When Chen Feng woke up, the sunlight was already slanting in through the window. He estimated it was still before 2 p.m. He stretched lazily in bed, then sat up expressionlessly and habitually reached for the cigarette pack. There was only one left.
“Even if I’m the only one left, I’ll still smoke one. Because I’m even lonelier than you.” He muttered to himself with self-mockery, lighting it and watching the smoke rise. Through that blue-green haze, Xiao Ting’s figure surfaced in his mind again—the girlfriend he had in college, who parted peacefully after graduation, and later he saw on social media her leaning in the arms of a boy across the ocean. He could only smile bitterly; everything became clear to him.
Bored, I turned on the computer. On QQ, all the avatars were gray. Just as I was about to open the browser, a prompt suddenly popped up in the bottom right corner: You have received a drift bottle.
He had originally wanted to close it, but his hand honestly tapped it open. The message read: male, lonely and single, full of energy tomorrow, interested mature women and married women are welcome.
Chenfeng chuckled and replied with a teasing remark. The other person actually started chatting. They went from mutual jabs to mutual probing, the language becoming increasingly explicit. Chenfeng initially intended to just pass the time but gradually became attracted by the other's directness and wit. Later, the other person introduced herself, saying she was in her forties, a middle-aged mature woman, her husband often away, and she just passed time online when idle. Coincidentally, they were even in the same city.
For the days after that, they talked a lot. From daily trivialities to each other's loneliness. Chenfeng found himself developing a peculiar dependence on this woman he had never met. She was mature, direct, yet not frivolous. And Sister Ping regarded him as a big boy she could speak to with peace of mind.
We really met on an ordinary weekend.
Pingjie invited him over to her place, saying her computer was broken and asking him, a computer science major, to take a look. When Chenfeng arrived, she was wearing a home robe, her hair casually tied up, with little makeup on her face, yet her charm was undeniable. A woman in her early forties, her skin well-maintained, her figure kept in good shape, her chest full, her waist still curvy.
The computer issue was actually minor—just a loose memory module. Chenfeng fixed it quickly. Sister Ping handed him a glass of water, and the two sat on the sofa chatting idly. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains, and the atmosphere gradually grew ambiguous.
Somehow we ended up close together. Chen Feng’s head rested on her legs, and his nose was filled with the faint body scent from her. He lifted his eyes; the collar of her robe was slightly open, revealing a deep cleavage and the edge of black lingerie.
"What are you looking at? You're already this big and you still want to drink milk?" Sister Ping said with a smile, patting him on the forehead, but she didn't pull her clothes straight; instead, the movement tugged them open a bit more.
Chenfeng's arm wrapped around her waist, his palm resting on her lower abdomen. It was still flat and smooth. His other hand boldly moved upward, grasping the soft weight through her bra. Sister Ping's breath hitched, but she didn't push him away immediately.
"Sister Ping, let me take a look." he said in a low voice.
“Didn’t you already see it?” she reminded him; in the video, she had shown him once before.
“The camera’s pixels are too poor.”
Before the words faded, his fingers had already slipped into the robe, directly touching warm skin. Sister Ping took a light breath, her body tensing slightly, but gradually softened under his palm. He pulled open the robe, pushed aside the underwear, and those mature breasts were fully exposed to the air. The nipples were already slightly erect, showing an enticing deep color.
Chenfeng lowered his head and took one side into his mouth, his tongue circling the areola before gently sucking. Sister Ping's fingers threaded through his hair; initially trying to push him away, it later turned into holding him down. His other hand had already ventured between her legs, feeling obvious wetness through her panties.
“Xiaofeng... we can't do this... I'm already over forty...” Her voice was panting, but there was no real refusal.
He gave no reply, only pulled aside her underwear and directly inserted his fingers into that already muddy entrance. Tight, warm, layers of soft flesh immediately wrapped around them. Sister Ping tilted her neck back and let out a long sigh. He added more fingers, carefully opening her up, while his thumb pressed against that little bud that had already poked out. Sister Ping's waist twisted uncontrollably, her robe completely undone, her mature body fully laid bare before his eyes.
When she climaxed for the first time, her inner walls convulsed violently, a surge of warmth flooding his fingers. She cried out his name, her body arching and then heavily falling back. Chenfeng withdrew his fingers, unfastened his own pants, and his painfully hard erection sprang out. He had Sister Ping turn over, supporting herself on the sofa with her hands, her buttocks raised high.
