Be Passionately In Love

Chen Luzhou leaned against the railing, one hand in his pocket, a gray towel hanging around his neck. His hair, long dried by the wind, was tousled by the biting cold gusts that clawed through the deep night. He wore only a black crewneck sweatshirt, no jacket, standing pale against the frosty ground and icy wind—his fair skin making him seem almost devoid of warmth in the chilly night air. Even whiter than the soft, powdery snow.

Li Ke shivered just looking at him and was about to suggest he go back inside to grab a jacket.

But then Chen Luzhou murmured something gentle into the phone, casually glanced up at the two of them, straightened up, and silently slid the balcony door shut behind him.

The three of them were in a dorm room on the computer science side of campus. Luckily, this guy had a double room, and his roommate was also a night owl. Not wanting to disturb anyone, they had borrowed his space.

Li Ke rolled his eyes, his expression one of resigned familiarity. Worried the other guy might not handle the sudden onslaught of affection, he offered, "Don’t mind him. Other than spoiling his girlfriend way too much, he’s actually pretty normal."

The guy didn’t seem bothered at all. Watching Chen Luzhou’s cool, detached figure against the railing, he said, "Nah, he’s great. A real role model for men. I should learn from him—seems like the kind of guy who makes you feel safe."

Li Ke smirked. "Learn my ass. Stick to coding, single dog."

The guy blinked. "Who said I’m single?"

Li Ke’s eyes widened, his pen clattering to the floor. "You’re not?!"

For some reason, the guy—who had initially felt a little embarrassed about dating so early—now felt a strange pride in being part of the same club as Chen Luzhou. "Nope. Got a girlfriend back home. We got together after high school. She’s studying at Qingda, your school actually."

Li Ke gaped at him.

"You never asked."

"Damn it!" Li Ke cursed, picking up the pen only to slam it back down in frustration.

On the balcony, Chen Luzhou listened to Xu Zhi’s muffled voice, curled under her blankets, laced with rare sleepiness and a soft complaint. It melted his heart. Not wanting to inconvenience her, he asked quietly, "Should we hang up? We can text. I’ll stay up with you."

Xu Zhi didn’t want to end the call. Her voice was drowsy and muffled. "I like hearing your voice. It feels different every time we talk on the phone."

"How so?"

"More... magnetic."

She couldn’t quite explain it. But especially when he stayed up late, his voice slightly roughened, it reminded her of those steady midnight radio hosts—comforting, safe.

He chuckled. "...Should we switch to online dating then?"

Xu Zhi laughed too, a soft sound through the receiver, rubbing her eyes. "No way. My mom just told me we should break up."

Chen Luzhou paused. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Xu Zhi said. "I thought about burning a photo of you for her, but then I realized—I don’t even have one of you."

"I’ll take one tomorrow," he said, amused. "Or give me a photo of your mom. Maybe I’ll dream about her these next few nights."

"Chen Luzhou, you’re so weird. Who dreams about someone else’s mom?"

He froze, then leaned against the railing with an aggrieved laugh, his gaze drifting away in exasperation. "How is that weird? You’re the one suggesting burning photos—that’s way weirder."Both of them couldn't hold back their laughter in the end. The crescent moon hung like a hook, and the pure love in the young boy's heart was whiter than snow, sweeter than honey.

A moment of silence passed. Neither spoke as the wind on the balcony grew stronger. Chen Luzhou took his other hand out of his pocket to cover the microphone, afraid she might hear the howling wind. His fair, distinct knuckles had already turned red from the cold.

Yet he remained quietly by her side, willing to wait.

"Chen Luzhou," she called out.

"Hmm?"

"I miss her so much," Xu Zhi said. "There were so many misunderstandings between us that were never resolved. Actually, my dad told me that before my mom passed away, she left me a letter. But my grandmother accidentally burned it along with some of my mom's dirty laundry. There were so many times when we could have talked things out properly, but my dad said we were too alike—we couldn't even get through three sentences without arguing, and then it would escalate into personal attacks. I still remember in elementary school, our teacher gave us homework to wash our mother's feet once. That's when I noticed the thick calluses on the back of her heels. Back then, I was too young to understand and complained that she didn’t take care of herself, saying other moms had pretty manicures on their toes. And my mom just said, 'When you grow up and walk in my shoes, then you can say that to me.'"

"Your mom loved you deeply. A mother who didn’t would’ve just told you to get out of her house," he said.

Xu Zhi: "Did your mom ever snap at you like that?"

