Be Passionately In Love

The rain poured heavily outside the window, its rhythm alternating between light and heavy, intermittent taps against the glass.

Chen Luzhou woke up at four in the morning. The rain had stopped. Xu Zhi hadn’t woken him—she was already gone. The living room lights were off, but she’d left a small floor lamp on for him, probably worried he might trip in the dark. A dim glow illuminated the hallway, and even the windows had been tightly shut. On the table lay a small note.

"I made congee in the kitchen. Have some when you wake up—I added sugar. My mom used to make this for me when I had a cold.

PS: I left nail polish remover for you. Remember to clean it off when you get home tomorrow.

PPS: Here’s a quote for you—‘There is no true despair in the world, only prisoners trapped by their own thoughts.’

—Xu Zhi."

Chen Luzhou held the note, suddenly recalling their first night together at the late-night food stall. He’d been saving a seat for someone, teasing a kid nearby, when Xu Zhi pulled out her phone and offered to record the scene—just in case the kid’s parents caused trouble, she’d hand the evidence straight to the police.

She hadn’t even asked why he was doing it. She’d just chosen to believe him.

Zhu Yangqi had once asked him, Why Xu Zhi? He’d thought of countless romantic nights since then, but none had struck him as deeply as that first night’s blunt trust. To put it dramatically, after years of standing alone, Xu Zhi was the first person who’d taken his side without question.

And tonight was no different.

She acted like she didn’t understand anything—yet somehow, she understood everything.

Chen Luzhou picked up the bottle of nail polish remover and glanced at it. She really was reliable—more so than anyone else around him. Being her friend was a good thing. For once, he felt like he had an unspoken pillar of support, instead of always being the one cleaning up other people’s messes.

"There is no true despair in the world, only prisoners trapped by their own thoughts."

Didn’t that sound familiar? Chen Luzhou pondered for two seconds before it hit him. Damn, isn’t that from an essay I wrote for an exam? No. 1 High School had a collection of full-score essays, compiling the best works from past years—which, frankly, might as well have been Chen Luzhou’s personal anthology. Who could blame them? He was the great poet Chen, after all. It wasn’t unusual for people to quote his lines back at him by accident.

He just hadn’t realized his essays had such a far-reaching influence—even Rui Jun High School had heard of him. He’d assumed only No. 1 High School students were obsessed.

Tsk tsk. Guess the dream of being the great poet Chen wasn’t one he could give up.

Sipping the sweet congee Xu Zhi had made, Chen Luzhou thought this to himself, his mood lifting. In the dead of night, he snapped a photo and posted it on his social media.

Xu Zhi saw the post the next afternoon. He’d polished off the entire pot of congee—even flipped it upside down to show off the empty bottom. The caption was simple, just two words:

Cr: "Thanks."

She figured the post must’ve gotten a lot of likes, but since they had few mutual friends, she could only see a handful. The comment section was dominated by a long thread between him and Zhu Yangqi.

Zhu Yangqi: "Is this what they call the disparity of life? Last night, I was dining at Shangfang Hotpot—where they even hold the bathroom door for you—while you, poor soul, were stuck at home drinking congee."

Cr replied to Zhu Yangqi: "Only country bumpkins eat at Shangfang Hotpot."

Zhu Yangqi replied to Cr: "Yeah, yeah, you’re so romantic. I bet you even swing on a damn swing when you take a shit." Cr replied to Zhu Yangqi: "……"

Cai Yingying also replied to Zhu Yangqi: "……"

So Xu Zhi followed suit and replied: "……"

About half an hour later, Chen Luzhou must have seen her reply and sent a private message.

Cr: What are you doing?

Xu Zhi leaned idly against the door, watching the repairman fix the electric meter. The hallway was dimly lit, and she held a small flashlight between her teeth to provide light for the repairman while texting with her hands. She sent over an "I'm speechless" meme. [I'm so done.jpg]

A reply came immediately.

Cr: ??

Xu Zhi: Isn't the score coming out tonight? My dad was worried the network would lag from too many people checking, so he bought a new router to fix the connection. But now the whole circuit breaker tripped, so we're waiting for the repairman to restore the power first.

Cr: Will you make it in time?

Xu Zhi: Should be fine. What about you? What are you up to?