The glans pressed against the entrance, pushing in slowly and firmly. Even with ample lubrication, the feeling of being completely filled made Sister Ping moan with satisfaction. He held her waist with both hands and began a rhythmic thrusting. Each thrust went to the deepest point, his scrotum slapping against the flesh of her buttocks, making crisp sounds.
Pingjie's moans gradually changed from suppressed to wanton. She looked back at him, her eyes glistening with moisture, yet full of desire. Chenfeng quickened his pace, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh particularly clear in the quiet afternoon. He reached around to the front, kneading her swaying breasts, pinching her nipples with his fingertips and gently pulling. Pingjie's inner walls instantly tightened, clearly about to climax again.
He didn’t give her a chance to rest, and continued deepening her while the afterglow of the climax still lingered. When he climaxed for the second time, he left it all inside. Thick semen filled her passage, and the excess trickled down her thighs. Sister Ping weakly lay sprawled on the sofa, with only her buttocks still raised high, accepting his final few deep thrusts.
Afterward, the two of them leaned against each other, panting. Sister Ping’s nightgown was draped messily over her body, her hair was disheveled, and her face was still flushed from climax. She turned to look at him and suddenly smiled.
"You brat... you're even fiercer than I thought."
Chenfeng kissed her shoulder. 'Sister Ping, you're squeezing me so tight I can't take it either.'
She reached out and tapped his forehead, but wasn't truly angry. After cleaning up, the two sat on the sofa for a while longer. The sun gradually slanted westward, the room now holding only each other's body warmth and the lingering scent.
From that day on, this relationship became fixed.
Pingjie's husband often went on business trips, so she was often home alone. Chenfeng would go over after work, sometimes for dinner and conversation, but more often than not, they would end up in bed directly. The body of a mature woman possesses a charm that young people cannot match—soft yet strong, sensitive yet durable. She knew how to please herself and would actively teach him how to please her even more.
Sometimes they would do it in the living room, curtains tightly drawn, the city's hustle and bustle outside, but inside was the depravity of flesh. Sometimes in the bedroom, she would actively ride him, controlling the rhythm herself, her full breasts swaying before his eyes. Sometimes in the bathroom, hot water washing over their joined bodies, the sound of water masking all other noises.
Pingjie rarely talked about her marriage. Only occasionally, after their encounters, she would lean against his chest and softly say, 'This is good too.' Chenfeng didn't ask either. Two adults, both aware that this relationship had no future, yet both indulged in it.
One afternoon a month later, the two had just finished once. Sister Ping lay in his arms, lazily tracing circles on his chest with her finger.
"He'll be coming back next month to stay for a while," she suddenly said.
Chenfeng's hand stopped on her waist. 'Then we...'
"We'll see when the time comes." She turned around, took the initiative to kiss him, "At least for now, you're still here."
Desire was ignited again. This time they did it slower, deeper. As if trying to carve every sensation they could remember into their bodies. When semen was ejaculated into her for the third time, Sister Ping held him tightly, not letting go with her legs either.
The sunlight outside the window had already shifted westward. In a certain corner of this city, a lonely mature woman and a young man filled each other's emptiness with their bodies. No vows, no tomorrow, only the most real body warmth and panting of this moment.
And as long as loneliness remained, this secret entanglement would continue.
During the days after her husband came back, the two tacitly stopped meeting.
Pingjie's messages became brief and restrained. Sometimes it was just 'At home, not convenient,' sometimes a photo of a home-cooked meal with the caption 'Made braised pork today.' Chenfeng replied with emojis, saying no more. He knew where the boundaries were. For a woman in her forties, marriage was the backdrop of her life, and he was just a bold stroke of ink occasionally bleeding into that backdrop.
Half a month later, her husband went on another business trip.
The message came abruptly: "Free tonight? Want to eat that sweet and sour pork ribs you cooked."
After work, Chenfeng went directly to the supermarket. Ribs, vinegar, sugar, cooking wine—he prepared everything one by one. When he arrived at her place, it was already completely dark. Sister Ping opened the door wearing the familiar robe he knew, her hair still damp from washing. They looked at each other for a second, without extra greetings; he carried the bags into the kitchen.
The aroma of cooking gradually filled the air. Sister Ping leaned against the doorframe watching him busy, then suddenly walked over and hugged his waist from behind, pressing her face against his back.
"I miss you," she said softly.
