The next day, Song Cong didn’t show up. In the afternoon, he sent a message saying he had a cold and felt weak all over, so the dinner was postponed to the third day.
At the most popular big plate chicken restaurant near the school, Huan’er waited endlessly, enduring the impatient glares from the queue and the owner’s constant urging, before Jing Qichi and Song Cong finally arrived. To make matters worse, just as she was about to vent about the agony of waiting, Jing Qichi struck up a conversation with a few girls in line. The girls, who had been complaining moments ago, were now chatting animatedly with him, their enthusiasm making Huan’er’s scalp tingle.
“Flirty butterfly,” Chen Huan’er muttered under her breath.
Song Cong chuckled. “He’s pulled two all-nighters and is nearly driven mad by his project. Let him flutter around for a bit.”
“How did you two run into each other?”
“Just happened to,” Song Cong replied vaguely, his voice nasal from the cold.
Huan’er signaled the waiter for a cup of hot water and asked, “Where’s Qi?”
Before Song Cong could answer, Jing Qichi plopped down between them, declaring, “Starving,” and began devouring the food with his chopsticks. His hair was a mess, sticking to his scalp, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, and his clothes—who knew how long he’d been wearing them—reeked of cigarettes. The tag of his T-shirt peeked out from the back of his collar. Huan’er tugged at it. “Did you wear this inside out after the front got dirty?”
The man in question half-turned to glance at it and mumbled through a mouthful of food, “Didn’t notice.”
Huan’er and Song Cong started discussing their fields. With overlapping interests in medical sciences and Song Cong studying at the top university, absorbing cutting-edge theories and the latest perspectives, they chatted enthusiastically about everything from graduation theses to research topics. Huan’er admired him, knowing she could never be like him. Effort determines height, but talent breaks through it. Once, this talent had manifested in top grades and academic excellence; now, it translated into broad vision, divergent thinking, and extraordinary ambition. He loved medicine purely and relentlessly, destined for greatness whether in research or on the front lines.
The so-called “greenhouse generation” of the ’90s, raised in smooth sailing, had all grown into fine young adults. They were about to be thrust into the torrent of society, sharpening their blades, their dreams burning bright.
Jing Qichi was the first to put down his chopsticks. Chewing, he glanced at his phone and bolted for the door. “I’m off. You two handle the bill.”
Rare sight—even the carefree one was now focused on his work.
Huan’er sighed, picking up the chopsticks he’d knocked over in his haste. “What exactly is he working on?”
“Not sure about the details,” Song Cong shook his head. “Something about AI applications in healthcare. He asked me a bunch of questions today about pathological imaging and lesion detection. The project involves a lot of interdisciplinary stuff—pretty challenging.”
They had grown up, but their hearts remained in the small world of the Family Compound. In the end, none of them had truly left that big circle.
As the two continued eating, the one who’d just left suddenly returned, accompanied by someone else whose expression was downright grim.
Jing Qichi tapped the table awkwardly. “Uh, Qi Qi’s here.”
Huan’er and Song Cong turned and looked up simultaneously, then both stood up at once.
Huan’er rose because she’d keenly sensed Qi Qi’s dark mood, while Song Cong’s face showed genuine confusion. “Why are you here? I thought we agreed I’d pick you up after this?”
Qi Qi swept a glance over the table. “Finished eating?”
Before Song Cong could speak, Huan’er cut in. “We’re done. You two go ahead. I’ll take care of the bill.”"Don't, I'll get it." Although Jing Qichi said this, he nudged Huan'er towards the cashier together.
Qi Qi turned and walked away without another word. Song Cong exchanged glances with the others and quickly followed.
Once they left the restaurant, Jing Qichi took a deep breath. "Seems like trouble."
"No kidding." Huan'er, unaware of the context, lowered her voice to ask, "Did you invite Qi Qi here?"
"Impossible. Haven't contacted her in ages." Jing Qichi paid without looking up.
That made sense. During their senior year, he had buried himself in studies and cut ties with almost everyone. After graduation, they were in different cities and only managed rare gatherings during holidays. Plus, with Song Cong and Qi Qi officially together, Jing Qichi would avoid any potential misunderstandings.
He then asked, "Who else knew about the three of us having dinner?"
"Lu'er, Du Man..."
"Du Man?"
Huan'er nodded. "We happened to chat today, and I casually mentioned the three of us were having braised chicken tonight."
"Mystery solved." Jing Qichi put away his wallet. "Let's go. Can't avoid trouble now."
The restaurant exit led to one of the school's gates. This side was bustling with supermarkets, nail salons, and various eateries, constantly crowded with students. Across the street, separated by a wall, was the affiliated elementary school with only a pedestrian walkway. By the time Huan'er and Jing Qichi approached, they could hear a heated argument between Song Cong and Qi Qi on the opposite side.
