Chapter 526

The subway station is brightly lit.

In the empty station hall, only sporadic footsteps and the distant roar of a train entering the station remain.

Passing through the security checkpoint, they arrive in front of the turnstiles.

Tang Song stops, his right hand still holding her left.

The initial chill on Zhang Yan’s hand has long been warmed by him, even becoming slightly hot, as if she were holding a tiny hand warmer.

He lowers his head to look at Zhang Yan.

She is blushing, her lips tightly pressed together, her head bowed, her long eyelashes casting a quiet shadow beneath her eyes.

"We're here; I have to go," Tang Song’s voice breaks the silence.

"Oh, oh," Zhang Yan replies subconsciously.

Her gaze slowly shifts upward, lingering on his handsome face for less than half a second before dropping quickly, like a startled fawn.

The corner of her eye unconsciously falls on their clasped hands.

From the intersection to here, a short distance of a few hundred meters, they walked for over ten minutes.

With every step, every second, she felt as if a faint electric current was traveling from her palm and coursing through her entire body.

That unprecedented sense of reality kept her mind in a blank state.

Is this a dream?

Yet, such a scene—even in her boldest dreams, she had never dared to imagine it.

Time seems to have frozen at this moment.

There are few people in the subway station, and the two of them just stand there in front of the turnstiles, holding hands quietly.

After a long while.

Tang Song finally releases her hand slowly; the warm sensation vanishes abruptly, leaving Zhang Yan’s heart feeling empty.

"Get some good rest. Tomorrow is Saturday; I'll come find you early to hang out."

"Mm," Zhang Yan responds in a low voice, truly not knowing what to say, and not daring to say much more.

Tang Song smiles and waves at her, takes out his phone, and swipes his card to enter the station.

The turnstile gate opens and closes with a "click."

His hard-soled leather shoes strike the ground, making a crisp "tap-tap" sound.

Only then does Zhang Yan have the courage to fully lift her head, blankly watching his departing back.

Just like that, as in those countless days and nights of the past, she watches from afar, quietly, as his back gradually moves away.

A reunion after more than two years.

His changes are immense and unfamiliar, yet at this moment, they are also familiar.

Just then, that back which had already walked far away suddenly pauses.

He turns his head and looks at her from a distance.

Their gazes meet in the air.

Zhang Yan, like a student caught by a teacher cheating on an exam, instantly lowers her head in a panic.

Her hands are tightly clasped in front of her, her heart pounding wildly.

Tang Song, however, turns around and walks back to the turnstile, looking at her.

"I'll send you a message when I get to the hotel," his voice is clear and gentle. "You send me a message when you get home, too."

"Mm."

"Be careful on the way back, and watch where you're going."

"Mm."

"See you tomorrow."

Zhang Yan’s eyes tremble violently, her lips move, and she silently replies, "See you tomorrow."

Only then does Tang Song truly turn and walk toward the depths of the subway station.

Until his figure disappears completely around the corner.

Zhang Yan remains standing in place; it is only when the roar of a train entering the station and the sparse crowd of people emerging again appear that she finally comes back to her senses.

She follows the scattered people, walking outward with a dazed gait.

Passing through the dimly lit streets, passing through the damp night wind.

"Bang—click—"

The old security door is shut firmly.

"Meow~ meow~" Orange pops out from somewhere, affectionately rubbing its head against her ankle, seemingly wondering why its owner is standing at the door in a daze.

"Orange."

Zhang Yan mutters to herself, then suddenly raises her hand and pinches her arm hard.

A clear sensation of pain follows.

It’s not a dream!

All of this is not a dream!

Recalling the scenes from tonight—from him appearing downstairs holding Orange, to the two of them reading comics side-by-side, to that scorching hand-holding at the intersection.

She covers her burning cheeks tightly, leaning weakly against the cold wall, feeling as if she is about to faint.

"How could this be? How could this be? What is going on?"

She mutters to herself in disbelief.

No matter how much she tries to escape it internally, she realizes that Tang Song really did see her messages on QQ.

He knows all the thoughts she has kept for these years.

He even knows where she lives.

That is why he was able to find her accurately and quickly after seeing the WeChat message.

He actually came to Yangcheng.

How did he become like this?

Countless doubts, immense shame, and that deep-rooted inferiority surge up instantly.

But in the end, all emotions freeze on the scene of him holding her hand to cross the street.

Zhang Yan bites her lower lip hard, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing against the seam of her pants.

A moment later, she seems to remember something.

She fumbles to take her phone out of her pocket and opens the chat box with Tang Song.

Her gaze first falls on the photo of the letter paper she sent; she whispers "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" in shame, and only then dares to click on the input box.

