By the third day after the temporary seat change, Shen Zhiyao had finally grown accustomed to sitting by the window in the third row.
More specifically, he had grown used to Cheng Ye walking over from the back row every break between classes.
After the first period, Cheng Ye came to borrow a ruler.
After the second period, he came to ask when they were going to take the photos for the display board.
After the third period, he showed up holding two cartons of milk, asking Shen Zhiyao if he could help drink one that he had “bought by mistake.”
Xu Zhi, sitting next to him, watched this unfold all morning. Just before the lunch break, she finally couldn’t hold back.
“Cheng Ye.”
Cheng Ye was leaning against her desk, pushing a campus map in front of Shen Zhiyao.
“Yeah?”
“Your seat is in the back.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you keep standing here?”
“To discuss the display board.”
Xu Zhi glanced down at the map.
In addition to the academic buildings, playground, and library, the cafeteria and convenience store were circled in red pen.
“You plan to shoot the cafeteria?”
“We could.”
“The theme is Spring Campus, not Today’s Lunch.”
“The cafeteria is part of the campus too.”
Xu Zhi looked at the milk in his hand again.
“And what’s with the milk?”
“To replenish energy.”
“The person taking the photos is Shen Zhiyao. What energy are you replenishing?”
Cheng Ye thought for two seconds.
“To help carry the camera.”
Shen Zhiyao looked up.
“No need.”
“Isn’t the camera heavy?”
“No.”
“What about the camera bag?”
“Not heavy either.”
Cheng Ye looked toward the black camera bag resting on the corner of the desk.
That bag had been there since Shen Zhiyao’s first day as a transfer student. It looked very ordinary, though the corners were somewhat worn, and a faded navy-blue knotted cord hung from the zipper.
Cheng Ye had seen Shen Zhiyao take his camera out of it, but he had never gotten a clear look at it.
“What model is your camera?” he asked.
Shen Zhiyao folded the map slightly.
“An old model.”
“What brand?”
“An ordinary brand.”
“What about the lens?”
“An ordinary lens.”
Cheng Ye stared at him for a moment.
“Do you just not want to tell me?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Just curious.”
“Knowing won’t do you any good.”
“How is it no good?” Cheng Ye said. “If you let me hold it in the future, at least I’ll know how to handle it.”
“I won’t let you carry it.”
“Why?”
“You drop things easily.”
Cheng Ye immediately recalled the incident during cleaning duty when he almost slipped off a chair.
“That was an accident.”
“You have a lot of accidents.”
Xu Zhi let out a soft laugh beside them.
Cheng Ye turned his head.
“Whose side are you on?”
“The side of facts.”
When the lunch bell rang, people in the classroom started heading out toward the cafeteria one after another.
Xu Zhi packed up her sketches.
“The weather looks good this afternoon. After school, let’s go to the old academic building first to shoot a set. The school magazine took photos of the main gate and the sports field before, so let’s try to find some different angles.”
Shen Zhiyao nodded.
“Okay.”
“Cheng Ye, you come too,” Xu Zhi added. “Some windows in the old building can’t be opened, so you’re in charge of moving things.”
“Weren’t you complaining about me standing here just now?”
“Work is different from idle chatting.”
Cheng Ye picked up the unopened carton of milk.
“Fine. See you after school.”
He spoke, yet he didn’t leave immediately.
Xu Zhi looked at him.
“Anything else?”
Cheng Ye placed the milk on Shen Zhiyao’s desk.
“I really did buy an extra one.”
Shen Zhiyao glanced at it.
“Drink it yourself.”
“I already have one.”
“Give it to Lin Po.”
“He’s lactose intolerant.”
Lin Po, sitting in the front row, immediately whipped his head around.
“Since when am I lactose intolerant?”
Cheng Ye didn’t blink an eye.
“Starting right now.”
“You”
“Come on, let’s go eat.”
Cheng Ye hooked an arm around Lin Po’s shoulders and dragged him out of the classroom.
Lin Po was still turning back in protest, his voice fading all the way down the corridor.
Xu Zhi picked up her water bottle.
“He just wanted you to drink it.”
Shen Zhiyao looked down at the carton of milk.
“I know.”
“Then why do you have to refuse him every single time?”
Shen Zhiyao fell silent for a moment.
“Not every time.”
Xu Zhi didn’t expose him.
Before walking out of the classroom, she said with an unreadable tone, “It’s exhausting to make a habit of turning people down.”
The classroom quickly fell quiet.
