tossed about by the wind, its pages curled into uneasy arcs.
She knew that the subtle rift between her and Song Tian wouldn't disappear because of tonight's tears and comfort. And her obsession with Qi Sheng, like a seed, had quietly taken root in that rift.
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