The next morning, when Shen Zhiyao arrived at the classroom, the seat beside him was empty.
Cheng Ye’s chair was tucked neatly under the desk, leaving only an English workbook on top that he hadn’t taken home the day before. The wind blew in through the window, lifting a corner of the pages before letting it drop softly back down.
Shen Zhiyao stood beside his desk and looked at it for a few seconds before putting down his backpack.
He knew Cheng Ye wouldn’t come today.
After 10:00 PM last night, Cheng Ye had taken his temperature again, and it was still at 38°C (100.4°F). Shen Zhiyao had told him to take the morning off, and after sending the message, the other side took a long time to reply with a single word.
Okay.
Immediately followed by another message:
I’ll listen to you this time.
Before the morning reading bell rang, there were not many people in the classroom.
Lin Po came in through the back door, immediately spotted the empty seat, and walked over to ask, “Is Cheng Ye really taking leave?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he tell you?”
Shen Zhiyao opened his Chinese textbook. “There’s a notice in the class group chat.”
Lin Po pulled out his phone and took a look.
Zhou Lan had indeed sent a message before 7:00 AM saying Cheng Ye had a fever and was taking the day off.
“How come I didn’t see that earlier?” Lin Po muttered.
“Because you didn’t check the group.”
“You read it that carefully?”
“I just happened to see it.”
Lin Po looked at Shen Zhiyao, then at the empty seat. “Did his fever break last night?”
“Around 38°C.”
“How do you know?”
Shen Zhiyao paused. “He sent a photo.”
Lin Po’s expression turned somewhat complex. “Why didn’t he send it to me?”
“You can ask him.”
“I did ask, and he only replied in the middle of the night saying he wasn’t dead.”
Shen Zhiyao lowered his eyes.
That indeed sounded like something Cheng Ye would say.
Lin Po propped his hands on the edge of the desk. “Thanks for taking him home yesterday.”
“No need.”
“He’s a real pain when he’s sick,” Lin Po said. “When he was little and had a fever, he’d even talk in his sleep.”
Shen Zhiyao raised his head. “What did he say?”
Lin Po looked as if he had discovered something and immediately laughed. “You want to know?”
“Just asking.”
“Then I won’t tell you.”
Shen Zhiyao lowered his head back to his book. “I’m not interested anyway.”
Lin Po smiled even more broadly. “Did you two make up yesterday?”
Shen Zhiyao’s hand flipping the page paused slightly. “We didn’t quarrel.”
“You didn’t quarrel, but you gave each other the cold shoulder for a whole day?”
“It was just a misunderstanding.”
“What misunderstanding?”
“Nothing to do with you.”
Lin Po was shut down, but he wasn’t angry. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully. “Alright, looks like you really did make up.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?”
“Before, you wouldn’t explain it was a misunderstanding. You’d just say it was nothing.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t respond.
Lin Po wanted to keep asking, but the morning reading bell had already rung.
Zhou Lan walked into the classroom holding her Chinese textbook, saw Cheng Ye’s empty desk, and glanced over to confirm.
“Leave Cheng Ye’s assignments on his desk for now; he can make them up when he gets back.”
Shen Zhiyao nodded.
When the math test papers were handed back during the first period, he casually placed Cheng Ye’s on his desk.
The dictation paper for the second-period English class was also pressed underneath the test paper.
When the physics teacher got to a new problem, Shen Zhiyao finished writing the steps in his own notebook, paused for a moment, then pulled out a blank exercise book and copied down the key points once more.
Xu Zhi turned around from the front row and happened to see it. “For Cheng Ye?”
“He missed class yesterday.”
“Didn’t you already help him organize notes yesterday?”
“Yesterday was yesterday.”
Xu Zhi looked at him for two seconds. “Right now, you really look like his personal subject representative.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t raise his head. “It’s normal for desk mates to share notes.”
“Mm,” Xu Zhi replied with deep meaning. “Particularly normal.”
Shen Zhiyao ignored him.
During the ten-minute break, no one beside him asked if he wanted to go to the snack shop, nor were any scratch papers pushed over from the side.
The classroom was not actually quiet.
Lin Po was in the front row arguing with others about the basketball game lineup, Xu Zhi was holding bulletin board materials and confirming them everywhere, and people from the student council were knocking on the door in the hallway looking for Cheng Ye.
