Back inside, Shi Meng realized that his departure had been nothing short of a hasty retreat, and he was in a very bad mood.
He thought, "It's all because of the rainy days."
The cat's bed was placed next to the bed in the upstairs bedroom, but the cat's whereabouts are unpredictable. Today it sleeps obediently in its bed, but tomorrow it might be lying on top of the wardrobe.
I opened a can of cat food, mixed it with other cat food, and the cat ate it with relish. Shi Meng squatted by the bed watching it eat, resting her chin on the back of her hand, thinking how wonderful it would be if people could be like cats, happy just by getting something delicious.
I turned on my computer and received a new email from Teacher Ma, asking if I wanted to participate in a portrait painting competition to be held in Fengcheng at the end of the year. He said the preliminary round would be judged online, and I could use a stage name to participate; I could just make up a few words.
They even considered his concerns, so Shi Meng had no reason to refuse. Besides, he actually wanted to participate; winning an award wasn't important. He needed some motivation to push him forward.
That evening, Shi Meng leaned against the headboard and read the letter she had just received. Along with the letter came a pair of gloves, an unremarkable design, not even with five fingers; once you put your hand in, it became a round, furry palm. With a string to tie the two together, it was the kind of glove that children often wore around their necks in winter to prevent them from getting lost.
However, its advantage lies in its fine weave, soft texture, and well-concealed thread ends, making it clear that it is not mass-produced in a factory.
I don't recall ever seeing Li Bihan doing knitting at home in the past ten years or so. She was born into a scholarly family and had read a lot of books. For her, the mundane tasks of daily life were just a pastime. She had never done such time-consuming and laborious work.
Even Shi Mu never received the gloves she knitted herself.
The letter said: My hands-on skills are not very good. I have practiced for more than half a month and this is the only one that is acceptable. If you like it, you can wear it when you go out. If you don't like it, you can throw it aside. When my skills improve, I will knit you a new one.
Shi Meng put on the gloves and tried them on; they fit perfectly and weren't as bad as described in the letter.
He took off his gloves, but instead of throwing them away, he folded them and placed them beside his pillow. As he lay on his side, he could smell a faint orange scent, the same bergamot aromatherapy that was often found in Li Bihan's room.
With her eyes closed, Shi Meng turned over and faced away, as if trying to escape, preventing herself from indulging for too long.
He had been living in a closed, vacuum-like world for too long, and he was still not used to receiving things, still not used to others being kind to him.
The next morning, the black car in front of the door had been moved. Shi Meng went out with a watering can to water the seedlings and ran into Aunt Pan, who was out early to buy groceries next door.
"Where did you go yesterday afternoon?" Aunt Pan asked as she stepped forward. "Our Wei came three times but couldn't get anyone to answer the door."
"They went to Fengcheng," Shi Meng said.
"You went back to your hometown? That's good. No matter how bad things are with your family, you should still keep in touch."
"……Um."
When they first moved here, Aunt Pan inquired about where Shi Meng came from and, based on his age and his reticent attitude, guessed that he had run away from home and was hiding here. She also earnestly advised him to go home for holidays, saying that after all, that was home, where his parents who gave him life and raised him were.
Shi Meng was too lazy to explain. Since Aunt Pan had already covered up the whole story, he decided to play along and take advantage of the existing "background".
The older generation has strong family values, and after a few more words of advice, Aunt Pan, with her sharp eyes, noticed the gloves Shi Meng was wearing and immediately understood what was going on.
"Oh, it's hand-knitted." She leaned closer to take a look. "Did your mother make it for you?"
Upon hearing the word "Mom," Shi Meng reflexively hunched her shoulders and let out an "Ah" as if caught off guard.
Aunt Pan took this as tacit agreement. She was happy for Shi Meng: "Your mother's craftsmanship is really good, look how beautifully these gloves are knitted."
Not only Aunt Pan, but her son also praised her beauty.
On Monday morning, Pan Jiawei had no classes, so he carried his guitar and knocked on Shi Meng's door. Upon entering, he immediately expressed his displeasure that Shi Meng had not been home the previous day.
“Do you know I made five trips, a full five trips!” Pan Jiawei raised his hand to show five. “I thought you never left the house, and I thought you were sleeping soundly at home. I was so afraid you would starve to death that I almost climbed out the window.”
