Forked Road
Summer seems exceptionally long. The cicadas' chirping emerges from the sticky, sultry heat, weaving a dense, impenetrable net that traps people within. That tiny crack, in the midst of such a summer, is stretched into an insurmountable chasm by day after day of silence and avoidance.
Since that conversation about Nanqing, the two of them have tacitly stopped mentioning that place name, yet it's as if an invisible thorn is stuck in each other's hearts.
Song Tian would still pick Luo Yan up from school, but the sound of his bicycle bell was much duller, as if covered with a layer of dust; the strawberries in his basket were still bright red and plump, but he never saw them covered with morning dew again. He no longer hummed songs, and when Luo Yan leaned against his back, she could only hear the empty sound of the wind rushing past her ears, and her own heart pounding like a drum—half of that heartbeat was the remaining warmth, and the other half was an uncontrollable panic.
She was still in his paintings. A few strokes had been added to the library painting; a closed window, its glass fogged, now stood beside her furrowed profile. The balcony painting was even more striking; the little black cat's tail no longer brushed her ankles, but curled up like an uneasy shadow. Every time Luo Yan went to the studio, she would find Song Tian staring blankly at these paintings, his brush hovering above the canvas, unable to fall for a long time. The smell of turpentine mixed with the late summer heat made it hard to breathe.
They still strolled along the moat, but often, after walking the entire length, they couldn't find a suitable word to say. The programming problems and color-correction techniques they used to discuss at length were now taboo. When Song Tian talked about preparing for the art exhibition, Luo Yan nodded in agreement, but her fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her clothes. The moat water was a thick, greenish hue, reflecting their shadows side by side, so close, yet as if separated by a thick layer of glass.
Luo Yan knew this wasn't the solution, but she didn't know how to bring it up. Like a coward, she hid in a shell of "busyness"—she had to rush to finish her programming assignment, her library job was booked until the weekends, and she even volunteered to join the department's algorithm competition team. She filled her time to the brim, just like she had prepared for the college entrance exam in high school, filling every gap with formulas and code, numbing herself with exhaustion, and avoiding thinking about that precarious relationship.
But escape is like a waterlogged sponge; the tighter you press, the stronger it bounces back. Once, late at night, while coding, her screen suddenly blue-screened. The moment the repair page appeared, she stared at the blinking cursor. It was the same patience Song Tian had shown her when teaching her to use drawing software, waiting for her to click the mouse, saying, "Don't rush, take your time." Tears welled up unexpectedly, splashing onto the keyboard and blurring into a jumble of characters.
Song Tian seemed to sense her evasiveness. Once in the art studio, the setting sun cast long shadows of the two of them. Luo Yan stared blankly at the computer screen, the cursor hovering after an "if" statement for ten minutes. Song Tian's hand, holding the paintbrush, paused; a drop of paint dripped onto the canvas, spreading into a small blue dot. "Are you... having second thoughts?"
Luo Yan's fingers paused on the keyboard, her nails digging into her palms, but she didn't turn around: "No."
"Then why are you always avoiding me?" Song Tian's voice was tinged with hurt. "Luo Yan, we weren't like this before."
“The past is the past.” Luo Yan’s voice was very soft, even she felt it was dry. “Now… we all have more important things to do.”
Song Tian fell silent. The only sounds in the studio were the soft scratching of paintbrushes across the canvas and the monotonous tapping of Luo Yan's keyboard. The sound grew faster and more urgent, like a race, or perhaps an escape. Luo Yan stared at the rapidly changing code on the screen and suddenly realized she had written an infinite loop, endlessly repeating itself, never reaching an exit.
The outbreak of conflict came more suddenly and more violently than expected.
It was Luo Yan's birthday that day. She deliberately didn't mention it, but when she returned to her rented room in the evening, she saw a familiar canvas bag by the door—it belonged to Song Tian. Pushing open the door, warm yellow balloons poured out from behind it, each decorated with a crooked little sun—Song Tian's handwriting. The cake was on the table, the cream decorated to resemble a locust tree, with a strawberry "growing" on one of its branches, just like the one in front of her old home in Lin'an.
