Always Home

Chen Huan'er only learned about Tian Chi's violent encounter a month later.

She went to the club as a seasoned member to give pre-competition guidance. During a break, she chatted with the freshmen about why they joined the martial arts club. Two boys from the medical school laughed and said, "To fight back, of course. Don’t want to end up like Senior Tian Chi, getting beaten up for no reason and having to take it lying down."

She pressed for details: a month ago, on the path beside the second cafeteria, two masked boys had attacked Tian Chi. Later, a senior girl he knew took him to the campus hospital. The security office couldn’t find the culprits because, coincidentally, the surveillance footage for that time was blacked out.

As if there were so many coincidences.

Huan'er suppressed her anger and went to find Huang Lu. On the day she had dinner with Song Cong and Jing Qichi, Huang Lu had returned to the dorm very late and even took a call from their advisor—keywords being Tian Chi, second cafeteria, campus hospital.

Huang Lu’s verdict at the time was, "Those who do evil will reap the consequences."

So naive. If the world truly had so much retribution, why would hate crimes remain rampant?

Huang Lu didn’t bother hiding it. She admitted cheerfully, "I was the one who lured Tian Chi out. Your little friends did the deed, but it wasn’t even that bad. Just made him delete those posts about you and warned him that if he kept spouting nonsense, the whole internet would see. The surveillance was hacked by Jing Qichi—no traces left. And I, the benevolent fairy, even kindly escorted him to the hospital. What a flawless plan."

Huan'er stomped her foot in frustration. "No matter what, you can’t just hit someone! Do you not care about graduating?"

If this got out and they were penalized, Song Cong, being from another school, might be a separate case—but these two troublemakers from their own university would be done for.

"That bastard only dared to report it in the heat of the moment. You think he’d actually pursue it afterward? Does he really want the whole school to know about his dirty laundry?"

"You actually hit someone, you—"

"Beating people up is kind of your thing, isn’t it?" Huang Lu waved it off, laughing so hard she swayed.

Huan'er glared at her fiercely. Back in their sophomore year, during an intercollegiate mixer, Huang Lu had called her mid-event, saying a guy was getting handsy and giving her creepy looks. By the time Huan'er arrived at the KTV to pick her up, the guy was following Huang Lu out and, in a moment of carelessness, grabbed her and tried to force a kiss. Chen Huan'er saw red—this idiot had watched too many dramas, mistaking criminal behavior for some "dominant CEO" act. She yanked off her jacket, threw it over his head, dragged him into the men’s restroom, and beat him senseless. Rumor had it the guy later woke up in the men’s room and went around boasting that Huang Lu was already spoken for by someone fierce. He never bothered her again.

Hitting people was indeed something Chen Huan'er was familiar with, but special circumstances were a different matter. Violence as retaliation was anything but noble.

"Enough," Huang Lu said, turning serious. "You can’t stand others messing with me, and I sure as hell won’t tolerate scumbags walking all over you. This was my idea from start to finish—don’t go blaming Xiao Jing."

"Speaking of which," Huan'er clenched her fists and stormed straight to the computer science department.

Finding Jing Qichi wasn’t hard. The passersby barely batted an eye at yet another girl coming to look for him—though to Huan'er, their glances clearly carried a "here comes another one" kind of pity.

At the very back of the lab, by the window, six guys were huddled around four screens, deep in heated discussion. Jing Qichi stood in the middle, wearing the same hoodie, the same messy hair, round-framed glasses perched on his nose, spouting jargon she couldn’t understand. When had he gotten nearsighted? Huan'er stood at the doorway, her mind stuck on that question—she couldn’t recall ever seeing him wear glasses before.

Then again, after all these years at the same school, she’d hardly ever set foot in the computer science building. Whatever happened to him here, she had no idea.Like a TV signal at night, you think the drama will keep playing, but the next second, the characters and stories all vanish, replaced by a blank period of static images.

A blank period had appeared between her and Jing Qichi.