Shi Meng didn't understand the connection between starving to death and climbing out of the window. After thinking for a moment, he said, "Aunt Pan said you only came three times."
Pan Jiawei said irritably, "She got it wrong, it's five trips."
Shi Meng responded with an "Oh".
Pan Jiawei waited for a long time, then widened his eyes and asked, "Just 'Oh'?"
Shi Meng was tidying up the paints when she turned to look at him, as if asking with her eyes: "What else?"
Pan Jiawei deflated after just one glance, scratching his head and turning his face away: "It's nothing, next time, next time don't... Sigh, never mind, let's just exchange WeChat contacts, so I don't keep coming back empty-handed."
Although Shi Meng didn't understand the relationship between adding each other on WeChat and going to a gambling den, she still added Pan Jiawei as a friend.
After adding him, Pan Jiawei immediately opened his Moments, confirmed that he hadn't been restricted, and stared in astonishment at the empty page, saying, "This isn't your alternate account, is it?"
Shi Meng blinked: "What a smaller version?"
Unlike Shi Meng's quiet life, Pan Jiawei's WeChat Moments was vibrant and colorful. From attending music festivals to enjoying a bowl of noodles, he posted new updates with pictures and text almost every day. The comment section was also very lively, filled with messages from senior students, junior students, friends, and relatives, all congratulating him.
Pan Jiawei scrolled down to show Shi Meng: "Look, this is what a normal person's WeChat Moments looks like."
Shi Meng let out another "Oh" as if learning something, picked up her phone, switched to camera mode, placed the glove on her knee, and took a picture.
"Did your mom make this?" Pan Jiawei could tell it was handmade. "It's quite beautiful."
Shi Meng was focused on figuring out how to post updates and didn't have time to pay attention to him.
Pan Jiawei then asked, "By the way, why did you come to Xuncheng? Did you really run away from home?"
Shi Meng still ignored him.
"Could it be that he's here to heal his heartbreak after his breakup?"
When asked about heartbreak, Shi Meng paused for a moment, then shook her head: "No."
“Oh.” Pan Jiawei mimicked him, concluding, “You’ve never been in a relationship.”
After much effort, Shi Meng finished editing the content, clicked send, and casually uttered an "Mm".
Yes, I've never been in a relationship and I don't know what love is.
They instinctively approached, and then instinctively retreated after being injured.
Only now do I understand that love is mostly warm and soft, like these gloves. How could it hurt so much that you can't even cry?
Pan Jiawei came to sing his new song for Shi Meng this time.
Shi Meng only listens to the rhythm of music, so he said every song was good. Just as he received the evaluation, the cat he had just brought home came downstairs and lazily meowed. Pan Jiawei pointed at it and asked, "If this cat could sing, would you also think it sounds good?"
Shi Meng thought for a moment: "No."
Cats don't meow rhythmically.
Pan Jiawei, however, took this as an acknowledgment of his talent and proudly raised his chin at the cat: "You defeated opponent, why don't you state your name!"
The cat bared its teeth at him: "Meow—"
So Shi Meng gave him another name, Miaomiao.
"Is it really that hasty?" Pan Jiawei suggested, "How about calling it Meng..."
Shi Meng didn't hear clearly: "What?"
Pan Jiawei immediately backed down, his fingers strumming the strings to produce a pleasant sound: "It's nothing, I said meow meow is fine."
Pan Jiawei had class in the afternoon, and as usual, he dawdled before leaving. He kept saying that he hadn't performed well and had played a few wrong notes, and that he would send him a video of the music festival later. He also reminded him to stay home as much as possible in the evening, saying that things had been unsettling in the area lately.
“Remember the out-of-town vehicle I mentioned last time? I saw it clearly this time, it’s a Range Rover.” Pan Jiawei pointed towards the parking lot. “I saw it this morning, the person was still in the car. It’s Monday and he’s still loitering around, he must be staking out the place.”
Faced with this well-reasoned analysis, Shi Meng didn't know how to respond and could only remain silent.
After escorting the guest to the courtyard, I saw a person standing with his back against the iron railing. He was very tall, but his back looked fragile and thin, as if he had just suffered a great calamity. Only Shi Meng knew that it was because of the overwhelming illness.
Pan Jiawei saw him too. A grown man standing at the doorway was hard to miss, especially since Fu Xuanliao, in both appearance and demeanor, didn't seem like the type to appear in this rural-urban fringe area—just like Shi Meng.