Carefully tapping the screen, she leaves a message: "I'm home."

After sending the message, as if she has used up all her strength, she slowly sits on the floor along the wall, breathing heavily.

Immediately following, a belated, immense joy finally breaks free from the shackles of shame and inferiority, drowning her completely like the rising tide.

She has fantasized countless times—not just about reuniting with him, but about being able to talk to him like this, in her own true name. Even if it were just a simple, most ordinary greeting.

Not to mention, they even held hands.

She slowly raises her left hand, looking at it intently; the temperature of his palm seems to still be clearly lingering there.

Orange snuggles up to her, curls up, and occasionally brushes against her with its tail, seemingly sharing in its owner’s joy.

"Ding-dong—" The WeChat notification sound rings out.

[Tang Song: "( ( ) Received, get some rest early."]

Seeing this reply, especially the emoticon, Zhang Yan rubs her cheeks and smiles foolishly.

Afterward, she looks up at this rental apartment filled with the messy traces of the dinner party, stands up in a hurry, and begins to take action.

Sweeping, mopping, packing up the trash left by her friends and throwing it away;

Wiping tables and chairs, straightening the crooked sofa cushions one by one;

Organizing the bookshelf and desk, placing every book in order—she is like a tireless little bee, diligently cleaning every corner, striving to make this small room look a bit more presentable.

After all—he said he would come again tomorrow.

Afterward, when her gaze falls on the dilapidated bathroom and kitchen, the emotions that had just ignited instantly dim again.

The bathroom and kitchen are where she uses the most water; because there are no tiles on the walls or floors, the damp environment has caused mold spots that are difficult to eradicate to grow in the corners and ventilation ducts.

And those old refrigerators, range hoods, toilets—this cannot be solved by simple cleaning.

Even the most skilled cleaner could not make the old hardware look brand new.

A strong sense of inferiority wraps around her again, and tears drip onto the old floor covering.

But she just wipes them away silently, puts on gloves, and then picks up the disinfectant, using a brush to stubbornly clean those stains bit by bit.

I don't know how much time has passed.

"Ding-dong—" The WeChat notification sound rings out again.

She hurriedly takes off her gloves and takes out her phone.

[Tang Song: "I've reached the hotel. You should be asleep by now. Good night, classmate Zhang Yan, have a good dream."]

Looking at the "good night" and the familiar address, Zhang Yan bites her lip.

She wants to reply, but is a bit timid, afraid he will know she hasn't slept yet and was waiting for his message.

She puts away her phone, tries hard to calm her heartbeat, and continues working.

Because she usually pays great attention to hygiene, the room isn't actually dirty or messy.

Busy until past one in the morning, she finally finishes cleaning the entire room thoroughly.

Zhang Yan finishes washing up, lies down on the bed exhausted, and turns off the lights.

Closing her eyes, she can't help but open them again.

In the darkness, the blue light of the screen illuminates her dazed cheeks.

Opening the chat interface with Tang Song, it seems that only by looking at those few lines of simple dialogue can she confirm that everything that happened tonight is real.

The room is pitch black again, and after the screen lights up and goes dark repeatedly several times.

She finally succumbs to sleepiness and falls into a deep slumber.

This day was longer than the past month.

The conflict with her leader, buying the last two volumes of the comic book, writing that letter, the miraculous reunion with him, chatting, reading comics, and that hand-holding...

I don't know when, but the sound of steady breathing begins to echo in the quiet room.

She has a long, warm dream.

It is an afternoon in middle school; the sunlight is filtered by the poplar trees outside the window into fine, dappled spots of light, lazily spilling onto the desk.

The classroom speaker is playing Jay’s "Rainbow," the slightly melancholic melody flowing in the air like the wind.

The windows are open, and the unique, cool breeze of the teaching building, mixed with the scent of chalk dust and grass, passes through the hallway, gently blowing the math test paper in front of her, making a faint "rustling" sound.

She turns her head and secretly glances at her deskmate who is reading beside her, asking in a low voice, "What score did you get?"

"93. I missed one of the easy bonus questions."

"Oh." Her head bows lower, her gaze falling on the "69" on her own test paper. "Why am I so stupid? These are all question types I've done before..."

There are less than two months left until the high school entrance exam, yet her math grades just won't improve.

Tang Song is very smart; every exam he is in the top three of the class, steadily able to get into the First High School.

And she, in all likelihood, can only go to the Second High School.

In this small township middle school, this is actually already a very good result.

But she still wants to go to the First High School.

