Chapter 23
For the first two days after the breakup, Ling Peng completely shut himself in his room. His phone was muted, the screen facing down on his desk, shutting out all outside noise and any inquiring glances. He was alone in the room, his heavy breathing and the faint sound of traffic outside the window. The shadow of failure and the embarrassment of the street argument washed over him like two icy tides, alternately bringing waves of intense self-doubt and dejection. He was accustomed to being the center of attention, accustomed to forging ahead. This all-encompassing feeling of failure felt unfamiliar and piercing.
But Ling Peng wasn't someone who would give up. After a brief period of decline, his innate stubbornness and rationality began to rise again.
On the third day, he took a cold shower and forced himself to sit down at his computer. Rather than trying to salvage the doomed project, he reopened all the design drawings and experimental data with an almost cold calm. He stopped dwelling on patents and internships and instead, like a bystander, calmly analyzed the reasons for the failure from a purely technical perspective: Why hadn't the pitfalls of the previous technology been identified earlier? Could the simulation and verification steps have been more thorough? This self-flagellation review process was painful but necessary, like debridement of a wound—painful, but it prevented festering.
This sober analysis also applied when his thoughts inevitably drifted to his relationship with Shen Siyu. He recalled the subtle differences: her disapproval of his focus, her prioritization of immediate results over the process of exploration, her need for constant companionship and a shining boyfriend image, not his occasional silence and frustration. The differences in values had been there long before, masked by initial enthusiasm and superficial compatibility. Reflecting on this, the pain of the breakup gradually gave way to a sense of relief.
Those were the most difficult evenings. His thoughts would drift uncontrollably to that cold street corner, that unexpected eye contact. Zhao Jinglu's eyes, quickly averted, their words written all over them like "sorry to bother you," were like a tiny, inextricable thorn, piercing his sensitive self-esteem, making him feel more ashamed than any accusation from Shen Siyu.
But the strange thing is that when that sharp feeling of shame gradually faded away, what immediately came to mind was the text message she had sent earlier - the clever and soothing sentence "It's not your loss, it's his."
He picked up his phone several times, tapping on the chat with her. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, wanting to apologize for his awkwardness that day, or to say thank you once more. But he typed and deleted, deleted and typed again. It felt like nothing he said was right, the timing wrong, the tone wrong. Finally, he sighed and tossed the phone back on the table. Perhaps not disturbing her was the best state of mind.
When he felt overwhelmed, he would slip on his sneakers and head to the nearby university basketball court. He wouldn't invite anyone else, simply facing the basket, repeating the dribbling, jumping, and shooting motions over and over again. Only when sweat soaked his clothes, his muscles ached, and his lungs burned did he stop, exhausted. He used his extreme physical exhaustion to forcefully dispel the chaotic stagnation within him.
The days slipped into the Spring Festival in this dull self-repair.
Outside the window, sporadic, covertly set-off firecrackers echoed, adding a touch of festive cheer to the air. Ling Peng's phone began to buzz with incoming New Year's greetings, mostly group messages of clichés. He absentmindedly flipped through them.
Suddenly, a new text message popped up from Zhao Jinglu.
The message was simple, but not in a mass-message format: "Happy New Year, Senior Ling Peng. I wish you all the best in the new year, and may all your wishes come true."
Ling Peng's gaze lingered on the line of words for a moment, and he was about to reply, "Thank you, and Happy New Year to you too," when his fingers paused.
Because the text ended with a sentence that sounded casual yet also like it had been carefully chosen: "By the way, the candied haws sold by the red cart on the corner across from your house have pitted hawthorns, and they're especially delicious."
An indescribable warmth, accompanied by a subtle throbbing, silently flowed through his heart. This seemingly insignificant "sharing" cleverly transcended all awkwardness and comfort, like a friend's most natural invitation, gently opening the door he didn't know how to open.
He lowered his head and replied seriously, "Thank you. I also wish you a happy new year and academic progress. I'll try the candied haws later."
The winter chill seemed to be dispelled a little by this simple interaction.
After the new semester began, Ling Peng's life was quickly filled with heavy courses and new project tasks. He deliberately kept himself busy and devoted himself to the new academic challenges, temporarily putting aside past failures and losses.
During a night chat in the dormitory, his roommates learned that he had finally regained his "golden bachelor" status. They all lamented for him that he had "lost such a beautiful girlfriend like the senior sister", and then winked at him to comfort him, "Old ones must go before new ones come, Brother Peng, do you know how many beautiful girls are waiting for you?"
Listening to his buddy's half-hearted teasing, Ling Peng smiled and shook his head, responding with, "Get lost! Stop making fun of me." Yet, at some point, the word "good sister" struck a small chord in his heart. A figure in a blue and white school uniform, standing across the street and hastily looking away, suddenly flashed through his mind.
He was startled by his sudden association, but immediately suppressed this inappropriate thought and grabbed a pillow and threw it at his chattering roommate: "What are you talking about? Go to sleep!"
The topic was successfully changed with jokes, and the dormitory was filled with laughter again.
But some seeds, once they fall, even if they are buried deep, have already begun to breathe quietly in a corner where no one knows.
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