Yet Shen Zhiyao always felt that a certain sound was missing.
That kind of voice usually made him feel like it was too much, too noisy, and he had even reminded Cheng Ye several times to speak a bit less.
Now that it had suddenly vanished, he would subconsciously look to his side whenever the class bell rang.
The empty chair gave no response.
During the lunch break, Shen Zhiyao went to the cafeteria.
He walked alone to the innermost window on the second floor and ordered a bowl of noodles.
The auntie at the window asked if he wanted cilantro, and he said no.
Carrying his tray, as he turned around, someone called out to him from behind.
“Shen Zhiyao.”
Xu Zhi and Lin Po were sitting by the window, with an empty seat left at their table.
Lin Po waved at him. “Over here.”
Shen Zhiyao originally wanted to sit on the other side.
He stopped in his tracks for a few seconds, but walked over anyway and put his tray down at the empty spot.
Lin Po looked at him while biting his chopsticks. “Why did you actively come to the cafeteria today?”
“To eat.”
“I know it’s to eat,” Lin Po said. “With Cheng Ye not around, I thought you’d be gnawing on bread again.”
Shen Zhiyao lowered his head and stirred his noodles apart. “Whether he’s here or not has nothing to do with what I eat.”
Xu Zhi took a sip of soup. “Then why did you order the noodles he recommended last time?”
Shen Zhiyao’s chopsticks paused. “The taste here is decent.”
“Last time you said it was ‘just okay.'”
“The meaning is about the same.”
Xu Zhi didn’t continue to expose him.
Halfway through the meal, Shen Zhiyao’s phone vibrated.
Cheng Ye sent a photo.
In the photo was a thermometer.
37.6°C (99.7°F).
Below it was a line of text:
Almost recovered.
Shen Zhiyao looked at it for a few seconds and replied:
Keep resting.
Cheng Ye quickly sent back:
What did they teach today?
New physics lesson, math test papers handed back, English dictation.
Sounds like I missed a lot.
I organized the notes for you.
The “The other party is typing…” above the chat box stopped for a long time.
Finally, Cheng Ye sent a line:
Hard work, Teacher Shen.
Looking at these words, the corner of Shen Zhiyao’s lips twitched slightly.
Make up for it yourself tomorrow.
Can I go to school tomorrow?
Go when your temperature is normal.
My mom said the same thing.
Then listen to your auntie.
Why don’t you say ‘listen to you’?
Shen Zhiyao’s finger stopped on the screen.
He didn’t reply.
Cheng Ye sent another message.
I was joking. Have you eaten?
Shen Zhiyao looked up at the bowl in front of him, snapped a photo, and sent it over.
Cheng Ye replied almost instantly.
You went to the second floor?
Mm.
No cilantro added.
Mm.
Even when I’m not around, you actually remembered.
Shen Zhiyao looked at that sentence.
After a few seconds, he replied:
It’s because I don’t like cilantro.
But I was the one who took the empty bowl.
Today I could directly tell the auntie I didn’t want any.
So you won’t need me in the future?
This sentence came without any warning.
Shen Zhiyao’s finger froze.
He knew Cheng Ye was probably just asking offhandedly.
This person always liked to hide seriousness inside jokes, and was used to saying things in a light tone that left people not knowing how to answer.
Yet Shen Zhiyao stared at the screen for a long time.
Xu Zhi sat opposite him, noticing that he hadn’t moved his chopsticks for a while. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Cheng Ye?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t deny it.
Lin Po immediately stretched his neck over. “What did he say?”
Shen Zhiyao placed his phone face down on the table. “None of your business.”
Lin Po curled his lip. “Now you won’t even let me see messages. A few days ago you said you weren’t even friends.”
Xu Zhi kicked him. “Eat your food.”
Shen Zhiyao lowered his head and took two bites of noodles.
The phone lay quietly beside the table.
He thought Cheng Ye would continue sending messages. He waited for a moment, but there were no new notifications.
After that sentence just now, the chat box remained empty.
Shen Zhiyao ultimately picked up the phone again.
He typed a few words into the input box, then deleted them all.
Repeated twice, before he finally sent out one line:
Needing and relying on someone are not the same thing.
Cheng Ye didn’t reply right away.
Half a minute later, the screen lit up.
Then which one am I?