Shen Zhiyao sat in his seat, looking at the milk on the desk.
The packaging was still warm.
Cheng Ye had probably just bought it from the convenience store and held it in his hand the whole way back, so it hadn’t completely cooled down.
In the end, he inserted the straw and took a sip.
It was very sweet.
Afternoon classes ended earlier than usual.
The last period was for club activities, so students involved in the display board project were allowed to leave early to prepare their materials. Xu Zhi carried drawing paper and a tape measure, Cheng Ye wore his backpack, while Shen Zhiyao slung the camera bag across his shoulder.
The three of them went out through the back door of the academic building.
The old academic building was located on the west side of the campus—a four-story, grayish-white building.
After the new comprehensive building was finished, most classes had moved away, leaving only two ground-floor classrooms temporarily used to store sports equipment. Dark green vines crawled over the walls, parts of the window frames were peeling, and few people ever walked down the path in front of the building.
Xu Zhi stood below the building and looked at it for a moment.
“It’s older than I imagined.”
Cheng Ye looked up at the walls.
“I heard it’s getting demolished this summer.”
“Really?”
“My dad had classes here in the past,” Cheng Ye said. “He said this building is at least thirty years old.”
Shen Zhiyao raised his head.
The afternoon sunlight filtered down through the leaves. Half of the old building’s wall was illuminated while the other half remained hidden in shadow. Ivy grew upward along the second-floor window sill, a few leaves reaching inside through a cracked gap in the window.
He pulled the camera out of his bag.
Standing beside him, Cheng Ye saw what it looked like for the first time.
The black body was somewhat thicker than modern cameras, showing clear signs of use along the edges; the grip area was even polished smooth from handling.
“Is this your camera?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like it’s been used for a long time.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer.
He took off the lens cap, adjusted the settings, and aimed at the front of the old building.
The click of the shutter was very light.
Cheng Ye instinctively stepped aside, afraid he might block the frame.
After taking the first shot, Shen Zhiyao looked down at the screen.
Xu Zhi leaned closer.
“How is it?”
“The light is too flat.”
“What does that mean?”
“No contrast or depth.”
Cheng Ye glanced at the sun.
“The sunlight is so good today, and it still lacks depth?”
Shen Zhiyao raised the camera again.
“Looking good doesn’t mean it’s suitable for shooting.”
“Then what kind of light is suitable?”
“Depends on what you’re shooting.”
“What about shooting an old building?”
“Dusk.”
Cheng Ye nodded as if he understood.
After two seconds, he asked again, “Why?”
Shen Zhiyao looked at the second-floor window through the viewfinder.
“Side lighting brings out the texture of the walls, and the inside of the windows won’t look completely pitch-black.”
“What about now?”
“Right now, we can only look for angles.”
Cheng Ye looked up in the direction of the lens.
He couldn’t see anything special.
It was the same old building; to him, it was just a bit run-down, the walls a little dirty, and the windows narrower than those of the new building.
Yet Shen Zhiyao looked at it with deep concentration.
His finger rested on the shutter, but he didn’t press it for a long time.
“What are you waiting for?” Cheng Ye asked.
“The wind.”
“The wind?”
“Tree shadows.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, a breeze swept past the side of the building.
The branches of the camphor tree swayed, and the shadows covering the wall shifted along with them. Sunlight briefly passed through the gaps between leaves, landing on one of the windows on the second floor.
Shen Zhiyao pressed the shutter.
Click.
“Is it good now?” Cheng Ye asked.
“Barely.”
“Your standards are that high?”
“If it’s not shot well, there’s no point in shooting it at all.”
Cheng Ye looked at him as he lowered his head to check the photo.
Shen Zhiyao’s expression was far more focused than usual.
In the classroom, he always seemed quiet and distant, as if he lacked interest in most things around him. But once he picked up the camera, that distance separating him from the world seemed to temporarily vanish.
He would observe the light, wait for the wind, and walk back and forth just for an angle he wasn’t satisfied with.
Those eyes, which usually looked cold and aloof, shone brightly behind the viewfinder.
“What are you looking at?” Shen Zhiyao asked suddenly.
Cheng Ye snapped back to reality.
“Watching you take photos.”
“What’s there to see?”
“You’re not quite the same when you’re taking photos compared to normal.”
Shen Zhiyao lowered his camera.
“How am I different?”
Cheng Ye gave it some serious thought.
“More like a living person.”
Xu Zhi, who was jotting down filming spots nearby, looked up at him upon hearing this.