Chenfeng turned off the stove and turned around. Their kiss came naturally and urgently. The robe's belt was undone, the mature body once again exposed under his hands. This time they didn't make it to the bedroom; it was right on the kitchen counter. Sister Ping sat up, legs apart, and he guided himself inside. The cold, hard marble contrasted sharply with the scorching body. Her back leaned against the wall tiles, letting out suppressed moans each time he thrust deep.
Afterward the ribs were already cold. The two of them sat side by side at the dining table and used the same pair of chopsticks to finish the cold dishes. Sister Ping suddenly laughed: “Looks like adulterous man and woman sneaking around.”
"It is." Chen Feng replied.
She kicked him, but he grabbed her ankle and pulled her into his embrace. The second time happened on the sofa, slower and more meticulous than the first. He had her straddle him, holding her waist with both hands, watching as she moved up and down on her own. Her nipples swayed before his eyes; he opened his mouth, took one in, and sucked hard. Sister Ping's fingers dug into his hair, the rise and fall of her body gradually losing control. When her climax came, she bit his shoulder, her inner walls clenching tight and dense.
For the month after that, they met with an almost exaggerated frequency.
Sometimes it was right after work; sometimes it was on weekend afternoons. Sister Ping would prepare simple food in advance, or prepare nothing at all, taking people straight to the bedroom after opening the door. Their physical chemistry had reached a point where no words were needed. He knew she liked having her hair pulled when entered from behind; she knew he would suddenly speed up and thrust deep before ejaculating. Sometimes after finishing once, she would lie lazily, letting him continue with fingers or tongue to prolong the afterglow until she came again.
One night, the two were lying in bed smoking. Sister Ping's head rested on his arm, and the smoke slowly dispersed under the ceiling.
"Sometimes I feel really despicable." She suddenly spoke.
Chen Feng turned to look at her.
"She’s already in her forties, yet she still sneaks around like a little girl. Whenever her husband goes on a business trip, she hopes you’ll come, and once you’re here, she only thinks about being fucked by you." She spoke very calmly, as if she were describing someone else’s affairs. "Tell me, am I very greedy?"
"Lust for the body is very normal." He flicked ash from his cigarette. "And you squeeze tightly, and your reaction is genuine. Everyone likes that."
She reached out and pinched him, but not with real force. "Do you think I'm too old?"
"You look better now than many young people."
She had heard this line more than once, yet the corner of her mouth still lifted slightly. She stubbed out her cigarette, flipped over to straddle him, and lowered herself down. Her body, already used twice, still swallowed him easily. This time she moved with force, as if trying to prove something with her actions. Sweat slid from her collarbone into her cleavage, then dripped onto his chest. Later, she couldn't hold on any longer, collapsing onto him, panting, letting him thrust up from below until they both released together.
Semen was left inside once more. She didn't get up immediately but leaned against him in the connected position, listening to his heartbeat.
“Next month I may have to go out of town with him,” she said. “He took on a short-term project, and he wants me to go along for the social engagements.”
“How long?”
“About twenty days.”
Chenfeng's hand paused on her back for a moment, then continued its slow caress. 'Go ahead. We'll talk when you get back.'
She nodded and didn't bring it up again.
The days of separation were calmer than expected.
Chenfeng refocused his energy on work. The boss finally approved a small raise; the amount wasn't large, but it improved his mood. Occasionally at night, he would still open that old message-in-a-bottle page to look but never threw out a new bottle. His chat history with Sister Ping stopped at her message before departure: 'Will check in when I arrive safely.' After that were a few scenic photos, and then only 'busy' or emoji replies remained.
Day twenty-one, information became active again.
"I’m back. Tired. What about you?"
"At home. Want to come over?"
"Tomorrow. I just want to sleep today."
The next evening, when Chenfeng arrived, Sister Ping had just finished bathing. She looked a bit thinner than before she left, with faint dark circles under her eyes, yet she couldn't hide the brightness upon seeing him. They weren't in a hurry to have sex. He massaged her shoulders, listened to her talk about how boring the social engagements out of town were, how bad the wine tasted, how fake the smiles were. Later, she suddenly stopped talking, just leaned against him, her breathing gradually becoming warm.
This time they took exceptionally long.
From the living room to the bedroom, from the bed to the window. Sister Ping’s body seemed intent on taking back all the days they had been apart, extraordinarily proactive. She would twist her waist herself when being entered, and after climax she would not let him withdraw, but continue rubbing in small motions. By the third time, she was already crying, yet she still clutched him tightly and would not let him stop.
