Chapter 51: Cosmic Latte (3) The past is the past, we...
Ever since meeting He Chuan in the elevator, Lin Xia has only taken the stairs to and from work.
Maybe it was just her wishful thinking. He didn't chase her that day or talk to her. Maybe he had already forgotten her.
Seven years is a long time. It's enough to change everything. Every cell in the body has undergone a complete metabolism. He is no longer the He Chuan of the past, and she is no longer the Lin Xia of the past.
If she was really mature and decent, she should meet him again openly, ask him about his well-being in a nonchalant manner, and wave goodbye calmly, instead of hiding and being ridiculously childish like she is now.
But she couldn't do it. She just didn't want to face it, whether it was him or the relationship that ended in vain. She would rather escape in this embarrassing way and bear the crime of cowardice.
Climbing 31 flights of stairs each day was a long and arduous aerobic workout. During this time, she replayed everything from those days over and over again. Every detail was vivid in her mind, but she couldn't recall her feelings at the time. More than two thousand dull days and nights had worn away, and she had forgotten what it felt like to feel a flutter in her heart, or even what it felt like to like someone.
A week passed in a daze and nothing happened.
Lin Xia was going to Guangzhou on Sunday. In order to avoid having to work overtime at the company on the weekend, Lin Xia finished all the manuscripts needed for next Monday in one go in front of the computer on Friday night. When she came to her senses, the number in the lower right corner of the screen had already shown 22:35.
She stretched her stiff neck, turned off the computer, picked up her canvas bag, and left her workstation.
It was already this late and there was almost no chance of a chance encounter, but Lin Xia still chose to take the stairs. The opportunity to exercise is rare, and recently she has rarely achieved the step count target set by her bracelet every day.
It takes half an hour to go up thirty floors, but usually only half the time to go down. She hadn't had dinner yet and was feeling hungry. As she walked down the stairs, she wondered whether she should stop by for dinner on the way home, or order takeout when she was almost home.
Otherwise, she might as well go home and make a sandwich. She suddenly remembered that there was still half a bag of toast left in the refrigerator, which was about to expire.
In a blink of an eye, she reached the first floor. Just as she turned the corner and was thinking about what ingredients to put in the sandwich, she suddenly saw a tall and thin figure at the bottom of the stairs. He was leaning against the wall with his shoulders slightly slumped. He was holding his glasses in his drooping hands. He exuded a faint sense of fatigue. She didn't know whether he was resting or waiting for someone.
Hearing footsteps, he looked up. The pale light from the stairwell shone on his face, making his hair black and his eyes as dark as ink. All the subtle expressions on his black and white cheeks were visible: astonishment, joy, hesitation... many contradictory emotions mixed together, converging into an indescribable mixture of feelings.
He and she, one on the stairs and the other at the bottom, looked at each other and were silent for a while.
We meet on a narrow road and there is no way to avoid it. This time we finally have to face it.
Lin Xia took a deep breath, gripped the canvas bag on her shoulder, and subconsciously pursed her lips.
He Chuan slowly stood up straight, put on his glasses again, faced her with an almost solemn attitude, and spoke first, saying only two words:
"Xia Xia."
When Lin Xia heard the words, she almost trembled all over.
How long has it been since I heard this voice calling me like this?
At this moment, the bitterness in her heart was beyond measure. She wanted to cry and run away, but she finally suppressed all impulses and smiled lightly.
"He Chuan."
"We haven't seen each other for... a long time."
"Well, seven years, right?"
"It's not seven years," He Chuan whispered, "it's eight years and two months."
Yes, we have been separated for seven years, but the last time we met was in the summer of 2011 in Hong Kong.
Lin Xia glanced at his hand calmly, only to see that his fingers were clean and bare, just like hers.
"When did you return home?" she asked him in a relaxed tone, as if the awkward elevator encounter a few days ago had never happened. "Do you work here too?"
He Chuan stared at her face and responded with a hoarse voice:
"Irving, who just came back two months ago, is on the 19th floor. How about you?"