“Do you know how to talk like a normal person?”
“I meant he’s usually too quiet.”
“Still, you shouldn’t say he doesn’t look like a living person.”
“I said more like“
Shen Zhiyao turned and walked toward the side of the old building.
“No need to explain.”
Cheng Ye quickly caught up.
“Are you angry?”
“No.”
“Then why are you walking so fast?”
“Looking for angles.”
“Every time you’re angry you say you’re not.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Really?”
Shen Zhiyao stopped, turning around to look at him.
“Really.”
Cheng Ye observed him for two seconds.
“That’s good then.”
There was a narrow path along the side of the old building.
A few abandoned wooden planks were stacked by the base of the wall, overgrown with weeds. Sunlight couldn’t reach this spot, and the air carried a damp, earthy smell.
Shen Zhiyao walked slowly along the wall.
He suddenly crouched down, aiming the lens at a ventilation window near the ground.
The window frame was rusted, and a corner of the glass was missing. An unknown vine poked out from the crack, a single drop of water clinging to the tip of its leaf.
Cheng Ye crouched down beside him as well.
“What’s so good about taking a picture of this?”
“The light.”
“Where is the light?”
Shen Zhiyao raised his hand and pointed at the glass.
That drop of water happened to catch a sliver of sunlight falling through the gap in the wall, reflecting an inverted piece of the sky inside it.
Cheng Ye leaned closer to look.
“Ah, there it is.”
Shen Zhiyao turned his face slightly.
Cheng Ye was very close.
So close that when he spoke, his breath almost brushed past Shen Zhiyao’s ear.
Shen Zhiyao shifted slightly to the side.
Cheng Ye didn’t notice and kept staring at that droplet of water.
“I completely missed it just now.”
“That’s why you’re not suited for photography.”
“I can learn.”
“Why learn?”
“So next time when you say you’re waiting for the wind or the light, at least I’ll know what you’re waiting for.”
Shen Zhiyao’s hand gripping the camera tightened slightly.
“You don’t need to know.”
Cheng Ye raised his eyes.
“There you go again.”
“What?”
“You always think other people don’t need to know.”
“It’s not important in the first place.”
“If it’s important to you, then it counts as important.”
A breeze blew from the end of the narrow path.
The water drop trembled on the leaf tip and finally fell.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t have time to press the shutter.
The droplet dropped into the dirt, disappearing without a sound.
Cheng Ye looked at the empty leaf tip.
“Missed it?”
“Yeah.”
“Pity.”
“It’s nothing.”
Shen Zhiyao stood up.
Cheng Ye followed him up.
“You don’t feel it’s a pity?”
“Some scenes aren’t meant to be captured.”
“Then you waited for so long just now.”
“Having waited is enough.”
Cheng Ye looked at his profile.
“You sound a bit like a Chinese teacher sometimes.”
“How so?”
“It sounds like it makes a lot of sense, but I don’t necessarily understand it.”
Shen Zhiyao ignored him and kept walking forward.
At the end of the path was a side door leading inside the old building.
The lock was broken. When Xu Zhi pushed it gently from the outside, the door gave a heavy, creaking sound.
“Can we go in?” she asked.
Cheng Ye poked his head in first to check.
“First floor should be fine, but upstairs might be locked off.”
“Let’s shoot the first floor first then.”
The three walked inside.
It was even quieter inside the building than outside.
A faint smell of dust drifted in the air, and footsteps on the terrazzo floor generated hollow echoes. Most of the classrooms on both sides of the hallway were locked, with faded class slogans posted on the glass windows.
“Diligence, Pragmatism, Unity, Progress,” Cheng Ye read the characters on the wall out loud. “Our school hasn’t changed its slogans for years.”
Xu Zhi fanned the dust away with his hand.
“Say less, or the whole place will be filled with your echoes.”
Cheng Ye lowered his voice immediately.
“Like this?”
The echo still spread through the hallway.
Shen Zhiyao raised his camera and took a shot of the empty hallway.
At the end of the shot was a window facing west.
Light streamed in from there, cutting the floor into distinct light and shadow sections. Only half of the old slogan on the wall was illuminated, while the other half remained hidden in the shade.
“How’s this one?” Xu Zhi asked.
Shen Zhiyao glanced at the screen.
“Keepable.”
“Finally, one we can keep,” Cheng Ye said.
“I didn’t delete the previous ones either.”
“Then why did you say they were barely okay?”