Cr: Just went home for a bit. Heading to the bookstore later to find some books for Chen Xingqi. Some friends are coming over later—we'll either play basketball or games.

Xu Zhi: Your life is so structured.

Cr: Yours isn't bad either, is it?

Xu Zhi: Not what I meant. You know my cousin, right?

Cr: Yeah. Did you get the camera sorted?

Xu Zhi: That friend of yours is amazing. The moment he got it, he said the shutter was practically worn out. Then he took it apart, found some barcode inside, took a photo, and showed it to the seller. After a quick chat on WeChat, the seller agreed to a refund. But they said my cousin used a credit card, so there were some processing fees—it was a hassle and took forever to get the money back.

Cr: His dad was one of the first camera dealers in Qingyi. Now they're the biggest distributor nationwide with branches everywhere. If you hadn't been so stubborn and just asked me directly, it wouldn't have been this troublesome.

Xu Zhi: It wasn't stubbornness. I just didn't want to bother you with my cousin's mess. Who knew even Cai Yingying's cousin's contact would be unreliable.

Cr: You don't have a single reliable person around you.

Cr: Except yourself.

Xu Zhi still had the flashlight between her teeth. The more engrossed she got in the conversation, the lower her head drooped. The repairman noticed her shining the flashlight at her phone—probably texting her boyfriend—and teased her, "What's up, girl? Your phone not bright enough? Need a flashlight to play with it?"

Oh. Only then did Xu Zhi snap out of it. She straightened up and aimed the flashlight back at the repairman, her eyelids barely open as she strained to peek at her phone screen through the slits. Her hands were small, and she was using a max-sized brand phone with a 26-key keyboard—she couldn't text one-handed. She especially admired Chen Luzhou's fingers—how were they so long? She'd seen him text one-handed several times, typing lightning-fast. And he used a 26-key keyboard too.

Unaware of her predicament, Chen Luzhou had no idea Xu Zhi was sneaking conversations with him in between, all while keeping an eye out for Old Xu's surprise checks. When she didn't reply for a minute, another message popped up.

Cr: Mad?

Xu Zhi hurriedly replied: No, just got busy.

Cr: Oh. Thought you were upset about what I said about the people around you.Xu Zhi: Not at all. Why would I be angry? First, about my cousin—he’s a middle schooler with such irregular habits. He stays up all night gaming, completely flips his sleep schedule, sneaks cigarettes, and basically doesn’t sleep at all during holidays. Yesterday, he even went to a bar and got caught red-handed by my uncle.

Cr: Then I’m really curious—what would actually make you angry?

Completely uninterested in her cousin, Xu Zhi could only reply: You could try pissing me off.

Cr: …You really have too much free time.

Xu Zhi was still stepping on the extension cord for the electrician, her hands and feet busy, her mouth not idle either—she had the flashlight clenched between her teeth as she replied without a second thought: If I weren’t free, why would I be chatting with you?

Chen Luzhou must have gotten busy too, as he didn’t reply for a long while.

By the time he responded, the electricity in Xu Zhi’s house had been fixed, but the internet was still down. Xu Guangji was frantically calling the telecom company, but because scores were being released that night, no one could come immediately. They had to wait. The wait was giving Xu Guangji such anxiety that he kept polishing his glasses obsessively with a cloth, over and over.

“Dad, the scores aren’t going anywhere. Checking early or late won’t change anything,” she comforted him.

Xu Guangji checked the time—it was already past seven, and scores would be available at eight. Though it was still bright outside, the telecom company hadn’t called back. “Call them again and ask when they’re actually getting off work.”

“Dad, I can check using mobile data. Or even by phone. If all else fails, I can ask someone else to check for me. Dad, stop pacing around.”

Just as Xu Zhi finished speaking, Chen Luzhou’s WeChat reply came through.

Cr: Hmm, so I’m just your time-killing tool.

Xu Zhi: I don’t cook congee for tools.

Cr: Oh? Then what was your reasoning last night? How about writing me a 3,000-word essay dissecting your thought process in detail? I’m genuinely curious, Xu Zhi—what possessed you to cook congee in a man’s house in the middle of the night?

Cr: Hmm? Xu the Snail?

He was relentless.