Chen Luzhou lowered his head with a helpless smile. "Occasionally. I don’t really remember clearly now. But it’s good to want to cry. Sometimes emotions need to be let out—you can’t keep bottling them up like this."

Xu Zhi: "Then help me."

Chen Luzhou gave a soft hum. "Alright, why don’t you sleep first? I’ll think of something. If nothing works, I might just have to beat you up."

A long silence followed on the other end.

Thinking he had scared her, he added, "Don’t worry, Brother Chen Luzhou doesn’t do domestic violence."

Instead of teasing him back, her voice came out muffled and soft: "I want a hug."

Tonight, Xu Zhi was unusually clingy. Maybe she really was frightened. Her waves of coquettishness kept making Chen Luzhou’s heart soften uncontrollably. It felt like a balloon swelling inside him, tender and full, as if he were floating on clouds.

His heart itched, and he couldn’t resist running a hand through his hair. The honeymoon phase was truly torturous—missing someone after just a short while apart.

Chen Luzhou coaxed her gently for a while longer. "I’ll stay on the line until you fall asleep?"

Xu Zhi was reluctant to hang up, but she finally suppressed her reluctance. "Go to sleep, hang up. I just saw Li Ke’s post—looks like you guys still have a long night ahead."

The wind and snow howled outside. Chen Luzhou’s fingers were already numb from the cold. Glancing back into the room, he saw the other two still scribbling away furiously, probably arguing again over whatever they were calculating. He pushed down the guilt creeping up inside him, thinking that when Li Ke eventually got into a relationship, he’d make it up to him—maybe even help write his graduation thesis.

"I’ll stay with you a little longer. It’s rare for you to be this clingy tonight."

He ended up comforting her for another half an hour, their conversation quiet and meandering, before finally stepping back inside.

The scratch paper was covered in bold, sweeping strokes, every inch filled with mathematical formulas.Chen Luzhou finished the remaining calculations while Li Ke was already so drowsy his eyes were glazing over. By three o'clock, Li Ke had fallen asleep with his head on the desk. The computer science guy was named Wang Yue, clearly a night owl with sharp, alert eyes. He continued discussing several issues about constants with Chen Luzhou. Neither of them woke Li Ke, engrossed in their own discussion. Wang Yue actually had a decent temper—he didn't talk much but occasionally liked to nitpick. Coincidentally, Li Ke was the same way, so when the two of them were together, it was like sparks flying. Chen Luzhou, on the other hand, got along with everyone, making him easy to work with.

Chen Luzhou had just come in from outside, covered in a chill. His breath formed white puffs in the air, and his hands were red from the cold. Wang Yue thoughtfully handed him a hand warmer.

Chen Luzhou took it and said, "Thanks."

"You're a nice guy. I wouldn’t give this to Li Ke."

Chen Luzhou chuckled and glanced at the peacefully sleeping Li Ke. He picked up the half-finished calculations in front of him and completed the remaining steps. "He’s actually a good guy too—just likes to argue sometimes. Just ignore him. Back in our school, he always ranked first. When he got here and realized everyone was on the same level, he desperately wanted to prove himself. That’s why he dragged me into participating in the MCM as a freshman."

It was true. Freshmen usually focused on preparing for the national competition in September the following year. Some schools even required students to have participated in the national competition before joining the MCM. Their school didn’t have that rule, but many were already preparing. Seeing them sharpen their skills, Li Ke’s competitive spirit flared up, and naturally, he couldn’t sit still.

Chen Luzhou knew all this but usually kept it to himself. Given his current situation, he probably wouldn’t have joined the competition—after all, he had to apply for a major transfer next semester and had plenty on his plate.

Wang Yue’s first impression of him was because he was the campus heartthrob, with many people talking about him. When Li Ke pulled him into the group, Wang Yue had been reluctant, thinking he wouldn’t get along with someone so good-looking. But later, he realized Chen Luzhou was much easier to talk to than Li Ke.

Wang Yue asked, "Didn’t Li Ke say you were the top student at your school? So which one of you was actually first?"

"Let’s just say we were hyping each other up. Sometimes he was first, sometimes I was." Chen Luzhou was calculating forest loss costs as he spoke, occasionally glancing at his phone on the table.

Wang Yue found Chen Luzhou’s confidence hard to describe—his personality was genuinely appealing. No wonder Li Ke kept telling him that Chen Luzhou was the kind of friend you’d never regret having in your life.

Noticing his distraction, Wang Yue asked, "Worried about your girlfriend?"

Without looking up, Chen Luzhou kept writing, the pen scratching against the paper. "Yeah, a little. Wondering if she’s asleep yet."