“Barely okay can still be kept.”
“Your standards are so complicated.”
“It’s just that you understand things too simply.”
Xu Zhi stood aside, looking at Shen Zhiyao, then at Cheng Ye.
“The way you two talk now sounds more and more like you’ve known each other for a long time.”
Cheng Ye immediately chimed in, “I think so too.”
Shen Zhiyao looked down, adjusting the lens.
“We haven’t.”
“Look,” Cheng Ye said to Xu Zhi. “He denies it so fast again.”
Xu Zhi smiled lightly without pursuing it further.
At the very end of the first floor was an unlocked classroom.
Inside were stacked old desks, chairs, and several chalkboards covered in writing. The curtains had faded to a light blue, torn with several holes, gently billowing when the wind blew in.
Shen Zhiyao stood at the doorway, not entering right away.
He raised his camera, looking at the frame through the viewfinder.
“It needs a person,” he said.
Xu Zhi asked, “What kind of person?”
“Standing by the window.”
Cheng Ye immediately stepped forward.
“I’ll do it.”
Shen Zhiyao lowered his camera.
“You don’t need to be so eager.”
“Didn’t you say it needs a person?”
“A silhouette from behind is fine.”
“My back works too.”
Xu Zhi added from behind, “Let him go. His school uniform looks neat enough today anyway.”
Cheng Ye walked over to the window.
“Where should I stand?”
“A bit to the left.”
Cheng Ye shifted half a step to the left.
“Here?”
“Further forward.”
“Like this?”
“Don’t look at the lens.”
“Then where do I look?”
“Outside the window.”
Cheng Ye turned around.
The old window frame divided his figure into several panels.
Sunlight pierced through the tear in the curtain, resting on his shoulder and the side of his face. Dust motes drifted slowly in the light beam like tiny golden specks.
Shen Zhiyao looked at him through the lens.
Cheng Ye was rarely quiet usually.
He was always talking, laughing, responding to others, and always had endless things to do.
Yet at this moment, he simply stood by the window.
His back was framed by the light of the old classroom, quiet—much like the boy who had stood alone in the empty classroom that afternoon.
Shen Zhiyao’s finger hovered over the shutter button.
He suddenly remembered Cheng Ye saying that useless people are easily forgotten.
It had sounded like a joke.
Yet at this moment, looking through the viewfinder, he felt as though there was something hidden behind Cheng Ye’s back that couldn’t be completely covered up by a smile.
“Are we good?” Cheng Ye asked.
“Don’t move.”
Shen Zhiyao pressed the shutter.
Click.
Cheng Ye still didn’t move.
“Need another one?”
“Yeah.”
“Where should I put my hands?”
“Just be natural.”
“What counts as natural?”
“Don’t ask.”
Cheng Ye let out a soft laugh.
It was a very gentle laugh.
He put one hand into his school jacket pocket and rested the other hand on the window frame. The wind blew against the curtain, and the light blue fabric swept past behind him.
Shen Zhiyao pressed the shutter again.
The second shot was better than the first.
Only a sliver of Cheng Ye’s profile was visible, the light resting near his eyelashes, a faint smile gracing the corner of his mouth.
Xu Zhi came over to look.
“This one’s nice.”
Cheng Ye immediately walked back from the window.
“Let me see.”
Shen Zhiyao instinctively pulled the camera slightly closer to his chest.
Cheng Ye stopped in his tracks.
“I can’t look?”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him.
On his first day after transferring, someone else had wanted to touch his camera.
He had quickly pulled the camera bag away back then, telling them it couldn’t be touched.
Since then, few people in class had ever actively approached this camera.
Cheng Ye hadn’t either.
Even if he was curious, he would at most stand nearby and watch, never reaching out his hand.
“You can look,” Shen Zhiyao said.
Cheng Ye’s eyes brightened.
He walked over to Shen Zhiyao’s side and leaned down to look at the screen.
The two of them stood very close.
The camera screen wasn’t large; to see it clearly, Cheng Ye had to bend down slightly. His shoulder lightly brushed against Shen Zhiyao’s, and the tips of his hair almost touched Shen Zhiyao’s forehead.
“Is this me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why does it look like someone else?”
“How does it not look like you?”
“Too quiet.”
Xu Zhi remarked from the side, “Photos don’t record sound, so of course you look quiet.”
“No,” Cheng Ye stared at the image. “It looks like I’m thinking about a lot of things.”
Shen Zhiyao’s fingertip hovered over the scroll button.