"Gently... I can't... really can't..."
He slowed his movements, but did not pull out. With the slow grinding, he rubbed over her most sensitive spot again and again. Sister Ping's tears finally fell; she didn't know whether it was pleasure or grievance. He lowered his head and kissed them away, but his lower body always remained deeply connected.
During ejaculation, he asked her: 'Leave it inside?'
She nodded, her legs tightening even more.
Afterward, the two of them lay quietly. Outside the window came the sound of rain, pattering softly. Sister Ping’s fingers traced meaningless patterns on his chest, then she suddenly said:
"He’ll stay a bit longer this time. Maybe for half a year."
Chenfeng's movements paused briefly.
"The project has been moved locally. There'll be a lot less business trips in the future." Her voice was flat. "We... may need to stop for a while."
He didn’t answer immediately. It was a long time before he said: “Got it.”
“Will you look for someone else?”
"Maybe. Maybe not." He said honestly, "And you? Will you keep enduring it?"
Pingjie smiled, her smile carrying something indescribable. 'Having endured for so many years, another half a year doesn't make much difference.'
That night they did it again. Slower and more silent than any time before. Like a kind of wordless farewell. By the time it ended, the sky was already faintly bright. Sister Ping looked at the light through the gap in the curtains and said softly:
"Let's go. If we stay any longer, the neighbors will be up early."
While Chen Feng was getting dressed, she kept watching him. No attempt to stop him, no extra words. When the door closed behind him, he heard a very soft sigh from inside.
The days after that returned to their own tracks.
Chen Feng's life returned to a regular rhythm. Work, off work, occasionally having meals with colleagues, sleeping in on weekends. Messages from Sister Ping went from daily to every few days, then dwindled to only holiday greetings. Once, he saw a woman with a similar silhouette in a mall, his heart skipped a beat, but upon getting closer, he realized it was just a mistake.
Half a year passed quickly.
One late autumn night, he suddenly received her message: 'He still has to go on a business trip. For half a month. You... are you still coming over?'
Chen Feng stared at those words for a long time. His finger hovered over the screen, and in the end, he replied, 'Okay.'
When they met again, both of them felt a little distant.
Pingjie was still wearing that robe, just in a different color. Her movements as she opened the door for him, poured water, and even the distance she sat from him on the sofa were all filled with cautious probing. Chenfeng put down the fruit he brought and sat opposite her. A faint silence hung in the air.
“Slimmed down.” She spoke first.
“So are you.”
There was silence again. Later, I don’t know who moved closer first. When the kiss landed, unfamiliarity was instantly replaced by familiarity. The body is more honest than memory. The robes fell to the floor, and the two of them rolled from the sofa to the carpet, then stumbled into the bedroom. The moment he entered, Sister Ping let out a long, almost sigh-like sound, as if she had finally put something back where it belonged.
This time they spoke little but did much.
From dark to dawn, with only two breaks in between. Sister Ping’s body seemed intent on making up for all the days apart, unbelievably sensitive. Sometimes he would merely brush over her lightly with his fingers, and she would tremble and go once. When he ejaculated inside, she would hold him tightly, bury her face in the crook of his shoulder, as if she wanted to remember his scent too.
When the morning sunlight shone into the room, both were already exhausted. Sister Ping lay in the crook of his arm, her fingers lazily tracing the sweat on his chest.
"From now on... maybe it’ll still be like this." she said, "His job is hard to predict. Sometimes he leaves all of a sudden; sometimes he stays for months."
"Then let’s do it this way." Chen Feng replied, "Meet when we have time. When we don’t, we each live our own lives."
She turned her head to look at him, her eyes filled with weariness and a certain sense of relief. 'You don't mind the trouble?'
"If you think it's troublesome, then you won't come."
She smiled, leaned over and gently bit him. 'Smooth talker.'
Desire showed signs of stirring again at this moment. She felt it, actively straddled him, and sat down herself. Although her body was still sore and weak, it still honestly opened, engulfed, and clenched. This time they did it extremely slowly, as if confirming that the other was still there. When semen was left behind again, Sister Ping no longer had the strength to move, just lying on top of him, listening as their heartbeats gradually synchronized.
The city outside the window awakens.