Looking at this sentence, Shen Zhiyao suddenly felt a sense of being backed into a corner.
He was not used to defining relationships between people.
Names, positions, levels of importance it seemed that once spoken aloud, they would turn into a kind of promise.
And promises always had a day when they expired.
He didn’t answer.
Cheng Ye sent another message:
Never mind, take your time thinking about it.
Followed by a smiley face.
Shen Zhiyao knew this meant Cheng Ye was actively letting the topic pass.
But this time, he didn’t feel relieved because of it.
Before the last class in the afternoon ended, Zhou Lan announced the revision opinions for the draft of the bulletin board.
The photos and hand-drawn sections were already confirmed; they only needed to add a block of text. Xu Zhi brought the printed draft to the back row and put it on Shen Zhiyao’s desk.
“Take a look and see if the photo colors need to be adjusted.”
Shen Zhiyao took it.
In the center of the draft was that photo of Cheng Ye standing by the window of the old building.
The printed colors were slightly darker than on the computer. The light blue curtains had turned into a grayish-blue, and where the sunlight fell on the youth’s profile, only a small soft patch of brightness remained.
Xu Zhi asked, “Should we swap for another one?”
“No need.”
“I think this one is good too,” she said. “Quiet, but not depressing.”
Shen Zhiyao’s gaze remained on the photo. “Has he seen the draft?”
“Sent it to the class group yesterday.”
“He hasn’t really checked the group since taking leave.”
Xu Zhi smiled lightly. “You can send it to him privately.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t speak.
Xu Zhi took back the draft. “We’ll formally start drawing the bulletin board on Friday. If he still doesn’t come tomorrow, we’ll post the hand-drawn parts first.”
“He will come.”
Xu Zhi raised an eyebrow. “So sure?”
“His fever has broken.”
“You two have been in touch the whole time?”
“Just talked about his temperature.”
“Mm.”
Xu Zhi responded very perfunctorily.
After school, Shen Zhiyao didn’t go straight home.
He first went to the pharmacy across from the school.
When the clerk asked him what he needed, he paused for a moment. “Throat lozenges.”
“What flavor?”
Shen Zhiyao remembered the mint smell he had caught yesterday. “Mint.”
The clerk pulled out two kinds. “One is cooler, and the other has a softer flavor. Students usually choose this one.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at them and took the box with the softer flavor.
After paying, he felt this action was unnecessary again.
Cheng Ye’s home was a stationery store, and there was a pharmacy nearby too. Cheng’s mother would take care of him; he didn’t lack a box of throat lozenges.
What’s more, they would see each other at school tomorrow.
But the item was already in his bag.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t return it.
The next morning, just as he walked down to the classroom building, he saw a familiar black bicycle parked outside the shed.
Cheng Ye was leaning over to lock the bike.
He was wearing his blue and white school uniform, the zipper rarely pulled up neatly to his chest. His face was still a bit pale, and his movements were slower than usual.
Shen Zhiyao stopped a few steps away.
Cheng Ye looked up, saw him, and his eyes immediately crinkled into a smile. “Morning.”
“Why did you come?”
“Fever’s gone.”
“What’s your temperature?”
“36.8°C (98.2°F).”
“Measured this morning?”
“Before leaving the house.”
“Did you take medicine?”
“Took it.”
“How’s your throat?”
“Still hurts a little.”
After answering, Cheng Ye couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You look like a school doctor right now.”
“I’m just confirming whether you’re fit to come to school.”
“Then what’s the test result?”
Shen Zhiyao looked at his complexion. “Barely.”
“Barely counts as passing.”
Cheng Ye pushed his bicycle into the shed.
Shen Zhiyao stood outside waiting.
After locking the bike, the two walked together toward the teaching building.
The early morning campus hadn’t fully come alive yet.
There were a few boarding students running on the playground, and slow-paced music played from the broadcast speakers. Sunlight fell on moist tree leaves, with occasional water droplets falling from the tips.
After walking a few steps, Cheng Ye suddenly asked, “Why didn’t you answer my last question yesterday?”
Shen Zhiyao looked straight ahead. “What question?”
“Which one am I.”
“Forgot.”
“You have such a good memory, you’d forget?”
“A question that isn’t important.”
Cheng Ye let out a soft “Oh.”