Xu Zhi sighed as she read the messages. Are all men this sensitive?

At that moment, Xu Guangji’s phone rang—it was the telecom company. He hurriedly answered, nodding and bowing as he spoke: “Yes, yes, please come quickly. My daughter needs to check her college entrance exam scores tonight. Yes, fifth floor—we’re the only household here. I applied for the 100 Mbps fiber, right? Yes, yes, thank you so much.”

Xu Zhi lowered her head and replied: Do you know how much 100 Mbps fiber costs?

Cr: Around a thousand a year, I think? Can’t remember exactly.

Xu Zhi: Turns out Old Xu loves me the most. He got 100 Mbps fiber just so I could check my scores. Back when grandma kept lagging out of online poker, he wouldn’t even upgrade from the 10 Mbps plan. So, Chen the Tool, I can’t write you a 3,000-word essay about the congee. But if I ever spend money on you, I’ll definitely write an 8,000-word essay to denounce you. No need to rush.

Cr: Looking forward to it.

The telecom technician had arrived and, after fiddling around for a bit, asked Xu Guangji if he remembered the original broadband password. Xu Guangji had no clue—no matter how hard he racked his brain, he couldn’t recall any original or admin password. Seeing him so flustered, Xu Zhi sent Chen Luzhou one last message before going to help.

Xu Zhi: Gotta go. Helping my dad set up the broadband first.

Cr: Got it.Xu Zhi put down her phone. Perhaps because the results of this summer's most anticipated exam were about to be announced, the sky darkened unusually late today. At 7:30 PM, daylight still streamed brightly outside.

Everyone waited with bated breath. Emotions had piled up to their peak, as if they were all perched atop towering pyramids, each person anticipating the official conclusion of their decade-long academic journey, yearning for a favorable outcome.

**

Chen Luzhou sat in the bookstore café for a while, arranging a courier to deliver the books he'd bought to Chen Xingqi. The café was quiet today, sparsely populated—aside from a few kids, there wasn't an adult in sight except for Chen Luzhou himself. Spread across the table were a notebook, a few sheets of letter paper, and a half-finished iced latte.

The café offered a letter storage service—a place to jot down thoughts on letter paper, like a temporary memo pad to capture fleeting emotions. It could be a long-hidden confession or an apology too difficult to voice aloud. You could write it in advance and, when ready to share, simply give the recipient the password. The letters were kept in time capsule lockers, with passwords changed after each use, much like temporary luggage storage.

People often indulge in wild fancies when alone, their thoughts running rampant, yet when the moment calls for eloquence, words fail them. It's like how after every argument, you always feel you could've done better. Hence, the café's time capsule encourages young people to put pen to paper—to vent their emotions in the moment, when they're most vivid and powerful, and then store them here.

Intrigued by the staff's introduction, Chen Luzhou rented a slot. It might be amusing to notify everyone to come read them on the day he leaves the country.

Chen Luzhou was dressed entirely in black, tall and strikingly handsome, a black baseball cap pulled low over half his face. His sharp features and cool demeanor gave him the air of a taciturn, brooding assassin from the movies—perhaps penning his final words before a mission.

He sat there for a long time, unsure what to write. Who would've thought even the great poet Chen could be at a loss for words? Finally, with a sigh, he picked up his pen and wrote his first letter—to Zhu Yangqi, his childhood friend and partner-in-crime, given their current rapport.

Dear Zhu Yangqi,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I'm writing to tell you that life truly has its disparities. Look, we're both guys, but you're a country bumpkin while I'm a heartthrob.

But don't worry—I've also come to appreciate life's inequalities. You, a bumpkin, have been in a relationship, while I, a heartthrob, remain single.

Every Chinese boy should have an unyielding spirit—one that no wind can extinguish, no rain can scatter. Even when the oil runs dry and the lamp flickers out, as long as a single ember remains in your heart, you can reignite your hope with just a spark. Take you, for example. As long as there's a bite of food left in this world, even if you've been in a coma for three days in the ICU, you'd wake up just to make sure you don't miss out on a hot meal.

Keep that fire burning.

—clz

Just as Chen Luzhou sealed the envelope, his phone rang—Xu Zhi calling.

