Warm light in the winter night
The first snow at Peking University came earlier than usual. On a late November morning, as I pushed open the lab door, the ginkgo branches outside the window were already covered with a thin layer of snow, like scattered silver. I breathed out white smoke as I searched for my lab notebook, my fingertips numb with cold. Jiang Yi walked in carrying two cups of hot milk, with fine water droplets condensing on the glass.
"I just got it from the cafeteria, it's still warm." He shoved one of the cups into my hand, his gaze falling on my frostbitten fingertips. "Why aren't you wearing gloves?"
"I was working on the data too late last night and forgot to bring it." I held the warm milk in my hands, the warmth spreading from my palms to my limbs. "By the way, did the proofreading for the joint paper arrive?"
"Just received it, it's on your desk." Jiang Yi pointed to the lab bench. "Zheng Yiming and the others have also confirmed it, it should be published early next month."
I picked up the proof and ran my fingertip across the author's signature—"Shen Zhixia, Zheng Yiming, Jiang Yi, Zhou Ziang"—the handwriting was as clear as if it had just been printed. Behind these words was three months of collaboration: emails exchanged late at night, trips between laboratories across universities, and video conferences where people argued heatedly over a single decimal point in a data point.
“Speaking of which,” Jiang Yi said, wiping the lab bench, “there’s a quantum physics symposium at Tsinghua and Peking Universities next week, and they’ve invited a Nobel laureate. Would you like to go?”
"Is that okay?" My eyes lit up. The professor's "Quantum Entanglement Theory" was a textbook I had studied repeatedly.
“I told Zhou Ziang, and he said he could get extra tickets.” Jiang Yi smiled. “And by the way… it’s also a celebration of the paper’s publication.”
On the day of the seminar, Jiang Yi and I walked into the auditorium of Tsinghua and Peking Universities through the light snow. Zheng Yiming and Zhou Ziang were already sitting in the front row. Zheng Yiming was wearing a black down jacket with the zipper zipped up high, revealing only half of his face. He was looking down at the conference manual in his hand, and his profile looked particularly calm in the halo of the overhead light.
"Here!" Zhou Zi'ang waved to us, his voice exceptionally clear in the quiet auditorium.
Zheng Yiming looked up, his gaze lingering on me for half a second, then he got up and moved to the side, making room for two people. When Jiang Yi and I sat down, the coolness of the chairs seeped in through my jeans, as if reminding us of something.
“You’ve come at the right time,” Zhou Zi’ang handed over two printed agendas. “The professor’s lecture is at ten o’clock, and I heard there will be new research progress.”
I opened the agenda, and my fingertips accidentally touched Zheng Yiming's hand. He pulled his hand back as if he had been burned, and lowered his head to continue reading the manual, but the tips of his ears turned red.
The professor's lecture was insightful and easy to understand, breaking down the complex theory of quantum entanglement into vivid analogies. When he reached a key point, I instinctively wanted to discuss it with the person next to me. When I turned around, I met Zheng Yiming's gaze. His eyes held a hint of expectation, just like the way we secretly exchanged glances during physics class in high school.
“This observation method is novel,” he said in a low voice, his voice drowned out by the noisy discussion, “and more precise than the double-slit interferometry we used last time.”
“Yes,” I nodded, “especially the capture of superposition states, which should solve the error problem in our project.”
Jiang Yi laughed and said from the side, "It seems you two have the same idea again."
Zheng Yiming's ears turned even redder. He turned his head to look at the podium, but a smile secretly curved his lips.
During halftime, we ran into the professor in the tea break area. Zheng Yiming stepped forward to ask a question, clearly and logically explaining his insights, his eyes shining brighter than the overhead lights. The professor patted him on the shoulder and praised, "Young man, you have ideas. Keep up the good work."
Looking at his confident demeanor, I suddenly recalled him at a physics competition in high school, his eyes shining just as brightly, only then that light had a touch of sharpness, while now it possessed a more composed quality.
"Why didn't you go up and ask him?" Jiang Yi handed me a cookie. "Your analysis of superposition states is even more in-depth than his."
"Next time," I smiled. "I can't steal his thunder."
Zheng Yiming happened to turn around, heard this, and raised his coffee cup to me as if to say "thank you".
As the seminar ended, the snow fell heavier. Zhou Ziang suggested having lunch at a noodle shop near the school, "to warm up." The noodle shop was filled with the rich aroma of bone broth. When Zheng Yiming ordered, he subconsciously said, "Two bowls of beef noodles, no cilantro, and extra chili in one of them."
He was stunned as soon as he said it. I was stunned too. In high school, I always liked to snatch the chili peppers from his bowl, and he would always make a point of asking the owner to put in an extra portion.
“Oh,” he coughed awkwardly, “I forgot you might not like it…”
“It’s okay,” I interrupted him with a smile, “we’ll do it your way, I still love spicy food.”
Jiang Yi nudged my arm quietly from the side, a teasing smile in his eyes.
When the noodles were served, the steam blurred my glasses. I took off my glasses to wipe the lenses and saw Zheng Yiming putting beef from his bowl into mine, his movements as natural as if he had done it a thousand times.
"You eat it yourself." I put the beef back on the plate. "Don't you have an experiment to do this afternoon?"
"It's okay, I'm not hungry." He insisted on stuffing the beef into my hands, and when his fingertips touched my chopsticks, it felt like a faint electric current ran through me.