His tone didn’t sound disappointed, but he clearly stopped smiling.
Shen Zhiyao turned his face sideways. “Why do you insist on knowing?”
“Because you said needing and relying aren’t the same thing.”
“That has nothing to do with you.”
“You were clearly talking about me.”
“I was talking about concepts.”
“You suddenly discuss concepts while eating noodles?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer.
Cheng Ye didn’t press him further either.
The two walked into the teaching building.
When they almost reached the classroom, Shen Zhiyao stopped walking and took out that box of throat lozenges from his bag’s side pocket.
“For you.”
Cheng Ye looked at the box in his palm. “What’s this?”
“Throat lozenges.”
“Bought specifically for me?”
Shen Zhiyao originally wanted to say it was just convenient.
The words came to his lips, but he remembered how he had once pointed out Cheng Ye’s excuses of “buying too much.”
He went silent for two seconds. “Mm.”
The smile on Cheng Ye’s face lit up bit by bit. “Didn’t buy extra?”
“Didn’t.”
“And not picked up from the road either?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll accept it.”
Cheng Ye reached out to take it.
His fingertips had returned to a normal temperature, no longer shockingly hot like yesterday.
Shen Zhiyao pulled his hand back. “Take them according to the instructions.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t suck on them constantly like candy.”
“Got it.”
“And don’t give them to Lin Po.”
Cheng Ye raised an eyebrow. “Why can’t I give them to him?”
“It’s medicine.”
“His throat can hurt too.”
“Then let him buy his own.”
Cheng Ye looked at him. “So this is only for me?”
Shen Zhiyao turned around to walk toward the classroom. “You ask too many questions.”
Cheng Ye followed behind, a smile unhideable in his voice. “You didn’t deny it.”
Upon returning to his seat, Cheng Ye first saw the neatly stacked test papers and notes on his desk.
Math, English, Physics, each organized according to the order of classes, with a sticky note pressed on top.
[Physics key points for the new lesson are on the second page, correct the last two math problems, make up the English dictation during lunch break.]
Cheng Ye picked up the sticky note. “You wrote this?”
“There’s no one else at this desk.”
“All these notes are for me?”
“Missed class content.”
Cheng Ye flipped open the physics exercise book.
The steps inside were written in great detail, with places prone to errors circled in pencil, alongside a few brief explanations.
“Did you spend a long time on this yesterday?”
“No.”
“Teacher Xu taught this much in one period?”
“Some were supplementary.”
“Supplementary for whom?”
Shen Zhiyao pulled out his chair and sat down. “You.”
Cheng Ye’s movement of flipping the page stopped.
People gradually entered the classroom.
As soon as Lin Po saw him, he ran over and reached out to touch his forehead. “Fever really gone?”
Cheng Ye dodged backward. “Don’t touch.”
“I’m just confirming.”
“Your hand is hotter than mine, what can you confirm?”
Lin Po saw the notes on the desk and casually flipped through two pages. “Who wrote this?”
“Teacher Shen.”
“Shen what?”
“Teacher Shen.”
Cheng Ye snatched the notebook back. “Private notes, don’t look around randomly.”
Lin Po looked at him in shock. “Did you burn your brain out after being sick once?”
Xu Zhi passed by and said calmly, “It’s not burned out, it’s just that someone took too good care of him.”
Shen Zhiyao lowered his head to get his book, pretending not to hear.
Cheng Ye, however, nodded frankly. “Indeed.”
Shen Zhiyao looked up at him.
Cheng Ye was already holding a throat lozenge in his mouth, the mint flavor subtle, drifting between the two of them as he spoke.
“Tastes very good,” he said.
“It’s medicine, not a snack.”
“Got it.”
“You’ve already said ‘got it’ twice.”
“Because you reminded me twice.”
“Then remember it.”
“Remembered.”
When morning reading began, Cheng Ye made up yesterday’s missed English dictation.
Shen Zhiyao read his book beside him.
Halfway through writing, Cheng Ye suddenly tapped the desk with his pen. “How do you spell this word?”
Shen Zhiyao took a glance. “It was in last night’s notes.”
“Didn’t memorize it.”
“Look it up yourself.”
“It’s faster if you tell me.”
“Will someone tell you during an exam?”
Cheng Ye sighed and had no choice but to open the notebook.