The deskmate beside her taps her desk with his pen, then tilts his head, smiling and lowering his voice to say, "Zhang Yan, haven't you heard? The math teacher graded the scores backward this time. If you rotate your test paper 180 degrees, that’s your real score."

"Ah!" She turns the test paper in surprise.

It’s still 69.

"Hahaha." The deskmate’s laughter is clean and clear, like iced soda in the summer.

He touches her arm with his, and says a few more witty remarks, making her cheeks burn.

Zhang Yan, I don't know when, also starts to laugh shyly and softly along with him.

The heaviness pressing on her heart seems to have been blown away by the laughter.

Afterward, the deskmate puts away his book, looks at her, and encourages her earnestly, "It’s okay, Zhang Yan. The Second High School is actually not bad either. If you study hard, you can definitely get into a good university. Keep it up!"

"Keep it up."

November 4, 2023, Saturday, cloudy, 21~31°C.

Sunlight spills in through the gaps in the curtains, casting dappled light and shadows on the yellowing walls.

Zhang Yan slowly opens her eyes amidst a series of urgent cat meows.

First, she stares blankly at the ceiling for a while, then glances at the time on the wall clock.

It’s already almost 8 o'clock.

Orange is clearly starving; I don't know when it jumped onto the bed to remind its owner that it’s time to be fed.

Zhang Yan’s body jolts, as if she suddenly remembers something, and a look of panic instantly appears on her face.

She sits up abruptly, grabs the phone by the pillow, and unlocks the screen.

On the phone interface, the chat history with "Tang Song" from last night is lying there quietly.

Her chest begins to heave violently, and that heart, which had been calm due to deep sleep, starts pounding wildly again.

It really isn't a dream.

She looks down at Orange beside her; the dreamlike scenes from last night uncontrollably flood her mind again.

Her cheeks, which were still sleepy, are quickly covered by a burning red glow.

Then, she pulls Orange into her arms and rubs her burning cheeks against it wildly, "I... this..."

"Meow~ meow~" The starving Orange lets out an even louder protest.

Just at this moment.

"Ding-dong—"

The WeChat notification sound rings out.

[Tang Song: "Good morning, Zhang Yan. I’ll arrive at Lanxinyuan in about 30 minutes."]

Zhang Yan’s heart skips a beat; she throws Orange onto the bed and quickly replies with a "Okay."

Then, she puts on her slippers and runs outside.

Like a wound-up rabbit, she begins to tidy up in a flurry.

Making the bed, washing up quickly, changing clothes—she was too tired last night and slept too soundly; she actually forgot to set an alarm.

But her eyes are filled with an irrepressible, sparkling joy.

This is probably the most wonderful, yet most chaotic morning she has had in so many years.

But when she stands in front of the mirror and looks at the slightly plain self inside, she can't help but lower her head in inferiority.

She has never had the habit of wearing makeup, and rarely buys high-end clothes.

The one she is wearing is already the most presentable, but it’s just a slightly more expensive piece of work attire.

In front of Tang Song, it really isn't much to show.

But it’s too late to say anything now.

She can only hurriedly wash her bangs, straighten them a bit with a flat iron, and carefully apply some skincare lotion to her face.

After doing all this, she sits in the living room, feeling restless.

Staring at the phone screen, she begins to wait silently.

Time draws closer, and her heartbeat becomes more rapid.

She can no longer sit still; she walks out the door quickly and goes downstairs to wait.

At this time of day, the sunlight is just right, the air is slightly cool, and it’s very comfortable.

Auntie Wang downstairs is watering flowers; seeing her, she immediately greets her enthusiastically: "Oh my, Yanyan, you look really beautiful today. Have you eaten yet?"

Zhang Yan blushes and shakes her head, responding in a low voice: "Not yet."

Seeing her standing there motionless, Auntie Wang immediately leans in with a smile: "Are you waiting for a friend?"

"Mm, yes..."

Auntie Wang says with some excitement: "I told you last time, my nephew is coming to my place today. Why don't you come over for lunch too!"

Auntie Wang is a famously warm-hearted person; ever since she found out Zhang Yan was single, she has been thinking about introducing her excellent nephew to her. Hearing this, Zhang Yan is so scared that she hurriedly shakes her head vigorously, waving her hands with a blushing face: "No need, Auntie Wang, really no need."

"Oh my, don't be shy!" Auntie Wang takes her hand and praises him incessantly: "A-Guang is about the same age as you,

the young man is very handsome, and his job is very stable..."

Zhang Yan’s lips move, wanting to say something, but she is too embarrassed to directly interrupt the elder’s enthusiasm.

Just at this moment, a gentle, smiling call comes from not far away.

"Zhang Yan!"

