When Xia Xinghe woke up, the sunlight was just right, shining across his face through the window.
The post-rain sun was especially warm and radiant, coating him in a gentle glow. The wooden table beneath him was warm to the touch. Xia Xinghe groggily sat up from the table—and didn’t notice something slipping off his shoulder…
The sound of splashing rang in his ears, and Xia Xinghe instantly woke up. As he turned to the side, he realized that at some point, a blanket had been draped over him.
Bai Qingzhou had come back?
When did he get back?
Was he the one who put the blanket over me?
Just as question after question popped into his head, Bai Qingzhou’s voice sounded behind him.
“Awake?”
Bai Qingzhou was wearing a fitted sweater and cotton slippers, holding a cup of coffee, his expression calm as he walked over to Xia Xinghe.
Xia Xinghe was still groggy and dazed for a moment before asking, “When did you come back?”
“3a.m.,” Bai Qingzhou replied.
Xia Xinghe then asked, “Did you put the blanket on me?”
Bai Qingzhou gave him a sideways glance and said, “Who else do you think did it? Bamboo?”
Xia Xinghe: “…”
Whatever warm feelings he’d had instantly vanished.
Xia Xinghe muttered a soft “thank you,” bent down to pick up the blanket from the floor, then asked, “Did things get resolved on your end?”
Bai Qingzhou responded with a brief “Mm” and quickly changed the subject: “Go wash up?”
He had always been like this—reluctant to talk about his work or anything personal in front of Xia Xinghe.
If he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to talk—what could Xia Xinghe do? His fingers brushed over the soft fabric of the blanket, his lips pressed together, and he didn’t ask further.
He placed the blanket on the nearby table, stood up, and went to the bathroom.
As he entered, the sink greeted him first. To its side was a metal shelf with daily necessities like toothbrushes and toothpaste.
And now, next to those items, there was a disposable toothbrush and toothpaste—prepared for him by Bai Qingzhou.
Back then, Xia Xinghe had loved placing their toiletries side by side, believing it made them feel more intimate. Seeing such a sight again now, he couldn’t help but sigh at how much things had changed.
They were no longer in a close relationship. He was now just a guest visiting Bai Qingzhou’s home—a guest who would soon leave and leave no trace behind.
After finishing, Xia Xinghe threw the disposable toothbrush and toothpaste into the trash and stepped out of the bathroom, only to suddenly smell a rich aroma.
It was corn and pumpkin congee!
His eyes lit up.
He jogged into the dining area and sure enough, two bowls of congee were set on the table. The rice was cooked to a soft and sticky consistency, clinging thickly to the sides of the bowls. The rich golden color of the pumpkin added to the visual appeal, making one’s appetite come alive.
Besides congee, there were also various side dishes: crisp green cucumber salad, yellow pickled vegetables, dark brown tea eggs—everything looked and smelled delicious.
Bamboo was eating dog food nearby, its whole head buried in its pink bowl, munching happily. Xia Xinghe subconsciously licked his lips, then looked up at Bai Qingzhou. “Did you make this?”
Bai Qingzhou was already seated at the dining table. Upon hearing this, he glanced at Xia Xinghe and replied flatly, “Don’t you know whether I can cook or not?”
“…”
Xia Xinghe choked.
If there was one thing the otherwise-perfect Bai Qingzhou couldn’t do, it was cooking—not just being bad at it, but at a blow-up-the-kitchen level. So after they moved in together, cooking had always been Xia Xinghe’s responsibility.
Xia Xinghe didn’t have any special talent for it, but practice made perfect. Stir-fried dishes, congee—he could manage a few decent meals.
When he first found out Bai Qingzhou couldn’t cook, Xia Xinghe had teased him repeatedly, like he’d uncovered a hidden treasure.
Once, when Bai Qingzhou was especially annoyed with the teasing, he gave Xia Xinghe a look and said coldly, “As long as one person in the house can cook, that’s enough.”
Xia Xinghe had blushed furiously then and never dared bring it up again.
Thinking about it now, he blushed a little once more and muttered, “It’s been four years… I thought maybe you’d changed.”