He searched for a moment and found a circle drawn in blue ink beside that word by Shen Zhiyao.
“Why is it blue here?”
“Black pen ran out of ink.”
“You’d carry a blue pen?”
“Mm.”
“Lend it to me.”
Shen Zhiyao took out the blue gel pen from his pencil case.
Cheng Ye took it and drew a circle in the upper right corner of the dictation paper.
“What are you doing?”
“Commemorating my recovery and return to school.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Then commemorating us making up.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him. “We didn’t quarrel in the first place.”
“Then commemorating us officially becoming friends.”
“We already said that yesterday.”
“Yesterday I had a fever, it wasn’t official enough.”
“How official do you want it to be?”
Cheng Ye held the blue pen and thought seriously for a few seconds. “I’ll give you something.”
“Why?”
“Friends can give each other gifts.”
“You’ve already given a drawing.”
“The drawing hasn’t been given to you yet.”
“Then there’s no need for anything else.”
Cheng Ye, however, looked as if he had already made up his mind. “Wait for me after school.”
“What for?”
“Go to the stationery store.”
“I’m not buying anything.”
“Not asking you to buy.”
“Then what are we doing there?”
Cheng Ye flipped the dictation paper over, no longer answering. “You’ll know when the time comes.”
Shen Zhiyao originally wanted to refuse.
But looking at Cheng Ye’s face, which clearly hadn’t fully recovered, he ultimately only said one line: “You can’t ride too fast after school.”
Cheng Ye laughed. “Got it.”
After school in the afternoon, the two went to the stationery store together.
When Cheng’s mother saw Cheng Ye return, she first asked about his temperature, then confirmed if he had taken his medicine on time.
As Cheng Ye answered, he led Shen Zhiyao to the innermost part of the store.
On the shelf against the wall sat various notebooks.
Hardcover, soft leather, spiral, loose-leaf colors ranging from the most ordinary black, white, and gray to bright yellow and green, occupying a full three shelves.
“Which kind do you like?” Cheng Ye asked.
Shen Zhiyao stood in front of the shelf. “I don’t lack notebooks.”
“This isn’t for doing homework.”
“Then what’s it for?”
Cheng Ye pulled out a dark blue hardcover notebook from the second tier.
The cover had no patterns, except for a tiny silver cloud printed in the bottom right corner. When sunlight hit it, that little cloud reflected a very faint light.
“How about this one?”
Shen Zhiyao took it.
The notebook wasn’t thick, but the paper was very substantial. Upon opening, each page had a small weather column at the top where one could record the date, temperature, and the day’s weather.
“A weather journal?” he asked.
“Pretty much.”
“Why would your store sell this?”
“Students record everything,” Cheng Ye said. “Some record what they ate every day, some record their mood, and some make bullet journals.”
“I don’t keep bullet journals.”
“You can log photos.”
Shen Zhiyao’s movement of turning pages stopped.
Cheng Ye pointed to the weather column. “Don’t you like photographing the sky? Whatever you capture every day, you can record here.”
“Photos already have dates.”
“Photos only record the visual.”
“What else can be recorded here?”
“What you were thinking at the time, why you took it, or how the weather was that day.”
Shen Zhiyao closed the notebook. “Unnecessary.”
Cheng Ye looked at him. “Really unnecessary?”
“Photos are already enough.”
“But there are some photos you don’t want others to see, and you might not open them all the time either.”
Cheng Ye took the journal from his hand and flipped back to the first page. “Writing it down is different. When you see it in the future, you’ll know that day wasn’t just about taking a single photo.”
Shen Zhiyao gazed at the blank paper.
He thought of that folder on his computer named only with dates.
Inside was saved the back profile of Cheng Ye riding away on his bike.
That photo didn’t have good composition or accurate focus. Relying on the image alone, one couldn’t even tell why he had pressed the shutter.
Cheng Ye was right.
A photo only recorded a certain second.
Yet it wouldn’t explain why that second was important.
“Why did you suddenly want to give me this?” Shen Zhiyao asked.
Cheng Ye leaned against the shelf. “Thought of it while lying down yesterday.”
“When you had a fever?”
“Mm.”
“So you weren’t necessarily conscious.”
“I want to give it now, too.”
“The reason?”
Cheng Ye stayed quiet for a moment. “Because you photographed a lot of sunny days and cloudy days, but rarely mentioned whether you were happy that day.”