Luo Yan's heart felt like it had been struck by something, both sour and tender. How long had it been since she had seen Song Tian so vibrant? That boy who would draw little suns all over balloons seemed to have been hidden in Nan Qing's shadow, only daring to show a glimpse of himself today.
"Happy birthday." Song Tian walked out from the balcony, holding a half-blown balloon in his hand, his ears as red as ripe strawberries. He wanted to hug her, but his hand stopped halfway, his fingertips curling slightly. In the end, he simply handed her a beautifully wrapped box. "This is for you."
Upon opening it, she found a paintbrush with a line of small characters engraved on the handle: "May you always have the courage to keep painting." The wood of the handle was her favorite walnut from high school, and the grain still retained a faint scent of pine resin. Luo Yan's eyes instantly reddened—she hadn't painted in a long time, and even her drawing board was covered in dust, yet Song Tian still remembered that her most treasured possession from high school was her paintbrush, saying she would "use it to paint all the landscapes she wanted to see."
"Thank you," she said softly, her voice trembling with a barely perceptible sob.
The two sat on the floor, sharing the cake. The sweetness of the cream stuck in their throats, yet they couldn't taste anything. Song Tian's hands were steady as he cut the cake, but his eyes darted around, glancing at her every now and then, as if he had something to say. Luo Yan counted the strawberries on the cake, one, two, three… until Song Tian suddenly spoke, his voice calm: "The application for residency in Nanqing has been approved. We'll depart in the middle of next month for three months."
Luo Yan's hand gripping the fork tightened suddenly, causing the strawberries on the cake to roll onto the floor, their bright red color glaringly obvious. The strawberry juice slowly spread across the tiles, like drops of blood that hadn't been wiped clean.
She should have realized it sooner. Song Tian had a map of the Nanqing Art District tucked in his sketchbook, and information about local art studios was saved in his browser bookmarks. How could his dedication to art be abandoned because of her hesitation? It was she herself who had been living in self-deception, thinking that as long as she didn't mention it, she could pretend the problem didn't exist.
"Oh." She looked down at the strawberry on the floor, her voice so soft it was like a sigh, barely audible even to herself.
“Luo Yan,” Song Tian turned around, his knees touching hers, looking at her earnestly, a last glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes, “I know you have a lot of classes, and the algorithm competition team's project can't do without you; I also know you're worried about your aunt and uncle… but three months, just three months, can you…”
"No." Luo Yan interrupted him, her voice trembling without her even realizing it, like a leaf shaking in the wind. "Song Tian, I can't go to Nanqing with you."
She looked up, meeting his gaze, and for the first time clearly expressed her concerns—not excuses, but her most genuine struggle: "The professor's project is entering a critical phase next month, and I wrote all the core code; I simply can't leave. My mother has bad knees; she fell last week, though it wasn't serious, but I was planning to go back to be with her this summer… Most importantly," she took a deep breath, her chest feeling like it was being crushed by a boulder, "I don't want to go to a completely unfamiliar city with the mindset of 'being with you.' Nanqing is your dream place, not mine. I don't want to live every day feeling wronged about 'what I sacrificed for you,' nor do I want you to live with the guilt of 'what I've delayed for you.'"
Song Tian's eyes dimmed little by little, like a candle flame extinguished by the wind, until even the last spark was gone. His lips moved, and it took him a long time to find his voice: "So, you mean..."
“We…” Luo Yan’s throat felt choked up, each word tinged with the taste of blood, “We might really not be a good match.”
These words were like a key that opened Pandora's box, unleashing a torrent of pent-up grievances, disappointments, and resentments.
"Not suitable?" Song Tian suddenly laughed, a laugh tinged with self-mockery, like shards of glass scraping against sheet metal. "Is it because Nan Qing isn't suitable, or because I'm not suitable? Last time at the moat, you didn't say a word for ages. Did you find being with me boring?"
“No,” Luo Yan shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “I just feel that we want different things. I understand that you yearn for a wider world and want to pursue your artistic ideals, and I support you in that. I think your ‘Unfinished Sketch’ is your best work; the light in your eyes when you talk about Nanqing is particularly dazzling. But what I want is stability, a certain future, which Nanqing can’t give me, and perhaps… you can’t give it to me either.”