The sounds of cars, people, and faint horns once again filled the air. But in this room, time seemed to have been quietly paused. A lonely mature woman and an equally lonely young man proved each other's existence in the most direct way.
No one asked about forever.
And no one needed forever.
As long as the loneliness is still there, as long as the door will open again, this secret entanglement will continue at its own pace.
Until one day, one of them says 'end' first, or life separates them in a more unavoidable way.
And before that, the body will still remember the other's warmth, and nights will still bear traces of each other.
That's all.
Not too many, not too few.
But the story never truly ends. It only changes form and continues to flow gently through the daily lives of two people.
The first autumn after graduation, Lin Xiao and Gu Yan finally moved into their own rented small apartment. The place wasn't big, just one bedroom and one living room, but the balcony faced exactly that patch of sky in the distance not yet completely blocked by high-rises. Lin Xiao brought over the old bookshelf from university, while Gu Yan set up his dual-screen monitors for programming by the window. On the night they first officially 'settled down,' Lin Xiao cooked two bowls of plain noodles, and Gu Yan took a bottle of cheap red wine from the fridge, pouring it into inexpensive glasses.
"To us." Gu Yan raised his cup.
Lin Xiao also raised his glass: "To that window seat in the library."
They clinked glasses gently, the glass making a crisp sound. A car light flashed past outside the window, but inside the room it was quiet except for the steam from the noodles and each other's breathing.
The days after that stretched out like elongated film, playing frame by frame slowly.
Gu Yan joined an internet company, often working late into the night. Lin Xiao works as an editorial assistant at a publishing house, dealing with manuscripts and proofs daily. Their schedules gradually drift apart but always reconverge at fixed times. When Gu Yan returns from overtime, the entrance light is always on; when Lin Xiao stays up editing, a still-warm cup of milk appears on the coffee table.
Once, Gu Yan came home close to midnight for a whole week in a row. Lin Xiao didn't complain, only reheating the prepared late-night snack when he entered, then sitting across from him, quietly listening as he talked about where the project had gotten stuck that day. After he finished, Gu Yan looked at her and suddenly said, 'Don't you feel tired? Waiting for me every day.'
Lin Xiao shook her head, her voice very soft: "While waiting for you, I think about university days. About the first time you helped me carry books, about that umbrella in the rain that wasn't quite big enough, about our side-by-side shadows on the sports field. Thinking about these things, the wait doesn't feel so long anymore."
Gu Yan reaches out and holds her hand; his palm is slightly rough but warm.
The following spring, they officially obtained their marriage certificate. There was no grand wedding, only a few photos taken at the Civil Affairs Bureau entrance, and then a walk around their alma mater. The cherry blossoms happened to be at their peak that day. Standing under the tree where they once took shelter from the rain, Gu Yan put the ring back on Lin Xiao's finger—the inside was still engraved with the date of their first meeting.
"Starting today," Gu Yan said, "the library, the cafeteria, the playground, and this tree, all of them are ours now."
Lin Xiao smiled and nodded. A gust of wind blew, and a few more petals landed in her hair. Gu Yan reached out to pick them off for her, his movements gentle, as if touching something fragile.
Life after marriage didn't immediately become dramatic. More often, it was the minutiae of daily necessities. Lin Xiao learned to make Gu Yan's favorite sweet and sour pork ribs, and Gu Yan learned to prepare a hot water bottle and her favorite chocolate in advance during Lin Xiao's menstrual period. If both were free on weekends, they would go for walks in the nearby park or return to the old bookstore at their school to hunt for second-hand books. Sometimes Lin Xiao would suddenly recall the night before a university exam when they encouraged each other in the library, then turn to Gu Yan and say, 'I was actually terrified back then, but seeing you sitting beside me made me feel like I could get through anything.'
After listening, Gu Yan seriously replies: 'I felt the same back then.'
In the third year, Gu Yan's company received a major project, and he was sent to work on-site in another city for three months. On the morning of their parting, Lin Xiao pulled the packed suitcase to the door and stuffed a thick coat inside.
“It’s cold over there, remember to wear this.” she said.
Gu Yan nodded, suddenly pulling her into his arms and holding her for a long time.
"Video every day," he said, "no matter how busy, video."
Lin Xiao buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled: "Okay."
Those three months became the first real separation since they got married. Lin Xiao worked during the day, and at night, returning to the empty apartment, she would first start a video call. Gu Yan was often in a temporarily rented dormitory, the background simple, the lighting not great, but he always answered immediately. Sometimes he had just come out of a meeting, his hair messy, but he would still ask first: 'Did you eat today?'