"Someone's looking for you." A guy spotted Huan'er and, unsurprised, patted Jing Qichi on the shoulder.

Only then did he look up—or more accurately, with the angle of his glasses, his posture was almost like tilting his head back to the sky—and after recognizing her, he asked dully, "What are you doing here?"

His state showed he hadn’t fully detached from the screen.

"To eat," Huan'er replied.

Qiu Yang, sitting in front of the screen, typed away while shooing him off. "Go on, bring us something when you come back. Anything’s fine."

"This part’s wrong." Jing Qichi showed no intention of leaving, pointing at the screen to voice his opinion.

"Get lost. I’m starving." Qiu Yang’s fingers flew over the keyboard, then suddenly stopped as he glanced toward the door. Meeting Huan'er’s gaze, he said, "Hey."

She had seen Qiu Yang two or three times before. Chen Huan'er prided herself on being fair and impartial, free from any departmental biases, but Qiu Yang’s style screamed "Arts School" or at least "Journalism School"—far from the rough-and-tumble vibe of the Computer Science guys.

"Oh, hey." Qiu Yang’s eyes and voice were equally dull, his greeting more of a reflexive action as he remained adrift in a sea of dense data.

Any trace of meticulous skincare was long gone. Thanks to the still-blazing sun in the evening, Huan'er could clearly spot a few large pimples on his face.

Jing Qichi stared at the screen a while longer before finally pushing up his glasses and ambling over. "Did you bring money?"

Huan'er answered, "Yes."

"Since when did Little Jing start freeloading?" A guy standing nearby plopped down in front of another computer, grinning as he teased.

"Please, I’m the one supporting her." Jing Qichi walked to the door, striding ahead. "Let’s go."

The atmosphere was light, yet Huan'er felt an inexplicable heaviness. Whether it was the unusually disheveled Qiu Yang, the other guy who hadn’t spoken a word and seemed about to dive into his monitor, or even Jing Qichi—who, for once, hadn’t worn his clothes inside out but had managed to wear them backward (the front design was on his back, and the neckline choked his throat)—everyone in that room radiated focus, from their eyes to their movements. She could sense the tension, like an arrow nocked and ready to fire.

Outside in the hallway, Huan'er tugged at his clothes. "How old are you? Can’t even dress yourself properly."

"Huh?" Jing Qichi frowned and looked down, only then realizing with a delayed "Ah."

He took off his glasses and handed them to Huan'er, then started stripping off his sweatshirt right there. The hem lifted, exposing most of his waist—the well-defined muscles of someone who exercised regularly. Huan'er glanced, quickly turned away, then thought better of it and turned back to yank his T-shirt down over his torso, muttering, "Just how busy have you been lately?"

A familiar classmate passed by in the hallway and greeted them, "Little Jing, your project done yet?"

"Almost," Jing Qichi replied, slipping his arms into the sleeves and pulling the sweatshirt over his head. "Has to be. Submission’s at the end of the month."

"I heard the other team’s topic overlaps with yours a bit."

"The other team" naturally referred to their rival school a few blocks away.

Their schools’ history—full of mutual jabs about one being "stiff" and the other "reckless"—was less a love story and more a saga of competition thick enough to fill a tome.

"Let them overlap." Jing Qichi snorted. "Not scared.""Sure, go for it." The greeting guy finally noticed Huan'er and raised his eyebrows teasingly. "No wonder you're off on another date."

Jing Qichi laughed. "I was the one invited."

Huan'er was smoothing out the crumpled hem of his hoodie when she heard this nonsense. Her hand slipped under the fabric and pinched his waist hard.

"Ow." Jing Qichi squirmed instinctively, turning to face Huan'er's unmistakably hostile expression. Without a word, the girl strode away.

His troublemaking classmate continued obliviously, "Which department's that girl from? Never seen her before..."

"Shit." Jing Qichi threw out the words and hurried after her.

The greeting guy stood bewildered—when had the Computer Science Department's golden boy ever chased after a girl like this? Passing the lab door, he stuck his head in. "Qiu Yang, do you know that girl just now?"