He slipped the letter into the time capsule locker, pulled out a password slip, and answered the call. "Scores out?"Xu Zhi sighed, "The internet isn't fixed yet. My dad doesn't even remember our broadband account. He's probably freaking out right now, so I don't dare push him. I can't load any webpages on my phone, and calls won't go through. Where are you? Have you checked yours yet?"

Chen Luzhou happened to spot an internet cafe across from the book bar. Without hesitation, he grabbed his coffee and pushed the door open, his steps quick but his voice calm and unhurried. "No, send me your exam ID. I'll check for you. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," Xu Zhi replied smoothly, laying it on thick. "I feel so guilty, I might even rush over tonight to cook you porridge."

Chen Luzhou accepted the flattery with a pleased laugh. "Sure, come over later. If you don't, you're a dog."

The streets were crowded, and faintly, someone nearby had already checked their scores. As Chen Luzhou crossed the intersection while talking to Xu Zhi, he heard two girls around the corner shrieking with excitement, "So nervous, so nervous, so nervous—"

"Why are you nervous? I'm the one getting my results."

"I'm nervous for our school's seniors! Our engineering department already has so few girls, and now another wave of handsome juniors is coming."

"Get lost!"

Xu Zhi heard it too. Knowing she was at a disadvantage asking for a favor, she continued buttering him up. "Chen Luzhou, seriously, if you went to school in the country, girls at whichever university you picked would go crazy for a while. It's such a shame you're going abroad. Foreign girls might not even be into your type."

He walked quickly and had already paid for a computer at the internet cafe using his ID. Leaning back lazily in the chair, phone in hand, he chuckled dismissively. "No need to worry about me."

Wherever he went, he’d dominate.

Okay, that sounded way too cocky. He should at least save some face for himself.

"Are you at the internet cafe?" Xu Zhi's voice suddenly sounded tense.

"Yeah," he replied, leaning back in the chair as he typed in the network password one-handed, picking up on her tone. "Didn’t think you’d be the nervous type."

Xu Zhi had practically given up on the call, her throat tight. "Honestly, I was braver as a kid. I remember during school talent shows, I’d always be the one conducting the choir. The teacher just taught me a few moves last minute and sent me up there. I’m tone-deaf, but I didn’t care about embarrassing myself. I just waved my arms around wildly, and somehow they all sang it right. Later, I found out no one was watching me—they were all looking at the teacher behind me."

Chen Luzhou could tell she was genuinely nervous—she was talking more than usual. "And they still let you do it?"

Xu Zhi said, "Because I’m pretty. The teachers loved watching me. I might not be good at much, but being a pretty face? Top-tier."

She wasn’t saving any face for herself either.

"Alright, we’re about the same then," Chen Luzhou said as he pulled up the webpage to check her score first. "Give me your exam ID."

Xu Zhi recited it flawlessly. "If it’s below 680, don’t tell me. That would mean I bombed it."

"Including the optional subjects?" he asked casually.

"Yeah. I did better on the optional than in the third mock exam. My total score then was 690.""You can't take the third mock exam scores as a benchmark. To boost your confidence, the papers were deliberately made easier—" Chen Luzhou leaned back in his chair, waiting for the webpage to load after entering his exam number. He had intended to offer some comfort, advising her not to be too hard on herself. But when the page finally refreshed, even he was taken aback. He knew Xu Zhi had done well, but he hadn’t expected her score to be this high.

Especially coming from Rui Jun High—they’d probably plaster celebratory banners all the way to the city center.

Well done, Xu Zhi.

In those few minutes when the scores were released, the cicadas’ chorus reached its loudest and most fervent, as if every cicada in the city had gathered to sing this rousing overture. Because everyone knew—the college entrance exam was a game where futures were wagered, a contest of timing, opportunity, and human effort. Skill and luck were both at play, but deep down, everyone hoped someone would win this game with sheer, undeniable ability.

A score like this? Calling it luck would be a stretch.

"Xu Zhi."

"Yeah?"

"Wait for A University’s call," Chen Luzhou said, exiting her score page to input his own exam number. For the first time, he was utterly sincere, setting aside his usual teasing tone. "That’s seriously impressive—738 with the optional section. Early congratulations, Architect Xu ."

Xu Zhi mirrored his playful formality in response: "Thank you, Poet Chen ."