Chen Siliu’s tutoring session lasted until 10:00 PM. After he left, Zhou Ai continued to study for another two hours. Approaching midnight, Zhou Ai suddenly heard faint, fragmented sounds coming from his doorway. They didn’t sound like a deliberate knock, but in the stillness of the night, they were persistent and erratic.
Zhou Ai rubbed his eyes slightly before setting his pen aside. He walked over to open the bedroom door and looked down to see Zhou Youbao, barefoot and in his pajamas, standing at the threshold.
Zhou Youbao’s pajamas and hair were disheveled. He stood there, head tilted back, looking at the back brace visible beneath Zhou Ai’s wool cardigan. He called out softly, “Brother.”
This was the first time Zhou Youbao had addressed him as “Brother” directly. From the time Zhou Youbao was born until now, running around on his own, their face-to-face interactions had been minimal. As Zhou Youbao grew older, he became curious about the presence of Zhou Ai in the house, but every time he tried to approach Zhou Ai, he would be interrupted or called away by their mother. Zhou Ruicheng’s attitude toward this was ambiguous, though he certainly didn’t encourage the brothers to spend time together.
Zhou Ai looked down at the child in silence. Zhou Youbao had been brought back by his parents from their grandparents’ house that day; Zhou Ai had been upstairs tutoring at the time, so they hadn’t crossed paths.
The hands of the hallway clock aligned at 12:00, beginning a new 24-hour cycle. The villa was silent; their parents were asleep downstairs, and the nanny was asleep in Zhou Youbao’s room. Zhou Ai knitted his brows slightly; he couldn’t imagine how Zhou Youbao had managed to slip past the three adults to find his way to his door at this hour.
Zhou Youbao kept looking up at Zhou Ai. To him, Zhou Ai was very tall; even tilting his head back, he couldn’t quite see Zhou Ai’s expression clearly. Their parents would always pick him up, lifting him high so he could easily touch their faces, but Zhou Ai had only held him once—the time they had tumbled down the stairs.
Back then, pressed against Zhou Ai’s chest, rubbing against his soft pajamas, it had felt completely different from his parents. The fall had frightened him, but Zhou Ai had held him tightly, and in the end, he had emerged unscathed.
Now, facing Zhou Ai, he rubbed his sleepy eyes and whispered again, “Brother.”
Zhou Ai glanced at the silent Zhou Youbao, noticing the outline of the back brace, then looked down at Zhou Ai’s legs. He remembered the vast amount of red blood that had stained them that day. He said to Zhou Ai, “I want to sleep with you.”
It was early autumn, and the nights were beginning to turn cool. Zhou Ai glanced at Zhou Youbao’s bare feet and his thin pajamas. He silently closed his bedroom door and walked past him, heading downstairs.
Zhou Youbao followed him, wanting to grab his pants but seemingly remembering something, he stopped himself, his arms hanging in the air in a half-raised, unfulfilled gesture.
Zhou Ai glanced over, noticing Zhou Youbao’s movement. He paused at the top of the stairs, looking at the spiral descent, then back at Zhou Youbao, who had stopped to wait. Zhou Youbao blinked, staring blankly at him before a sudden realization dawned; he pursed his lips and smiled: “Brother, come sleep in my little bed.”
The “little bed” was Zhou Youbao’s own in the nursery. Looking at the bright smile on Zhou Youbao’s face, Zhou Ai averted his gaze. But he reached out and, for the first time, took Zhou Youbao’s hand. The child’s hand was soft and tiny. Feeling Zhou Ai’s touch, Zhou Youbao excitedly tightened his grip on Zhou Ai’s fingers.
Keeping pace with Zhou Youbao, Zhou Ai led him slowly down the stairs and back into his own room.
Perhaps alerted by the noise, the nanny in the room woke up. She was shocked to see the two of them at the door. Glancing at the empty bed, she hurried over, anxious and flustered, intent on taking Zhou Youbao away.
But Zhou Youbao held onto Zhou Ai’s fingers tightly, refusing to let go, and looked up at Zhou Ai, repeating, “Brother is sleeping in my little bed.”
The nanny tried to pick him up, but Zhou Youbao remained stubborn. A scene was brewing that would surely wake their parents, so Zhou Ai, standing at the threshold without entering, turned his gaze away from Zhou Youbao’s struggling face. He looked down and, one by one, pried Zhou Youbao’s fingers open.
On the way back to the second floor, Zhou Ai could still hear the fragmented sounds of Zhou Youbao’s fussing. He returned much faster than he had descended; once inside his room, he locked the door, and the sounds were effectively shut out.
Back in his room, Zhou Ai was about to turn off the lights when he noticed a new message on his phone from a familiar but unsaved number. It read: I didn’t finish what I had to say today. I’m downstairs at your place now. Is it convenient for you to come down for a moment?
The timestamp showed the message had been sent an hour ago.
With the lights already off, the room was bathed only in the moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. Zhou Ai stood in the center of the room, moonlight dappling his hands. He looked toward the window.
He walked over and pulled the curtains completely open. In the familiar corner of the courtyard wall, he saw a black figure. The light was dim, and Zhou Ai could only discern a silhouette, nothing more.