Qiu Yang was tearing at his hair over a design problem, lifting his head at glacial speed. "Who?"

"Jing Qichi."

"Oh, reformed playboy." Qiu Yang slowly returned his gaze to the bugged code on his screen, rubbing his fingers together in self-comfort. "No rush, no rush. There's hope for everything."

Outside the building, Jing Qichi caught up to Huan'er. "They were joking. Well, I was joking."

"Don't include me in your dating roster." Huan'er shot him a sidelong glare. "Too crowded here."

Her reaction actually reassured Jing Qichi, stirring a secret flicker of delight.

Emotions were life's most delicate alchemy. They seemed to be retracing old steps—re-entering each other's lives as the most trusted confidants—yet needed impurities to prevent this bond from becoming too "pure."The ache of disparity, the tang of possessiveness, the sting of jealousy—these were necessary additives." Chen Huan'er might not realize it yet, but someone who worked daily with chemical compounds would eventually recognize their significance. She'd understand.

"Place is packed," Jing Qichi grinned at her, "but the competition's mediocre."

Desperate times called for desperate measures—impurity dosage required precision. A fraction too much or too little would yield entirely different results.

Romantic pursuits weren't Jing Qichi's forte, but chasing Chen Huan'er came instinctively.

His phone vibrated. Seeing the caller ID, he mouthed "my advisor" at Huan'er before turning away to answer. She waited, catching fragments: "Still mainly model training, Qiu Yang's team's optimizing... Used last year's competition template for the proposal, modified environmental analysis and market positioning... Right, I'll send the draft pitch materials later." His head bowed, right foot tapping rhythmically against pavement—the telltale fidget of stress, pressure, or preoccupation. Probably a habit formed after his right knee surgery, lingering like phantom rehab exercises, or perhaps his body's way of self-soothing.

Jing Qichi swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "Why can't we?"

Huan'er froze, momentarily lost.

He held her gaze, repeating softly, "Why can't we?"

Eye to eye, Chen Huan'er surrendered first. She looked down. "I... can't think about this right now."

Fresh from a breakup, this wasn't her season.

Jing Qichi stayed silent.Huan'er raised her head again, "At this moment, no matter what decision I make, it won't be fair to you—or to me either."

It wasn't that hesitant phone call, nor the wild guesses after the freshman football match. Their third attempt at understanding each other was an open and honest conversation. One made a proposal, the other answered truthfully—no evasion, just mutual clarity. Time had taught them to face their hearts honestly, and through one negotiation after another, their trust in each other had grown stronger—surely, you can understand this candid version of me right now, can't you?

"Then let's wait until after this moment," Jing Qichi whispered close to her ear, his voice slightly hoarse. "Wait until you have an answer."

On the second day of the National Day holiday, Song Cong and Qi Qi arrived, each carrying a backpack, looking every bit the budget travelers. Jing Qichi was busy preparing for a startup competition and couldn't leave as he was the main force, so Huan'er played host that day, treating the guests who had come from afar.

Dinner was pleasant enough. They discussed their travel plans and agreed to visit the campus one day, with Huan'er recommending a few restaurants and cafés she thought were good. Both travelers were visibly exhausted from the day's journey, and the meal ended before 8 p.m. Seeing that Song Cong had booked a homestay nearby, Huan'er suggested walking them there before heading back to school.

The three arrived early at the accommodation, chatting and laughing as they waited for the landlord. When he still hadn't shown up, Song Cong called, only to receive an apology and news of a traffic jam delaying his arrival. Another call twenty minutes later yielded a promise that he was at the intersection and would be there soon. Another quarter of an hour passed, and the third call revealed he was parking and would arrive shortly.

By then, Qi Qi's displeasure was written all over her face. She muttered under her breath, "I told you we should've booked a hotel."

A homestay required key handover, and without the landlord, they couldn't get in.

"Let's wait a bit longer," Song Cong said simply.

