At the absolute silent twilight hour, the girl's pupils dilated slightly.
Before her expression could shift into complete panic, he had fully captured the surging emotions in her eyes—almost exactly the same as that moment at Bodhi Temple when she'd suddenly looked up while he was taking photos.
Meng Jingnian said nothing, simply watching her like this. Rarely, he didn't proactively offer her a way out.
He wanted to see her first reaction.
She stiffened for a good long while before managing to pull out a smile: "…I was watching to see if you drool when you sleep."
A pretty girl, with such a childish, absurd explanation—it makes people think, oh, if you say so, then that's how it is.
He must have been awake for over a minute, because warm breath had been falling, brushing across his forehead, lingering for quite a while, waking him from his nap.
Human intuition is extremely sharp—especially when being stared at. Even with eyes closed, one can sense someone watching motionlessly, as if stalking prey, a gaze full of aggression.
After a pause, Meng Jingnian let out a chuckle, speaking in a slightly teasing tone: "That childish? How old are you, Lin Yiyi?"
Lin Qin's breath hitched again. Even "fleeing in panic" wasn't enough to describe how she felt at this moment. "…Why are you suddenly calling me that? Don't believe I'll just call you by your name directly."
Back when she was in elementary school, high schooler Meng Jingnian would occasionally have his childish moments, grabbing her to demand an explanation: What did you just call me, Lin Yiyi? So disrespectful.
And she would deliberately: Meng Jingnian! Meng Jingnian! Meng Jingnian! Each call louder than the last.
He'd be amused into laughter, letting out a lazy hum—an attitude of not stooping to a child's level.
Now, Meng Jingnian fixed his gaze on her: "Then call me."
Lin Qin glanced at him, then hastily looked away. His gaze was deep and dark, carrying a kind of unnervingly calm scrutiny—strangely unfamiliar.
She was having trouble breathing, and even more trouble thinking. She quickly straightened up. "…Little Uncle, didn't you say you had a dinner gathering tonight?"
The subject change was painfully forced.
Meng Jingnian stared at her for a few seconds before answering: "I got stood up."
"Then let me treat you to dinner. Last time you treated my friends, I haven't repaid you yet." As she spoke, she was already walking toward the kitchen as if nothing had happened.
Meng Jingnian sat up from the sofa, lowering his head to smooth down his sleep-mussed hair. "Alright. What do you want to eat?"
"I'm treating you. What do you want to eat?"
"Anything's fine. You're paying, so I won't be picky."
"Hmm…" Her tall, slender figure stood before the refrigerator, wearing the T-shirt he'd given her, straight, well-proportioned legs extending from the shorts of her denim cutoffs, her face illuminated by the clean light, her thoughtful expression carrying an endearing childishness. "…How about boiled fish?"
"Sure." The moment the refrigerator door closed, Meng Jingnian withdrew his gaze.
Lin Qin walked over with two bottles of water, handing one to him. "Go now, or wait a bit?"
"Are you hungry?"
"A little."
"Then let's go."
"Okay. Let me change clothes."
Her figure went to the entryway, dragged over her suitcase, and turned into the study.
Meng Jingnian unscrewed his water bottle, heard the door close, and felt the ice-cold water pass down his throat before realizing just how parched he was. He leaned back, loosening his shirt collar.
The moment the door closed, Lin Qin let out a long exhale.
Such terrible acting—even she couldn't bear to watch herself. Meng Jingnian was so smart; would he notice something?
There was only a vague sense of danger, a premonition that had surfaced the instant he "egged her on" to call him by his name. If she had actually called his name then, what would have happened?
She didn't dare.
She wasn't ready yet—ready to lose him completely.
Lin Qin changed her clothes and stayed in the room for a while, calming herself down before returning to the living room.
Meng Jingnian stood on the balcony, slightly bent forward, arms resting on the railing, the wind scattering the tips of his ink-black hair.
"…I'm ready to go."
"Alright." Meng Jingnian turned and walked over.
Lin Qin glanced at him. His expression was calm—his usual self.
She felt relieved.
