Have you ever had such thoughts—wishing time would slow down, slow enough to remember every minute, to do all the things you’ve longed for in the limited time you have; yet also wishing it would speed up, fast enough to skip all the distance and separation, to leap straight to the moment of reunion and togetherness?
During Jing Qichi’s stay, Huan’er often found herself caught in this contradiction.
Truthfully, neither of them had meticulously planned how to spend their time together—neither Jing Qichi nor her. Yet, things she used to do alone naturally became shared memories—like visiting the British Museum together, walking until their legs ached but still not seeing everything; like riding the Ferris wheel together, where the Thames at night held a unique elegance; like eating together, sleeping together, grocery shopping together, watching a movie together—all the mundane repetitions became lively and delightful simply because they were done "together." Huan’er even began to feel grateful for this perpetually rainy city, where the loneliness and helplessness she had experienced ultimately made her realize what truly mattered.
The night before Jing Qichi left, they stayed up very late—first packing his luggage and checking his tickets and documents, then lying in bed chatting by moonlight.
Huan’er leaned against his shoulder and asked, "Does the transfer have a big impact on you?"
Though the city wasn’t unfamiliar to Jing Qichi, starting over in every aspect of daily life was no small feat. She knew that if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t—and wouldn’t need to—make this choice.
"Not at all," Jing Qichi tried to ease her worries with facts. "After Jiang Sen left, Qiu Yang and several others from the team followed him. The whole group underwent a major reshuffle, and staying would’ve meant adapting from scratch anyway. I’m going to the Research and Development Center to lead the major medical division—more projects, broader production lines. Gong Bo told me to settle in there and give it my all. It’s a good thing." His eyes lit up as he spoke. "There’s a sports rehabilitation project at the R&D Center that’s been on hold for a while—using AI to guide rehab training. Europe and Japan are already well-established in this field. Your university even has a dedicated sports rehabilitation lab under its interdisciplinary program..."
Huan’er was surprised. "You know about that?"
"It’s on the website," Jing Qichi said casually. "I wanted to check it out when I picked you up the other day, but I couldn’t find it."
Huan’er nodded. "A lot of the labs are collaborations with companies, so they’re not on campus."
"That explains it. Probably off-limits to outsiders anyway." Jing Qichi was unstoppable when it came to his field. "This area is going to be huge in the future—integrating AI algorithms with sports rehabilitation prescriptions and blockchain, replacing traditional solutions with data from diagnosis to training. Shorter time, lower cost, fewer errors, higher safety. The project was shelved before because the R&D Center and the Lab weren’t aligned. My move there can bridge that gap—support where it’s needed, resources where they’re required. Once the technology is implemented, the product plan will see the light of day."
Having witnessed and experienced it firsthand, Jing Qichi understood its potential better than most.
Huan’er nuzzled her chin against him. "I don’t understand any of that, but I think you’re amazing."
Jing Qichi laughed, his maturity and confidence honed by time shining through as he told her, "Just wait. When it’s ready, you’ll be the first to understand."Rehabilitation training was a past he never wished to share with anyone. Huan'er knew all too well what the young man looked like, lying on the physiotherapy bed, gritting his teeth as he raised and lowered his legs over and over. Those simple, almost rudimentary movements shattered his dreams. Yet years later, those very misfortunes and pains of the past quietly reflected back onto him in another form—destiny revealing its generous gifts through the light behind the shadows.
Jing Qichi added, "I'm more worried that you returning early might affect your studies."
Her advisor had already approved it; she could return to her alma mater by the end of the semester.
"It won't," Huan'er said firmly.
"If it's because—"
"Of course, you're part of the reason." She guessed what he was about to say and cut him off first. "Lao Ding always says that the road to research is tough, and you need strong support behind you. I never took it to heart before—whether it was pursuing a Ph.D. or going abroad, I always put myself first. What I wanted to do took precedence over everything else." She paused. "But now I know that to keep moving forward, you are my greatest pillar."
Jing Qichi slipped an arm under her neck and pulled her into his embrace. "Back in my senior year when I went to Beijing, I was the same—I wanted to make a name for myself, to achieve something. I... I also overlooked how being apart would affect us, overlooked you."
"No apologies allowed." Huan'er covered his mouth. "I want to say sorry too, so let's call it even if neither of us says it."
Jing Qichi moved her hand away and found her lips for a kiss.
Huan'er tilted her head up to meet his deep, lingering kiss, closing her eyes as tears welled up.
Finally, after the trials of time, they had matured into a love where—once, I thought I was the most important; later, I realized you were just as important. Admitting it for myself no longer felt shameful, and admitting it for you no longer felt like a sacrifice. Choosing between oneself and the other was like being asked as a child whether you loved your dad or mom more—you loved both, loved them equally, unable to rank them first or second. Clearly, the world had a word for it: tied.
Mature love was a balance—I didn’t need to abandon myself for you, but I would still change for you within my limits.
This was the lesson they had learned in love.
Song Cong had been troubled lately—to be precise, it was something he had unintentionally discovered but found difficult to bring up.