"Should we call it a day? Actually, we still need to consider the initial fire conditions. Right now, we’re calculating based on relatively idealized forest environments and fire scenarios. But this kind of modeling isn’t very meaningful—real forest fire situations are unpredictable. Like we mentioned earlier, protected forest animals are another issue."Chen Luzhou finished calculating the last two expense items, set down his pen, and leaned back in his chair. Tilting his head to gaze at the ceiling, he finally let out an exhausted swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. Then, balancing on the back legs of his chair, he lazily rocked back and forth before handing the hand warmer back to him. As he packed up his things, he said, "So we need to account for forest damage costs and rescue expenses. The research mainly provides comparative data. That's why they say practice is the sole criterion for testing truth. Give me the materials—I'll go to the library tomorrow morning since I don't have class and draft the paper structure first."

Only then did Wang Yue feel he had probably joined the right group. Working with Chen Luzhou really saved a lot of trouble. "By the way, there's something I need to tell you. For the MCM, we need an advisor since it's our first time participating, and we're not familiar with many procedures. I asked around with other teams—most are registered under professors or lecturers."

"Which ones?" Chen Luzhou asked.

"The usual famous ones who mentor competitions. The popular professors definitely have tons of teams under them—one professor already has over forty groups registered under his name, and the smallest has at least twenty-something. Those teams are all complaining now because the professors obviously can't provide guidance to everyone. Sometimes an email goes unanswered for a whole week. Most of them just lend their names. Since they get bonuses if students win awards, they cast a wide net. If we approach them, they’ll definitely take us in."

Usually, it was the professors who picked students. Some would proactively recruit promising students, often those they had mentored before. As freshmen, they were more like blind cats stumbling upon a dead mouse.

Chen Luzhou set his chair back down flat, leaned against it, and shut his laptop, remaining silent.

Wang Yue said, "Li Ke and I discussed it. Since we’re entering the competition, we’re aiming for a prize."

From the sound of it, they already had someone in mind. Chen Luzhou asked, "Who do you want to approach?"

"A lecturer from the physics department. He’s very responsible with students. We weren’t sure if you’d prefer being under a professor—getting familiar with one could help with grad school recommendations later—so we haven’t contacted him yet."

"Fine, you decide."

Compared to mathematical modeling, Chen Luzhou found making his girlfriend cry far more of a headache.

To that end, he consulted Zhu Yangqi, whose romantic experience wasn’t extensive but who had plenty of experience making girls cry.

Zhu Yangqi immediately flung an indignant accusation at him: "Scumbag! You’re changing your mind already?"

No matter how much Chen Luzhou explained, Zhu Yangqi remained unmoved. "Scumbag!"

"Dog!"

"Big pig trotter!"

"Scumbag! Scumbag! Pah!"

Chen Luzhou: "..."

In the end, Chen Luzhou decided to take her to the movies. He booked a private screening and chose Hachi: A Dog's Tale , a film guaranteed to make anyone cry.

But Xu Zhi was made of iron. After watching, she silently glanced at him and asked, "That’s it?"

The two of them sat on the sofa in the private theater, the dim light from the screen casting a faint glow on his face, outlining his sharpest features—his straight nose, deep-set eyes.

Chen Luzhou didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed straight on the screen. The clean, defined line of his jaw gave off an air of ruthless indifference, more merciless than a slaughterhouse butcher with a blade in hand.His jaw twitched slightly, clearly straining with every ounce of his being. His fingers absently clutched and released the fabric of his sweatpants over and over again.

His brows furrowed slightly, stubbornly etched with an unspoken declaration—"I'm not crying," "Don't look at me," "I'll never cry," "I'm heartless."

But then that final scene reappeared in his mind: the heavy snowfall, the dog waiting loyally and alone at the snowstorm-battered bus stop, refusing to leave, year after year.

Especially that line: "Grandpa didn’t find Xiao Ba—Xiao Ba found you."

Chen Luzhou completely lost it. He sucked in two sharp breaths but couldn’t suppress the ache in his chest. Tilting his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbed helplessly, the suppressed vulnerability making him utterly heartbreaking.

Then the tears spilled over, streaming helplessly down his cheeks. He wiped at them instinctively, only for more to rush out, until he was scrubbing at them in vain.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn.

Xu Zhi quietly pulled the last tissue from her bag, gently dabbing his face as she whispered, soft and aching,

"Stop crying, Chen Jiaojiao. You’ve gone through my whole pack of tissues."