The two walked to the entryway to change shoes.
Lin Qin slipped on her canvas shoes, crouching down to pull up the heels. Her shoelaces were tied loosely, easy to slip on and off.
Meng Jingnian lowered his gaze.
She had changed out of the graphic tee into a black T-shirt—perhaps worried about getting the white one dirty during dinner.
Her figure was slim, especially in black. The moment she crouched, a stretch of delicate nape was revealed from beneath the black collar, pale as frozen milk.
Outside, the setting sun had already sunk a few degrees lower, revealing the deep blue, dim undertone of the sky.
When they reached the entrance of the residential complex, Lin Qin stopped, pulling out her phone to check the map, deciding whether to turn left or right. That boiled fish restaurant had high ratings—not on the food street, but not far from the complex either, about a seven or eight-minute walk.
Breath suddenly drew near, brushing across the top of her head. The skin on the back of her neck tightened as she realized Meng Jingnian had slightly lowered his head to look at the navigation.
"Turn right…"
The two spoke at the same time.
"Mm…" Lin Qin pointed to the right, a bit at a loss. "This way."
Meng Jingnian stepped back, but the sensation of his breath still lingered, leaving her earlobe burning hot.
On the way to the restaurant, Lin Qin talked about some of the exam questions from today's test. There was one she wasn't sure about, and she asked Meng Jingnian how he would approach solving it.
Meng Jingnian chuckled. "You're overestimating me a bit, Yiyi. It's been years since I graduated from undergrad—I've long since returned Discrete Mathematics to the professor."
"That question was worth a lot of points."
"Think of it this way—if you can't solve it, the other students definitely can't either."
Lin Qin's lips curved up slightly.
Good. It was still just like before.
If Meng Jingnian really had noticed something, she'd just have to let the chips fall where they may and let him decide the future of their relationship.
But… if it meant cutting ties with him, she thought, she would still be reluctant. She would spend many dusks in the rest of her life replaying this day over and over.
/
After dinner, they returned home. Lin Qin dove straight into the study, while Meng Jingnian took his laptop to the dining room—one reviewing, one working, neither disturbing the other.
On his screen was the meeting minutes from the Max Planck Institute for Meteorology's most recent symposium, paused at the introduction section. It hadn't been turned to the next page for a long time.
Meng Jingnian leaned back in his chair, tilted his head back, and let out a sigh. He closed the laptop, stood up, walked to the study door, and raised his hand to knock lightly.
"Come in."
Meng Jingnian didn't open the door. He just stood at the threshold and said, "Yiyi, I'm going downstairs for a walk. Message me on WeChat if you need anything."
"Okay."
Outside, the sky had gone completely dark, and the evening breeze was humid and hot.
Five hundred meters from the residential complex's gate, turning right, there was a pedestrian overpass. Meng Jingnian walked up, bent over, and rested his elbows on the railing, looking down. The river of cars flowed endlessly.
Time passes like this, he thought. By his count, he had known Lin Qin for sixteen years now.
Not counting was fine, but once he did, it was a terrifying concept.
Sixteen years—longer than half his life.
The first time he met her, she was only four. Meng Yingnian had taken him to dine with Lin Zhengjun's elder brother and sister-in-law. Back then, Lin Qin was a clever little dumpling of a child—sharp-tongued, quick to laugh at the slightest tease. She wasn't mischievous either; whatever her parents asked her to do or not to do, she complied readily. At the time, Meng Yingnian had whispered to him, "Jingnian, you were just as clever when you were little."
Then, in the blink of an eye, she was six, starting first grade. She came straight from school, wearing a black-and-white uniform with a red scarf, having shot up more than a head in height. Her bearing was poised and graceful—surely she was the center of attention wherever she went.
After she sat down, she greeted everyone in turn: "Uncle, Auntie." When she got to him, she blinked and said, "Brother." Her father patted her head and corrected her with a smile, "This is Auntie Yingnian's younger brother. You should call him Uncle."
Then came when she was eight. Meng Yingnian called, her voice urgent, saying that something had happened to her brother-in-law and sister-in-law—a car accident. They had died on the spot.