On the first Friday after the Spring Festival holiday, he returned to Tianhe. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have come back at this time—the holiday had just ended, and with his graduation approaching this summer, he was juggling hospital duties, school, and his thesis. But he had to return because his advisor had asked him to accompany him to the airport the next day to welcome a leading figure in their field returning from the U.S. Song Cong knew this was a privilege reserved for favored students, and as a junior, he naturally had to serve as the driver. However, his driver’s license, rarely used, wasn’t with him.
He arrived at the Family Compound at four in the afternoon. In his haste, he hadn’t brought his house keys, so he headed straight to the Third Hospital to find his mother first. Just outside the hospital building, he saw Jing's Mother standing face-to-face with a well-dressed stranger. His first thought was that it was work-related—perhaps a patient’s family member or something else. As deputy director, her social interactions were naturally more frequent than those of an ordinary doctor. Song Cong slowed his steps. If their conversation seemed about to end, he would go over to greet her; if not, he would simply walk past without interrupting.As he was thinking this, he saw the middle-aged man take a camel-colored shawl from the gift bag in his hand. From a distance, Song Cong couldn't hear their conversation, but he clearly saw the man drape the shawl directly around Jing's Mother—he was presenting a gift in a manner that far exceeded normal social boundaries.
Jing's Mother didn't shy away. She adjusted the shawl more snugly around herself with his help.
Song Cong hurried into the Third Hospital building.
It couldn't be clearer—this was definitely not a professional relationship.
The man appeared to be around his parents' age. Though Song Cong hadn't gotten a good look at his face, he seemed like a decent, ordinary person. In other words, Jing's Mother was moving on.
This suspicion was confirmed when he saw his own mother later. Song Ma pulled him aside into a quiet corner and told him, "Lao Liu is a friend of your father's classmate and runs a steel business. His ex-wife was from Macau—she couldn't adjust to life here and took their child back to Macau when they were ten. A few years ago, your father introduced him to Aunt Lin at a gathering. Both sides knew each other's circumstances, and after spending time together, they developed mutual interest. But Aunt Lin hasn't made anything official, probably because of Qi Chi."
Song Cong, ever understanding, nodded. "It's time to move forward."
"I've met Lao Liu—he's a decent man. Your father also made some discreet inquiries. After the divorce, he focused on his business and kept to himself. You could call him a scholar-merchant." Song Ma looked up at her son. "It's been so many years since Uncle Jing passed, and you kids have all grown up in the blink of an eye. You should be able to understand things from an adult's perspective now, right?"
"Mom." Song Cong crouched down and held the wheelchair armrests. "Of course I understand, but Qi Chi is—"
"That's exactly why you need to give him some guidance now that you know." Song Ma sighed. "Think about how hard Aunt Lin has worked all these years—managing all the hospital's miscellaneous affairs while Qi Chi is constantly away, sometimes not coming home for months at a time. Mothers want what's best for their children, but they worry about asking too little or too much, afraid of being a bother. Now that she's finally met someone suitable who she can talk to, who else would she be holding back for?"
Song Cong fell silent.
He just felt that whether it was himself, Du Man, Qi Chi, or Huan'er, they all seemed too selfish.
They lived in their own little worlds, always preoccupied with their careers, relationships, friends' happiness—everything revolving around themselves. They'd grown too accustomed to giving the least attention to their dearest family members.
"I understand," Song Cong said, though he had no idea how to broach the subject with Jing Qichi—this wasn't his area of expertise. Moreover, given how close they were like brothers, he worried this might hurt him. The closer the relationship, the harder such decisions became.
"Go on back now, don't let me keep you." Song Ma reminded him carefully, "Just leave the keys at home. Your father and I will go back together after work. Make sure you have everything you need, and drive carefully tomorrow."
"Mom, I'll bring a friend home soon," Song Cong said as he wheeled his mother back to her office. "I want you to meet them."The thought arose suddenly and was spoken without hesitation. In the past, Song Cong would never have acted this way—he would have laid out details in advance, confirmed schedules, anticipated possible scenarios, and only arranged the specifics of the meeting once everything was within his control. He realized he had changed somewhat, cutting out unnecessary planning and beginning to respect those occasional bursts of impulse.
Just like now, he was acutely aware of his parents' unspoken yet ever-present concern, and he wanted to ease their worries a little.
"A friend is coming over, huh?" Song Ma had already gleaned the truth from her son's expression. "That's great. I'll make a few of my signature dishes—definitely won't embarrass you."
Song Cong laughed. "You better not let me down."
"How did you meet?"
"Just classmates."
"College classmates?"
"High school and college."
"A local girl, then." Song Ma immediately picked up on the key detail from his brief answers and turned to smile at her son. "You've been keeping secrets."
"Not at all." Song Cong turned his face away, embarrassed. "We only got close later."
"Sure, whatever you say."
"Mom!"
"I'll ask Huan'er and Qi Chi about it another day."
"Even if you interrogate them, there's nothing to find." Song Cong put on a righteous expression. "You know how I was in high school."
Song Ma paused, then pulled him closer to her side, her expression softening slightly. "Son, have I made things hard for you?"
"Quite the opposite." Song Cong shook his head, then smiled at his mother. "You're my role model—one of a kind, my only role model."
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