Shen Zhiyao’s gaze fell on the blue cover.
Cheng Ye continued, “If you don’t want to tell others, it doesn’t matter; you can write it for yourself to read first.”
“I don’t have things that need to be recorded every day.”
“Then write when there’s something to write.”
“It might stay blank forever.”
“It’s not like the notebook will rush you.” Cheng Ye smiled lightly. “Whenever you feel like writing, start whenever.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him. “Items in the store can just be given away casually?”
“I’ll pay.”
“This is your family’s store.”
“Then accounts still need to be kept.”
“How much is it?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Gifts don’t disclose prices.”
Shen Zhiyao put the notebook back on the shelf. “I can’t accept it.”
Cheng Ye didn’t pick it up right away. “Why?”
“Unnecessary.”
“Unnecessary again.”
“We just” Shen Zhiyao stopped.
Cheng Ye waited a few seconds. “Just what?”
“We’ve only just met recently.”
“So?”
“Friends don’t need to give gifts either.”
“But I want to give it.”
“Why must it be given to me?”
Cheng Ye looked at him, his tone very casual. “Because when I saw it, I thought of you.”
A customer pushed the door open to enter from outside the store.
The door chime emitted a crisp ring, and Cheng’s mother said a sentence of welcome at the counter.
Shen Zhiyao stood by the shelf without speaking.
“Is that not a reason either?” Cheng Ye asked.
“Too casual.”
“Where is it casual?”
“Seeing a notebook and thinking of a person.”
“That’s not casual,” Cheng Ye said. “There are so many notebooks on the shelf, and I only thought of you.”
Shen Zhiyao’s finger pressed lightly against his backpack strap.
He didn’t know how to respond.
Cheng Ye could always say things that were easy to cause misunderstandings in a frank and natural manner, as if he had never considered what impression those words would leave in someone else’s heart.
“You don’t like blue?” Cheng Ye asked.
“No.”
“Don’t like clouds?”
“No either.”
“Don’t like recording the weather?”
“Don’t know.”
“Then try it.”
Cheng Ye took the notebook down again and put it into his hands. “If you don’t want to write, just leave it sitting.”
Shen Zhiyao looked down at the cover.
The silver cloud rested on the dark blue background like a small patch of shade that hadn’t completely scattered.
He fell silent for a moment. “Do I need to give you something back too?”
“No need.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Then in the future, when you take nice photos, show them to me.”
“You’ve already seen them.”
“There will be many more in the future.”
Cheng Ye said this sentence without hesitation.
As if “the future” was something that was bound to happen.
Shen Zhiyao instinctively wanted to refute it.
Holding the blue journal in his hand, however, he ultimately didn’t speak it aloud.
“Okay,” he said.
Cheng Ye smiled. “You agreed?”
“Just taking the gift.”
“What about the photos?”
“Depends on the situation.”
“That counts too.”
Cheng Ye took the notebook to the counter to record the account.
Seeing it, Cheng’s mother asked, “For Zhiyao?”
“Mm.”
“Good taste,” she said with a smile. “When this style first arrived, I felt it was suitable for recording the weather.”
Shen Zhiyao stood beside them, feeling somewhat awkward. “Auntie, I can pay for it myself.”
“It’s his gift to you, so let him pay,” Cheng’s mother said. “You brought him back last time and helped him organize notes; no need to be polite over a small thing like this.”
Cheng Ye pulled out his loose change box. “Hear that?”
Shen Zhiyao watched him lower his head to count money. “Where did you get a change box?”
“My wage for helping mind the counter in the store.”
“Auntie really pays you wages?”
“Of course,” Cheng Ye said. “Even real brothers keep clear accounts.”
Cheng’s mother let out a laugh from behind the counter. “You still owed me fifteen yuan yesterday.”
“That was because I didn’t bring cash.”
“Now is perfect to deduct it together.”
Watching his change instantly diminish, Cheng Ye’s expression looked a bit distressed.
For the first time, Shen Zhiyao realized that while he was very straightforward when giving gifts, he genuinely felt reluctant when actually paying the money.
“Regretting it?” Shen Zhiyao asked.
“No.”
“Your expression doesn’t look like it.”
“I’m just reflecting on why I had to eat two tubs of ice cream yesterday.”