Zhang Yan’s body jolts violently; she quickly lifts her head to look at him, her gaze somewhat dazed.

Auntie Wang also looks over curiously, and then sees the young man walking toward them; her eyes widen instantly.

Tang Song is wearing low-key casual clothes, but his extremely outstanding appearance and temperament are still exceptionally eye-catching.

Standing in the morning sunlight, he looks as if he is plated with a layer of light.

Tang Song stops beside her, "This outfit today suits you very well."

Zhang Yan is instantly at a loss, lowering her head with a blushing face.

Looking at Zhang Yan’s appearance, then looking at the boy in front of her.

Auntie Wang shows an embarrassed expression on her face.

She is an experienced person, and having been a "matchmaker" for so many years, she can see this girl’s feelings clearly at a glance.

Of course, it is also mainly because the boy in front of her is truly a bit too outstanding.

Her nephew, compared to him, is not just a little bit behind.

Noticing her gaze, Tang Song politely greets Auntie Wang beside them.

His gaze returns to Zhang Yan, and he asks softly: "Have you had breakfast?"

Zhang Yan shakes her head gently, "No."

"That’s perfect, take me around to taste the local delicacies nearby."

"Okay," Zhang Yan looks up at him and nods gently.

The two walk one after the other toward the residential complex gate, Zhang Yan always trailing a bit behind him, following his every step.

Tang Song turns his head to look at her, his pace pausing imperceptibly. When Zhang Yan walks side-by-side with him due to momentum, he reaches out his hand again.

At this very moment, in a completely sober state, Zhang Yan can feel it with absolute clarity.

Tang Song’s slender, powerful hand with distinct knuckles holds hers bit by bit.

"Thump, thump, thump—"

Her heartbeat sounds like a heavy drum, and her cheeks are so red they are about to steam.

Tang Song feels the softness and slenderness in his hand, turns his head to look at Zhang Yan, and for the first time under the sunlight, examines her so earnestly.

This middle school deskmate—perhaps because her mother is a Southerner, her skin is white, smooth, and warm, and her features are as delicate as a light ink landscape painting.

Her eyes are standard almond eyes, the corners slightly drooping, and her long eyelashes always give her an innocent and gentle temperament.

At this moment, because of nervousness and shyness, those almond eyes seem to be filled with misty vapor.

Zhang Yan finally notices his gaze; like a startled fawn, she hurriedly turns her head away, leaving him only a bright red earlobe.

Tang Song chuckles, holds her hand, and starts walking, asking naturally: "Where shall we eat?"

Zhang Yan still doesn't dare to look at him, pointing toward the corner of the street, stammering: "Beside... there is a rice noodle roll shop nearby, it’s... it’s very unique."

"Okay, then you lead the way, don't go the wrong way."

"Oh, oh—"

Zhang Yan quickens her pace a bit and walks a little in front.

Every time they turn, every time they avoid pedestrians, it inevitably tugs at his hand.

This scorching, palpitating sensation makes her heart pound all the way. Just like this, turning left and right, the two walk into a small, long-established rice noodle roll shop.

After ordering breakfast, they sit face-to-face.

Zhang Yan immediately sits up straight, her hands placed awkwardly on her knees, her head bowed, her gaze always fixed on the old texture of the table, not daring to make eye contact with him.

Tang Song looks around, chatting with her in a relaxed tone about the scenery, landmarks, and food culture of Yangcheng.

Zhang Yan has lived here for more than two years after all, and she knows a lot about these things.

Gradually, she relaxes a lot, blushing and chatting with him in a low voice.

Seeing her change, the smile on Tang Song’s face becomes even brighter.

He actually knows very clearly in his heart.

For the two of them today, the term "the most familiar strangers" is perhaps the most fitting. So many years have passed, with too much time and blank space in between; even if there was a youthful friendship, being alone together is inevitably a bit awkward.

Especially for a personality as introverted and sensitive as Zhang Yan’s, knowing that he saw those secret thoughts of hers on QQ.

That embarrassment and unease need time to be slowly adapted to and digested.

Therefore, he just wants to start from the most daily details, like an old friend reuniting after a long time, and get familiar with her again.

Slowly finding back that natural closeness lost to time. Soon, the steaming rice noodle rolls are served.

The white, tender, and bouncy rice skin is so thin it’s almost transparent, and you can faintly see the fresh, tender beef and emerald green scallions wrapped inside.

Drizzled with a special, salty-yet-sweet soy sauce, and sprinkled with a layer of fragrant cooked oil and sesame seeds.

That enticing aroma, mixed with the scent of rice, meat, and sauce, instantly whets Tang Song’s appetite.

