The phone in his pocket vibrated softly, one long buzz after another.
Jiang Wenyan didn’t even look up, poking Jiang Wan’s elbow with his pen. “Bro, Yun-jie is looking for you.”
Jiang Wan had set Li Yun as his special contact.
The phenomenon of bringing phones to class was much more common in the Advanced Class than in regular classes, with some students even carrying multiple devices.
But everyone generally knew their limits—playing when it was time to play, studying when it was time to study. While keeping a thermos of goji berries on their desks, they’d hide their phones in the desk compartments.
Li Yun rarely confiscated phones; sometimes she even helped students charge them.
Jiang Wan responded to Jiang Wenyan, “Mm.”
His head felt heavy, and his voice was thick with a nasal tone.
Lu Xingheng was still crouched beside him. Jiang Wan hadn’t fully processed it yet—the chocolate wasn’t overly sweet, but rich and smooth.
Jiang Wan wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but this chocolate suited his taste perfectly. Unable to resist, he took another bite.
The sweetness slowly melted, leaving the lingering aroma of nuts on his lips and teeth.
Jiang Wan was fully awake now. His first instinct was to pull Lu Xingheng up. His second was to snatch back the half-eaten chocolate.
Jiang Wan’s grip was firm as he reclaimed the treat. Lu Xingheng sighed in relief and voluntarily returned to his seat.
Still a bit dazed, Jiang Wan instinctively grabbed Lu Xingheng’s wrist.
Lu Xingheng asked, “What’s wrong?”
Nothing, really…
Jiang Wan had a habit of grabbing something to wake himself up after a nap. But he couldn’t say that. Fortunately, Li Yun’s message provided a convenient excuse to break the awkwardness.
Jiang Wan unlocked his phone with one hand, speaking quickly. “Yun-jie says your mom is waiting for you at the school gate and wants you to go meet her now.”
Lu Xingheng wasn’t particularly surprised—this was typical of Wen Qian’s style. But he never indulged her whims. “Not going.”
Jiang Wan was a little taken aback. “It’s your mom.”
Lu Xingheng returned to his seat. “Not going.”
Jiang Wan didn’t say anything more, but Lu Xingheng sensed he wasn’t too happy… Was he missing his own mother?
Wen Qian had indeed acted on a whim. As an illustrator, she had developed a sudden fondness for oil painting after giving birth, especially painting teenagers around eighteen or nineteen—capturing the youthful stirrings of emotion and recklessness.
Her main purpose in coming to the school was to gather inspiration, with visiting Lu Xingheng as a secondary goal.
But Wen Qian had gotten lost.
Lu Qingci was away on a business trip, likely still adjusting to the time difference. Wen Qian didn’t want to distract him by asking for help.
She had intended to call Lu Xingheng, but accidentally dialed Li Yun instead.
Li Yun was still busy on her end. “If you can’t reach Lu Xingheng, I’ll have the class monitor come out to meet you.”
Reaching Lu Xingheng shouldn’t have been an issue—after all, he was sitting right behind Jiang Wan.
Jiang Wenyan was so absorbed in his sea of problems that he didn’t even notice when Jiang Wan left.
The university campus at five o’clock was beautiful. Orange-pink evening clouds spread across the sky, as if someone had overturned a palette, splashing colors everywhere.
“Lu Xingxing, does your mom not know her way around?”
Lu Xingheng replied, “A little, I guess.”
Usually, wherever Wen Qian went, Lu Qingci accompanied her.
Jiang Wan suddenly stopped walking, his gaze fixed on the small grove behind the Duxing Building.
“Do you think maybe your mom got lost on purpose, waiting for you to come pick her up?”
The evening glow filtered through the treetops, reflecting in Jiang Wan’s eyes. The slightly dim light in the boy’s gaze suddenly seemed to shimmer with brilliance.
Lu Xingheng didn’t know how to answer. It felt as though Jiang Wan wasn’t really asking about Wen Qian—or perhaps he never was.
It wouldn’t hurt to tell him a little white lie.
Lu Xingheng fibbed, “Maybe.”
“Xingheng.” Wen Qian called out, holding her sketchbook, her floral dress stained with paint. “Over here!”
Wen Qian’s voice was soft and gentle. “Is this the little class monitor?”
Jiang Wan nodded, the corners of his eyes inexplicably reddening slightly. “Hello, Auntie, I’m Jiang Wan.”
Lu Xingheng took the drawing board from Wen Qian. “Why did you come alone?”
Wen Qian, as usual, ignored Lu Xingheng and lightly grasped Jiang Wan’s wrist.
Jiang Wan’s wrist was extremely slender and cold.