He saw her at the funeral home. She wore a black pinafore dress, her face deathly pale, completely unresponsive, as if she had cut off all contact with the outside world. His sister was very worried, saying the child hadn't cried once since receiving the news.
Her brother-in-law discussed it with his sister, saying he wanted to bring Yiyi home to raise. His tone carried some hesitation—he was afraid his sister might not agree, since they had only been married for two years and hadn't even had children of their own. But his sister didn't hesitate for a moment, saying that morally and practically, it was the right thing to do.
At the time, his sister bustled about, tidying up the room, buying new sheets and bedding, pajamas and slippers… afraid that any detail left unprepared would make the child feel wronged. She also reminded him more than once to take good care of this young junior.
And so, it seemed, his life formally gained this one more person—someone with no blood relation to him, but because their circumstances were so alike, he couldn't help but pay her a little extra attention.
Selective mutism, being bullied, recovering from the mutism, grades climbing back up, being harassed by boys in class and beating them up in return, whether her allowance was enough, what she wanted for her birthday, where she wanted to go during winter break… big and small, every last detail.
Even after his biological niece was born, he never slackened his attention toward her. Watching her was like watching himself as a child—the same sense of living under someone else's roof. Though the elders who raised him were very tolerant, deep down he knew he was a drifting leaf on the water. He had no home.
During his undergrad years, he had a close friend who had since settled in America. Knowing that Meng Jingnian had such a junior he fussed over in every way, the friend couldn't help but tease him: "Meng Jingnian, how are you like a father raising a daughter? Do you have to manage it even when a boy hands her a love letter?" Back then, he'd said, "I'm both a friend and an elder to her. What's wrong with looking out for her?"
He knew better than anyone—and had never denied it—that he did hold a special fondness for her, born of shared circumstances.
That fondness was aboveboard.
Meng Jingnian lowered his forehead and let out a deep sigh.
Is it still so aboveboard, Meng Jingnian?
He stood on the overpass for a long time, letting the wind blow over him. Around nine-thirty, he headed back, stopping by the complex gate to buy some fruit on the way.
When he got home, the study door was still tightly shut.
He took the fruit into the kitchen to wash it. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow flickering like a fish gliding through water. He turned to look and noticed Lin Qin's clothes hanging on the drying rack on the balcony—two T-shirts, a pair of denim shorts, and an undergarment.
He cut the washed fruit into pieces, arranged them on a plate, and carried it to the study door to knock.
"Come in."
Meng Jingnian pressed down the door handle and opened the study door.
The room was very tidy. The sofa bed was made up neatly. Apart from an extra suitcase, it looked exactly as it had before anyone moved in.
Lin Qin sat at the desk, one hand propping up her chin, the other holding a pen, scribbling on a blank sheet of manuscript paper.
Meng Jingnian walked over and set the fruit plate beside her hand. "Remember to balance work and rest."
"Mm…" Lin Qin glanced over. "Thanks."
"How's the review going?" Meng Jingnian didn't leave right away. He braced his palm on the edge of the desk and looked at the paper—she was writing out key formulas and concepts from memory.
"Not bad. Good thing I actually studied seriously during the semester." She reached out, picked up a toothpick, and popped a piece of watermelon into her mouth.
She had already showered and was wearing a two-piece pajama set in a light grayish blue, with ruffled trim on the sleeves. Her hair was casually tied into a bun, with a few loose strands falling at the nape of her neck.
A faint fragrance lingered—the body wash from his bathroom, mixed with a hint of grapefruit, coming from her hair.
"Keep reviewing, then. I won't disturb you. I'll treat you to a big meal after the exams." Meng Jingnian said evenly.
"Great. Thanks, Little Uncle."
Meng Jingnian paused briefly, said nothing more, and turned to leave.
Picking up his change of clothes, Meng Jingnian walked into the bathroom.
A damp, humid warmth hung in the air. She didn't seem to have the habit of ventilating after a shower.
