That night, Cen Jin slept restlessly and woke up around six in the morning.
She rolled over, stretching out her arm to embrace the person beside her, but found only space. Her heart sank as she discovered Li Wu was no longer in the room.
Cen Jin hurriedly got out of bed to look for him.
The hallway was dark, with only a warm glow coming from the living room direction.
Following the light, Cen Jin found Li Wu in the kitchen, sitting at the dining table with only a pendant lamp lit, head lowered as he wrote intermittently, looking as focused as if taking an exam.
He hadn’t noticed Cen Jin watching him from the dark corridor corner for quite some time.
Cen Jin walked over in her slippers, tiptoeing carefully, and he remained unaware, his brows furrowed in concentration.
Only when her slim shadow fell across his paper covered in dense writing did Li Wu suddenly look up, hastily covering his notebook.
Cen Jin didn’t try to grab it, only asking: “What are you doing? Making up homework?”
The young man pressed his elbow on the cover, looking conspicuously guilty: “No.”
“Then what?”
Li Wu thought for a moment and decided not to hide it: “I’m afraid I won’t be able to speak when I meet Uncle and Auntie, so I wanted to organize my thoughts first.”
Cen Jin laughed: “Are you writing a thesis? Even outlining.”
Li Wu rubbed the back of his head, somewhat embarrassed: “Not really.”
Fair enough, opportunity favors the prepared. Cen Jin brushed his hair, like stroking a patch of grass: “Need my advice?”
“No need, if you help it would be like cheating,” Li Wu stood up, still protecting his outline as if afraid Cen Jin might suddenly snatch it: “There’s congee in the pot, I’ll get you some.”
Cen Jin didn’t insist: “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”
“Brush after eating.”
“Alright.”
After speaking, she turned toward the counter. Li Wu followed, and as soon as he got close, his arms encircled her waist, matching her step for step, refusing to separate.
With a big tail-follower dragging behind her, Cen Jin’s steps became uneven. After bumping into Li Wu’s leg for the third time, Cen Jin reached back to punch his stomach, telling him to move away.
It was like an ant’s scratch – Li Wu didn’t budge at all, instead holding her even tighter, whispering behind her ear: “Have uncle and auntie contacted you?”
Cen Jin stopped in front of the rice cooker, tilting her head: “I haven’t checked my phone yet.”
“Take a look,” he pleaded earnestly.
Cen Jin laughed: “What, nervous?”
“Mm.” He felt completely uncertain.
Li Wu asked: “How come you’re not nervous?”
Cen Jin remained composed: “I am nervous.”
“Can’t tell at all.”
“What’s done is done.” Cen Jin picked up the bowl. “We can only let nature take its course.”
Li Wu was extremely anxious: “Quick, turn on your phone and check.”
Cen Jin snorted: “Weren’t you so brave a few hours ago? What happened to that reckless spirit of living and dying together with me?”
“I’m worried they’ll be anxious if they can’t find you.”
Cen Jin sniffed the fragrant five-grain congee: “Didn’t my dad exchange phone numbers with you? Has he contacted you?”
Li Wu scratched his head: “That’s just it – he hasn’t.”
The complete calm made him even more restless. He would rather Cen Jin’s parents immediately make their stance clear so he could address their concerns specifically.
Cen Jin also found it strange, so she took out her phone from her pocket. Just as she pressed the side button, the young man behind her suddenly turned his face away, wanting but afraid to look.
Cen Jin glanced at him: “Do you know what you look like right now?”
Li Wu looked back, face full of curiosity: “What?”
“Like me when I was little, getting blood drawn at the hospital, afraid to look at the needle – the same.”
“Well, I’m not afraid of that anymore.”
The young man looked up at the ceiling, letting out a long breath, as if awaiting fate’s judgment. The next moment he stared straight at Cen Jin’s lit-up screen, brave enough to face it.
Seconds later, they looked at each other in surprise.
Cen Jin’s side was equally uneventful – there wasn’t even a missed call notification from when her phone was off.
Cen Jin puzzledly opened WeChat.
The chat list was crowded, reaching Cen Jin’s social peak overnight. There were close friends and casual acquaintances, some offering sincere congratulations, others using blessings as a pretext to pry.
Among the flood of messages, Cen Jin immediately spotted her father’s WeChat. He had only sent a simple invitation, his tone gentle:
“Jin Jin, would you like to have lunch with Dad tomorrow, just the two of us?” There was even a small smiley face at the end.
The time was 12:43 AM.
Cen Jin’s nose tingled. Her dad usually followed a healthy lifestyle, typically going to bed before eleven. It seemed he had been sleepless last night, all because of his willful daughter following her heart.