"In the MT on the 22nd floor." Lin Xia smiled. "What a coincidence, meeting you here."
He Chuan didn't answer for a moment.
It wasn't a coincidence. He'd seen her work badge hanging around her neck that day and already knew her company, but he didn't want to rush in. Every morning and evening before work, he'd been lingering in the elevator, but he never ran into her again. He suspected she was avoiding him, so he went to several stairwells and waited, but still nothing. He always missed her.
The office had just been completed, and there were a lot of trivial matters to deal with. He had an important social event tonight, and after it ended, he went back to the office to get some documents. He happened to see that the light on her floor was still on, so he just wanted to wait here for a while with a try-it attitude, but he didn't expect to actually meet her.
Of course Lin Xia knew that it was not such a coincidence, just as she had secretly searched for Owen's information on the web, but neither of them exposed it. They maintained a shaky facade, deceiving others and themselves.
He asked, "How have you been these years?"
She replied, "It's okay, just living a routine life. How about you?"
He also replied: "Not bad."
After a question and an answer, there was silence again.
There are so many things that I don't even know how to talk about. Half a flight of stairs separates two people by seven years. They are so close yet so far away. The intimacy of the past is gone, leaving only timidity and alienation. No one dares to take a step forward.
This oppressive silence made Lin Xia feel a dull pain in her empty stomach, so she couldn't help but speak to break the silence:
"It's too late. I'm going back first."
As she spoke, she walked downstairs. As she passed by someone, her arm was suddenly grabbed:
"I send you--"
The moment their skin touched, both of them couldn't help but tremble in their hearts.
Once upon a time, they were so close, and their embrace was so short yet so warm and lingering, which was unforgettable and could never be forgotten in a lifetime. No matter how many years have passed, just a simple touch can evoke all the dusty memories. How pitiful and sad.
Lin Xia suppressed the strange feeling in her heart, pulled back her arm, and said reluctantly:
"No, I can just take the subway. You've been drinking, haven't you? Go back now."
As she got closer, she could smell the unfamiliar scent of alcohol on his breath, and the familiar soap scent on his collar, so contradictory.
His outstretched hand froze in mid-air, and after a long time he slowly lowered it, and a barely perceptible sigh rang out.
"Xia Xia, can we find time to talk? Or at least, leave me your contact information..."
They had indeed lost all contact over the years.
During their time together, neither of them had WeChat on their phones. Lin Xia's old QQ account had been stolen long ago. In 2013, Microsoft shut down its MSN software worldwide, erasing all friend lists and chat history. When Lin Xia moved from Beijing to Shenzhen, she had no choice but to change her phone card to save money and improve convenience. From then on, all contact between them ceased.
Just like raindrops falling into the ocean and snow melting into the soil, everything is silent and without a trace.
Lin Xia wanted to say that they had nothing to talk about and there was no need to contact each other. She also wanted to say that they had no relationship now. Wouldn’t it be better for them to go their separate ways? Why should they keep getting entangled with each other?
But these emotional, childish and immature words could not be said after all. She gave him the most perfect answer that was ambiguous:
"I'm very tired from working overtime today. I'll have a chance next time."
For adults, the next time they meet means they will never see each other again. This is an unspoken understanding among everyone in social situations.
So the reunion ended like this, and Lin Xia left, taking every step with extraordinary calmness.
She knew that the person behind her was following her all the way, but she tried hard to tell herself in her heart, Lin Xia, you are doing very well, move forward and don't look back.
The past is past, and we can't go back.
......
That night, Lin Xia couldn't sleep.
It's not necessarily because of someone or something. She often suffers from insomnia. She can't fall asleep at night and can't wake up during the day. Her day and night are reversed. This is a common problem among young people today.
The next day was Saturday. Lin Xia slept until 11 o'clock. After getting up, she yawned while making toast in the toaster and making coffee. Then she had to reply to a lot of messages that Qu Na sent to her mobile phone early in the morning. Her brain was a little overwhelmed.