He thought about walking over to open the window, then decided it would be pointless. Expressionless, he walked to the sink and turned on the faucet.
His gaze landed on his own facial cleanser.
There's a term called "memory anchor"—a key point, a particular event, high-frequency content, or a strong emotional experience that helps evoke a corresponding memory.
He was unwilling to admit it. But tracing back to the very beginning, it was because of that that everything had veered off course.
But fortunately, everything was still within controllable bounds.
Put on the mask, hide the selfish intentions, play the right role.
He had been practicing this since he was four years old. He had long since mastered it to perfection. There was no reason he couldn't do it now.
/Over the following days, Lin Qin reviewed at night and took exams during the day, living under the same roof as him. They got along without incident, maintaining a subtle yet measured relationship.
Day five of exam week.
There was a lecture in the afternoon, and in the evening he had dinner with a few people from his research group. Meng Jingnian was somewhat tired. He couldn't remember what was discussed at the table, only that his responses had grown increasingly perfunctory.
When the meal ended, Meng Jingnian hurried back to the apartment.
There was the smell of alcohol on him. He stood downstairs for a while, letting the wind disperse the scent, before going up.
He opened the door and stood at the entryway, looking inside. To his surprise, Lin Qin was in the living room, sitting on the carpet beside the coffee table.
Hearing the sound, Lin Qin turned and greeted him. "Little Uncle, you're back."
Meng Jingnian nodded, changed his shoes, and walked over. Only then did he notice a small cake on the coffee table—six inches, with pure white cream piped into a few simple decorations, and a single white candle stuck on top, not yet lit.
Lin Qin looked at him. "Do you have a lighter at home?"
"No." Meng Jingnian was a little puzzled. "Whose birthday is it today?"
Lin Qin was silent for a moment, then said softly, "My mother's."
Meng Jingnian was taken aback.
He glanced down at the coffee table and saw there were extra candles. He picked one up, walked into the kitchen, lit it over the gas stove, and brought it out to light the small white candle on the cake.
"Should I turn off the lights?"
Lin Qin shook her head.
Meng Jingnian said nothing. He sat down on the sofa beside her and tilted his head to look at her face.
She was staring blankly at the candle flame. "…Is it strange to celebrate a birthday for someone who's passed away?"
"No. When I was still at the welfare home, my sister and I celebrated our parents' birthdays too."
Lin Qin turned her head. "And later…"
"After going to the Meng family, it wasn't really appropriate to do that anymore."
"…I see." The small flame flickered across her face. "I heard from Auntie that back then, you insisted on going with her."
Meng Jingnian let out a soft laugh. "My sister really tells everyone everything."
The year the siblings entered the community welfare home, Meng Jingnian was three and Meng Yingnian was eleven. When Meng Jingnian was a year and a half old, his biological father died of illness. His mother raised the two children alone with no one to help. After her husband's death, she developed depression, which progressed to severe depression. Unable to bear the mental torment any longer, she took her own life with medication. The two children were left with only distant relatives, and no one took them in, so they were sent to the welfare home.
Young, healthy children were never short of adoption prospects. Not long after Meng Jingnian was sent there, a couple expressed interest—but only on the condition that they adopt just him. Meng Yingnian was already eleven by then; children that old naturally raised concerns about whether they could truly bond, and adopting both at once would double the financial burden.
But at that time, although Meng Jingnian was only three years old, he was surprisingly stubborn. Perhaps he didn't understand much else, but when he heard that he would be separated from his sister, he absolutely refused to accept it. Day and night he stayed by his sister's room, and he even wished he could follow her to school. This went on for a while, and the couple eventually gave up and adopted a four-year-old girl instead.
After that, several more couples came, but all were dissuaded by the condition of adopting both children at once. Seeing that the smartest and most adorable child in the orphanage was going to be held back there, the director privately went to find Meng Yingnian and asked her to persuade her younger brother. The families applying for adoption all had quite good circumstances, and if they went with them, they would have better opportunities for development in the future.
