Always Home

Regarding those two days of the major exams, Chen Huan'er only remembers the rain.

Her father took time off work specifically to accompany them. Each morning, he drove the two examinees and their mothers to the test center. Traffic police in bright yellow jackets appeared at every intersection, their faces blurred behind the rain-streaked car windows. Huan'er asked Jing Qichi, "Recite a poem about rain for me." He quoted, "Four hundred and eighty temples of the Southern Dynasties..." Chen Ma chimed in, "But that doesn't mention rain at all." Everyone burst into laughter, and Huan'er secretly tugged at Jing Qichi's school uniform—"See? This is why my Chinese is so bad, I take after my mom." The next day, the rain poured even heavier. The windshield wipers swung frantically in mechanical motion. Huan'er wondered if they'd test the kinetic energy theorem, to which he replied, "Try recalling the formula for work." Nervous—so nervous that every detail seemed like a potential exam question, as if the heavens were dropping hidden clues. Whoever noticed them first would gain the upper hand.

Torrential rain, pouring rain, drizzling rain—rain accompanied them on their way to the exam, rain tapped against the windows as they wrote their answers, and even when the skies cleared as they put down their pens, it felt like a light drizzle still lingered in their hearts. A prolonged rain, reluctant to mark the end of this farewell.

Afterward came sleep—deep, endless sleep; binge-watching TV until day and night blurred; packing up textbooks into stacks nearly as tall as a person. When the results came out, there were no surprises. Like most examinees, Chen Huan'er had simply given a decent account of her three years of hard work.

She applied to a university far away, a full day's train ride from home. Her parents didn't object. Chen Ma optimistically predicted that a high-speed rail line would surely connect there before graduation, while Chen Ba joked that they'd truly become "three lonely figures with only their shadows for company" now. She had hesitated—maybe she should just study locally, where hometown candidates enjoyed absolute score advantages for equivalent universities. Or perhaps Beijing, where Song Cong would undoubtedly be (news of his stellar results had spread through the Family Compound immediately after release—he never disappointed). The commute would be easier too. But after wavering, she dismissed the idea. She wanted to see more distant places—to listen to ferry horns, gaze at the Yangtze River, and experience the damp, soft earth and red-and-blue trivialities from songs. Besides, most of life's choices are made for us; finally holding this rare chance to choose for herself, it'd be a shame not to use it.

Jing Qichi, however, had gone radio silent after the exams. Jing's Mother said he locked himself in his room every day, tinkering with his computer. Once, when Huan'er visited, his desk was strewn with intimidating technical books on HTML and CSS, the guy himself typing away in shorts, the screen filled with symbols and code. "What are you doing?" she asked. Without turning, he teased, "Wait a few more days." Those days stretched until scores were released. Huan'er knew his results were much higher than hers, but when asked about schools, he remained evasive. She snatched his application form when he wasn't looking but only caught the word "Beijing" before he grabbed it back. "Stop snooping," he said, as if revealing it would jinx his admission like some celestial secret.Chen Huan'er returned to her hometown Sishui to recuperate. Her grandfather planted a few cherry saplings in the yard, their slender roots clinging tightly to the soil like shy, reserved distant relatives paying a visit. He said, "By the time my eldest granddaughter graduates from university, these will bear fruit." Huan'er chuckled foolishly. In the world of the elderly, time always seemed to speed by—in the blink of an eye, autumn harvest came and went, then winter solstice, then another year, and before you knew it, children grew into adults. Her yet-to-begin university life, in their eyes, was merely the time it took for a tree to grow from planting to bearing fruit—just a blink, passing swiftly.

The ancients said one takes on the color of one's company. After spending time with the older generation, Huan'er found herself becoming more calm and gentle. So when her mother called to say the admission letter had arrived but her major had been adjusted to Pharmacy, she didn't react too strongly. Unlike Song Cong, who had his life planned out early, Huan'er took things as they came. Medicine was still within the same broad circle—like the protective boundary Sun Wukong drew for Tang Sanzang, since she couldn't escape it, she might as well find joy within it.

She joked with her mother, "Well, now you can dump all the incurable diseases you can't treat onto me. Doctor Chen will cure you with a single pill."

"You," Chen Ma laughed on the other end, "enjoy your happiness while it lasts. You'll have plenty to worry about once studies begin."

Huan'er hurried to end the call, "Gotta go, I need to tell Dad right away."

"Wait," Chen Ma stopped her, "Qi Chi is going to the same school. Look out for each other. Aunt Lin and I will feel better knowing that."

This left Huan'er stunned. "How did he...?"

Jing Qichi was supposed to go to Beijing. No, wait—he had extra points too. With his scores, he could have chosen somewhere much better.

"Yeah, his letter came this morning. Aunt Lin can finally relax." Chen Ma rambled on, "How strange—same school, same place, yet delivered separately. I was thinking, if others got theirs and you didn't, you must've missed out. If you ended up studying right at home, I'd have to put up with you for four more years..."

"Mom," Huan'er interrupted, "you knew all along he was going to the same school as me?"

"Of course." Chen Ma sounded nonchalant.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why would I? You two had it all worked out." Chen Ma's voice carried amusement before she abruptly ended the call, "Another call's coming in. Tell your dad yourself."

Worked out? That was completely untrue.

Jing Qichi must have told them that, while she, assuming he was Beijing-bound, had never asked.