Upon seeing Fu Xuanliao's face clearly, Pan Jiawei swore and said, "That's the guy!"
He stood in front of Shi Meng, glaring at him as he was about to confront him, but was stopped.
“I know him,” Shi Meng said.
Fu Xuanliao probably never imagined that their relationship would one day be described by Shi Meng as "knowing each other".
Like business partners who have exchanged business cards, or classmates from the next class who have met a few times, they are merely acquaintances, can recall each other's names, and have no other interaction.
In reality, they knew each other far more than just acquaintances. They had kissed countless times, done countless intimate things in the world, witnessed each other's hidden dark sides and bad tempers, and seen each other in all their most vulnerable moments.
Watching the young boy's back as he brazenly entered Shi Meng's residence, Fu Xuanliao's already bloodshot eyes instantly turned crimson. It was a fear that his possessions were being coveted, and even more so, a fear that something beautiful would finally be discovered by the world, and that he would no longer belong to him alone.
As Shi Meng closed the iron gate and was about to turn around, he heard a voice.
"Three minutes left."
Fu Xuanliao's voice was already deep, but now it was a bit hoarse, making people's hearts tremble slightly.
"When that kid went in just now, I was thinking, if he doesn't come out in half an hour, I'll climb over the wall, break down the door, and drag him out... Now there are three minutes left until half an hour."
Shi Meng was used to handling her own affairs and hated involving innocent people. Upon hearing this, she frowned and asked, "What right do you have?"
Upon receiving a response, Fu Xuanliao felt a little relieved, and a smile appeared on his ashen face: "Just because we know each other more than once, just because last night... I dreamed about you."
Shi Meng was taken aback.
What could one dream about? Shi Meng thought, nothing more than those unbearable past events.
But Fu Xuanliao said, "I dreamt of you, standing on that ship again."
This was an experience unique to the two of them, a code only they could understand. Even if Pan Jiawei were present, he couldn't get a single word in.
“You look at me, smile at me, and press the lighter only to light a firework, not… like this.”
Shi Meng thought he was delirious with fever: "Isn't this what you wanted?"
I've already let you go, what more do you want from me?
A sense of powerless anger rose in his heart. Recalling the events of yesterday, as if knowing he could not win an argument with him, Shi Meng turned to leave. However, before he could take a step, his clothes were pulled and his body was suddenly dragged backward by a force.
A breeze swept by, and he heard a low, husky voice in his ear: "It's alright, it's alright... you can still get angry."
Fu Xuanliao let out a sigh of relief, his breath carrying an unusual heat.
He pulled on Shi Meng's clothes with one hand, and with the other hand he reached through the gap between the railings and wrapped his arms tightly around Shi Meng's shoulders.
It's been so long since I've been this close, so close that it brings a sense of joy like something lost and then found again.
Like a traveler walking in a dry desert who finally obtains a ladle of clear water, he drinks it greedily and cherishes it so much that he dreams of holding it in his arms to feel at ease.
"It's good that you get angry."
Getting angry means there's still hope and room for maneuver. In any case, it's better than being met with cold words and harsh criticism.
Although the little mushroom turned into a little hedgehog, the pain it brought was still so familiar.
Fu Xuanliao asked, "Do you remember the last three minutes of your birthday last year?"
Forced to stay put, Shi Meng froze.
He didn't know why he didn't struggle or run. Perhaps it was because the person behind him was weak and could barely stand, as if he would fall over at the slightest touch.
But what does this have to do with him? He didn't make him get caught in the rain, nor did he make him sick.
As for those three minutes, those three minutes that once made him feel a sense of happiness and sweetness...
In a moment of panic, Shi Meng, unusually, answered without thinking, "I don't remember."
Unexpectedly, after hearing his answer, Fu Xuanliao became even more certain: "That means you remember. I know you haven't forgotten, and neither have I."
Good, bad, sweet, painful—I remembered them all.
Separated by a door that was practically useless, Fu Xuanliao did not exert much force with his arm, but leaned forward to try his best to get close to Shi Meng, who was both dazed and awake.
His breath was hot, and his gaze at Shi Meng was equally fervent: "From now on, we'll have many three-minute intervals, every single one of them, every minute and every second, for you, okay?"
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