Qu Na is Qing Meilin Xia's graduate school classmate and currently works in a large Internet company in Shenzhen. The two had a good relationship when they were in school and they still meet occasionally and go out for dinner.
Of the three major cities, Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, and Shenzhen, life in Beijing was too difficult, Shanghai was highly xenophobic, and Guangzhou had fewer large-scale companies. Shenzhen, by comparison, was inclusive and diverse, making it a better fit for young graduates, and ultimately became Lin Xia's choice. Others shared similar sentiments, so Lin Xia had quite a few classmates in the city who were her most beautiful. Although she had made other friends over the years, these same people remained her primary social circle.
Qu Na only had one day off today, and she wanted to ask Lin Xia to go to the art museum to see an exhibition. Lin Xia hadn't wanted to go at first. Shenzhen was certainly developed and prosperous, but its artistic and cultural atmosphere wasn't as good as Beijing's. She'd been a few times at first, but each time was more hype than substance, and over time, she'd grown lazy. But then Qu Na mentioned a Sisley exhibition at the museum, and Lin Xia was tempted, so she agreed.
She lived in Nanshan and Qu Na lived in Luohu. They lived in the east and west respectively, and met at the Art Museum subway station.
Sisley was the first Impressionist painter Lin Xia came into contact with. Lin Xia liked Sisley's brushstrokes and colors very much. When she was studying colors, looking at his paintings always made her feel peaceful and tranquil, which made Lin Xia yearn for European towns.
Perhaps because I hadn't raised any expectations, I wasn't disappointed. The exhibition was much better than Lin Xia had anticipated. Although the ticket price was high, I saw many authentic works, and the exhibition layout was very sophisticated. I have to admit that although Shenzhen's history and culture may be a little shallow, they have money. With a lot of money, whether renting or borrowing, they can always spruce up their facades.
What Qu Na wanted to see more was another exhibition in the museum, an exhibition of 100 contemporary calligraphy and painting masters. She majored in calligraphy at Beijing Normal University and knew every calligrapher and painter like the back of her hand. As they walked, she explained to Lin Xia in detail their style, life story, scandals and gossip. She was more professional than the museum's tour guides and attracted many tourists to follow her and listen. In a blink of an eye, she had formed a small group of people, like a tour guide.
Lin Xia had no interest in calligraphy or Chinese painting, perhaps because of the trauma she'd been forced to practice calligraphy as a child. She simply followed Qu Na around. Near the end of the exhibition hall, she came to a wall and saw the person introduced as Ji Songting.
Ji Songting is a renowned contemporary painter, calligrapher, and classical scholar, as well as a collector of cultural relics. During his lifetime, he served as a professor at Beijing Normal University and vice chairman of the Chinese Calligraphy and Painting Association. He taught countless students throughout his life, and his students are renowned worldwide. Four of his disciples are among his most famous, and are also well-known in the calligraphy and painting circles. Two of these four disciples are now deceased, one having passed away young in the early 2000s, and the other a few years ago. The exhibition board briefly mentions their lives, with their birth and death dates written after their names:
Lin Haisheng (1945-2012)
Lin Xia stood in front of the display board for a long time without moving.
Qu Na was talking non-stop at the side:
"My undergraduate advisor once took a class taught by Mr. Ji. He said that Mr. Ji was the last true master in China. After him, the calligraphy and painting world no longer had the traditional literati spirit. Although Mr. Ji's four major disciples are also quite famous, they are more the result of commercial hype based on their teacher's reputation. The eldest disciple, Liu Hongming, comes from an art company, and his son is the driving force behind the scenes. Among them, only Mr. Lin has any real talent; the other three are just bundled into marketing. He had an eccentric temper and rarely wrote inscriptions for others. Before his death, he burned most of his works, which has led to the current inflated market prices. This one here... Look, this one was donated by his widow, Ms. He."
Not a widow.
Lin Xia silently retorted in her heart that the two of them had never legally established any relationship in the end, and had no name or status. This was why everyone was fighting over the inheritance, and no one was satisfied, and a funeral turned into a farce.
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