Lin Qin’s fever had broken, and after sleeping the whole day, she only learned at dusk that Meng Jingnian had returned to the country ahead of schedule.
She scrambled up, the world spinning around her, hurriedly washed up, grabbed a jacket, and ran out the door while pulling it on.
Only when she reached the first floor did she realize it was raining outside. It was barely half past six, yet the sky had already gone pitch black.
She hailed a cab and sat in the back seat, as dark and deep as the bottom of a lake, listening to the rain drumming against the window, recalling the feeling of standing on the balcony and watching Meng Jingnian leave with her eyes.
Getting out of the car, she ran from the gate of the complex up to the building, soaked through, her head sweating from the run—truly a sorry sight. She grabbed a tissue and hastily wiped her hair and face, took a deep breath, and eagerly raised her hand to knock.
The door clicked open, and a girl poked her head out from the warm yellow light—high ponytail, school uniform skirt, biting into a crisp apple.
“Sis, you’re back.”
The girl was Lin Qin’s cousin, ten years old, in the fourth grade of elementary school. She took her surname from her mother, named Meng Luodi, derived from the ancient poem line “Whose jade flute plays the falling plum in the night breeze?”—and by pronunciation, her English name was simply Melody.
Lin Qin nodded, instinctively glancing into the house, but the entryway blocked her view. She lowered her head to change her shoes, feigning nonchalance: “Didi, am I late?”
“Not late. Uncle hasn’t arrived yet—stuck in traffic.”
Lin Qin shuffled inside in her slippers. Her aunt, Meng Yingnian, was sitting on the sofa on the phone, casting a concerned glance her way. “Yiyi, go change out of those wet clothes right away, don’t catch a cold.”
Yiyi was Lin Qin’s nickname, because she was born on the first of January.
Lin Qin nodded, turned down the hallway, and behind her came the sound of Meng Yingnian continuing her phone conversation: “How much longer until you get here?”
Realizing who was on the other end of the line, Lin Qin held her breath for a moment.
Lin Qin changed her clothes, went to the bathroom next to the bedroom to wash her face, wrapped a towel around her hair that was half-damp from the rain and mist, and stared at the face in the mirror.
Pale and plain, with dark, deep-set pupils. In her natural state, her eyes sat slightly upward, revealing a sliver of white beneath the iris, which gave her a somewhat fierce look when she wasn’t smiling. Yet her upper lip was a perfect M-shaped cupid’s bow—a very contradictory combination. Meng Luodi had summed it up: sweet and salty at once, like salted cheese foam on milk tea.
Everyone praised her as extraordinarily beautiful, but she herself had no idea—she found it eerie, where was the beauty in that? Perhaps that was just how the world worked: things that weren’t easy to approach only made people flock to them all the more. She didn’t smile much, and rarely did a look of ingratiating the world ever appear on her face.
By the time she returned to the living room, Lin Qin had tidied herself up—white T-shirt, denim jacket, long ponytail, and a slicked-back forehead identical to Meng Luodi’s.
She was 1.68 meters tall, pretty, with a distinctive look that photographed well, and through a stroke of luck and natural progression, she’d become a part-time print model.
Her usual attire wasn’t like this—she dressed however she pleased. Her uncle and aunt were open-minded guardians and didn’t interfere, but she had the self-awareness of someone living under another’s roof: whenever she came home, she dressed neatly and properly, fitting the image of a top student who’d ranked first in her grade two years running.
Sure enough, her aunt Meng Yingnian’s gaze carried two extra degrees of approval.
Lin Qin went to the kitchen to greet her uncle Lin Zhengjun, who was cooking, then sat down obediently on the sofa.
Since starting university, she no longer lived at her uncle and aunt’s place—she only came over for meals when she had time, and it had been over two weeks since her last visit.
After hearing the update on her recent life, Meng Yingnian nodded with satisfaction and inevitably turned her sights on her daughter, who was playing on her phone: “Meng Luodi, I know you find it annoying when I talk too much. I’m not against you pursuing your hobbies—I just want you to manage both your studies and your interests like your sister does…”
Lin Qin knew how much a “model child” could be resented. Fortunately, Meng Luodi was easygoing and genuinely liked her as a sister, so she never held a grudge over things like that.
At that moment, the kitchen door swung open, and her uncle Lin Zhengjun, wearing an apron, poked his head out. “Melody, we’re out of cola—go buy me a can…”
Meng Luodi, perhaps in the middle of texting someone, hummed in acknowledgment, looking somewhat reluctant, her rear end seemingly glued to the seat.