At that moment, the phone in his hand lit up. A new message appeared: I see you.
Followed immediately by another: If you aren’t asleep yet, is it convenient to come down? It will be quick.
Zhou Ai stood at the window, watching the shadow in the dark below. He breathed softly. After a long while, only when the phone screen automatically dimmed did he move again.
Pushing open the front door, the first thing to hit him was a gust of wind. Zhou Ai turned his head to avoid it, closed the door, and turned around to see Chen Xunfeng already outside the courtyard gate. The wind whipped Chen Xunfeng’s hair and jacket into the air as he stood outside, waiting for him quietly.
They moved with tacit understanding toward a spot away from the house, yet avoided the bright streetlights. Finally, Zhou Ai stopped under a tree and turned to look at the person beside him.
Chen Xunfeng stopped as well. He seemed to have been outside for a long time; his hair was messy from the wind, which only served to fully reveal his face. Zhou Ai watched the dim shadows crawl over Chen Xunfeng’s features and heard his voice: “What I meant to say today, I didn’t finish.”
Zhou Ai looked at him, showing no reaction, but he didn’t look away, waiting for him to continue.
“I wouldn’t play games with you.” This was Chen Xunfeng’s second sentence. He furrowed his brows slightly, his sharp, angular features carrying an inherent chill: “I knew you had been admitted to the Sixth High. Only after your admission list was finalized did I start transferring my school records. I wanted to ensure everything was foolproof.”
Chen Xunfeng’s gaze rested on Zhou Ai. This time, he didn’t look away: “The first time I saw you at the Sixth High, I recognized you, but I couldn’t tell if you still remembered me, and I couldn’t just rush up to you and ask.”
Zhou Ai’s eyelashes fluttered, recalling September at the school gate, when he had first heard the name “Chen Xunfeng” from passing students. He had frozen in place, hesitating before turning to follow their gaze, only to see Chen Xunfeng surrounded by a crowd in the distance a Chen Xunfeng who was a total stranger to him.
Chen Xunfeng exhaled softly: “Because, Zhou Ai, the years we spent apart… I was abroad for most of that time. We had no contact; you could almost say we were completely lost to each other. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, but time is an objective reality, and time makes one feel powerless and helpless.”
“So, my thoughts from a while ago certainly weren’t self-delusion, trying to hypnotize myself into believing you remembered me.”
Chen Xunfeng paused: “But on the other hand, I had a longing in my heart. I hoped you still remembered me. Every time I bumped into you at school and you looked away, I would wonder: did you recognize me? Or do you just treat me like a stranger met by chance?”
The wind grew stronger. Chen Xunfeng stood before Zhou Ai, shielding him from part of the gale, the hem of his open jacket fluttering wildly in the air.
He stood motionless before Zhou Ai, his cool voice mixing with the sound of the wind: “That’s why I said I didn’t dare to be open about it. Once I spoke, it would be like passing judgment. I could only follow you, watch you secretly, and even hear about you from others. I created opportunities for us to ‘bump into each other,’ found excuses to appear before you. I was indeed probing. If you had shown subtle signals, if I could have received them… that week before the National Day holiday, the day of the heavy rain, someone followed you.”
Hearing this, Zhou Ai’s expression didn’t change. Chen Xunfeng had indeed known—that was within his expectations.
It was the middle of the night. Zhou Ai was wearing a gray wool cardigan, his hands tucked into his pockets, matching trousers beneath. The blue of his school uniform suited him, but this quiet gray made him look even paler, even colder.
Chen Xunfeng watched the loose hems of Zhou Ai’s pants flutter in the wind and suddenly asked: “Are you cold?”
Zhou Ai paused, then shook his head.
Chen Xunfeng took another step to the side and continued: “It was that day. You gave me a signal you still remembered me. That’s why I dared to be open about it, to appear before you without needing ‘accidental’ encounters or excuses.”
Chen Xunfeng stopped for a moment, then lowered his eyes to look at Zhou Ai’s clothes. His lashes were long, covering his pupils as he looked down a posture of avoiding Zhou Ai’s gaze. He said: “But you disappeared soon after. I couldn’t get in touch with you; I couldn’t find you at home or at school. That’s why I was a bit anxious today… The first thing I said to you,” Chen Xunfeng tilted his head, “I didn’t know how to ask that would be appropriate.”
Chen Xunfeng trailed off. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Zhou Ai taking his hands out of his pockets. Zhou Ai pulled out his phone. Chen Xunfeng turned back to look at his lowered face.
The glow of the phone screen faintly reflected on Zhou Ai’s face. His expression was calm, as if entirely unaffected by Chen Xunfeng’s words. He typed swiftly, and soon showed the memo screen to Chen Xunfeng. At the top of the blank memo, there was only one line: Are you finished?
Chen Xunfeng gave a soft “Hm.”
Zhou Ai typed another line below: Then I’m going home.
“Wait.” Chen Xunfeng called out to him.
Zhou Ai, who had been about to walk away, turned back, waiting for Chen Xunfeng’s next words.
“The people who followed you that time were turned into the police by someone else. It was reported as an extortion case involving minors,” Chen Xunfeng looked down, staring earnestly into Zhou Ai’s eyes, and asked: “Why did they follow you? Do you know them?”