The handwriting on the note was neat and orderly. The content didn’t use particularly flowery language, but every word struck a chord in Xia Kui’s heart.
Few people had ever given Xia Kui a sense of security.
For example, when she was hurt by rumors, her elders would tell her, “Flies don’t land on eggs without cracks.” When she was constantly harassed to the point it affected her daily life, others would tell her to “think about her own faults.”
It seemed like everyone expected to find a reason within the victim to prove that they deserved to die for their sins, so even if they encountered bad things, it was their own fault and they weren’t worthy of sympathy.
Most people would tell Xia Kui to reflect on herself more. This might have been the first time she’d ever heard someone say, “Don’t mind what others say.”
Xia Kui looked around the classroom.
It was very quiet. Under the cold fluorescent lights, the students were either studying or playing on their phones, each with their heads down. Everything seemed normal, and there was no way to tell who had quietly placed the note on her desk during the break.
However, whether the person who wrote the note was sincere or just playing a prank, the words on it did comfort Xia Kui.
She carefully folded the note and put it away. Since she didn’t know how to find that person, she wrote “Thank you” on a sticky note at the end of evening self-study, folded it, and left it on her desk in the spot where the note had been placed.
And so, an unexpected fate began to unfold.
They communicated through notes, sharing their favorite seasons, foods, and flowers, gradually discovering that they were surprisingly compatible.
Xia Kui didn’t know who she was exchanging letters with; she didn’t know their name, class, or even gender. The two of them tacitly avoided mentioning any of that, allowing their souls to connect purely, beyond all other distractions.
Slowly, Xia Kui opened her heart to this person. She thought she might finally have a friend.
This feeling of being able to share joys and sorrows without any reservations was something she had never experienced before.
It probably wasn’t her imagination, she felt like she’d become a little more cheerful. The sky she saw every day was no longer gloomy and overcast; she could see the bright, blue sky beyond the clouds.
Xia Kui was very happy to have such a friend.
Although their communication relied on the most traditional pen and paper, and they had never even truly met face to face, they genuinely healed each other. This person would listen to her worries, share her joys, and sincerely hope she would become better.
Later, Xia Kui got into a very good university. She was happy about her grades, but at the same time, she worried about losing this one friendship.
Graduating from high school meant losing contact with that person. From then on, even if she wrote little notes, she wouldn’t know where to send them.
She expressed her worries to that person and hoped their bond could continue through other means. But the person didn’t give her a direct response. They only left her with one sentence;
[Don’t worry. We’ll meet again.]
Xia Kui didn’t know what that meant, but she had no other choice but to believe it.
During the summer after her senior year of high school, while everyone else was busy with their graduation trips, Xia Kui didn’t take a single day off. She worked hard to earn her university tuition and travel expenses, and only went home once that entire summer. But even then, she just sat for a while before leaving again.
At some point, she and her once-closest mother no longer had anything to say to each other when they sat together.
By the end of the summer, she had barely scraped together enough for travel and living expenses, and took a nearly twenty-four-hour train ride to school.
At university, the relationships between classmates were no longer as close-knit as in high school. People kept a polite distance from each other, which made Xia Kui feel somewhat relieved, because it no longer made her stand out so much.
She still wasn’t good at interacting with people, and she continued to live in her own world. After losing the notes, she sealed herself off again.
Besides, she didn’t have time for socializing. She had to work harder, be more diligent, and get the best grades to earn the highest scholarship.
So aside from eating, sleeping, and her part-time job, she spent all her time in the classroom buildings and the library.
As before, many people tried to get close to her, but Xia Kui still wasn’t willing to take the risk, because she was truly afraid of getting hurt.
Until one day, while she was studying in the library, she went to the restroom in between. When she returned, she spotted something extra on her desk from a distance.
In that instant, her heart began to pound wildly. A guess surfaced in her mind. Reason told her it was unlikely, but her legs were already carrying her over in quick steps.
