Life
Once winter begins in the northern part of the city, it gets colder day by day.
The snowflakes, no longer shy at first, have gradually become frequent visitors, turning the city into a continuous expanse of desolate white.
Pedestrians hurried along the street, their breath quickly dissipating in the cold wind.
Every weekend afternoon, that corner by the window in the city library gradually became an unwritten rule.
Qi Shuo would usually arrive a little early, choose the book he wanted to read, and sit down in his familiar spot.
Tan Huaiyu would arrive a little later, sometimes carrying a stack of textbooks, sometimes a few newly published comics or art books, and quietly sit down opposite him.
They rarely talk.
At most, Qi Shuo would push the pen that had been accidentally knocked away back, or Tan Huaiyu would say very softly, "I'm going to return the book," when he got up to do so.
The air was filled with the sounds of pages turning, pens scratching across paper, and the low hum of the central air conditioning. Occasionally, Qi Shuo would make himself a cup of instant coffee brought back from the restaurant. Occasionally, Tan Huaiyu would bring a small packet of individually wrapped cookies or nuts, which would make a soft rustling sound when opened. He would hesitate for a moment, then gently push it to the center of the table.
Qi Shuo would sometimes glance up, sometimes not. If the snack was pushed towards him and he didn't move, Tan Huaiyu would silently and somewhat disappointedly take it back. If Qi Shuo took a piece, even the smallest one, Tan Huaiyu's lowered eyelashes would tremble slightly, and a barely perceptible, satisfied smile would appear on his lips.
This way of getting along is so quiet it's almost eerie, yet it strangely creates a balance.
Qi Shuo was completely absorbed in his own world, translating theories and literary works, or simply gazing absently at the snow scene outside the window.
Tan Huaiyu also spent most of his time buried in his book, but his gaze would often drift uncontrollably to the person opposite him. He watched Qi Shuo's slightly furrowed brows in thought, watched his slender fingers trace the edges of the pages, watched the gentle curve of his Adam's apple as he picked up his cup. That gaze was both greedy and restrained, like a prisoner hiding a ray of sunlight, only daring to carefully absorb a tiny bit of warmth in a crack where no one could see it.
He no longer tried to get closer, no longer followed closely with that unsettlingly stubborn gaze, and no longer tried to act "well-behaved."
He simply stayed there quietly, like a harmless, silent shadow, proving his existence with this almost humble "presence," and greedily stealing this moment of tranquility, which seemed to be stolen.
Qi Shuo was not entirely unaware.
He could feel the faint gaze from across the room, and sense the almost overflowing emotions hidden beneath the overly cautious silence.
But he chose to ignore it. Or rather, to tacitly approve it.
This tacit approval carries a weary, almost permissive tone. As long as the boundaries aren't crossed and as long as there's no disturbance, let it be.
Like the snow falling outside the window, it comes, melts, and disappears without a trace; there's no need to delve into it.
The days slipped by in this strange, almost frozen stillness. It was as if all the previous turmoil, the entanglements and tears, were just a vague and cold dream in winter.
Unlike the silence of a library, the quiet in a hospital has a different quality. It carries the chill of disinfectant, the rhythmic ticking of instruments, and an inescapable heaviness about life.
When Xiao Jue pushed open the familiar hospital room door, Qing Ran was sitting in a chair by the window, covered with a thick blanket, her head turned to the side, quietly gazing at the bare branches and gray sky outside the window.
Her eyes were vacant and unfocused, as if her soul had drifted to some distant place. Hearing the door open, she slowly, extremely slowly turned her head. The moment her gaze met Xiao Jue's figure, it seemed to be infused with a sliver of life, brightening slightly.
"Little Jue... Brother." She spoke, her voice weak and hoarse from not speaking for a long time. Her speech was slow, but her pronunciation was clear.
Xiao Jue's face immediately broke into an incredibly gentle smile. He quickly walked over, knelt down in front of her, and took her slightly cold hand, which was resting outside the blanket, in his hand, gently rubbing it. "Was our little Qingran good today? Did she listen to the nurse?"