“Your throat hurt because of ice cream?”
Cheng Ye immediately fell silent.
Cheng’s mother looked up from behind the counter. “Two tubs?”
Cheng Ye coughed. “Not on the same day.”
“Didn’t you say yesterday you only ate one bar?”
“I might have remembered wrong.”
Cheng’s mother’s face darkened. “Cheng Ye.”
Cheng Ye instantly grabbed Shen Zhiyao’s backpack and pushed the person out the door. “We’ll leave first.”
“You get back here.”
“I’ll explain tomorrow.”
By the time the two left the stationery store, Cheng’s mother was still saying from behind that he wasn’t allowed to touch cold drinks tonight.
After walking a distance away, Shen Zhiyao finally asked, “Two tubs?”
“Lin Po bought them.”
“You could have chosen not to eat.”
“The weather was hot at the time.”
“18°C (64.4°F).”
Cheng Ye turned his head to look at him. “How do you even remember the temperature from that day?”
“Weather forecast.”
“You check it every day?”
“Pretty much.”
Cheng Ye’s gaze fell on the blue journal. “Then it’s even more suitable for you.”
Shen Zhiyao put the notebook into his backpack. “I won’t necessarily write in it.”
“Got it.”
“I might also write for two days and forget.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t ask me what I wrote.”
Cheng Ye’s steps paused slightly. “Why?”
“It’s for myself to read.”
Cheng Ye thought about it and nodded. “Okay, won’t ask.”
“Can’t peek either.”
“When have I ever peeked at your things?”
“Stating it in advance.”
“Then you can’t peek at my sketchbook either.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him. “You have a sketchbook?”
As if realizing he had let something slip, Cheng Ye immediately shifted his gaze away. “Just random scribbles.”
“Drawings of architecture?”
“A bit of everything.”
“Can I look?”
Cheng Ye deliberately imitated his tone: “Depends on the situation.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t press further.
The two walked to the bus stop.
calculated evening sky was very clean; after days of continuous rain, the cloud layers were finally dispersed by the wind. A layer of pale golden light was spread in the west, illuminating the glass of distant high-rises until they glowed.
Cheng Ye looked up for a moment. “Does today count as a sunny day?”
“Counts.”
“Then will you take a photo?”
“Lighting is so-so.”
“You say it’s so-so every time.”
“It really is just so-so.”
“I think it looks very nice.”
Shen Zhiyao followed his line of sight to look over.
The sky had no particularly magnificent colors; it was just very clear. Light blue extended all the way from directly overhead to the distance, with a few clouds lit with soft gold edges by the setting sun.
He took his camera out of his camera bag.
Seeing this, Cheng Ye smiled slightly. “Isn’t it so-so?”
“Just casually shooting.”
Shen Zhiyao raised his camera.
In the viewfinder, besides the sky, Cheng Ye standing beside the bus stop sign also appeared.
The youth was wearing a blue and white school uniform, his face still holding a bit of paleness after his illness, holding the mint throat lozenge he had given him in his mouth. The setting sun fell from the side, casting a very light layer of glow over the tips of his hair.
Shen Zhiyao adjusted the angle. “Move to the side a little.”
Cheng Ye moved immediately. “Here?”
“Not asking you to enter the frame.”
“Oh.”
Though agreeing verbally, he didn’t move away completely, only shifting from the center of the frame to the edge.
Shen Zhiyao looked through the lens for a few seconds.
Ultimately, he didn’t make him leave again.
The shutter clicked softly.
Snap.
“Captured it?” Cheng Ye asked.
“Mm.”
“Show me.”
“Doesn’t look good.”
“The sky doesn’t look good, or I don’t look good?”
“Both so-so.”
Cheng Ye laughed. “Then show me anyway.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t hand the camera over. “In the future.”
“‘In the future’ again.”
“Don’t you really like saying ‘in the future’?”
Cheng Ye froze for a second. “Did I say that?”
“Said it many times.”
“Then this time I’ll do it.”
“What?”
“Wait until you’re willing, then look.”
The bus drove over from the distance.
Shen Zhiyao put the camera back into his bag.
Before boarding, Cheng Ye suddenly called out to him. “Shen Zhiyao.”
“Mm?”
“You can write about today on the first page of the journal.”
“Why?”
“Because today is a sunny day.”