Meng Yingnian: “It’s a five-minute errand. Go and come right back.”
Lin Qin immediately stood up. “I’ll go, Aunt. I need to pick up a few things at the supermarket anyway.”
Meng Luodi looked up with a sweet smile. “Thanks, Sis!”
Lin Qin walked to the entryway to change her shoes, and Meng Yingnian reminded her to bring an umbrella. She acknowledged with a sound, pulled a folding umbrella from the stand, then on second thought, swapped it for a larger black long-handled one.
The rain had lightened somewhat. It was early March, and the air was damp and cold, moisture brushing against her face.
Lin Qin walked quickly to the gate of the complex, constantly scanning the vehicles at the entrance.
Unregistered cars couldn’t enter the complex, so they generally parked along the roadside by the gate.
A supermarket stood fifty meters across the street. Lin Qin sprinted across the wet pavement, pulled open the drink cooler by the entrance, and grabbed a can of cola. She checked it deliberately—the regular version. Before she left, Lin Zhengjun had emphasized: no sugar-free, or the cola chicken wings wouldn’t turn out right.
Even as she paid, Lin Qin kept her eyes fixed on the entrance to the residential complex, afraid she’d miss him in a blink. She scanned the QR code, stuffed the can into the pocket of her roomy coat, and hurried back across the street.
Holding her umbrella, she paced back and forth without realizing it, anxiety churning inside her.
She lit up her phone screen again and again without thinking. Nearly ten minutes had passed. If she waited any longer, her aunt would start asking questions when she got back. She had no choice but to give up.
She walked to the gate barrier, turning back one last time, unwilling to let go.
A car pulled over at the curb, its door swinging open. In the dimness of the rainy night, the figure stepping out was no clearer than a frame from a twenty-year-old photograph—yet Lin Qin’s heart suddenly dropped, and her breathing lost all rhythm.
The person pushed the door shut with a light backhand, tugged at his black windbreaker, and with a black backpack slung diagonally across his shoulder, walked toward the gate through the rain.
She remembered his habit: unless it was a downpour, he rarely bothered with an umbrella.
Lin Qin watched from the shadow of her umbrella. It had been nearly a year since she’d last seen him. His appearance hadn’t changed much—perhaps his mind was too sharp for even a German PhD program to wear him down. Those same clear, handsome features. Looking at him always made her think of the phrase “wind and smoke both cleared to stillness.”
Meng Jingnian’s steps faltered, as if sensing something. He looked up, his gaze snapping toward her.
Lin Qin startled, realizing she’d been spotted. Seeing him had left her so dazed that she’d forgotten to prepare even a first greeting, and now she stood frozen.
Meng Jingnian smiled. “Yiyi?”
Lin Qin lost her voice, stammering for a moment before forcing out, most reluctantly: “…Little Uncle.”
Lin Qin’s parents had died when she was eight. After that, she lived with her uncle and aunt.
Meng Jingnian was her aunt Meng Yingnian’s younger brother, and her cousin Meng Luodi’s biological uncle. So she had no choice but to follow Meng Luodi’s address for him: Little Uncle.
Meng Jingnian’s pace quickened slightly as he walked toward her, asking with a smile, “You weren’t out here to pick me up, were you?”
“…Came out to buy something. Saw someone in the car who looked like you, so I waited a bit.”
Lin Qin let her gaze drop. He was too close now—she didn’t dare look at him again.
She pulled the access card from her pocket, turned, and swiped it. The gate sprang open. She went through first with her umbrella, reached up to block the infrared sensor to keep the barrier open, then shifted her umbrella aside, letting Meng Jingnian pass.
Meng Jingnian said a casual thanks and walked through the gate to stand beside her.
She held her breath for a moment but still caught his scent—clean and pure, like wind washing over snow.
Turning around, she deliberately raised her umbrella high and tilted it toward Meng Jingnian. “…No umbrella?” Her address for him was always kept as brief as possible.
Meng Jingnian shook his head and said “No need,” but Lin Qin stubbornly kept the umbrella where it was, tilting it even further.
Meng Jingnian had no choice but to reach out with a smile.
Having a younger one—especially a girl—hold an umbrella for him wasn’t his style.
Lin Qin had anticipated Meng Jingnian’s reaction, so she gladly handed the umbrella over.
