The rustling sound of the fabric rubbing together was especially clear in the quiet night.
As he bent down, the air he created brushed against her cheek.
Something cool was gently placed beside the pillow, followed by the sound of footsteps fading into the distance. The door was carefully closed, as softly as a sigh.
Zi Xi didn't open her eyes until she was sure he was far away.
Moonlight streamed in through the window cracks, illuminating the fountain pen beside her pillow—the same pen she had lost again.
The metal pen gleamed coldly in the moonlight, yet it still retained a trace of warmth when held in her palm. She wondered if it was warmed by his body heat or if it was just her imagination.
The next morning, Zixi boiled two eggs.
The firewood in the stove crackled and popped as she stared intently at the dancing flames.
The water in the pot was bubbling away, and four eggs were gently tapping against each other inside.
She scooped one out, peeled it open, and found the egg white smooth and the yolk still slightly runny.
After eating two, I carefully wrapped the other two in a handkerchief and slipped away to Ji Yanchen's dilapidated courtyard during a break before going to work.
That door, forever closed, is like an insurmountable barrier.
But Zi Xi went up, placed the egg wrapped in a handkerchief on the threshold, thought for a moment, then broke off a twig and drew a round head, two curved eyes, and an upturned mouth on the snow.
Just as I finished the last stroke, a muffled thud came from inside the room, as if someone had hit a wooden board.
Zi Xi hurriedly hid behind the haystack, her heart pounding like a thief caught in the act.
After a while, the door opened a crack.
A pale hand reached out, its long, slender fingers covered in scars, and carefully touched the handkerchief, gently holding two eggs.
Just as it was about to retract, the hand suddenly paused, its fingertips lightly tracing the snow.
After the door closed, Zi Xi tiptoed closer to take a look. Next to the smiling face she had drawn, there was a crooked response. The lines were stiff, like a beginner holding a pen for the first time, but it inexplicably exuded a seriousness.
Zi Xi suddenly smiled, her breath dispersing in the morning light.
And so began this silent exchange.
The fruit that Zixi harvested in his little garden would always appear on his nailed-up windowsill, lined with washed paulownia leaves.
Every time Ji Yanchen hunted a wild rabbit in the mountains, he would clean its fur thoroughly, tie it with straw rope, and hang it on her lintel, leaving no trace of blood.
Zi Xi reciprocated by placing a pair of knitted gloves on the edge of a field where Ji Yanchen was passing by, with a note inside that read "Try them out to see how big they are."
Their approach was naturally noticed by the villagers, and gossip, like willow catkins in spring, gradually filled the entire production team.
"Lin Zhiqing, does that madman keep bothering you?"
"His father was..."
Old Liu, the scorekeeper, was smoking a pipe and deliberately lowered his voice to persuade people while recording work points.
If all the educated youth in this city can be attracted to that crazy guy Ji, then his nephew can too!
"Comrade Ji is a very good person."
“My house was leaking, and he helped fix the roof.”
Zi Xi leaned the hoe against the wall and patted the dirt off her hands.
"You, a city girl, wouldn't know about the Ji family..."
Old Liu's brows furrowed even more.
"Uncle Liu, Comrade Ji is a very kind-hearted neighbor. He saw that I was an educated youth and just wanted to lend a hand."
How could Zi Xi not know? She knew the plot more completely than anyone else.
The women's director, Aunt Zhang, even came directly to their door.
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