She picked up the note, unconsciously holding her breath as she unfolded it.
Once the note was open, her mind seemed to go blank for a moment. When she finally snapped back to reality, she saw the handwriting she knew all too well.
[I told you we’d meet again~]
It was followed by a cute kaomoji smiling face.
Xia Kui and that person’s communication finally entered the modern age. They added each other on WeChat. Xia Kui had used the money she’d saved from working over the summer to buy herself a phone. It was secondhand and had some scuffs on the outside, but it worked fine for normal use.
So she no longer had to wait for notes to be exchanged. She could contact that person anytime, without worrying about mishaps like notes getting lost or other accidents that might cause her to lose track of them.
That person’s WeChat profile picture was a tiny circle, like a period, or maybe it held some other meaning.
Anyway, Xia Kui had called this mysterious friend “Note” in her heart. Now that the note era was over, she started calling that person “Xiao Yuan”. (Little Circle)
Later, Xia Kui learned that Xiao Yuan had also been admitted to a university in the capital. That time at the Jingda library wasn’t a coincidence, Xiao Yuan had come specifically to find her.
Xia Kui felt that this friendship was truly wonderful.
Having lost it and then regained it, she couldn’t help but want to take it a step further, to have more than just text-based interactions with Xiao Yuan.
But Xiao Yuan didn’t seem very enthusiastic about it.
When Xia Kui asked why, Xiao Yuan said that she probably wasn’t what Xia Kui imagined, and was afraid she’d be disappointed upon seeing her in person.
Xia Kui said it didn’t matter, because what had moved her all these years was Xiao Yuan’s soul. The Xiao Yuan she imagined was simply Xiao Yuan. No matter what, she wouldn’t be disappointed in Xiao Yuan.
Besides, she herself wasn’t that great either. She had many secrets and wounds, parts of herself she never showed to the outside world. But she could make an exception and share them with Xiao Yuan, as long as Xiao Yuan didn’t mind.
Xiao Yuan said, how could she possibly mind Xia Kui?
So Xia Kui said, see? You can accept even the imperfect me, so why not try accepting your imperfect self?
And so their meeting was set.
It was early autumn of their third year of university. They agreed to meet at a nearby park on the weekend.
That day, Xia Kui arrived at the meeting place early. She was too early and had nothing to do, so she wandered around the park on her own.
There was an artificial lake in the park. Xia Kui walked along the shore, checking her phone constantly for the time, hoping time would move faster so she could meet Xiao Yuan soon.
Suddenly, a burst of laughter and shouting drifted over from nearby.
Xia Kui subconsciously looked over and saw a little boy on a skateboard heading straight for her.
For some reason, the skateboard went out of control. The boy wobbled and let out a startled cry. Xia Kui didn’t have time to dodge, and the skateboard hit her ankle, making her stumble and almost fall.
Fortunately, someone steadied her just as she lost her balance.
Xia Kui stood up straight and looked up at the person.
It was a tall, handsome young man with sharp features.
“Thank you…” Xia Kui pulled her hand back and realized something was missing. She looked down to search for it, but then heard the young man speak up:
“Looking for your phone?”
“Yes.”
“I saw it fall into the lake just now…”
Xia Kui let out a soft sigh and looked at the lake’s surface. Sure enough, there was a circle of ripples that was still slowly fading away.
“You brat, playing so wildly by the lake? What if you ran into someone? What if you fell in?”
The young man scolded the little boy and made him apologize to Xia Kui.
But Xia Kui wasn’t bothered by it. She stood by the lake, wondering how she could fish her phone out, whether it would still work if she did, and how much it would cost to repair if she needed to.
She was lost in worry for a long time, unaware that someone else was still standing beside her.
Until that person spoke up: “You’re waiting for someone, aren’t you?”
The question seemed out of nowhere, and Xia Kui frowned slightly, giving a vague “Mm,” but she wasn’t really in the mood to engage.