Meng Jingnian’s fingers closed around the handle, tilting it toward Lin Qin. The two stood under the umbrella together, neither too close nor too far.
She didn’t know why there were still fallen leaves in March, sodden and flattened in the puddles, squishing softly underfoot.
Raindrops from the treetops pelted the umbrella fabric with a crackling patter, yet Lin Qin felt her world suddenly grow quiet.
“You haven’t been back in over a year, have you… Little Uncle.” She added the title after deliberation, because she couldn’t tell whether her own voice was as calm as she’d believed.
Meng Jingnian smiled and hummed in acknowledgment. “I’d planned to come back for Spring Festival, but I was rushing my thesis and couldn’t find the time. I remember Meilodi saying she’d go to Hamburg with you over winter break—why didn’t you go?”
Lin Qin couldn’t rat out Meng Luodi, because the girl had gotten herself a little boyfriend and spent every day of winter break scheming to see him, even if only for five minutes. So inseparable—sending her off to Germany would’ve been the death of her.
Besides, her aunt was worried, afraid that two girls—one of them still a minor—might run into danger traveling alone.
And once Meng Luodi backed out, Lin Qin had no reason to go either. After all, Meng Jingnian wasn’t truly her uncle.
Lin Qin muttered, “Kids. A flash in the pan.”
Meng Jingnian smiled faintly, looking rather inclined to agree. “True.”
A moment of silence.
Meng Jingnian turned to glance at her. “Yiyi, you’re a junior this year, aren’t you?” His tone was the gentle concern of an elder for a younger generation.
“No, second semester of sophomore year.”
“Oh. I’ve been in Germany for less than two years.”
“Yeah. Less than.”
The app on Lin Qin’s phone had the exact record: 578 days since he’d left Nancheng, selected to go to the Max Planck Institute for Meteorology in Germany as part of Nancheng University’s CSC joint doctoral training program.
“…Did you come straight from the airport?” She glanced toward him but pulled her gaze back before it reached his face.
“Checked into a hotel first.”
“…You’re staying at a hotel?”
“Temporarily. Once I find a place, I’ll move in.”
“You could stay at Aunt’s house first.”
“With so much stuff, it’s not very convenient.”
“Auntie didn’t seem to go to the airport to pick you up.”
“She and your brother-in-law wanted to go, but I told them not to.”
“…I actually just found out you were back.” Otherwise, she would have definitely brought Meng Luodi along to pick him up.
“I sent a message in the group chat.” There was a gentle smile in Meng Jingnian’s voice. “But it seems you didn’t reply.”
“I was sleeping. My phone was on silent.”
“Stayed up late?”
As he spoke, Meng Jingnian turned his gaze over to look at her, as if checking whether she was sleep-deprived.
“…No.” Lin Qin shook her head uncomfortably and turned the topic back to him. “Didn’t you say you’d be back next week? Why did you come back early?”
“The institute rescheduled. The pre-defense is on March 17th.”
“Then when’s the actual defense?”
“May.”
Lin Qin paused for a moment before speaking again, hiding her anxiety beneath a calm, unruffled tone: “Are you going abroad after you graduate?”
“Probably not. Dean Jiang said I should apply for a full-time research position at the institute.”
“I heard Uncle say you were going to stay and teach?”
“I need to work a few years as a full-time researcher to gain experience before I can become an assistant professor. If nothing unexpected happens, that’s the process.”
“What could go wrong?”
“Hmm. Like not producing any research results.”
“You won’t.”
Meng Jingnian let out a laugh. “I’m not even that confident myself.”
They were only eight years apart. Although Meng Jingnian was technically her elder, he had never put on airs of seniority.
Joy mixed with sorrow rose faintly, like a thin mist in the rain.
Joy, because—thankfully—as long as she kept her place, Meng Jingnian would still be that older friend she could talk to about almost anything.
Sorrow, for the same reason. In this lifetime, her relationship with Meng Jingnian would only ever be this.
Before they had talked much, they had already reached the building entrance. Lin Qin snapped back to reality.
The soft lighting in the lobby felt glaring to her eyes.
She frowned in displeasure. Why was the distance so short?
Stepping up onto the stairs, Meng Jingnian waited for Lin Qin to step out from under the umbrella before closing it. The long-handled umbrella was heavy, not automatic, and neither opening nor closing it was very smooth. Meng Jingnian’s fingers paused briefly, applying a bit of force before it folded shut.
