Chapter 13 The temperature difference between day and night in Beijing is significant…
The temperature difference between day and night in Beijing is significant. The evening wind is so cold it feels like early winter, and it chills your nose so much that it makes it itch.
Especially since Liu Duanhe was dressed lightly today, he covered his mouth and nose and turned his head, unable to resist sneezing.
Seeing this, Feng Xingyun, who was walking beside him, hesitated for a moment, then nudged him lightly with her elbow, "Want a coat?"
He added, "I just changed into it at noon today, and only wore it this afternoon." He had just finished a basketball game that lasted an hour and a half, and the high-intensity running and jumping made him very hot, so he was too lazy to put on the clothes and just kept them in his bag.
Liu Duanhe smiled and politely said, "Okay, thank you."
After putting on the coat, it wasn't as cold as before. His mixed-and-matched outfit didn't look out of place at all; the success of fashion really does depend on one's face and physique.
Feng Xingyun felt relieved that he wasn't rejected and couldn't help but invite, "Our team is having a dinner party later, would you like to join us?"
Apologetic look appeared in Liu Duanhe's eyes as he declined, saying, "I'm sorry, I have to go home tonight. My family needs to see me."
He raised his hand to push up his slightly drooping glasses. His memory told him that they were in a relationship, but Liu Duanhe felt that they were still in the early stages of their relationship and were not very familiar with each other, so he spoke very politely.
Feng Xingyun didn't care. Being rejected actually made it feel real. After all, it had only been a few days, and they had become so familiar with each other, more frequently than they had interacted in the previous year or so.
They walked through the small garden. Since they were both heading out of the school gate, and it would be convenient for them to travel a little further, Liu Duanhe took out his phone to check the bus schedule. The next bus was leaving in ten minutes.
Feng Xingyun asked casually, "Aren't you going back to the dorm tonight?"
He nodded. "Yes, I asked my advisor for leave tonight."
Their school has this bizarre rule: students are not allowed to stay in the dorm before their junior year and must return to the dorm at night. Dorm checks are conducted at random times, and if caught, it will be treated as staying out all night. If you have something to do and don't want to stay in the dorm, you must ask your advisor for leave.
Fortunately, the hard times of junior year are finally over. Thinking of this, Liu Duanhe couldn't help but sigh.
If he hadn't wanted to waste time, he would have retaken the college entrance exam and called another top university he had chosen back then. A single wrong decision led to this situation.
He clenched his fingers and suddenly felt a tickle in his nose. He wanted a cigarette; she had started smoking in college.
Even though he was raised strictly according to the standards of an heir from childhood, he still felt pressured when he actually started managing a company and testing his abilities. In particular, shortly after joining the company, he took over a large project thanks to his father's influence, and often worked through the night to meet deadlines.
He developed both his obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) and smoking around that time. His OCD was manageable, but smoking was really harmful to his health. He had been controlling how often he smoked. Later, as his OCD became more and more severe, it actually counteracted his nicotine addiction. In the past six months, he has rarely touched cigarettes and is almost ready to quit.
Liu Duanhe adjusted his glasses again, his long eyelashes drooping as he suppressed the urge.
He really hated, even loathed, things that were addictive and caused him to lose control, whether it was cigarettes or alcohol.
As my emotions surged, the urge to wash my hands welled up inside me. My hands, which had touched other things, touched my glasses—they were so dirty.
Liu Duanhe clenched his long, slender, fair hands, almost imagining the pleasant sensation of warm water flowing through his fingertips, but there was nowhere to wash his hands in the outdoor space where they were standing.
Feng Xingyun had already noticed his several unnecessary movements and asked, "What's wrong with you?"
A note from the author:
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