Qingran blinked slowly, as if trying to understand the sentence, and then nodded very lightly and firmly. Her gaze fell on the bag Xiao Jue had brought, a paper bag with a cartoon rabbit pattern printed on it.
Xiao Jue followed her gaze, smiling as he took out a fluffy, snow-white rabbit doll and a brand-new children's book with beautiful illustrations from the bag. "Look, your brother brought you a new friend and a new story."
Qingran's gaze was drawn to the rabbit doll. She reached out and carefully touched the rabbit's soft ears with her fingertips, then her lips curved upwards in an extremely subtle way. It was a smile that was almost imperceptible, yet undeniably real.
Xiao Jue's heart felt as if it had been gently bumped by something soft, a bittersweet feeling welling up inside him, swelled with tenderness. He placed the doll in Qing Ran's arms, watching her instinctively hug it tighter, then opened a fairy tale book and began to tell a story about a forest and elves in a deep, soothing voice.
His voice flowed through the quiet ward like a warm and gentle stream.
Qingran leaned against him, her gaze occasionally falling on the vibrant illustrations on the pages, but most of the time, she simply listened quietly, as if the sound itself was her only safe connection to the world.
When Lin Ye pushed open the door, this was the scene he saw. Xiao Jue was sitting on the carpet, leaning against the hospital bed, with Qing Ran beside him, holding a rabbit doll in her arms, her eyelids lowered, as if she was about to fall asleep.
The last rays of the setting sun slanted in through the window, enveloping the two in a soft golden halo, so beautiful it seemed unreal, yet so fragile it was heartbreaking.
Lin Ye stopped at the door, holding a still-steaming dinner box in his hand.
He didn't go in immediately, but stood there quietly, looking at the almost devout tenderness on Xiao Jue's profile and at Qing Ran's dependent posture.
A complex mix of emotions welled up inside him—heartache, bitterness, and a kind of... hidden pain that even he himself was unwilling to delve into.
He knew what this girl meant to Xiao Jue. It was a wound that had lingered in Xiao Jue's heart for nine years, a heavy secret, a responsibility that almost crushed him, and also... a special existence that he could never replace or even touch.
Xiao Jue poured most of his tenderness, patience, and exhaustion into this.
He himself could only approach cautiously, like an observer or an assistant, but dared not get too close.
"Brother." He finally spoke softly, breaking the silence.
Xiao Jue looked up and saw it was him. The gentleness on his face hadn't faded, but it had become warmer: "You're here? It must be cold outside. Come in quickly."
Lin Ye walked in, placed the lunchbox on the small table, glanced at Qing Ran's peaceful sleeping face, and asked in a low voice, "How was your day?"
"It's alright. I did some treatment this afternoon and was a little tired. I just fell asleep." Xiao Jue's voice was very low, afraid of waking the person in his arms. He gestured for Lin Ye to sit down, gently laid Qing Ran down, and covered her with the blanket.
The two ate their still-warm dinner in silence in the small living room outside the ward. The food was packed by Lin Ye from the school cafeteria; it tasted ordinary, but neither of them paid any attention to it.
"Brother," Lin Ye took a bite of rice and asked casually, "Are you... planning to keep going like this?"
Xiao Jue paused, picking up food with her chopsticks, and looked up at him: "What?"
"Take care of her." Lin Ye lowered his eyes, staring at the oily eggplant in the lunchbox. "For life?"
This question was like a fine needle, gently piercing the calm surface. Xiao Jue remained silent for a long time, so long that Lin Ye almost thought he wouldn't answer.
"Take care of her for as long as you can," Xiao Jue finally spoke, his voice calm yet carrying an undeniable firmness. "She only has me left."
"And what about you?" Lin Ye suddenly looked up, his voice carrying a hint of urgency he himself didn't realize. "What about your life? What about your future? Are you... just going to be trapped here forever?"