“What were you thinking about just now?”
Cheng Ye was taken aback for a second.
“Just now?”
“Yeah.”
“I was thinking about when you’d finish taking the picture.”
Xu Zhi couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Cheng Ye laughed too.
“Seriously.”
Shen Zhiyao pressed the scroll button.
“Next picture.”
The screen displayed the empty hallway shot from earlier.
Yet Cheng Ye didn’t shift his gaze away immediately.
“Can you send me that picture from just now?”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him.
“Why?”
“It’s the first time someone shot me looking like a proper, serious person.”
“Aren’t you usually?”
“Occasionally.”
“The photos haven’t been exported yet.”
“Then later.”
Shen Zhiyao fell silent for a moment.
“Okay.”
Cheng Ye smiled.
“Draw a circle.”
“What?”
“You agreed, so draw a circle.”
“I can’t draw on the camera.”
“Then I’ll keep it in mind.”
Xu Zhi stood nearby holding her sketches.
“Your way of making promises is pretty unique.”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t explain.
The three continued further into the classroom.
A few discarded exercise workbooks were stacked in the corner, the paper turned yellow. A few uncleared math problems remained on the blackboard, with a blurry date written at the top.
Cheng Ye stood before the chalkboard for a while.
“This is from ten years ago.”
“You can still read it clearly?” Xu Zhi asked.
“I can read the year.”
Shen Zhiyao raised his camera.
Noticing this, Cheng Ye stepped aside immediately.
“No person needed this time?”
“No.”
“Then where should I stand?”
“Anywhere is fine, just don’t block the light.”
Cheng Ye walked behind Shen Zhiyao.
Shen Zhiyao took two shots of the blackboard, then changed angles to shoot the back row of the classroom.
The old desks and chairs were arranged messily.
On one of the desks, several faded names were carved into the wood, next to a squiggly line—likely drawn aimlessly by a student out of boredom during class.
“If you take pictures of these, will people understand them?” Cheng Ye asked.
“Why do they have to understand?”
“Aren’t photos meant for people to see?”
“I see them myself first.”
“So the photos you took in the past were only for yourself to see too?”
Shen Zhiyao paused in his movement.
“Yeah.”
“You never showed them to anyone else?”
“No.”
“Not even your family?”
“No.”
Cheng Ye was somewhat surprised.
“Then you take so many pictures, don’t you want others to know what you’ve seen?”
Through the lens, Shen Zhiyao looked at those faded names on the desk.
“Even if others see them, they won’t necessarily understand.”
“If you don’t talk, how do you know others won’t understand?”
The view inside the camera trembled slightly.
Shen Zhiyao lowered the camera.
“You have a lot of questions today.”
“I always have a lot.”
“So you’re very noisy.”
“You think I’m noisy?”
“A little.”
Cheng Ye nodded.
“Then I’ll be quiet for five minutes.”
After saying that, he really shut his mouth.
Xu Zhi checked the time.
“I’ll go downstairs to take a picture of the door plaque. You guys wait for me here.”
Holding her phone, she left the classroom.
Her footsteps gradually faded down the hallway.
Only Shen Zhiyao and Cheng Ye were left in the old classroom.
Since Cheng Ye said he would be quiet, he truly didn’t speak again.
He leaned against an old desk, watching Shen Zhiyao continue taking photos.
No questions, no comments.
At first, Shen Zhiyao thought he would feel relieved.
But after two minutes, the classroom became so quiet that only the sound of the shutter and the wind blowing against the curtains remained, making him feel unaccustomed instead.
After finishing the last angle by the window, Shen Zhiyao lowered his camera.
“You can talk now.”
Cheng Ye checked his phone.
“It hasn’t been five minutes yet.”
“It’s fine.”
“Didn’t you think I was noisy?”
“It’s too quiet now.”
Cheng Ye slowly grinned.
“So you still need a little sound after all?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer.
Cheng Ye didn’t press him either.
He walked over to the window, reaching out to hold the frame that was continuously clattering against the wall from the wind.
“Is this better?”
The window frame stopped making noise.
The classroom fell silent.
Yet Shen Zhiyao heard Cheng Ye say, “Actually, other people don’t necessarily have to completely understand.”
“What?”
“The photos.”
Cheng Ye looked out the window.
“When other people see it, they might think differently from what you thought. But thinking differently doesn’t mean they didn’t understand.”
Shen Zhiyao stood rooted to the spot.
