Qi Boyuan took a while to piece together Li Xuan’s logic, and once he did, he was so astonished that he couldn’t help but take another good look at him. “Why? Why go to such lengths? I want to marry Jia Jia, sure, but it’s for a lifetime too. But we’re all just in our twenties; the future…”
“No.” Li Xuan understood his implication and cut him off with a firm, low voice. “I won’t leave him.”
“Don’t be so absolute… What if he’s the one who changes his mind?”
Qi Boyuan worried that this might anger Li Xuan, but Li Xuan’s expression didn’t shift. “Of course, he can change his mind. He can, anytime he wants. That’s up to him.”
Qi Boyuan was completely speechless. Scratching his head, he let out a helpless laugh. “You’ve left me stunned. This is so unlike you. I shouldn’t have come here to meddle—talking to you is like discussing work. I never win. Still, with this sort of thing, planning is pointless. I used to think I’d only date someone tall, pretty, and younger than me so they’d cling to me. But look at Jia Jia—beautiful, sure, but she’s a few years older and independent. There’s no way she clings to me. I’m the one always circling around her. But what can you do? When it happens, it happens. You can’t expect it to align perfectly.”
After the rain, the sun came out again, its light refracting off droplets as the temperature rose rapidly. The air grew humid and oppressive.
“I never planned for this. Not once.” After a long silence, Li Xuan finally spoke.
His memories from before he was three were vague. Even after three, there was no trace of his parents in them. He had grown accustomed to being alone, never forming close connections with anyone and believing he didn’t need to—at least, not until he met Sheng Min.
“You should go. Let me be for a while.” Li Xuan suddenly realized that seeking guidance from others on this matter was inherently foolish. He waved Qi Boyuan away, his tone cold. He checked his watch. “Meeting at six-thirty. Did you test the new scene map?”
“Do you run work and personal matters on separate mental systems? No, wait—you didn’t even have a personal-life processor before. Looks like this new feature you’ve developed still has bugs.” Qi Boyuan tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but Li Xuan just lowered his head in silence, smoking again.
“Fine, I’ll leave.” After waiting a while and seeing that Li Xuan wasn’t going to speak, Qi Boyuan resigned himself to leaving. He tried to sneak off with Li Xuan’s pack of cigarettes, only for the latter to grab his wrist expressionlessly and take it back. “Get going.”
…..
“Hey, what are you always looking at?”
Having tested the new scene map and gone over the plans for that day’s meeting, Qi Boyuan noticed that Li Xuan’s office door remained closed. He thought it was a miracle the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off given how much Li Xuan was smoking. Unsettled, he kept glancing at the office as he passed by, and the second time he walked by with his water cup, Zhou Jia, seated in the lounge, caught on and laughed.
“I’m looking to see if Li Xuan’s come out yet.”
“Why would he come out? If you need him, can’t you just go in? Is your hierarchy that strict?” Zhou Jia asked, puzzled.
“No.” Qi Boyuan chuckled awkwardly. “Didn’t you say you had plans with a friend? Aren’t you going?”
Zhou Jia, hugging a pillow, rested her chin on it while speaking. Her eyes remained glued to the screen. “Half an hour left. What’s the rush? Let me finish this first.”
“Who dares to rush you? What have you been watching all afternoon? I feel like I’ve seen that scene on your screen repeat a few times,” Qi Boyuan said casually.
“Last week’s Pick Your Moon” Zhou Jia rewound the progress bar. “I’m checking what exactly Sheng Min said at the end… Oh, look, Li Xuan.” She patted Qi Boyuan. “He’s out.”
“What is it?” Li Xuan asked when he heard his name.
“Nothing, nothing. Just wanted to go over the proposal with you.” Qi Boyuan, not wanting to upset him further, quickly changed the subject. Seeing the coffee cup in his hand, he added, “Why not refill your coffee first?”
Li Xuan didn’t respond, his attention drawn to Zhou Jia’s laptop. He had also watched last week’s Pick Your Moon—several times, actually. Naturally, he had only focused on Sheng Min’s scenes. However, the current clip on the screen was something he hadn’t noticed before.
This segment featured the top 30 contestants, now whittled down to 20, split into five teams. Each team was tasked with interpreting a random theme and creating a stage performance.
This group’s theme was “forever.” After their performance, the host, as usual, asked the contestants to share their understanding of the theme. After the performers had given their cliché and forgettable responses, the host, perhaps sensing the dullness, turned to one of the judges: “In your understanding, how far is forever?”
Caught off guard, the female judge hesitated, clearly unprepared for this off-script question. After an awkward laugh, she picked up the mic and instead critiqued the team’s performance.
In the corner of the screen, however, Sheng Min’s lips moved slightly. His mic was off, so no sound came through. His words were brief—just a few syllables—and went unnoticed by those around him. Yet the camera had captured the moment faithfully.
“Our fan group has been guessing for a week. Normally, Sheng Min never chimes in when others are speaking,” Zhou Jia explained to Qi Boyuan. “That female judge loves nitpicking at contestants. We were wondering if Sheng Min was trying to remind her of something, but it doesn’t seem like it… Oh, and there’s that guy in this group—the ugliest one, yes—he used to badmouth Sheng Min on Weibo. He barely has any fans and still has the nerve to stir up drama with us. Every time, he gets completely crushed. Some people think Sheng Min might have been talking about him. Look at this shot—he’s glaring at Sheng Min like a beaten rooster. But I don’t think so. Sheng Min wouldn’t care about something like that…”
Qi Boyuan felt somewhat speechless, thinking to himself how trivial it all was. But he knew better than to comment on Zhou Jia’s idol pursuits. Besides, Sheng Min was practically a semi-official ambassador for Nook. So, he feigned interest. “Oh, I see…”
“No need to humor me,” Zhou Jia called him out without hesitation, then tilted her head to look at Li Xuan standing behind her. With a teasing tone, she joked, “If you guys ever meet him, could you ask for us? We fans are dying of curiosity…”
Her words were abruptly cut off when Li Xuan suddenly took her mouse. His hand was trembling slightly as he quickly rewound the footage to watch the scene again. His expression changed instantly, leaving Zhou Jia and Qi Boyuan staring at each other, baffled.
Qi Boyuan must have called out to him, but Li Xuan didn’t register it, didn’t even hear it. The mouse dropped onto the sofa, and the screen moved on to the next performance. But Li Xuan sat there, dazed, his mind fixated on the few words Sheng Min had spoken.
It felt like a coded message, one that had passed through countless hands yet remained undeciphered. The sender never intended for it to reach anyone, yet by some twist of fate, it had landed squarely in the palm of the only recipient meant to understand it.
How far is forever?
Fifty-one days.
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