Xiao Jue looked at him with deep eyes, filled with complex emotions that Lin Ye couldn't understand—weariness, helplessness, and perhaps even a hint of bewilderment that Xiao Jue himself had never faced.
But in the end, he just smiled, a smile that was somewhat bitter, and also somewhat resigned.
“Xiao Ye,” he called Lin Ye by her nickname, his tone gentle yet distant, “some things aren’t a choice. It’s something I owe her.”
I owe her.
It wasn't out of love, but out of sin, out of the heavy guilt brought on by that wound that would never heal.
Lin Ye understood the unspoken message behind those words. He gripped his chopsticks tightly, his knuckles turning slightly white. He wanted to say, "You owe no one anything; you've thought about living your own life."
But when he tried to speak, seeing the fine lines around Xiao Jue's eyes and the deep weariness hidden in them, he couldn't say anything.
What right does he have to say that? He's just a "younger brother" who was picked up and raised by Xiao Jue.
He enjoys the warmth and protection that Xiao Jue provides, so why should he accuse Xiao Jue of giving even more warmth and protection to someone who needs it more?
Even though that giving was gradually draining Xiao Jue himself.
This realization left Lin Ye feeling suffocated with powerlessness. He lowered his head, ate in silence, and stopped talking.
But in some corner of his heart, the desire to get closer, to share, to be more special grew wildly like weeds, only to be fiercely suppressed by himself.
He could only remain silent, burying this increasingly fervent yet hopeless attachment and heartache deep within his heart, carefully concealing it under the identity of "younger brother," daring not to reveal a single trace.
Meanwhile, in the quiet and deserted girls' dormitory at Beicheng University, Ning Wan was staring blankly at her computer screen.
The document was open, and the half-finished paper lay there all alone, the cursor blinking at the end of the paragraph, as if mocking her inattentiveness.
The phone screen lit up; it was a message from Lin Ye, containing only a few simple words: [He's doing well today.]
They both knew who "he" referred to.
Ning Wan stared at the line of text for a long time, her finger hovering above the screen, but she didn't know what to reply.
Saying "thank you"? That's too formal.
Saying "You've worked hard" sounds pretentious.
Ask for more details? She didn't dare.
Ever since that night in the cold park, after hearing that bloody story, she has retreated into her shell like a frightened snail.
She dared not go to the "Meet" restaurant again, dared not go to the corner of the library where she might run into him, and even dared not easily contact Qi Shuo.
The silent man, burdened with such a heavy past, evoked in her a sense of awe and distance, as well as a deep, helpless guilt.
She knew Qi Shuo didn't blame her.
His calm narration that night and his final "request" were more like a way of drawing a line.
But it was precisely this calm, this lack of blame, that made her feel even worse. She would rather he scold her, blame her for leaving without saying goodbye, so that at least she could find an outlet for an apology and making amends.
Instead of being stuck in a dilemma, separated by an invisible wall called "knowing the truth but being powerless to change it."
Lin Ye's message popped up again, this time it was a photo. In the photo, Qi Shuo and Tan Huaiyu were sitting across a table in the library, each reading a book.
The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting a soft golden glow on them. Qi Shuo lowered his head slightly, his profile cold and focused; Tan Huaiyu rested his chin on his hand, his gaze seemingly fixed on the pages of a book, yet also... seemingly beyond the pages, landing on the person opposite him.
The scene was quiet, even eerily harmonious.
Ning Wan felt a slight pang in her heart. Of course, she knew who Tan Huaiyu was, and what that surname meant.
Seeing him sitting with Qi Shuo, even through a screen and even though they seemed to be not communicating at all, made her feel a strange unease and... a bittersweet feeling that she herself was unwilling to admit.
Qi Shuo's world, during the months she was absent, seemed to continue operating slowly, in a way she couldn't participate in. There was someone by his side, even if that person was Tan Huaiyu.
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