“Didn’t you just only see that I was thinking about when I’d finish shooting?”
“That’s because I knew what I was thinking.”
“So?”
“But if someone else sees it, they might think I look lonely, or that I’m waiting for someone.”
The wind blew in from outside the window, ruffling the fringe on Cheng Ye’s forehead.
He turned his head back.
“Once a photo is taken, it doesn’t belong solely to the photographer anymore.”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him.
After a few seconds, he said softly, “You sound quite like a Chinese teacher yourself.”
Cheng Ye let out a chuckle.
“You finally admit that what I said makes sense?”
“It just sounds like it makes sense.”
“Then did you understand it?”
“Not necessarily.”
“It’s okay,” Cheng Ye said. “We can talk about it again in the future.”
When Xu Zhi returned from downstairs, the two were standing by the window reviewing the photos.
She pushed the door open.
“Done shooting?”
“Almost,” Shen Zhiyao said.
“Any usable ones?”
“A few.”
“Then let’s wrap it up here for today. Any later and they’ll lock the building up.”
The three left the old classroom.
When they reached the first floor, the teacher in charge of the equipment room was about to lock the side door. Seeing them walk out, he frowned.
“How did you get in?”
Xu Zhi quickly explained that it was to prepare materials for the culture festival display board.
The teacher didn’t make things difficult for them, only reminding them to register first before entering the old building in the future.
Stepping out of the side door, the sunlight outside had begun to slant.
Shen Zhiyao lowered his head, putting the camera back into his bag.
Just as the zipper was halfway pulled, Cheng Ye suddenly asked, “Can you let me take one more look?”
“At what?”
“The one from just now.”
“Which one?”
“The one by the window.”
Shen Zhiyao paused for a moment before pulling the camera out again.
He flipped to the photo of Cheng Ye standing by the window.
Before taking the camera, Cheng Ye looked at Shen Zhiyao first.
“Can I hold it?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer right away.
This camera was given to him by his mother in the past.
Back then, he had just started taking photos and couldn’t even distinguish parameters; he would only use auto mode to shoot the outside world through the window or the streets.
Later, when his parents divorced, he moved away with his mother, leaving many things behind in their former home.
Only this camera had been carried by his side all along.
It wasn’t expensive, nor was it a top-tier model anymore.
Yet it was one of the few things that had accompanied him through countless moves and farewells.
That was why he disliked other people touching it.
It wasn’t out of fear that it would be broken.
It was just that having certain things held in someone else’s hands made him feel uneasy.
Cheng Ye was still waiting.
He didn’t reach out, nor did he rush him.
“You can,” Shen Zhiyao said.
He handed the camera over.
Cheng Ye took it with both hands, his movements noticeably more cautious than usual.
The camera strap was still looped around Shen Zhiyao’s wrist, keeping the two connected by that black strap.
Cheng Ye looked down at the screen.
“The light here is really nice.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you see it very early on?”
“When we stepped through the door.”
“I only saw dust.”
“Because you weren’t paying attention.”
“I’ll pay attention in the future.”
Cheng Ye scrolled to the next photo.
It was the shot where he hadn’t fully turned around.
The curtain had just swept past his shoulder, the light softening his outline.
He looked at it for a while.
“Send me this one too.”
“You said only one photo just now.”
“Adding one more now.”
“Why?”
“It looks good.”
“You like photos of yourself that much?”
“No,” Cheng Ye said. “I like the ones you take.”
Shen Zhiyao froze slightly.
Cheng Ye was still looking down, unaware of his expression.
“When other people take photos of me, I always feel like it doesn’t look like me. Either I look foolish smiling, or I stand too stiffly,” he said. “These two you took… even though it doesn’t look like how I usually am either, I feel like it’s pretty authentic.”
“You just said it looked like another person earlier.”
“A person isn’t limited to just one side, after all.”
Cheng Ye handed the camera back to him.
“Maybe this is me too, just that usually no one sees it.”
Shen Zhiyao took the camera back.
Those words were very soft, yet they felt like falling into a very quiet place in his heart.
He lowered his head and put the camera back into his bag.
“I’ll send them to you after organizing the photos.”
The corners of Cheng Ye’s mouth arched up.
“Two circles.”
“What?”
“Two photos, two circles.”
Shen Zhiyao zipped up the camera bag.
“There’s no such logic.”
“I set the rules.”
Xu Zhi was standing ahead waiting for them.
“Are you two coming or what?”
“Coming.”
The three walked back along the path outside the old building.