Lin Xiao would prop her phone on the dining table, talking to him while eating. She talked about the new intern at the publishing house, the newly opened milk tea shop downstairs, about passing by her alma mater's gate today and seeing another batch of freshmen registering.
"The way they dragged their suitcases," Lin Xiao said, "was just like us back then."
Gu Yan smiles on screen: 'Back then, you were dragging your suitcase and almost hit a pillar.'
"You’re the one who bumped into me." Lin Xiao retorted, but then laughed along as well.
At the end of the three months, on the day Gu Yan came back, Lin Xiao deliberately took a day off. She waited at the station for almost an hour before finally seeing the familiar figure emerge from the crowd. When Gu Yan saw her, he clearly quickened his pace. The two stopped at the exit, neither of them speaking first, just looking at each other.
Then Gu Yan put the suitcase aside, reached out, and picked her up, spinning her around once. People around glanced over, but Lin Xiao was too caught up to feel shy, just tightly hugging him back.
In the taxi on the way home, Gu Yan held her hand the whole time, as if afraid that letting go would separate them again. After arriving home, he went to take a shower first. When he came out, Lin Xiao had already reheated dinner. The two sat at the small dining table, quietly finishing the meal just like they did in the cafeteria during university.
After finishing, Gu Yan suddenly said: “If there’s a business trip next time, you come with me.”
Lin Xia was taken aback for a moment, then nodded: 'Okay.'
In the fourth year, they finally saved enough for the down payment and bought a small two-bedroom apartment closer to their alma mater. On moving day, several college roommates came to help. While moving things, everyone reminisced about funny stories from the dorm days. Someone mentioned that Gu Yan always returned to the dorm very late during freshman year, and someone teased Lin Xiao about how nervous she was when hosting the literature club, her palms sweating. Laughter echoed in the empty new house, as if moving in the past times along with everything else.
After settling down, Lin Xiao began independently responsible for a column at the publishing house. Gu Yan was promoted to project manager, busier with work but also more regular. Their lives were like two parallel lines, occasionally intersecting, yet always moving in the same direction.
One weekend, they decided to completely unwind for a day and spend a whole day back at their alma mater. In the morning, they first went to the cafeteria for a bowl of beef noodles—the taste was about the same as back in the day, just a few bucks more expensive. Then they went to the library. The third-floor window seat had been replaced with new tables and chairs, but the view outside remained. Lin Xiao sat down, took out an old notebook from her bag—the one she used in college. Opening to a certain page, there were some formatting marks Gu Yan had helped her correct, the handwriting clear.
“Still keeping it?” Gu Yan asked.
Lin Xiao nodded: "Can't bear to throw it away."
They sat in that spot for a long time, just like back then, one reading a book, one looking at a screen. Only this time, neither of them rushed to leave.
At noon they went to the playground and walked around a few times. The track had been relaid, its color newer than in memory. Lin Xiao couldn't run, so she walked slowly. Gu Yan stayed beside her, occasionally reaching out to pull her a little, helping her avoid puddles.
“Do you remember the first time we ran together?” Lin Xiao asked.
“Remember. You were out of breath after running just a couple of steps, and you still insisted you could keep going.”
"Back then you ran so fast, yet every time you still ran back to wait for me."
Gu Yan smiled but didn't respond, just slowed his pace even more.
In the evening, they walked again to the cherry blossom tree. The flowering season had passed, but the leaves were still thick and green. The two of them stood against the trunk for a while, neither saying a word. The wind blew over, carrying the bells from the distant teaching building.
“We really have come a long way.” Lin Xiao suddenly said.
Gu Yan turns to look at her: 'But the starting point is still here.'
Lin Xiao reached out and tugged gently on the corner of his clothes, just like she did in college. Gu Yan understood and, in turn, grasped her hand.
In the fifth year, Lin Xiao discovered she was pregnant.
That morning she wasn't feeling well and went to the hospital for a check-up. When the results came out, she sat on the bench outside the consultation room, looking at the report over and over, then called Gu Yan.
On the other end of the phone, Gu Yan was silent for a few seconds, then his voice tightened slightly: "Where are you now? I'll come right away."
He really arrived very quickly. He trotted all the way into the hospital, and when he saw Lin Xiao, his eyes were a little red. He sat down beside her, carefully took over the report, checked it over again and again, and only then finally smiled.
