On the third day of the Lunar New Year, Song Cong received a message from Qi Qi—just six words: “Let’s meet this afternoon.”
He stared at the phone screen until it went dark, tapped it once, and saw the lock screen showing two kittens looking at each other.
Qi Qi had changed it to this picture; Song Cong could barely remember what he’d used before.
Probably just the system default—he’d never paid much attention to such things.
“Okay,” Song Cong replied.
They agreed to meet at a dessert shop next to Tianzhong School, a place Qi Qi chose. Song Cong arrived first, ordered a pot of jasmine tea, and seeing the cute cheesecakes in the display case, pointed and said, “I’ll have one of those too.”
“Certainly, please have a seat,” the server responded politely.
Qi Qi arrived fifteen minutes late, wearing jeans and sneakers with a puffy short white down jacket perfect for the northern winter. She waved at him, then sat down directly across from him.
“Been waiting long?” Qi Qi unzipped her jacket and rubbed her hands together.
“Not really.” Song Cong didn’t ask about her lateness, looking around instead. “This place has changed a lot.”
Growing up in a flash, he hadn’t been back to Tianzhong.
“Yes, this used to be a bubble tea shop.” Qi Qi pointed out the window. “After the New Year’s performance in the second year of high school, you all celebrated here—you, Huan Er, Qichi, Xinyan, and many classmates I didn’t know. I was standing right there.”
Song Cong looked in the direction she was pointing, across a one-way street to the Tianzhong school playground. He remembered the performance but had forgotten the details, so he asked her, “Were you there that time?”
“I didn’t come in.” Qi Qi’s gaze remained fixed outside, as if recalling the bitter, awkward feelings of that time, and said no more.
The Song Cong of that time certainly wouldn’t have noticed whether she was there or not.
The server brought their order, smiling as they said, “Please enjoy.”
Song Cong poured the tea and nodded toward the cake, “Try some?”
“Mm.” Qi Qi picked up her utensils and took a bite. The cake was very sweet, but she suddenly felt like crying.
Cheesecake was her favorite dessert.
Over the past two years, she’d dragged him to almost every popular dessert shop in Beijing, sometimes not sure if she was looking for a cake or just wanted to do things that couples do.
“Song Cong,” Qi Qi called out as tears fell directly down her face. Without looking up, she took another bite of cake through her tears. “You did like me, didn’t you?”
Never, not once, had they confirmed this question.
At first, she just contacted him frequently, initially using classmate gatherings as an excuse before it turned into eating meals alone together, crossing two districts to audit classes at that universally admired university, occasionally sharing music and movies he liked or sending him dad jokes, until one time when they were planning to go to an amusement park and Song Cong said he had someone he couldn’t forget.
He was brilliant; of course, he knew what she was doing.
It was the beginning of the second semester of freshman year, and Qi Qi told him it was fine, and that competition should be fair and just.
She continued to orbit around him, without novelty or pretense. Qi Qi had no illusions about wearing down stone with dedication; Song Cong was better than anyone she’d ever met, she liked him and liked being around him, and if one day he said sorry, it wouldn’t work, that would mean it wasn’t meant to be and she wouldn’t have a single complaint.
Later one day, they went to see a photography exhibition. Qi Qi went to the bathroom, and when she came out, she heard someone talking to Song Cong: “This girl’s double eyelids—surgically done.”
She stopped, not moving forward.
Then she heard Song Cong’s voice: “What’s it to you? I like it.”
It must have been someone he knew because he’d said it with a laugh.
At that moment her heart beat more violently than ever before—Song Cong said “I like it.”
As for what they saw in the second half of the exhibition, Qi Qi had no memory at all.
Leaving the gallery, she asked Song Cong, “Did I win?”
Win over the person in your heart.
Song Cong looked at her and said, “Mm, you won.”
On that sun-drenched morning, he held her hand and walked her back to school.
“Stop crying.” Song Cong pulled out two tissues and handed them to her, sighing. “Whether I liked you or not—does that need to be said?”
No need—Qi Qi knew that in the past, or even in this moment as time continued to flow, she had always been liked.
He would accompany her through pouring rain to complete her social survey assignments and stay up several nights in a row helping her find needed references to perfect her thesis. Song Cong was low-key by nature; sometimes when she used his phone to post random moments on social media, he would just smile, neither stopping her nor deleting them, because he knew that beneath her proud exterior lay a soft heart, knew that despite her competitive nature she often secretly felt inferior. Song Cong had always racked his brains to provide security and try to make up for those missed years—Qi Qi knew all of this.
It’s just… it’s just that they couldn’t reach an agreement on too many things.
“Alright, no more crying.” Song Cong clasped his hands and rested his chin on them, finally saying after a long while, “Don’t force yourself. I’ll do what you say.”
He’d already sensed it.
The phrase “hearts linked as one” suits lovers best, because they’ve sincerely given themselves to each other and tried their best to understand each other. In their world of two where nothing could be hidden, they keenly perceived each other’s slightest changes.
The increasingly exposed differences, the exhausting arguments these differences brought, the unsolvable questions these arguments created, and the damage done to their relationship—how could those involved not be clear about it all?
Song Cong even knew Qi Qi had started preparing for the IELTS exam. She hadn’t mentioned it, and he simply hadn’t asked.
The future of two people is the world’s simplest math problem—mine plus yours equals ours.
“I…” Qi Qi rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “Let me think about it some more.”
She’d thought it through clearly before coming, how to speak, what to do, how to say goodbye at this fork in the road, but that small cheesecake in front of her made her hesitate—Song Cong’s heart had always been clear and bright, and she couldn’t bear to part from him.
The tea had gone cold. Song Cong stood up and took her hand. “Let’s go, I’ll walk you back.”
His palm was very warm.