“An ordinary sunny day.”
“Sunny days don’t need to be special either.”
The bus doors had already opened.
Passengers behind began moving forward.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer and followed the crowd onto the bus.
He walked to a seat by the window and sat down.
When the bus started moving, Cheng Ye was still standing in his original spot.
The two looked at each other through the bus window.
Cheng Ye raised his hand and drew a circle in the air.
Shen Zhiyao saw it.
He didn’t raise his hand in response, only lowering his head to hold his backpack on his lap.
The blue journal was placed in the outermost layer.
Upon arriving home, his mother hadn’t returned yet.
The lights weren’t turned on in the living room; the last bit of skylight outside the window passed through the glass, leaving a small patch of grayish-blue shadow on the floor.
Shen Zhiyao put his backpack beside his desk.
By the time he finished his homework, it was already close to 10:00 PM.
When he finished washing up and was preparing to turn off the lights, his gaze fell on the corner of the desk.
That blue journal sat there quietly.
The silver cloud emitted a very faint light under the desk lamp.
Shen Zhiyao sat down.
He opened the first page.
Printed above the paper were a few small fields:
Date, Weather, Temperature.
Below was a large expanse of blank space.
Shen Zhiyao picked up a pen and first wrote down the date.
April 24th.
Weather: Sunny.
In the temperature column, he paused for a moment and pulled out his phone to check today’s weather records.
18 to 25°C.
After writing that, the blank space was still very large.
Looking at that expanse of blank space, Shen Zhiyao didn’t know what to record.
Cheng Ye said he could write why he took a photo, or what he was thinking at the time.
But when he picked up the camera, he hadn’t thought about much.
It was just that the sky looked nice.
And Cheng Ye happened to be standing there.
Nothing more.
Shen Zhiyao held the pen, not letting it fall for a long time.
The phone vibrated once on the desk.
Cheng Ye sent a message.
Did you write?
Shen Zhiyao looked at the screen.
You promised not to ask.
I only asked if you wrote, not what you wrote.
No.
Alright then.
Cheng Ye didn’t continue to urge him.
After a few seconds, he sent another photo.
The photo was of the night sky outside the stationery store.
The picture was somewhat blurry, and the composition was very casual. The streetlamp occupied most of it, leaving the real sky with only a small corner in the upper right.
Taken by me.
Shen Zhiyao looked at it and replied:
Angle is too low, streetlamp is overexposed.
I just wanted to photograph the sky.
Then don’t put the streetlamp in the middle.
Teach me next time.
We’ll see.
‘We’ll see’ means uncertain, not a refusal.
Shen Zhiyao stared at this sentence, remembering their discussion about this phrase a few days ago.
Cheng Ye sent another message:
Today was an ordinary sunny day, but I thought it was pretty good.
Why?
Fever broke, back at school, received throat lozenges sent by a friend.
Shen Zhiyao’s finger froze.
I was the one who gave you the throat lozenges.
So it was sent by a friend.
These two sentences have no difference.
They do.
Where is the difference?
The former talks about the item, the latter talks about who gave it.
Shen Zhiyao looked at the screen.
He didn’t continue to argue.
After a while, Cheng Ye sent one last message.
[Good night, today counts as a pretty good sunny day too.
Shen Zhiyao replied:
Good night.
After putting down the phone, he looked at the journal once again.
There were only the date, weather, and temperature on the paper page.
Shen Zhiyao held the pen and thought for a long time.
Finally, he wrote down two lines of words in the blank space.
Photographed a sky after school.
At the edge of the frame stood a person whose fever had just broken.
After writing, he felt the second sentence was unnecessary.
The pen tip hovered above the words, wanting to cross them out, but delayed falling.
A few seconds later, he added another sentence underneath.
Today was an ordinary sunny day.
Pausing for a moment, he drew a very light strikethrough over the word “ordinary.”
Changing it to:
Today was a sunny day.
The first page of the journal was finished just like that.
The content was very sparse, barely even complete.
Yet when Shen Zhiyao closed the notebook, he suddenly felt that the photo taken at dusk was no longer just a string of files named with dates on his computer.
At least many years later, if he reopened this page, he would know what color the sky was on that day.
And he would also know that beneath that sky, a person once stood.
A person who gave him a blue journal and told him that a sunny day doesn’t need to be special.