But then the young man said:
“Xia Kui, my name is Yuan Bo. I’m very happy to meet you here.”
Xia Kui hadn’t expected him to know her name, and she was slightly taken aback.
After looking at Yuan Bo for a moment, she tentatively asked: “Are you… Xiao Yuan?”
Yuan Bo seemed to freeze for a split second, but quickly nodded, “Yes, I like it when you call me that.”
Xia Kui’s phone that had fallen into the lake couldn’t be retrieved. Fortunately, this didn’t affect her meeting with Xiao Yuan.
She and Yuan Bo strolled around the park for a while, then went to have a meal together. Yuan Bo accompanied her to buy a new phone and get a new number, and they exchanged contact information.
When adding each other on WeChat, Xia Kui wondered why Yuan Bo wasn’t using the original account. Yuan Bo’s answer was that since she had gotten a new phone and registered a new account, he was getting to know her anew, so he naturally wanted to present himself with a new identity as well, a kind of companionship.
Xia Kui didn’t know what she was feeling.
Meeting Xiao Yuan made her happy, but beyond that happiness, other emotions surfaced.
Because she felt that Yuan Bo was both like and unlike the Xiao Yuan she knew.
Yuan Bo was indeed very attentive, caring, and considerate of her feelings. But perhaps there was inevitably some gap between online and real-life interactions…Yuan Bo’s presence always gave her a subtle sense of deviation from before.
But she couldn’t quite put her finger on what exactly was off. She could only tell herself she was overthinking.
After they truly got to know each other, Xia Kui learned that Yuan Bo had been her high school classmate, she was in Class 1, and he was in Class 5.
Yuan Bo said he had noticed her since the beginning of high school, knew she wanted to get into Jingda, so he had chosen a university in the capital as well, and was happy to meet her again here.
Later, Yuan Bo confessed his feelings to her.
He said he had liked her for many years and had finally mustered the courage to pursue her seriously.
Xia Kui didn’t know how to respond to this affection. After all, Xiao Yuan was her best and only friend in her entire life; she had never been this close to anyone before.
She loved Xiao Yuan’s soul, and cherished every little moment they shared. If there was anyone she would want to spend the rest of her life with, Xiao Yuan was her best and only choice.
So they naturally got together.
After they started dating, Yuan Bo was always very careful with her, as if holding a fragile treasure. He spent almost every day with her. When she went out, he’d wait for her downstairs at her dorm; when she ate, he’d stay by her side; when she went to class or the library to study, he’d accompany her too.
Truthfully, Xia Kui wasn’t entirely comfortable with this mode of being together that left her no personal time at all. But it didn’t matter, because this person was Xiao Yuan.
They had met in early autumn, gotten together when the leaves had all fallen, and by the time winter snow arrived, she received the news of her mother’s passing.
She hurriedly took leave to go home and arrange the funeral, and Yuan Bo came with her.
Her mother had committed suicide by jumping into a lake.
While going through her belongings at home, Xia Kui found a diagnosis report for late-stage liver cancer in her mother’s bedside drawer.
But her mother hadn’t told anyone about this, not even her only daughter. She endured it alone in silence, unwilling to even buy medicine. Only when the pain became unbearable did she choose to end her suffering forever by jumping into the lake.
Did Xia Kui love her mother? Of course she did. Did she resent her? When her mother had turned a blind eye to that injustice, yes, there was a little bit of that too.
But no matter what, she was her only family, the mother who had held her close in that cramped little basement when she was small, using her own body to keep her warm.
Xia Kui took ten days off. When she saw her mother off, she didn’t shed a single tear.
But on the night she returned to the capital after the funeral, once she had left that small town that still carried her mother’s scent and memories, all kinds of emotions surged up. Held by Yuan Bo, Xia Kui cried until she nearly passed out.