"Really?"
"Really."
Gu Yan tightened his grip on her hand, his palm completely sweaty.
Since then, life gained another layer of rhythm. Lin Xiao began paying attention to her diet, while Gu Yan pushed off every overtime shift he could. On weekends they would go for walks in the park together; Gu Yan always walked on the side nearest the road, carrying Lin Xiao’s water cup in his hand. At night he would help her massage her calves and listen as she talked about what interesting pregnancy articles she had seen that day.
Once Lin Xiao woke up in the middle of the night and gently nudged the person next to her: 'Can't sleep.'
Gu Yan immediately opened his eyes, his voice still drowsy. 'Where does it hurt?'
“No. It’s just... I suddenly wanted to drink that bowl of porridge from the university cafeteria.”
Gu Yan was silent for two seconds, then sat up and put on his clothes. 'I'll go buy some. It's not from the cafeteria, but there's a congee shop nearby that's open 24 hours.'
Lin Xiao pulled him back: "No need to really go..."
“If you want to drink, go ahead.” Gu Yan bent down and kissed her on the forehead, “Wait for me to come back.”
He really went. Half an hour later he came back with porridge that was still hot, and Lin Xiao sat on the bed and drank it little by little until it was finished. Gu Yan sat by the bed and watched her, then suddenly said: “When the child is born, we’ll take him back to the school to have a look too. Tell him that’s where Dad and Mom met.”
Lin Xiao nodded, her eyes a little moist.
The day the child was born was in early winter. In the corridor outside the delivery room, Gu Yan paced back and forth. His phone held a pre-recorded message from Lin Xiao—'Don't be nervous, I'm fine.' He listened to it many times but was still so nervous his palms sweated.
When the nurse finally came out to notify him, he almost rushed into the ward. Lin Xiao looked a bit pale, but smiled the moment she saw him. In her arms was a tiny, wrinkled baby.
Gu Yan carefully took the child and looked down at him for a long time. Then he raised his head and said to Lin Xiao, 'He looks like you.'
Lin Xiao shook her head: "The nose looks like you."
The two laughed together. Outside, the sky had already brightened; sunlight streamed through the glass onto the hospital bed, bathing everything in a gentle glow.
During the postpartum confinement days, Gu Yan took paternity leave and was almost always by her side. He learned how to prepare formula, change diapers, burp the baby, and also learned to simply sit quietly with Lin Xiao when she was feeling down. Once, Lin Xiao cried in the middle of the night, saying she felt like she couldn't do anything right. Gu Yan gently pulled her into his arms, stroking her back over and over.
“You’re already very good.” he said. “From university until now, you’ve always been very good.”
Lin Xia buried her face in his chest, listening to his heartbeat, gradually calming down.
When the child was one month old, they specifically returned to their alma mater. The weather was very good that day, clear and crisp autumn air. The two of them pushed the stroller, slowly walking along familiar paths. The cafeteria, the sports field, the library, the cherry blossom trees—they stopped to take photos at each spot. The child in the stroller slept soundly, completely unaware of the surroundings.
Standing under that tree, Lin Xiao suddenly said softly, 'Our story truly started here and has been written all the way to now.'
Gu Yan nodded, reaching out to tuck her wind-blown hair behind her ear.
"I'll keep writing," he said. "All the way to a very, very far place."
The wind blew over again, this time without petals, only clean sunlight and the faint sound of reading in the distance. The campus remained young, but their story no longer belonged to just the two of them. It began to have new chapters, new voices, new warmth.
But the starting point will always be that autumn library, that accidental reaching out, that simple “Be careful.”
From that moment on, all the tenderness, waiting, partings, and reunions that came later had a place to return to.
They would still walk through many springs and autumns together. The child would grow up, learn to walk, learn to talk, and one day ask: “Mom and Dad, how did you meet?”
By then, they would bring the child and return to this campus again. Standing at the entrance of the library, standing on the track of the playground, standing beneath that tree that had already grown taller and thicker, they would slowly tell the whole story all over again, from the beginning.
Talked about the umbrella in the rain, talked about the location of the cafeteria, talked about the ring at graduation, talked about all the ordinary yet precious days that followed.
After the story is told, the wind will blow again.
Petals, or leaves, or sunlight, will fall on the shoulders of the three people.
And the story would still continue.
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