Near the main building, Xu Zhi had to go to the broadcasting station, so she handed the sketches and shooting list to Shen Zhiyao.
“Organizing the photos this week is fine, no rush.”
He looked at Cheng Ye.
“Give me the initial hand-drawn draft before next Tuesday.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t just agree orally.”
“I’ll draw it over the weekend.”
Xu Zhi clearly didn’t quite believe him, but he didn’t say anything further.
After she left, Cheng Ye and Shen Zhiyao walked toward the bicycle shed together.
The setting sun fell on the road, stretching the shadows of the trees very long.
After walking a few steps, Cheng Ye asked suddenly, “Have you ever taken a photo of yourself?”
“No.”
“Not even one?”
“If ID photos don’t count, then no.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like it.”
“You don’t like taking them, or you don’t like looking at them?”
Shen Zhiyao paused briefly.
“Neither.”
Cheng Ye turned his head sideways.
“Then I’ll take one for you next time.”
“No need.”
“You just took photos of me.”
“That was needed for the display board.”
“Then there can be other needs in the future.”
“Like what?”
Cheng Ye thought for a moment.
“Like proving that you were here.”
“Photos can’t prove anything.”
“At least it proves you were there at that exact second.”
Shen Zhiyao looked ahead.
At the end of the school path, several students were leaving together, their shadows overlapping under the setting sun.
“After a person leaves, even if the photo remains, it loses its meaning.”
“How could it have no meaning?”
“It only serves to remind you of what happened in the past.”
“Isn’t that good?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer.
Cheng Ye stopped in his tracks.
“Do you dislike remembering the past?”
The wind blew past them both.
The strap of the camera bag lightly touched the side of Shen Zhiyao’s shoulder.
“No,” he said.
“Then what is it?”
“Remembering some things too clearly isn’t necessarily good.”
“Why?”
Shen Zhiyao looked at him.
“Because photos don’t change, but people do.”
Cheng Ye quieted down.
After a while, he said, “Then take photos of the present.”
“What?”
“If people from the past have changed, then shoot the people of the present.”
Cheng Ye resumed walking.
“Today is different from yesterday, and tomorrow will be different from today. Since you have a camera anyway, you can just keep shooting.”
Shen Zhiyao walked beside him.
“A camera isn’t meant to record everything.”
“Then what do you want to record?”
Shen Zhiyao didn’t answer right away.
He used to take many photos of the sky.
Overcast days, clear days, clouds before the rain, and the faint light reflected in the window late at night.
He had also taken photos of empty train stations, rooms piled high with cardboard boxes during moves, and the door that was never shut on the day his father left.
The photos captured those moments.
Yet they never made anyone stay.
“I don’t know,” Shen Zhiyao said.
Cheng Ye nodded.
“Then take your time to find out.”
He mounted his bicycle, then turned around to look at Shen Zhiyao as if remembering something.
“By the way.”
“What?”
“Did you take any particularly ugly photos of me today?”
“Yeah.”
Cheng Ye’s expression stiffened.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Delete them.”
“Why?”
“Ugly ones can’t be kept.”
“Who was it that said photos can prove you were there at that exact second?”
“Ugly seconds don’t need proof.”
Looking at his rare moment of panic, the corner of Shen Zhiyao’s lips curled up slightly.
“I lied to you.”
Cheng Ye froze for two seconds.
“You know how to lie to people now?”
“Learned it from you.”
“When did I ever lie to you?”
“Bought too many bread rolls, bought too many red bean buns, and bought too much milk.”
Cheng Ye opened his mouth, lost for words.
“That doesn’t count as lying.”
“Then what does it count as?”
“A well-intentioned excuse.”
“If the excuse isn’t true, it’s a lie.”
“Didn’t you eat them all anyway?”
“Those two things are unrelated.”
Cheng Ye had no argument left against him and could only hold the handlebars, laughing.
“Fine, I won’t say I ‘bought too much’ in the future.”
“Mm.”
“I’ll just directly say I bought it for you.”
Shen Zhiyao’s slight smile faltered for a moment.
Cheng Ye had already started pedaling his bike.
“See you tomorrow.”
He pressed down on the pedals and rode toward the school gate.
Shen Zhiyao stood outside the bike shed, watching his retreating back.
Sunlight filtered through the tree leaves, patches of light and shadow shifting as the bicycle moved forward.
Shen Zhiyao instinctively unzipped his camera bag.
He took out the camera and aimed it at Cheng Ye’s fading figure.