"I now have to ask around to find out where my boyfriend is and what he's doing," Qi Qi said, barely containing her anger as she glared at him. "Is that right, Song Cong?"
Huan'er moved closer to explain but was yanked back by Jing Qichi, who silently shook his head.
"Let's talk at home." Song Cong rubbed his temples, softening his tone. "Can we talk at home?"
"You had plans with friends, said you weren't feeling well and didn’t want to go—fine." Qi Qi showed no intention of backing down, firing off questions. "But then you came here to eat by yourself? And what’s so secretive about having dinner with these two? Am I an outsider? Is your trio some exclusive club no one else can join?"
"I told you, I didn’t want to go because it was all drinking and karaoke—too noisy." Song Cong’s irritation surfaced. "No one thinks you’re an outsider. I just came here to grab a meal with them, that’s all."
"Why didn’t you tell me?"
"Do we really... need to report every little thing to each other?"
Qi Qi’s eyes reddened. "You think I’m monitoring you? That I’m a burden?"
"That’s not what I meant." Song Cong placed his hands on her shoulders. "Calm down. Let’s talk at home, okay?"
"My friends asked why you came but didn’t show up. Song Cong, I want to introduce you to them, but what about you? Do I even exist in your life? Do you want to be part of mine?" Tears streamed down Qi Qi’s face, but she ignored them, fixated on her question. "Do you?"
Passing students glanced their way, instinctively giving them a wide berth. Song Cong stepped sideways to shield Qi Qi from the stares, sighing inwardly.
Huan'er tried to intervene again, but Jing Qichi pulled her toward campus. "Stay out of it. They’re not five-year-olds."
Huan'er took a few backward steps before turning around. "What’s really going on with them?"
Two big fights in three days—this was far from normal for a couple."Lao Song said..." Jing Qichi paused, "he can't meet Qi Qi's requirements."
"Requirements?"
"All kinds." Jing Qichi looked at her, "You should know, Qi Qi... she didn't grow up like us."
Huan'er suddenly recalled the scene from that year when she attended the birthday party. Qi Qi's home had two floors, with just the living room alone being as large as an entire unit in the Family Compound. The ceilings were high, crystal chandeliers sparkled brightly, and the walls were adorned with framed calligraphy and paintings—though even after seeing the artist's seals and signatures, Huan'er still had no idea who these creators were. The person Qi Qi called "Auntie" spoke little but was constantly busy, sometimes washing fruits, sometimes cooking, sometimes cleaning up the mess they left behind. But back then, Chen Huan'er wasn't mature enough. She knew "Auntie" was a profession for Qi Qi's family, but she couldn't grasp what kind of material or even class differences this profession implied.
Now, Jing Qichi's words suddenly made her understand. Whether it was plane tickets, hotels, or shampoo bottles with handwritten labels, things that seemed trivial to kids from the Family Compound might truly be first-time experiences for Qi Qi.
Perhaps all these things shaped Qi Qi's companionable personality—abundance in one aspect leading to lack in another. Qi Qi needed companionship and was willing to offer it in return. Huan'er especially remembered those years when they were inseparable, even going to the bathroom arm in arm.
"Yes, I know." Huan'er glanced back—the quarreling couple was nowhere in sight.
In their youth, they wore the same uniforms, ate in the same cafeteria, and did the same homework. So many similarities made them unaware of the vast differences in their upbringing that led to those "differences." Like how Qi Qi always turned at the first intersection to go home—because her home was in the most expensive villa district in the city center. What fifteen- or sixteen-year-old would notice such things?
"So," Jing Qichi muttered to himself, "how could Song Cong not know?"
Without a doubt, Song Cong had always been the smartest among them.
Huan'er let out a soft sigh.
She thought for a moment and asked, "Is there anything we can do?"
As Song Cong's best friends.
"That year when Aunt Hao had her accident," Jing Qichi rubbed his neck, "what did we do?"
Back then, it was a conflict among the adults—they had no place, nor the ability, to help. Only after Song Cong transferred schools did the three of them gather at their usual spot one day. Huan'er earnestly told their friend that if there was anything they could do, he must, must say it out loud. Jing Qichi added, we're not joking. That was all—because they didn't know what else to do, they could only wait for him to ask and then give their all.
Huan'er immediately understood what he meant, but the thought brought an inexplicable sadness. "Qi Chi, I genuinely hope Song Cong is doing well."
Jing Qichi ruffled her hair. "Me too."
They weren't maintaining their friendship—the bond forged through growing up together didn't need strenuous effort to preserve. Even separated by thousands of miles, even with mountains and roads between them, even as years passed and each of them changed, some emotions stored deep in their hearts remained evergreen, enduring and vibrant.
How fortunate, to have met you—all of you—in this lifetime.
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