Mu Siwen was wearing a neat Zhongshan suit, and the city representative badge on his chest shone with a cold, hard metallic luster under the snow.
As he pushed through the crowd and walked toward the steps, the sound of his military boots breaking the thin ice startled the icicles under the eaves, and the broken ice fell on his shoulders, but the moment he got close to Lin Zhiyue, he raised his hand and brushed it away neatly.
"Yueyue."
He leaned over slightly, his warm breath wrapped in the scent of cedar drifted over her ears, and the tassels of the cashmere scarf gently brushed her red earlobes from the cold, "I knew you were the best."
The voice was very low, but it was like a blade dipped in honey, drawing a hidden arc in the falling snow.
The fingers hidden in his sleeves moved, and finally restrainedly hung above her shoulder. The vague warmth formed a strange temperature difference with the howling cold wind around them.
The door creaked open. The hem of Lin Weidong's military coat was still stained with snow from patrolling. At this moment, he took two steps at a time and walked down the stairs. His calloused hands tightly grasped the hand of the president of Beijing University: "Come in! There's a charcoal pot in the house, don't get cold!"
Grandma Lin leaned on a jujube wood cane and trembled as she moved to the door. Her cloudy eyes were filled with tears and she kept muttering, "God, please open your eyes..."
Wen Yu, wearing an apron with red plum blossoms printed on it, leaned out of the kitchen. The steaming hot air blurred her glasses. "Come in and have a bowl of ginger soup! I just made it. It will keep you warm!"
Lin Lang had already climbed up the courtyard wall carrying a ladder, and deftly tied the red silk with the words "Top Scholar" on the lantern. His nose was red from the cold and sweat was oozing from it, and he was humming a tuneless festive ditty.
The busy figures of the family are intertwined with the noisy crowd outside the yard. The warm feeling breaks through the biting cold and wraps the whole yard in a lively spring light.
The clang of the carved iron door shut startled the sparrows under the eaves, and frost flowers on the copper lock fell off.
Aunt Wang leaned over the iron fence and peeked inside. Her frozen fingers left a few wet fingerprints on the cold railing, but she only saw the backs of the Lin family members as they escorted the distinguished guests to the main hall.
Aunt Li stood on tiptoe and stretched her neck, unaware that her scarf had slipped off her shoulders. She could only glimpse through the crack in the door as Wen Yu walked in and out carrying a cup of steaming ginger soup.
The cold wind blew the snow against the iron gate, blocking out their whispering and stomping.
Aunt Zhang's reading glasses slid to the tip of her nose again. She looked at the new red note "Do Not Disturb" on the door and felt a sour feeling in her throat.
Several middle-aged women looked at each other, and suddenly realized that the frozen cabbages and frozen tofu in their vegetable baskets seemed particularly deserted.
What they didn't know was that there was a prying eye watching them from a distance.
That person is Meng Shuang'er.
The north wind blew snowflakes onto Meng Shuang'er's frozen purple cheeks. She huddled behind the old locust tree outside the military compound, her nails digging deep into the rough bark.
The fur collar of his military coat had long been soaked by the snow and water. The biting coldness climbed up his spine, but it was not as burning as the jealousy surging in his chest.
She stared at Mu Siwen in the center of the crowd, and a rusty taste rose in her throat.
The boy who was always cold-hearted to her, now leaned over with his eyebrows curved into a gentle arc, and the white mist he exhaled lingered around Lin Zhiyue's ears.
The faint smile on his lips was more genuine than any other time he responded to her in her memory, like a poisoned needle piercing straight into her eyes.
The snow was getting heavier, but Meng Shuang'er was completely unaware.
She watched Lin Zhiyue being surrounded by people and entered the house.
The slender figure was framed in gold by the door frame.
However, Mu Siwen's deliberately slowed down pace and the half-step distance he left deliberately became thorns in her heart.
The hot tears in her eyes burst out and instantly condensed into ice on her cheeks. She bit her lower lip hard and tasted the sweet and fishy taste of blood.
"Why..."
She whispered hoarsely into the empty snowfield, her voice torn into pieces by the howling north wind.
The dead branches of the locust tree swayed above her head, and the fallen snow fell onto her collar, but she just felt cold all over.
All the secretly collected calligraphy works and carefully prepared breakfasts by Moussewen now turned into burning flames, devouring her sanity bit by bit.
The charcoal basin in the house was burning brightly, driving away the cold, and the aroma of tea and ginger filled the air in the warmth.
The Lin family and the guests sat around chatting and laughing. Amid the crisp sound of porcelain bowls colliding, no one noticed the distorted figure in the snow outside the window.
"Mr. Lin, I'm a reporter from the Education Times. I wonder if I could take up some of your time?"
The young reporter wearing black-framed glasses held a notebook with the tip of his pen hovering over the paper. "What was your first reaction when you learned that you had become the top scorer in the country?"
Lin Zhiyue gently placed the ginger soup in her hand on the low table, and the hot steam rising from the edge of the cup blurred her eyelashes.
She looked at her family members sitting around her. Her father's calloused hands were stroking the corners of the admission letter, her mother's eyes were shining with tears of pride, and her grandmother was quietly wiping her eyes.
"actually......"
She paused, and a gentle smile appeared on her lips. "The first thing that comes to my mind is the days of studying late into the night, and my family and friends who have always supported me. This achievement not only belongs to me, but also to all the people who believed in me."
The reporter quickly wrote down the question, the pen tip rustling on the paper: "I heard that you were ill. Growing up in the countryside, what kind of belief supported you all the way to where you are now?"
Lin Zhiyue looked up at the flying snowflakes outside the window. The outline of the old locust tree in the distance was faintly visible in the snow.
She recalled the vows that Mu Zhiyue, Lin Qiyang and others made under the grape trellis.
"It's a dream, but also a hope."
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