"So in your eyes, my ideal is 'uncertainty'?" Song Tian's voice suddenly rose, filled with stung anger. He slammed his hand on the floor, making the cake box jump. "I went to Nanqing for a better future, not to mess around! There are the best curators in the country there, and the painter I've admired for three years! I went there to learn and grow so that I can give you a more stable life in the future, not to run away and have fun! You don't trust me that much? You don't believe we can make it together?"
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that I’m scared,” Luo Yan’s tears fell uncontrollably, splashing onto the floor and mixing with her strawberry juice. “Song Tian, do you think I haven’t struggled with this? Every night I think about what will happen to the lab project if I go to Nanqing with you? Will I be able to find a suitable internship if I go to Nanqing? Will we argue over trivial things? Will you say I don’t understand art, and I’ll say you don’t consider my feelings? I’m afraid that we won’t even be able to be friends in the end, afraid that we’ll end up like…”
The name she didn't say was like a sharp needle, piercing between the two of them. Song Tian clearly understood what she meant; his face instantly turned pale, and his lips pressed into a tight, straight line.
"Are you comparing me to him?" His voice turned cold, like a sudden gust of cold wind sneaking through a crack in the window at the end of summer. "Luo Yan, I thought you chose me because I'm different from him. He treats tennis like his life, I treat you like my life; he would throw your expectations into an icy lake, I would write your words on the first page of my sketchbook... But now you're telling me you're still afraid, afraid that I'll be like him, unable to give you what you want?"
"I didn't!" Luo Yan completely lost control of her emotions, tears blurring her vision. "I'm just too tired. I'm tired of staring at code every day; I'm even more tired of thinking about these messy things every day. I don't want 'Nan Qing' to always be standing in the middle of our relationship, like a thorn that I can't pull out or swallow. I don't want all the good things we had together to be wasted because of this—the good thing about you buying me orange soda from the stands on the playground, the good thing about you secretly putting my drawings into your sketchbook, the good thing about you holding my hand at the art exhibition..."
"So you're choosing to give up?" Song Tian's voice was filled with disbelief and hurt, his eyes were frighteningly red. "Just because you're afraid of the difficulties that might happen, you're going to deny everything we have now? Luo Yan, when did you become so timid? In high school, you dared to take the train alone to see an art exhibition, and you dared to argue with your teacher about the light and shadow in sketching. How come you don't even have the courage to face the future now?"
“It’s not denial, it’s accepting reality!” Luo Yan’s voice choked with sobs, as if a gaping hole had been torn in her chest. “We were never the same, Song Tian. You like to wander, you like the unknown possibilities, you say ‘art needs the unexpected’; I like stability, I like a definite path, I say ‘code cannot tolerate errors’. It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just… we can’t walk the same path. It’s like you paint oil paintings and I write code, the mediums are different, we can never merge into one painting.”
Song Tian stared at her intently, his eyes churning with complex emotions—anger, disappointment, and resentment—which ultimately settled into a bottomless weariness. He remained silent for a long time, so long that Luo Yan thought he wouldn't speak again, so long that even the cicadas outside the window fell silent, before she heard him softly say, "I understand."
These four words made Luo Yan more anxious than any heated argument. She watched as Song Tian stood up and silently began to clean up the balloons and cake boxes on the floor. He folded the balloons very gently, as if handling fragile glass; when he wiped the strawberry juice on the floor, he used three tissues, carefully, as if erasing some trace.
“Song Tian…” Luo Yan wanted to reach out and pull him, but her fingers were too heavy to lift.
"Stop talking." Song Tian interrupted her, his back to her, his voice soft but carrying a resolute determination to cut everything off, "You're right, we're both too tired. Maybe breaking up is the best choice for us."
Luo Yan sat there, watching him pack his art supplies into his backpack one by one. He hesitated for a moment before placing the paintbrush with the inscription into her desk drawer, his movements as gentle as if he were putting away a rare treasure. He picked up the beige canvas bag hanging on the back of his chair—the bag he had carried when he first came to pick her up, filled with fresh strawberries, now empty, making a dull thud as he slung it over his shoulder.
