Bai Qingzhou’s gaze was deep and faraway, like waves stirring on a vast ocean. The crashing waves seemed to strike Xia Xinghe’s heart, making it skip a couple of beats.
One second, two seconds.
Then Bai Qingzhou’s lips curved into a faint smile.
Xia Xinghe instantly snapped back to reality, cleared his throat, and quickly reined in his smile. Awkwardly rubbing his nose, he said, “You’re home kind of early today.”
Bai Qingzhou frowned slightly, seeming displeased at Xia Xinghe’s sudden shift in attitude. But it only lasted a moment before his expression returned to its usual indifference.
“Not early,” Bai Qingzhou deliberately checked his phone again before stating, “It’s 8:13 p.m. Normal off-work time is 8:00. Changing clothes takes five minutes. Walking from the office to here takes eight minutes. Margin of error: less than a minute.”
Xia Xinghe: “…”
Okay, that level of precision wasn’t really necessary.
If he had to describe his current mood, it would be: “awkward”—no, very awkward.
Usually, he left around 3 p.m. and returned home by 5 or 6, rarely running into Bai Qingzhou. This time, he had gotten too caught up in excitement and completely forgot the time. It wasn’t until now that he realized it had gotten dark.
Meeting like this in such an unclear and ambiguous situation—the man before him was both familiar and unfamiliar. Xia Xinghe pressed his lips together, unsure of what to say.
They had once been close, had fought, and then hadn’t seen each other for four years. The gap between them wasn’t just physical—it was emotional. Xia Xinghe had never been able to understand Bai Qingzhou’s heart. That was why, after loving and then separating, all his courage had evaporated.
He used to cling to Bai Qingzhou with pure passion, wagging his metaphorical tail like a blooming flower. But now, even though only fifty centimeters separated them, he no longer had the courage to speak.
The atmosphere was heavy and stagnant, the air thick with tension. Bai Qingzhou, seeming dissatisfied with the silence, finally broke it. “You just said Bamboo’s back leg can touch the ground?”
“…Yeah,” Xia Xinghe let out a breath and continued, “Most of the time it’s still lifted, but occasionally, Bamboo can put it down.”
Xia Xinghe waved toward Bamboo, tossing a frisbee with one hand to demonstrate. “Bamboo! Come! Want to play?”
When talking to Bamboo, the smile naturally returned to his face. Bamboo happily ran out, panting with joy, and quickly brought the frisbee back.
“Good boy.” Xia Xinghe rubbed its neck and fed it a few treats. “One more time?”
Bamboo blinked and eagerly dashed off again.
After several repetitions, Bamboo began panting from exhaustion. Xia Xinghe gave it a pat of encouragement and didn’t push any further.
Samoyeds are known for their smiley faces, and Bamboo was no exception. While it acted aloof around strangers, once it was comfortable, it would become playful and affectionate. Like a big ball of white cotton, when not allowed to chase the frisbee, it stood between the two men, wagging its tail—nuzzling Bai Qingzhou’s leg one moment, tugging on Xia Xinghe’s pant leg the next.
With this smiling angel by their side, the awkwardness between the two slowly dissolved. And after a few sprints, Bamboo’s condition became clear—its hind leg could indeed touch the ground.
Though it still ran with a limp most of the time, when it got excited, its back leg would naturally return to normal—just as the vet had previously diagnosed. Bamboo’s injury had long since healed; the limp remained due to psychological reasons.
Still rubbing against Xia Xinghe’s pant leg like a child, Bamboo looked especially sweet. Bai Qingzhou’s expression shifted slightly, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s great.” After a pause, he added quietly, “…I was wrong.”
Xia Xinghe froze for a second before realizing Bai Qingzhou was referring to their previous disagreement. Embarrassed to take all the credit himself, he said, “Actually, I asked someone else for help too.”
The truth was, neither of their initial approaches had been quite right.
Bai Qingzhou believed there was no need to express anything to Bamboo, so he never tried. Xia Xinghe, while eager to communicate, only acted on his own assumptions—when he didn’t get feedback, he nearly gave up. He never considered that maybe it was just a mismatch in how they expressed themselves, and their emotions simply hadn’t been conveyed properly.
Xia Xinghe hesitated, unsure how to explain what Auntie Zhang had taught him, but Bai Qingzhou didn’t seem to mind. His light-colored eyes fixed on Xia Xinghe, lips curling slightly. “You’re amazing.”
Xia Xinghe’s heart skipped two beats. He gave a soft “mm” and instinctively averted his gaze. He rarely heard Bai Qingzhou give such straightforward compliments, and everything he had planned to say flew out of his head.
But even if he were asked to explain, he probably wouldn’t be able to say anything coherent—communication has never been easy, whether it’s between a person and a dog, or two people.
….
Once the first step is taken, the path afterward becomes much smoother. That applied not only to Bamboo’s training, but also to the relationship between the two of them.
After that day, Xia Xinghe continued coming over to help with Bamboo’s rehabilitation, but he no longer deliberately avoided Bai Qingzhou. Sometimes when they bumped into each other, they would exchange a small smile. Then Xia Xinghe would go back to playing with Bamboo, and Bai Qingzhou would either return to his room to work or stand nearby watching. They didn’t speak much, but it felt like a mutual understanding had quietly formed.
The past still lingered in their memories, but neither of them brought it up again.
After their breakup, Xia Xinghe did feel a moment of regret for his impulsiveness, but Bai Qingzhou had resolutely gone abroad for his PhD and hadn’t left any room for him to be persuaded otherwise.
In truth, Bai Qingzhou had always planned to study abroad. He had a clear vision for his future, and Xia Xinghe knew very well that he was not part of that plan.