It was a casual comment, but to his surprise, Bai Qingzhou suddenly looked up, gave him a deep glance—but only a brief one. He quickly reined in his expression and said in a low voice, “Yeah, people do change.”
Xia Xinghe froze. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Bai Qingzhou had already picked up his chopsticks and started eating, so he stayed quiet and began eating as well.
The two silently finished their breakfast, and after, Bai Qingzhou walked Xia Xinghe to the door.
Seeing Xia Xinghe about to leave, Bamboo came to see him off too. Its big fluffy white tail wagged like a flower, and its beautiful eyes were filled with reluctance.
Xia Xinghe bent down to pet Bamboo. As he walked out the door, he vaguely heard Bai Qingzhou say:
“I bought that food,” he said. “I haven’t changed.”
I haven’t changed. I still can’t forget you—just like before.
But what about you? How could you walk away so easily?
Bai Qingzhou couldn’t say the second half, and naturally, Xia Xinghe didn’t understand. He just casually replied, “Mm, it tasted good,” and quickly turned to leave.
Bamboo barked after him, “Woof woof,” while Bai Qingzhou stood at the window for a long time, watching until Xia Xinghe’s figure disappeared completely—only then did he finally walk away.
……
After leaving Bai Qingzhou’s home, Xia Xinghe hurried back to his own place. He hadn’t written much the night before due to writer’s block and falling asleep, so he needed to get back and continue writing.
The sky had cleared. The water on the roads was gradually receding, and some areas had already dried under the sun. The pavement looked patchy, alternating between wet and dry.
Xia Xinghe stepped into the subway station in the morning light, got on the train, and suddenly remembered—he had left his unfinished manuscript on Bai Qingzhou’s computer. In his rush that morning, he forgot to copy it.
Grabbing the handrail with one hand, he quickly took out his phone and messaged Bai Qingzhou.
[Little Bamboo: Hey?]
[Little Bamboo: My draft is still on your computer.]
[Little Bamboo: It’s right on the desktop, in a new document.]
[Little Bamboo: Could you send it to me when you have time?]
But even by the time he arrived at his stop, Bai Qingzhou hadn’t replied.
Xia Xinghe understood how intense Bai Qingzhou’s job was and figured he was probably busy. But since the draft was still on Bai Qingzhou’s computer, he thickened his skin and made a voice call.
The “beep beep” of the busy signal rang out—no one picked up.
Xia Xinghe let out a helpless sigh.
Forget it, he thought. It’s just a little over a thousand words—might as well go home and rewrite it from memory. He hurried out of the subway station, and when he checked his phone again at home, there were a few new WeChat messages.
[Bai: Okay.]
[Bai: Give me a moment.]
The last two messages were sent twenty minutes apart.
[Bai: Sorry for the wait.]
[Bai: [File]]
Was this… a file he went home just to copy and send?
Xia Xinghe’s heart trembled slightly, and he replied with a simple “Thank you.”
[Bai: It’s nothing.]
[Bai: You’re writing a doctor-themed story?]
[Little Bamboo: Ah, yeah.]
[Little Bamboo: By the way, are you free? Can you check if there’s anything wrong with what I wrote?]
[Little Bamboo: Some of the info I couldn’t find, so I wasn’t confident while writing.]
Not long after the message was sent, Bai Qingzhou replied.
[Bai: You want me to look for problems?]
[Little Bamboo: Mm! Tell me anything you notice!]
[Bai: It’s full of errors, hardly anything worth keeping.]
[Bai: Is this the level of your writing?]
Xia Xinghe: “.”
He regretted bringing it up.
Bai Qingzhou had always been sharp-tongued and blunt. Xia Xinghe had studied literature and history in college, and many of his final exams required writing papers.
The year they were dating, he had such a class and asked Bai Qingzhou to take a look. The result? Brutal critique. Even harsher than their bald 50-year-old professor.
Recalling the fear of being coldly criticized back then, all the goodwill Xia Xinghe had just built up instantly vanished.
Was it really necessary to be this harsh? Xia Xinghe thought.
Truly, you can’t expect kind words from a sharp tongue!