Huan'er spent the entire afternoon thinking. A thought took root in her heart like a seed, sprouting and growing into vines that wrapped around her, itching and unsettling her until she couldn't bear it. That evening, she finally called Jing Qichi. When he answered, she found herself at a loss for words. The silence made the vines grow wilder, tightening around her heart until there was no way out.

"About school?" Jing Qichi asked first.

"Yeah."

"Auntie told you?"

"Yes."

"When are you coming back?"

"Before term starts."

He laughed on the other end, "That's too long."

Huan'er gripped the phone tightly. "Jing Qichi, why did you choose the same school as me?"

Her grandmother hadn't turned the faucet off properly before her evening walk. Huan'er could clearly hear water droplets hitting the tiled sink.

Drip. Drip.

Only that sound.

After a long pause, his voice came through, laced with laughter, "What do you think?"

It was clear he intended to continue. Huan'er even heard the beginning of his next words, but as if possessed, she cut him off, "Don't say it. Don't."The other end fell silent. She knew Jing Qichi was waiting for an explanation.

"Because..." Huan'er's heart raced, her palms inexplicably sweating. "Because it's unclear. Everything's unclear."

With that, she directly pressed the end call button.

And he didn't call back.

Two days later, Jing Qichi texted asking if she was attending the graduation banquet. Liao Xinyan had already announced the time and location in the group chat, even privately messaging Huan'er to insist she come. Huan'er replied "Yes," to which he responded, "Then let's go together later."

A perfectly ordinary conversation, questions and answers revealing no emotion. That phone call that had nearly crossed a line, along with that afternoon full of unspoken thoughts, seemed forgotten by those involved—or perhaps it had all been an imagined scenario that never truly happened in reality.

Over thirty people came to the graduation banquet. Some were traveling, others visiting relatives abroad, and a few were single-mindedly preparing to retake the exams. Certain joys couldn't be shared; forcing them would only come across as condescending bragging.

The guest of honor, Lao Xu, showed up in casual sportswear. Whether because this graduating class had achieved remarkable results or because he'd soon be teaching a new, less stressful group of first-years, halfway through the banquet he began complaining, "I know you all secretly call me Yu Chengze—heck, you even took away the double radical. I radiate human brilliance every day, and this is how you repay me?"

The room erupted in laughter, with people banging tables and bowls.

"I always say these are the most important three years of your lives, but that's not true—or at least, they probably won't be," Lao Xu took a sip of alcohol. "Your lives are still long. I just hope when you're my age and look back, you'll think, 'Oh, that was a worthwhile time when I did right by myself.' That's enough."

People are multifaceted. Maybe it takes over a thousand days and nights to see someone's other side. Not all concealment is hypocrisy—whether out of duty, morality, or some higher pursuit, who can say?

Lao Xu drank every toast offered, determined to celebrate with everyone, his face flushed red after one round. A few boys escorted him out early, and the moment he left, the private room grew even noisier. Classmates began switching seats to reminisce about small past incidents or huddling together, clinking glasses to bid farewell and offer blessings. Du Man came over from another table and nudged Huan'er, who scooted over to make half the seat available. Squeezing in, Du Man traced the rim of her cup with a finger. "You... didn't know I lived in the same compound as you, did you?"

Huan'er looked at her in surprise and shook her head.

"My family's also in the No. 3 Family Compound, the building at the very edge after you turn in from the main gate," Du Man smiled. "Barely counts, but I'm technically a family member too."

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Huan'er felt somewhat dejected. "We could've gone back together on weekends."

"You and I, you and Song Cong and Jing Qichi—we're not quite the same," Du Man's voice lowered. "You know that little shop next to the emergency entrance? My mom runs it. My dad used to drive trucks for the factory, but when it went under last year, my mom pulled strings to get him a job driving ambulances. As a temp."

Huan'er quietly replied, "What's the difference? You're from a dual-income family."

Only then did Huan'er notice Du Man's pupils were a strikingly exotic deep brown, her eyebrows and lashes thick, the black-framed glasses on her nose truly obscuring the girl's originally vivid, charming features.

"It's just..." Du Man tugged at her lips. "A bit embarrassing, I guess."

Huan'er nudged her. "From now on, your parents will be genuine family members."Du Man was about to enroll at Capital Medical University, having turned her obsession into reality.

"Huan'er," the girl said, now somewhat emotional, "that time I had diarrhea and you went to the infirmary to buy me medicine—did you fall on your way back?"

Chen Huan'er would never admit to such an embarrassing incident. "No way, I’ve trained my lower body strength."

She had long forgotten about buying medicine for Du Man.

"Anyway, I told myself back then that after graduation, I had to thank you properly." Du Man remembered it was during that unpredictable early spring when the ice on campus hadn’t fully melted. Her desk mate had returned panting, holding the medicine, with mud stains all over the knees of her school uniform pants.

"Why wait until after graduation?"

Du Man tilted her head and smiled. "I told myself not to make new friends. With friends comes the urge to confide, and I couldn’t afford the distraction."

Her gaze was sincere and unguarded, as if she had long understood the consequences of her choice. Huan'er had neither the right nor the desire to question whether it was right or wrong—she only realized how subjective she had been. In her eyes, this desk mate had been nothing but a dull bookworm who buried herself in studies, completely unaware that the other girl harbored such a rich inner world and had mustered immense willpower to force herself into that appearance.

Not understanding enough was just an excuse. Not wanting to understand was the real reason.

As the two spoke, a commotion erupted behind them. A bright, clear voice rose above all the laughter, ringing out unmistakably:

"Jing Qichi, I like you. I really, really like you."