Realizing that had been painful—like countless ants crawling over his heart, bitter and sour. But once he truly let go, it was peaceful. As he got older, he increasingly understood that love was just a small part of life. It could bring joy, pain, and obsession, but it was not indispensable.
Sometimes, thinking back would bring a sigh or some nostalgia—but life had to go on.
Time passed quickly, and soon it was the weekend of the second week.
During this period, Xia Xinghe had been maintaining an early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule. When he woke up, it was just past 6 AM. He heated a cup of milk in the microwave, fried an egg and tucked it into some bread, and while waiting, he opened his laptop at his desk.
He used to stay up late and sleep until noon. But recently, with his adjusted routine, he would write part of his work at night and finish the rest in the morning. His efficiency had improved, and he slept better, too.
Breakfast was quickly finished, and Xia Xinghe opened his draft to continue writing the chapter he hadn’t finished the night before.
This new story wasn’t the easiest to write—not because of the plot, but because of the details.
Plot-wise, the reader feedback had been great. Many said, “This is the first time I’ve read something like this, but I was immediately drawn in.” But the small details were another matter—messy and specific, involving professional knowledge that couldn’t just be made up.
He’d been hospitalized for over half a month before and had witnessed the ups and downs of life in a hospital—its warmth and coldness. So he decided to make the dog owner in the story a doctor. But doctors were a highly professional field. If you weren’t an insider, it was hard to write accurately. Xia Xinghe spent half his days looking up information. Occasionally, attentive readers would point out errors, and he could only become more cautious in how he wrote.
He sat at the computer for hours, and before he knew it, the sun had climbed high. After reviewing the new chapter and confirming it was fine, Xia Xinghe uploaded it to the draft folder in the backend system.
The system notified him that the file was saved successfully. He finally let out a breath, closed the laptop, and half-lounged on the nearby soft couch, scrolling through his phone in a comfortable position.
The moment his phone screen lit up, a WeChat message popped up at the same time.
[Bai: Hey?]
[Bai: I’m taking Bamboo for a follow-up tomorrow. Want to do today’s training together?]
The last message had been sent two minutes ago.
[Bai: Still not up yet?]
Even in that plain tone, there was a hint of dissatisfaction.
Xia Xinghe knew this version of Bai Qingzhou all too well. He smiled knowingly, and could almost picture him frowning slightly, brows furrowed in displeasure.
He had to admit, even when Bai Qingzhou frowned, he still looked good.
Xia Xinghe remembered one time when he had unknowingly pissed Bai Qingzhou off. As Bai Qingzhou furrowed his brows and was about to snap, Xia Xinghe had blurted out, “You’re so handsome even when you’re frowning!”
“…”
Bai Qingzhou had frozen for a moment, turned his head away, and said nothing more. Xia Xinghe thought the moment had passed—until later that night when Bai Qingzhou very deliberately got back at him. He messed with him for a long time, and wouldn’t stop until Xia Xinghe cried and begged, “I won’t say it again.”
Thinking about the past was amusing at times—but that’s all it could be now, just a memory, not something that could be relived. Xia Xinghe pulled his wandering thoughts back and replied to Bai Qingzhou’s message.
[Little Bamboo: I’ve been up for a while. Was just writing.]
[Little Bamboo: If you need me, I’m fine with joining you.]
To be fair, setting aside their past relationship, Bai Qingzhou was a very impressive person.
Though a bit cold and emotionally distant, everything he handled was textbook-perfect.
Sometimes, Xia Xinghe would ask Bai Qingzhou to help record Bamboo’s training data—duration, number of laps, steps… all sorts of messy numbers. But Bai Qingzhou would organize everything meticulously, with no errors.
Not only that, he also made the records practical—he used simple tables to sort and categorize key data. It was easy to read, even for a standard liberal arts student like Xia Xinghe, who normally got a headache just from looking at numbers. So he really didn’t mind working with him for Bamboo’s training.
A second after he sent his message, Bai Qingzhou replied:
[Bai: Okay.]
…..
By 4 PM, the sky was already starting to darken. The sun had hidden behind the clouds. Xia Xinghe checked the weather forecast and realized it was supposed to rain that day.
But since he had already made plans with Bai Qingzhou, he didn’t want to back out. So he went home to change clothes, grabbed an umbrella, and showed up at Bai Qingzhou’s house at the usual time.
Bai Qingzhou was already waiting for him in the courtyard. After a brief exchange, Xia Xinghe got straight to work training Bamboo.
Bamboo was already very familiar with the routine. The moment it saw Xia Xinghe pull the yellow frisbee from his backpack, it started barking excitedly, tail wagging like a fluffy white flower.
The weather wasn’t great—dark clouds loomed overhead and the autumn wind stirred up dust on the ground—but thanks to their smooth cooperation, everything went perfectly. Xia Xinghe handled the training, and Bai Qingzhou kept records. Time passed unnoticed, and the day’s training session was completed smoothly, completely unaffected by the gloomy weather.
After finishing the last set, Xia Xinghe, as usual, had Bamboo lie down so he could massage its legs. But just as he started rubbing, a loud clap of thunder exploded right beside his ear.
A strong wind howled and kicked up dust as the forecasted heavy rain arrived right on time.
The raindrops were fierce and fast, pouring down like a waterfall. The two of them and the dog ran under the eaves to avoid the rain, but the overhang was too narrow and open, so the rain still drifted in and landed on them.
Bai Qingzhou frowned slightly and asked, “Want to come inside for a bit?”
“…Thanks.”
Xia Xinghe hesitated for a moment before agreeing.
Bamboo lay under the eaves watching the rain and refused to go inside, but Xia Xinghe followed Bai Qingzhou into the house. At that moment, he truly hadn’t expected the rain to last so long—so long that he wouldn’t be able to go home that entire night.