Lin Qin glanced at his hand—long and pale, like the jade ribs of a folding fan.
Lin Qin swiped her card to open the door and went in first, holding the heavy glass door open. Meng Jingnian gave the umbrella a shake before stepping inside.
Other residents were already waiting at the elevator on the first floor—a whole family, with a majestic golden retriever on a leash. When Lin Qin and Meng Jingnian stepped in after them, the space felt cramped.
The two stood side by side near the door. Lin Qin felt uneasy—she was the type who always liked to lean against the elevator walls.
Ignoring the feeling, Lin Qin reached out to press the button for the 18th floor.
Unexpectedly, Meng Jingnian reached out at the same time.
Two hands hovered in midair, one above the other, frozen. Meng Jingnian withdrew his and said with a smile, “You press it.”
Lin Qin pressed the button and quickly tucked her hand back into her coat pocket, gripping the cold can of cola.
Perhaps the people inside heard their voices, because before Lin Qin and Meng Jingnian even reached the door, it swung open.
“Little uncle!”
Meng Luodi, not caring that she was wearing indoor slippers, ran over in two steps and reached out to help take the backpack off Meng Jingnian’s shoulders. Meng Jingnian sidestepped slightly and shook his head with a smile, saying it wasn’t needed—the bag wasn’t heavy.
Meng Luodi’s tone was exaggerated: “Little uncle, you’re fi-fi-finally back!”
“Got hungry waiting? You all could have eaten first. No need to wait for me.”
Meng Yingnian also stood at the door, greeting warmly, “Traffic was bad on the way?”
“A little.”
Meng Yingnian handed over a pair of clean slippers with one hand and took the long-handled umbrella from Meng Jingnian’s other hand with the other. “What a coincidence that Yiyi went down to buy something—otherwise you’d have gotten soaked.”
Meng Jingnian nodded with a smile.
A voice came from the kitchen: “Yiyi, bring the cola over.”
Lin Qin acknowledged and quickly changed her shoes before heading into the kitchen.
The chicken wings had already been pan-fried earlier, just waiting for that can of cola to braise them. Lin Zhengjun called everyone to the table, ready to start the meal.
Lin Zhengjun taught history at Nancheng University. He called himself a third-rate teacher, having made no significant achievements in research. In the past two years, with no projects on his plate, he focused solely on teaching and supervising graduate students.
Compared to Meng Yingnian, who worked as a lawyer, his job was much more leisurely, so most of the household affairs were handled by him.
Lin Qin had loved her uncle’s cooking since she was little. She still remembered when her parents’ funeral arrangements were settled and her uncle formally brought her home. Her aunt had said to her, “Yiyi, don’t you love your uncle’s cooking the most? From now on, you can eat your fill of it.” That was the first time she had cried out loud since her parents died.
Lin Zhengjun was particular about balancing everyone’s favorites—cola chicken wings were Meng Luodi’s favorite, and correspondingly, the stuffed bitter melon that Lin Qin loved was an absolute necessity.
Everyone washed their hands and took their seats one by one at the long dining table. The three women sat on one side, the two men on the other.
Lin Zhengjun arranged the drinks: “What’ll you have, Jingnian? I’ve chilled some sake, and there’s beer too.”
“I’ve had a headache from sitting on the plane too long. I’ll skip drinking today.”
“Alright then, orange juice it is—good for vitamin C.” Lin Zhengjun glanced around the table, signaling that he was open to other opinions.
No one objected.
Because the intellectual density at the table ran high, the atmosphere at Uncle and Auntie’s house was always harmonious. And so, as they chatted casually, the conversation naturally drifted toward academia or work.
Lin Zhengjun asked, “Jiang Cheng isn’t planning to come back to the country with you?”
“She doesn’t graduate until next year.”
“Graduating in Germany isn’t easy.” Lin Zhengjun remarked with feeling.
Meng Yingnian, however, was more concerned about her younger brother’s personal life: “So, what’s the story between you two?”
“What story could there be? We’re just following our parents’ arrangements.”
The moment she heard the name “Jiang Cheng,” Lin Qin unconsciously set down her chopsticks and quietly looked up to study Meng Jingnian.
When he answered Auntie’s question, the smile on his face was faint—as if smiling at that moment was merely a required gesture he had to perform.
Meng Yingnian and Meng Jingnian had been adopted.