"And coming here too," Qi Qi whispered to Huan'er. "A direct flight would've been quick and easy, but he insisted on taking the high-speed train. Kids crying, people arguing—couldn't sleep a wink for hours."

Huan'er quickly smoothed things over. "It's Golden Week—you're lucky to get train tickets at all. Qi Chi and I once took hard seats home, and our backsides were killing us."

"We could've gotten plane tickets too..."

As Qi Qi spoke, a young man in sportswear came jogging up, apologizing profusely before he even reached them. "So sorry, guys. Traffic was terrible, then I hit a roadblock from an accident. Really, really sorry."

Before Song Cong could respond, Qi Qi urged, "Hurry up, we're exhausted."

"Right, right." Noticing the couple, the landlord added, "I'll give you two movie tickets later as an apology."

The neighborhood was old but well-kept. A five-minute walk from the entrance brought them to the unit, with the homestay on the seventh floor. A one-bedroom apartment, small but clearly renovated, with brand-new furniture and decor. The landlord briefly explained the appliances and check-out process before leaving with another round of apologies.

Qi Qi, who wore contact lenses, found her eyes unbearably dry after the long day. Excusing herself, she headed to the bathroom. The wait had clearly put her in a bad mood. Song Cong set down his backpack and gave Huan'er a wry smile. "Alright, let me walk you down."

"No need, this is my turf." Huan'er waved. "See you later—call me."At that moment, a voice came from the bathroom, "Song Cong, come here quick. Look at all this stuff."

"What's wrong?" Song Cong said as he walked inside, with Huan'er hesitating for a moment before following.

"Look at this shampoo and shower gel, what kind of mess is this?" Qi Qi stood in front of the sink, pointing randomly. "The labels are all handwritten. Who would dare use this?"

The bottles and jars filled with milky liquid were clearly refill containers, with handwritten labels stuck on them using tape.

Song Cong rubbed his temples. "Let's make do for tonight. If you're not comfortable, we can buy new ones tomorrow."

"I said we should take a plane, but you insisted on train tickets. I suggested staying in a hotel, but you disagreed. I wanted to bring a suitcase, but you insisted on traveling light," Qi Qi vented all the frustration she had bottled up all night. "After waiting so long, I can't even take a proper shower. If it's like this, is there any point in going on this trip?"

"Stop," Song Cong made a halting gesture. "I'll go buy some now, okay?"

To Qi Qi, his words sounded like he was accusing her of being unreasonable. She raised her voice instantly. "I'm saying you never consider my opinions!"

"Can we just solve the problem at hand first?" Song Cong suppressed his anger. "Shampoo, shower gel, what else do you need? Conditioner? Anything else?"

"Me needing things?" Qi Qi, furious, knocked over the bottles. "Are my demands really that high?"

The glass refill bottles rolled onto the floor, shattering and mixing with the lotion into a messy puddle.

Huan'er stood awkwardly at the door, watching as the argument escalated. She quickly stepped in to mediate. "I'll go buy them. There's a mall right downstairs. You two have had a long day; you should rest. Why argue when we're supposed to be having fun?"

Huan'er looked at him. The anger she had felt earlier and the questions she had prepared now seemed completely irrelevant.

After hanging up the phone, Jing Qichi approached. "Alright, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Let's eat."

The boy narrowed his eyes at her. "Never mind, I'll think about it."

At a Sichuan restaurant outside campus, they ordered three dishes and some takeout. His phone kept buzzing with messages. Between bites, he would glance at it—sometimes quickly typing a reply, other times staring at the screen hesitantly before responding. Eating became a mechanical motion, his eyes glazed over, silent. Huan'er even wondered if he knew what he was eating. This state was worse than when he was chasing grades in high school—he kept pushing his limits.

How fortunate that he hadn't given up on himself, growing up on time into the young man he was now.

During a rare moment when his phone was quiet, Huan'er couldn't help but ask, "What exactly is this project of yours?"

Though Song Cong had mentioned it, it was far beyond her understanding.