Meng Yingnian's only remaining family was her younger brother, and she was a tough and stubborn person. She told the director that in seven years she would take the college entrance exam, and she would definitely get into the best school. She would carve out a future for herself and her brother herself—whether it was further education or going abroad… she would do exactly as she said.
And so another year passed. Meng Zhenqing and Zhu Chunning, who had been married for many years without children, went to the welfare home and met the siblings. What prompted Zhu Chunning to make up her mind and convince her husband to adopt both children at once was this: when Meng Jingnian saw the snacks in their hands, he was clearly extremely tempted, but he still tightly gripped his sister's hand, firmly shook his head, and said, "I won't eat. I won't be separated from my sister."
Such a young child, yet so loyal and devoted—truly remarkable.
"Little uncle, do you ever have that kind of thought, feeling like you don't know what's good for you… even though uncle and auntie have already been so good to me, I still feel…"
"Yes."
Lin Qin abruptly turned her head to look at him. "…Really?"
"Are you trying to say that if your biological parents were still alive, maybe sometimes you wouldn't have to work so hard, wouldn't have to do everything perfectly…" Meng Jingnian let his gaze fall on her face, and his voice gradually deepened, carrying a bitter undertone. "…Couldn't do anything out of line, couldn't make even the slightest mistake."
A sudden surge of turbulent emotion rose in her chest, causing Lin Qin to stiffly turn her gaze away—Meng Jingnian's eyes were not at all their usual gentle calm; they were extraordinarily deep and dark.
One cannot help but feel fear when facing an unknown abyss.
Lin Qin calmed herself, blew out the candles in one breath, took them off, and used the cake knife to cut the cake in half, feigning composure as she changed the subject: "I never asked auntie. What was your original surname?"
"Yi."
Lin Qin silently repeated it, then scooped half the cake onto a paper plate and handed it to Meng Jingnian. "Do you want some? If you don't think it's bad luck."
"I can't eat this much." Meng Jingnian crouched down, took the paper plate, then reached out and took the plastic cake knife from her hand, cutting half of it onto another plate.
Lin Qin picked up the paper plate and used the plastic fork to cut off a small piece and put it in her mouth.
Neither of them spoke, eating in silence for a while, until Lin Qin suddenly said, "…If I didn't look at photos, I think I'd actually almost forgotten what she looked like."
Meng Jingnian was startled and hurriedly looked at her face, but she quickly turned her face away. "…Don't look at me."
After a moment of silence, Meng Jingnian put down the cake and said gently, "Yiyi, how much did you weigh when you were born?"
"3.4 kilograms."
"Those 3.4 kilograms grew inside your mother's womb, nourished by her flesh and blood. From now on, no matter how old you are, no matter where you go, there will always be 3.4 kilograms of her life accompanying you in your life."
Lin Qin raised the back of her hand and wiped her eyes forcefully. "I didn't mean to cry… Why did you have to make me cry."
Meng Jingnian turned sideways, staring at her intently, somewhat at a loss. "…Are you really crying?" He reached out, wanting to pat her shoulder, but just as he was about to touch her, he withdrew his hand.
"…"
Meng Jingnian's expression and tone grew even gentler: "I'm sorry, Yiyi, my fault…"
Before he could finish speaking, Lin Qin set down the cake, suddenly turned around, and threw her arms over his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.
His body was unsteady, and he was knocked backward, sitting down on the floor.
Her cheek pressed tightly against the side of his neck, and after a moment, he felt a damp heat searing into his skin.
His body went rigid, his palms braced against the floor, and he tried his best to turn his face to the other side, attempting to avoid the strands of her hair brushing against his cheek. Even so, the fragrance on her—identical to his own—still easily slipped into his breath.
If there had previously been even a shred of room for debate about how to define his feelings for her, then at this moment, everything was settled beyond all doubt.
Never had he faced the baseness of his own humanity so completely unprepared as he did at this moment:
She was grieving for someone who had passed away, and yet he was thinking about how to restrain himself so that when he hugged her back, it would not carry the slightest trace of selfish intent.
He couldn't do it, and so he could only maintain this stiff posture, listening to her faint sobs, his heart in utter turmoil.