Through the viewfinder, Cheng Ye was riding beneath the camphor trees.
His school jacket billowed slightly in the wind, and the shadow of the bicycle stretched forward onto the golden pavement.
Shen Zhiyao pressed the shutter.
Click.
The sound was softly carried away by the evening wind.
Cheng Ye didn’t hear it, nor did he look back.
Shen Zhiyao looked down to check the photo.
The shot was somewhat far, the subject’s outline not entirely sharp; because he had pressed it in a hurry, even the edges bore a faint blur.
By his usual standards, this was a photo that ought to be deleted.
Shen Zhiyao’s finger hovered over the delete key.
It stayed there for a long time.
In the end, he placed the camera back into his bag.
At ten o’clock that night, Shen Zhiyao sat at his study desk organizing the photos.
There were forty-seven photos in total in the old academic building folder.
He deleted the duplicates and out-of-focus ones, leaving twelve in the end.
Among them were the two photos of Cheng Ye standing by the window.
And another one—the back profile of him riding away after school.
That photo didn’t belong to the materials for the display board.
Shen Zhiyao created a separate folder for it.
The cursor paused over the naming box.
He thought for a long time, ultimately typing in only the date.
April 20th.
After exporting the photos, he opened his chat window with Cheng Ye and sent the two window photos over.
Right after the message was sent successfully, a reply came back almost immediately from the other side.
So fast?
You’re not asleep yet? Shen Zhiyao asked.
Working on the sketch of the old academic building.
Immediately after, Cheng Ye sent a photo.
On the drawing paper was a line sketch of the old building.
The window frames, walls, and ivy had already been drafted in broad outlines; though unfinished, the proportions were visibly accurate.
You draw very well. Shen Zhiyao replied.
Cheng Ye quickly sent back a shocked sticker.
Are you praising me?
Stating a fact.
That’s still praise.
Shen Zhiyao didn’t refute him.
After a moment, Cheng Ye asked again:
Are there any other photos?
Shen Zhiyao looked at the computer screen.
Inside the folder, that photo of the back view on the bicycle rested quietly at the very end.
His finger rested on the mouse, yet he didn’t click on it.
No more.
After sending the message, Cheng Ye replied:
Alright then.
Followed by a slightly disappointed sticker.
Shen Zhiyao looked at it for a few seconds before closing the chat window.
The light from the computer screen fell onto his face.
He reopened that photo.
Cheng Ye was very far away in the frame, almost about to ride out of the lens. The setting sun fell upon the road, as well as on his back.
Shen Zhiyao suddenly understood why he hadn’t deleted it.
Because at that moment, he hadn’t pressed the shutter for the display board, nor for the light and composition.
He simply wanted to keep that back view.
No reason.
Nor did he plan on letting anyone see it.
Just as Cheng Ye said, some photos belong to the photographer first.
As for whether it would be seen by others or how it would be understood in the future, that could all be talked about later.
Shen Zhiyao closed the folder.
His phone vibrated again.
Cheng Ye sent a new message.
Your camera is really good.
Shen Zhiyao replied:
It’s very old.
Old doesn’t mean bad.
The top of the chat box stayed quiet for a few seconds.
Cheng Ye sent another line:
the things you capture… I really like them.
Shen Zhiyao stared at those words.
There was no wind in the room, yet the curtains seemed to be touched lightly by something, swaying in his peripheral vision.
He held his phone, not replying for a long time.
In the end, he only sent back a tiny circle.
Cheng Ye replied instantly:
What does this mean?
Shen Zhiyao pondered.
Understood.
Just ‘understood’?
Mm.
Then do you like the building I drew?
Shen Zhiyao looked at the line draft from earlier.
This time, he didn’t use a circle instead.
I like it.
After the message was sent successfully, the other side fell silent for a long time.
So long that Shen Zhiyao assumed Cheng Ye had gone back to drawing.
Half a minute later, Cheng Ye finally replied.
Then I’ll give it to you once I finish drawing it.
Shen Zhiyao’s finger froze over the screen.
He originally wanted to say “No need.”
Those two words were already typed into the input box, but he couldn’t bring himself to send them.
Finally, he deleted them character by character and replaced them with another word.
Okay.
Night was deep outside the window.
The glass reflected the study desk, the camera, and his own shadow.
The photos inside the computer couldn’t speak.
Yet for the first time, Shen Zhiyao felt that perhaps one day, he would be willing to slowly hand over the things he saw for another person to see.