"Simply put, it's an AI platform," Jing Qichi put down his phone. "You've been to radiology, right? Radiotherapy is just taking CT scans—three hundred, four hundred images—and then doctors mark the tumor locations one by one. If the radiation targets or penetration paths deviate, it could harm healthy organs, so drawing the targets is time-consuming and exhausting."

"Yeah." Huan'er nodded. She couldn't remember the name of the radiology chief at Third Hospital, but she recalled a stern, balding old man who ate super fast.

"Were you thinking of Director Liu?" Jing Qichi pushed his hair up to mimic Director Liu's appearance. "Old Liu."

"Hah, yeah." Huan'er laughed."So the platform's role is to replace humans in target delineation, freeing up Director Liu and the others." Jing Qichi gestured with his hands. "We integrate a vast amount of past imaging and data to build a database. Ideally, we should also incorporate doctors' expertise into this database. Then, based on algorithms, it outputs..." Seeing Huan'er's puzzled look, Jing Qichi changed his explanation. "Let me put it this way—in the future, you just import the CT scan, and it automatically outlines the target area, saving time and effort. What we're doing is building such a platform."

Huan'er understood. Even though Jing Qichi skipped over the most challenging and specialized parts, sitting here now, she not only grasped his project but also the burning passion behind his ideal.

What else could it be? Growing up watching those people make rounds, perform surgeries, and hold consultations—some with hair turned white, others with bodies worn down by illness, many missing important moments in their parents' or children's lives—if you asked them if they were tired, of course they were. Anyone would be. But even when exhausted or collapsing, they'd still worry about the patient needing a surgical plan. What Jing Qichi wanted to do, what he hoped for, was simply to ease the burden on these people around him.

Children from the Family Compound grow into adults, and this is their ideal.

"It's pretty hard, right?" Huan'er already knew it must be difficult.

She suddenly realized he was becoming more and more like Song Cong—speaking with clear logic, acting with steady reliability, and throwing himself fully into a goal once set.

"Hard," Jing Qichi didn’t deny it. "The unknown, the future—what isn’t hard?"

No, not the same. Song Cong only ever did things he was sure of. He had his own boundaries, and crossing them was never part of his life. Jing Qichi, though, was standing in the wilderness searching for direction, feeling for stones in the river. The myriad sights and colors were just scenery along the way—he was determined to carve out a path.

On the way back to campus, Jing Qichi casually remarked, "If it's about Tian Chi, I did it."

This was the only reason he could think of for Chen Huan'er to seek him out.

Huan'er had long lost any intention to confront him and replied flatly, "How childish. If I wanted to beat someone up, couldn’t I do it myself?"

Jing Qichi smirked. "What else could I do? Hack the campus network and expose him, waiting for you to get doxxed?"

Huan'er sighed and took a step forward, only to be yanked back by her hood. Jing Qichi pointed at the traffic light. "Do you know the difference between red and green lights?"

Huan'er rolled her eyes. "Getting quizzed on traffic rules at twenty-something?"

"You don’t have to go on green, but you must stop on red." He turned to look at her. "Let this be the end of it."

Stop worrying about that damn ex-boyfriend. Stop regretting the sincerity you’ve already given. Stop dwelling on the failed relationship. Stop being afraid to embrace a new life.

Let this be the end of it.

The traffic light changed, and the streams of cars on both sides came to an abrupt halt.

"Jing Qichi, you look..."

"Look what?"

"Pretty sexy with glasses on."

"Shut up."

"Seriously, like one of those creepy pretty boys."

"..."

"Take off the glasses, give a wicked smile, and throw yourself into a rich woman’s arms, ready to fire away."

"...Stop talking."The lost blank period cannot be reclaimed, just as a lover who has changed their heart can never be won back. Fortunately, we hold brushes in our hands, granting richer and more vivid possibilities to this moment and the endless future beyond. No one knows when the next leaf will fall, when the next rain will come, when the next lover will arrive, or when the next love will come knocking. Giving ourselves some anticipation, a bit of hope, and a vision—this may be the most fitting choice ordinary people should make.