Zhou Ziang chimed in from the side, "Oh, so the physicist from Zhengzhou University can take care of people now?"
Zheng Yiming ignored him, lowered his head and ate his noodles, but his ears turned bright red.
When they left the noodle shop, the snow had stopped. Sunlight shone through the clouds onto the snow, dazzlingly bright. Zheng Yiming suddenly said, "I have to go to the lab this afternoon to process data. Do you... want to go take a look? We just received a new cryostat, which might be useful for your project."
“Great!” Jiang Yi immediately agreed. “We’ve been struggling with the stability of materials in low-temperature environments.”
The laboratories at Tsinghua and Peking Universities are more spacious than those at Yenching University. A low-temperature thermostat, like a silver cylinder, stands quietly in the center of the lab bench. Zheng Yiming puts on a white lab coat and adjusts the instrument. His fingers move nimbly across the control panel, and the temperature curve on the screen gradually stabilizes.
“A temperature of -196 degrees Celsius, in a liquid nitrogen environment,” he explained, “can minimize the impact of thermal motion on the crystal lattice.”
I leaned closer to the observation window; the sample glowed with a deep blue light at the low temperature, like a sleeping sapphire. "It's definitely much more stable than the dry ice environment we use."
“You can come and use it anytime you need it,” he said, looking at me with a serious expression. “Just let me know in advance.”
"Thank you so much." Jiang Yi was taking notes of the parameters. "We'll send over the sample next week to try it out."
As I left the lab, the setting sun cast long shadows. Zheng Yiming stood at the door, the hem of his white lab coat swaying gently in the wind, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only said, "Be careful on the road."
“You too.” I nodded, turned around and walked with Jiang Yi into the sky full of rosy clouds.
“He seems to be interested in you…” Jiang Yi suddenly started to speak, but then swallowed the words back.
"What?"
“It’s nothing,” he smiled, “I just feel that he is much more polite than he was in high school.”
I smiled too, but my heart felt heavy, like cotton soaked in snow water.
When I returned to Peking University, there was a large crowd gathered in front of the bulletin board downstairs in the dormitory. I squeezed through and saw that it was a recruitment poster for the Art Club, which read "New Year Art Exhibition Call for Entries".
"Didn't you say you wanted to pick up your paintbrush again?" Jiang Yi pointed to the poster. "The opportunity has arrived."
I stared at the poster for a long time, and the passion for drawing that had been drowned out by physics formulas suddenly sprouted quietly like a bud breaking through the soil.
In the days that followed, I spent my days in the lab and my nights drawing in my dorm. I drew the snow on Weiming Lake, the lab equipment, and scenes of discussing research topics with Jiang Yi. My brushstrokes became lighter and lighter, as if I had solved a complex physics problem.
Zheng Yiming would occasionally send me emails, sharing academic papers he had read, always ending with "How's your painting coming along?" When I replied, I would attach a sketch, sometimes a drawing of a thermostat, sometimes a snow scene outside the window, and he would always reply instantly, "You've made great progress."
On the opening day of the New Year's art exhibition, I hung a painting titled "The Trajectory of Light" in a corner of the exhibition hall. The painting depicts two figures adjusting instruments in a laboratory, with light weaving complex light trails between them, like a diagram of quantum entanglement, or like two intersecting lines of life.
Jiang Yi stood in front of the painting and said with a smile, "These two figures look familiar."
"I just drew it casually." I was a little embarrassed, but my eyes kept glancing towards the door.
Zheng Yiming and Zhou Ziang arrived just before the exhibition closed. Zheng Yiming, wearing a gray sweater, stood in front of "The Trajectory of Light" for a long time, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he were solving a complex problem.
“This light trail is drawn incorrectly,” he suddenly said. “The trajectory of quantum entanglement should be more symmetrical.”
“It’s just artistic embellishment,” Zhou Ziang patted him on the shoulder, “so don’t nitpick using physical standards.”
Looking at his serious expression, I suddenly laughed: "Next time you draw, please ask the physicist from Zhengzhou University to be your consultant."
He smiled too, his eyes shining brighter than the lights in the painting: "Ready at any time."
As we left the exhibition hall, the cold winter wind made us hunch our shoulders. Jiang Yi took off his scarf and wrapped it around my neck; the fluffy wool brushed against my cheeks, making my heart itch with warmth.
"Are you going to the New Year's concert next week?" he asked. "It's co-organized by Peking University and Tsinghua University, and I heard there will be a piano solo."
Whose solo is this?
"It seems to be... Zheng Yiming."
I paused for a moment, then nodded: "Okay."
On the day of the concert, I sat in the audience, watching Zheng Yiming, dressed in a white tuxedo, sit at the piano. The spotlight shone on him, as if gilding the whole world. He raised his hand and pressed the keys, but what flowed out was not the melancholic "Moonlight Sonata" from high school, but a warm "Canon." The melody swirled in the auditorium, as if telling a story.
As the music ended, he looked up at the audience, his gaze piercing through the crowd and landing on me, as if traversing a long period of time.
It turns out that some reunions are not about going back to the past, but about getting to know each other again on a new path.
It turns out that some warmth can quietly grow in the winter night, like the water plants under Weiming Lake, silent yet resilient, and finally, on some morning, it will face the light and grow vigorously upward.
Just like the lingering melody of the piano, our story is only just beginning a new chapter.
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