That night, she told Yuan Bo many things in fragments; her childhood, her mother and her, the man who was kind of her stepfather, and all the bullying and slander she had endured at school.
These were her deepest wounds. She had always licked them in silence on her own. But on that night, at her most vulnerable, she still wanted to pour out her heart to someone else, to receive just a little warmth and comfort.
And Yuan Bo, her Xiao Yuan, comforted her as always, telling her none of it was her fault. Then he kissed her very gently and told her not to worry or be sad, that she could entrust all her pain to him for soothing because he was the person in the world who loved her most.
She and Yuan Bo spent a very intimate night together.
Back then, Xia Kui thought this relationship would last forever.
Though she had lost so many things, fortunately, she still had her Xiao Yuan…the only sweetness she could hold onto in her bitter, gloomy life.
But she forgot something back then, something she had believed in firmly for a long time: people change.
People always change, and Yuan Bo was no exception.
When did Yuan Bo start taking her for granted?
It seemed like an incredibly rapid process, like a roller coaster slowly climbing to its highest peak, then plunging downward at breakneck speed along the tracks.
The person who had once wanted to spend 24 hours a day with her suddenly had all kinds of things to keep him busy. He no longer listened to her or comforted her with such patience, and he had nothing to share with her either.
He grew more and more impatient with her, and when he asked her out, it seemed like there was nothing else to do besides sleep together.
Xia Kui endured it, but the accumulation of disappointment and tolerance gradually consumed those beautiful memories and emotions. So one day, when she could no longer bear it, she confronted Yuan Bo: Why? Had she done something wrong? Why had things between them become like this? Why had he suddenly changed?
But Yuan Bo had long since lost the patience and tenderness he had shown at the beginning. As if throwing caution to the wind, he told Xia Kui directly: this was how he had always been.
“Actually, I’ve been putting up with you for a long time, Xia Kui. I really can’t stand your personality, you’re so sensitive and fragile. I have to think twice before saying anything to you, afraid of hurting your fragile little heart. It’s exhausting, you know?”
“Take a look around. Who else is like you, just studying and working all day with no sense of fun? Who else is as quiet as a gourd, constantly needing others to understand and tolerate them? To be honest, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re my type, and that I was unwilling to give up before having you, I would have laid out the cards to you long ago!”
Xia Kui was completely stunned when she heard these words.
Because she knew Xiao Yuan would never say such things to her, but the words reaching her ears were indeed piercing her heart like knives.
She didn’t even have time to feel sad; she only felt a blank confusion:
“L-lay… lay what cards?”
Then she saw Yuan Bo smile, and what he said next was utterly cruel:
“I was lying to you from the very beginning.”
Xia Kui lashed out desperately, her nails scratching Yuan Bo’s face, and Yuan Bo slapped her. In the chaos, she managed to grab Yuan Bo’s phone.
[Guess who I ran into? Our big-shot academic and school beauty, Xia Kui! She’s still as stunning as ever.]
[I’m telling you, you guys overhype her way too much. She’s not that hard to approach at all. She’s pretty cute actually.]
[I think I’ve got a shot. Brothers, watch me take her down in a month!]
[Beautiful girls are really so fragrant, seriously, I’m not lying to you all.]
……
[Holy shit haha, guess what, brothers? She mistook me for some online friend of hers! I’m dying. I played along and she actually bought it. Dumb beauty, not a clue she’s got the wrong person.]
[What else can I do? The predecessors plant the trees so the successors enjoy the shade. I’ve claimed the identity, I’ll keep the con going and keep profiting. If I get exposed, I don’t lose anything anyway.]
[Who are you looking down on? I’m the best at acting, okay? Don’t little girls all fall for that…the gentle, considerate, warm-hearted big brother. I have it completely under control.]
[Hahaha, don’t worry. Thanks to that unknown predecessor, I’ve already won at the starting line. If I don’t get this beauty, who will? She’s definitely mine, okay!]