Wen Qian suddenly thought of something. “Did your stomach hurt at noon?”
Jiang Wan’s eyes widened abruptly.
“Xingheng mentioned it.”
Wen Qian let her words run ahead, leaving her son to shoulder the blame.
Jiang Wan replied politely, “Caught a chill from the changing seasons.”
Wen Qian kept holding Jiang Wan’s hand. She was certain this was Lu Xingheng’s “child bride,” though there was a slight discrepancy in gender.
Jiang Wan felt a bit uncomfortable being held like this. “Auntie, are you perhaps holding the wrong person?”
Lu Xingheng: “…”
Wen Qian shook their joined hands and smiled at Jiang Wan. “Bunny, don’t you remember me?”
Jiang Wan was completely stunned.
Lu Xingheng: “Mom, don’t scare him.”
…
“Little darling, what’s your name?”
“Jiang… Jiang Tutu?”
…
Wen Qian: “Bunny, you were so young back then. It’s normal not to remember.”
Jiang Wan remained in a daze.
After a two-second delay, he nodded, staring straight at Wen Qian. The redness at the corners of his eyes slowly spread, moistening his lashes.
Back then, he was indeed very young. Time flies, years pass like an arrow—eleven years had gone by in the blink of an eye. The memories were too hazy, and Jiang Wan couldn’t react immediately.
Moreover, the year they parted, Jiang Wan was hospitalized with acute gastroenteritis. Too many chaotic things happened that year, none of which were pleasant memories for him. Driven by self-preservation, Jiang Wan chose to forget.
Since they were destined never to meet again, why cling to the past…
Wen Qian: “I knew it. Xingheng is usually so quiet. How could he suddenly be so nice to his roommate?”
Jiang Wan seemed lost in thought, remaining silent for a long time.
Wen Qian gently stroked the corner of Jiang Wan’s eye and whispered to Lu Xingheng, “The little darling is so thin.”
Lu Xingheng: “Malnourished, severe hypoglycemia.”
Jiang Wan snapped back to reality. “Aunt Wen.”
Wen Qian still held Jiang Wan’s hand. “It happened so suddenly back then. We left in a hurry.”
In truth, looking back, it wasn’t exactly a rush. It was just that he was too young to understand what parting meant.
Jiang Wan smiled, but his eyes grew increasingly red.
Wen Qian: “Little darling, can you leave campus at this hour?”
Wen Qian had always called Jiang Wan that when he was little. The familiar yet unfamiliar term made Jiang Wan suddenly realize how long it had been since they last saw each other.
So very long…
So long that he had almost forgotten someone in this world once cared about him.
Long time no see, but there’s plenty of time ahead.
Receiving no response, Wen Qian asked again, “Little darling, is it possible?”
“It is possible,” Jiang Wan said, “but I need to get a leave slip.”
“Then you and Xingheng go. I’ll wait here for you.” Wen Qian took her drawing board back and added with concern, “Xingheng, Bunny’s hands are so cold. Go buy him some hand warmers.”
Lu Xingheng: “Mm.”
Perhaps the clouds had overturned the paint, leaving the sunset behind, as memories gradually grew vivid and colorful.
“Lu Xingxing.”
Lu Xingheng didn’t respond.
“Lu Xingxing, Lu Xingxing.” Jiang Wan repeated.
Lu Xingheng: “Speak, I’m listening.”
Jiang Wan carefully recalled, “Did you already know all along?”
Lu Xingheng bought him red flower oil, Lu Xingheng wouldn’t let him touch anything cold, the chocolate Lu Xingheng gave him suited his taste perfectly…
Lu Xingheng: “No, just recently.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Jiang Wan turned around, walking backward, his eyes bright as he looked at Lu Xingheng, like the gentle breeze that stirs wind chimes in March.
Lu Xingheng reminded him: “I was only four years old back then.”
Jiang Wan teased him: “What about me then?”
Lu Xingheng: “Four years old.”
“Lu Xingxing.”
Lu Xingheng didn’t respond, so Jiang Wan kept calling, staring at him as he called.
“Lu Xingxing.”
“Lu Xingxing—”
“Lu—Xing—xing—”
Lu Xingheng couldn’t help but laugh.
“Jiang Mianmian, I heard you.”
Jiang Wan: “Why Jiang Mianmian?”
Lu Xingheng: “You were too clumsy when you were little, could only write half your name.”
Jiang Wan: “…You’re the clumsy one.”
“What are you laughing at?”
Lu Xingheng unusually spoke a long, complex sentence: “The strokes in your name are quite complicated, it’s normal not to know how to write it.”
Jiang Wan: “”
It sounded somewhat familiar.