"Tick—tock—"
The chanical clock on the wall moved little by little, emitting a rhythmic sound.
Zhang Yan sat dazedly on the bed, her whole being feeling as if her soul had been extracted.
The ambiguity and warmth brought by Tang Song just now were washed away by the cold reality of her mother’s serious illness.
Her parents divorced when she was in the third grade of elentary school, because her father had another woman while working away from ho.
Her mother, having married far from ho, was understandably devastated and in a fit of anger, fled back to Yang Province, thousands of miles away.
Therefore, Zhang Yan never resented her mother in her heart.
Even though her life consequently beca unstable and she lived under others’ roofs.
And this mother, after giving birth to her sister and having a stable inco, began secretly sending her living expenses every month.
Occasionally, she would endure long train rides to visit her.
It was precisely this support that enabled her to successfully repeat her studies, attend university, and find a job.
In her heart, her feelings for her mother far surpassed those for any other relative; that gratitude had long since seeped into her bones and blood.
It’s also why, after leaving the Imperial City, she chose to co to Yang City.
Maybe it’s because, in this unfamiliar, vast city, there was at least one relative who she could psychologically rely on.
Although, due to various practical reasons, her mother couldn’t always be by her side, just being able to visit and talk to her occasionally.
Zhang Yan’s restless heart always found a mont’s peace.
She was originally soone without a "ho."
And now, the person she was closest to in the world seed... also about to be lost.
She didn’t know how long had passed.
"Knock, knock-knock—"
A knocking sound, neither light nor heavy, rang out.
"I’m back." Tang Song’s voice ca through the door.
Zhang Yan’s body trembled suddenly, standing up like a bird startled awake.
Quickly wiping the dried tear marks off her face, she took a few deep breaths, forcibly gathered all her scattered emotions, and stumbled to the door.
The door slowly opened, and Tang Song ca in.
He was carrying a few dishes thoughtfully packed in elegant takeout boxes and two bottles of what looked like appealing cocktails.
To prevent him from noticing anything strange, she kept her head down, daring not to et his eyes.
"The kitchen’s just been painted, the sll is too strong to cook in there now." Tang Song pointed to the bag in his hand, speaking in a relaxed tone, "I bought so food outside, let’s have a simple al together."
"Thanks." Zhang Yan nodded gently, her voice inevitably tinged with so tremor.
Tang Song instantly sensed sothing amiss, asking with concern, "What’s wrong?"
"No-nothing." Zhang Yan shook her head vigorously, pressing her lips tightly together.
Tang Song looked at her briefly, refraining from further inquiry, and softened his tone, gently saying, "Why don’t you grab so plates and bowls, I’ll go wash my hands."
He knew Zhang Yan was an extrely sensitive, inarticulate person.
Probing too much would only make her, like a frightened snail, retreat further into her shell.
If he was to ask, he had to wait until her emotions eased, guiding her to speak out.
"Okay." Zhang Yan nodded, turning silently to the kitchen.
After tidying up and setting the tableware.
The two sat facing each other by the small coffee table.
Tang Song opened an apple-flavored cocktail, handing it to her, kindly saying, "I rember you liked apples a lot around middle school."
This remark, like a small stone thrown into an icy lake, rippled subtle waves in Zhang Yan’s heart.
She sneaked a glance at him, took the cold bottle, and lightly clinked it against his.
"Cheers, to celebrate the initial painting completion of your little apartnt."
"...Thank you." Zhang Yan softly responded, lowering her head to sip the sweet and sour drink.
They ate quietly, Tang Song served her a slice of roast goose.
Lowering her head, she looked at the glossy at in her bowl, eating it in small, chanical bites.
Then, Tang Song began talking about her high school and college days.
ntioning details that had been overlooked, freshly sorted by "mory Feather."
As Zhang Yan listened to him, her gaze gradually softened.
A faint smile finally erged on her previously tense face.
She cautiously served him a chopstick of greens in return.
Thus, in the aroma of food and the tranquility of the night, the atmosphere gradually beca soothing.
After finishing the al, together they tidied up.
They settled on the small sofa in the living room, continuing to read the unfinished comic book.
Orange leapt lightly onto Zhang Yan’s lap, curling into a ball, purring contentedly, occasionally wing.
Outside, a soft rain began to fall unbeknownst to them.
The evening breeze blew in through the half-open window, carrying the damp scent of earth, mildly cool.
Rain tapped against the window, the room brightly lit.
A colorful comic book, two people, one cat.
This scene, quiet as a blurred, old movie fra.
...
At half past nine in the evening.
Finishing the sixth volu of the comic book, Tang Song got up to leave.
"Tomorrow’s Monday, you have work too, right? Get so rest early."
The word "work" pricked at Zhang Yan’s heart suddenly.
Yes, the weekend was ending.
He would also have to attend to his work, surely he wouldn’t stay long in Yang City.
She looked at his handso, poised figure.
With a voice almost akin to talking to herself, she weakly asked, "When... when are you going back to Yan City?"
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