Tears streamed down like beads from a broken string, falling incessantly and staining the floor with a small, dark patch. So it really did happen. The feelings once thought unbreakable, the warmth once thought within reach, ultimately couldn't withstand the crossroads of reality. Just like Su Yu and Qi Sheng, one yearning to be seen, the other trapped in his own world, they could only drift further and further apart on their own paths.
Song Tian packed his things, walked to the door, paused for a moment, put his hand on the doorknob, but did not turn around: "That paintbrush... if you don't want to use it, it's okay to throw it away."
The door was gently closed with a soft "click," like a tap on Luo Yan's heart, sending shivers down her spine.
The room fell silent instantly, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the continued incessant chirping of cicadas outside the window. The warm yellow light cast a chilling glow on the empty floor. Luo Yan lay sprawled on the floor, her shoulders trembling violently. Her long-suppressed sobs finally erupted, mingling with the sweltering heat of late summer and filling the entire room.
Those warm, bright memories, with the scent of turpentine, flashed through my mind like movie clips, finally settling on Song Tian's departing figure, blurring into a misty haze.
After crying for an unknown amount of time, Luo Yan finally collapsed from exhaustion. She lay on the cold floor, staring at the rotating ceiling fan, and suddenly felt incredibly tired.
She remembered Qi Sheng, remembered him saying, "Keep moving forward, don't stop." But now she stood here, not knowing which way to go. She had chased after distant starlight, only to find that behind that starlight lay a frozen wasteland; she had embraced the warm sun beside her, only to find that the warm sun also had its own distant destination to reach.
It turns out that growth is not about finding the right direction, but about learning to accept the regrets behind every choice.
The next morning, Luo Yan found a note on her desk. It was written in Song Tian's neat and powerful handwriting: "I'm leaving. The paintings are still in the studio. You can go anytime if you want to see them. Luo Yan, I wish you... to find your true path."
She picked up the note, her fingertips gently tracing the words. The edges of the paper were wrinkled from being soaked with tears, just like her current mood. Tears welled up again, falling onto the words "track" and spreading into a small blot of ink.
Summer vacation arrived quickly. Luo Yan didn't return to Lin'an or go to Nanqing; she stayed in Suyi, spending her days in the library or working on projects in the lab. Zhang Qi visited her a few times, bringing her favorite strawberry cake. Seeing her increasingly silent demeanor, he hesitated, then finally just handed her a bag of snacks: "If you're really upset, just cry it out. Don't hold it in. What does winning the algorithm competition matter? Your happiness is the most important thing."
Luo Yan just smiled and said, "I'm fine."
She was indeed fine, at least that's how it seemed. She ate on time, attended classes on time, and completed her homework on time, like a programmed robot, precise yet numb.
One evening in late August, Luo Yan went to Song Tian's studio to return the sketchbook he had left with her. When she opened the door, she found it empty, with only scraps of drawing paper still hanging on the wall and scattered paint tubes on the floor—Song Tian's favorite cobalt blue, which he said "looked like the color of Luo Yan's eyes." A note on the easel read: "Song has left the school; his art supplies have been mailed away."
Song Tian has already left.
He really did go to Nanqing, carrying his art supplies and dreams, heading towards his distant horizon. She, on the other hand, stayed in Suyi, guarding her code and logic, continuing on the path she had chosen.
As she walked out of the art academy, the evening breeze carried the chill of late summer, stinging her face. Luo Yan looked up and saw a crescent moon hanging in the sky, like a bitten fingernail, incomplete and cold. She suddenly remembered something Song Tian had said long ago: he wanted to paint those easily forgotten moments into eternity.
But it turns out that not every moment can be frozen in time, and not every encounter can lead to an end.
She took out her phone, scrolled to Song Tian's WeChat chat, and saw the last message he sent her on her birthday: "Goodnight." She hesitated for a long time before finally typing: "Have a safe trip."
The moment she pressed the send button, she felt as if something inside her heart had gently shattered. It wasn't a heart-wrenching pain, but rather the subtle sound of ice melting, carrying a hint of relief and a touch of melancholy.
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