Their adoptive father was the associate dean of the School of Atmospheric Sciences at Nancheng Institute of Technology, and their adoptive mother was a judge at the intermediate court, who after retirement had been rehired by another institution as a legal expert.
As for Jiang Cheng, she was Meng Jingnian’s childhood sweetheart.
Meng’s father and Jiang’s father were alumni of Nancheng University, having studied under the same mentor, both engaged in atmospheric science research. Meng Jingnian was following in his father’s footsteps, except that to avoid any appearance of favoritism, Meng’s father didn’t have him apply to Nancheng Institute of Technology, but instead sent him to Nancheng University, under the mentorship of Senior Brother Jiang’s father.
Lin Qin still remembered when she was ten years old, after Meng Jingnian’s college entrance exam results came in and he received his admission letter, Meng’s father hosted a dinner to treat the Jiang family.
Back then, she only knew that there was often a girl named Jiang Cheng in Meng Jingnian’s social circle, and had no idea there was such a deeper, more subtle connection beneath the surface.
Gentle and well-mannered was the universally recognized label for Meng Jingnian, but it was after that dinner that Lin Qin first saw another side of him. After seeing the guests off, he turned and let out a derisive snort—that laugh, she couldn’t tell whether he was laughing at himself or at that somewhat pretentious dinner gathering.
Lin Qin found she couldn’t eat anymore.
Her skin had that swollen, prickling ache—the kind of pain that usually heralded a fever.
She shouldn’t have run around in the rain without an umbrella right after her fever had just broken.
But she didn’t say anything, sipping at her corn and sweet soup in a desultory manner, continuing to listen to Uncle and Auntie chat with Meng Jingnian: rental arrangements, summer plans, career prospects, and so on…
At family dinners like this, she could pretend to be interested in the conversation while openly studying him.
The meal eventually came to an end.
Meng Yingnian sent Meng Luodi off to help with the cleanup, and Lin Qin joined in on her own accord. The heat in her body was already rising; she felt a bit dizzy and lightheaded, and was especially careful when carrying the dishes, afraid she might drop and break one. The household had a dishwasher, so Lin Zhengjun told them to just stack the plates in the sink and leave the rest.
Meng Luodi washed her hands, dashed out of the kitchen, and sidled up to Meng Jingnian to ask for her gift.
Meng Yingnian scolded her for being rude.
Meng Jingnian laughed and said, “It’s fine—I brought them anyway.”
He reached for the backpack by the sofa, pulled out a wrapped gift box, and handed it to Meng Luodi, adding, “You’d better open this one in private.”
Meng Luodi winked, said “Thanks, Little Uncle,” and scampered off to her bedroom with the gift box.
Meng Yingnian sighed helplessly: “You just spoil her. Her grades are an absolute mess—it’s driving me crazy.”
Just then, Lin Zhengjun’s voice came from the kitchen: “Look on the bright side. According to the principle of regression to the mean, two 985 graduates probably won’t produce another 985.”
“985? I’d be thanking Buddha if she could even get into a vocational college.”
“Worst case, we send her to an international school. There’s always a way.”
Lin Qin sat on the other side of the L-shaped sofa, her focus beginning to drift.
Suddenly, she saw an arm extend toward her. Meng Jingnian leaned over, holding out a long, flat gift box in front of her.
Lin Qin froze for a moment, then slowly looked up.
Meng Jingnian smiled and said, “Yiyi, this is for you.”
“…I get one too?”
“Why not?”
Lin Qin took it slowly. “…Thank you, Little Uncle.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lin Qin didn’t open the gift right away. It felt very light in her hands, and she had no idea what it could be. She stood up, took it back to her bedroom, and on her way out stopped by the bathroom to splash some cold water on her forehead.
When she returned to the living room, Meng Yingnian was no longer on the sofa—she’d remembered that a friend had given them blueberries still sitting in the fridge, and if they didn’t eat them soon, they’d go bad.
That left only Lin Qin and Meng Jingnian in the living room.
The L-shaped sofa—each of them sat at one end.
Lin Qin wasn’t particularly uneasy. Hiding her emotions was a required course she had long since mastered to perfection.
“Yiyi.” Meng Jingnian suddenly spoke in a low voice.
Lin Qin looked up.
He was looking at her, his features clear and serene under the light, open and concerned: “Are you sick?”
Lin Qin was taken aback, then raised her index finger to her lips and softly shushed him.
Meng Jingnian’s expression showed he understood, but he shook his head, his stance clearly one of disapproval.