He eats 3 portions in one go.

A smile finally gradually appears on Zhang Yan’s face.

After breakfast, the two go for a stroll in the nearby vegetable market, and only then return to Zhang Yan’s rental apartment.

"Meow~" Orange darts out from under the sofa like a little cannonball.

Tang Song smiles, bends down, scoops this heavy, fat orange cat into his arms, scratches its chin, and teases it for a while.

Then, he says naturally and casually: "The weather is really nice today, let’s go to the balcony and read comics together."

Zhang Yan subconsciously looks at the mottled wall of the balcony and the rusty old windows, and a look of embarrassment appears on her face again.

"The wall isn't clean, don't... don't get your clothes dirty."

Because they are also ordinary white walls, and due to years of sun and rain, the balcony wall is not much better than the bathroom and kitchen.

Tang Song looks at the wall, then looks at her, the smile in his eyes becoming even more gentle.

"It’s okay, we’ll sit closer, just don't touch the wall."

Then, he pulls out the first volume of "Dragon Ball" from the bookshelf and moves two small wooden stools to the small balcony, familiar with the routine.

Zhang Yan bites her lip, looks at the two stools that are almost touching, and walks over with a blushing face.

She sits down beside him, her body stiff, their arms almost touching.

"Last time we saw Bulma let Goku dress up as a little girl to trick Oolong, but he was found out because he stood up to pee..."

Tang Song says while flipping the comic book to that page, naturally placing it between the two of them.

At the tip of his nose is the unique, clean scent of sunshine and soap on Zhang Yan.

He turns his head, looks at her delicate features, and feels the warmth of the girl beside him.

His heartbeat also gradually begins to accelerate.

Before they know it, the first volume of "Dragon Ball" is finally flipped to the last page.

The story stops abruptly, and the balcony falls into a brief silence.

Zhang Yan secretly and quickly lifts her eyes to look at Tang Song beside her, her gaze carrying a trace of imperceptible inquiry and anxiety.

The book is finished; should he be leaving now?

Tang Song gently closes the comic book, turns his head, meets her nervous gaze, and shows a relaxed and natural smile on his face.

"I have something to do, I'll be out for a while, I'll be back soon."

Zhang Yan really wants to ask him where he is going and what he is doing.

But the words reach her lips and are blocked back by that deep-rooted timidity.

In the end, she can only say a soft "Mm."

Tang Song waves at her and Orange, and walks out the door with a light step.

Zhang Yan stands there in a daze for a moment, then, as if driven by something, trots back to the balcony and looks down at the street below through the old window, without blinking.

She counts silently in her heart; when she reaches "13," that familiar figure finally appears on the road of the residential complex.

He walks on the path covered by the afternoon sun, his pace light, even jogging.

His whole body is overflowing with a youthful, unrestrained, and vigorous aura.

The "boy" in her memory who was passionate, clean, and radiant has finally broken free from the dullness and oppression.

The Tang Song she sees this time is many times better than what she had hoped for or imagined.

A layer of crystalline tears gradually wells up in Zhang Yan’s eyes.

It’s so good that he can live so well.

She is genuinely happy for him.

She just watches quietly, motionless, until his figure disappears around the corner of the complex.

I don't know how much time has passed.

That familiar figure appears in her line of sight again.

This time, he is carrying many things in his hands; she can't see what they are.

Zhang Yan quickly comes back to her senses, walks quickly back to the living room, and stands nervously by the door.

When clear footsteps sound in the hallway, she gently opens the door.

Soon, Tang Song walks in.

"I'm back," he says, putting the things in his hands on the floor with a "clatter."

"This is..." Zhang Yan looks at the things on the floor and is instantly stunned.

One large bucket is printed with "High-Efficiency Anti-Seepage, Waterproof, and Anti-Alkali Primer," and the other bucket says "Odorless Eco-Friendly Waterproof Latex Paint."

There is also a shopping bag with a hardware store logo.

Noticing her stunned gaze, Tang Song explains with a smile: "I remember telling you before that my dad used to do renovation work. It just so happens I have nothing to do today, so I’ll help you fix the wall; I know a bit about this."

"Ah!" Zhang Yan gasps, shaking her head and waving her hands vigorously, speaking incoherently: "No, no need, no need! I... I can find someone to fix it myself, I can't let you..."

Tang Song smiles and interrupts her gently: "It’s okay, it’s no trouble. Besides, I haven't done this work in a long time, I actually want to try it, it’s quite fun."

He pauses and winks at her playfully, "Do you want to come over and help me? Men and women working together, it won't be tiring."

Zhang Yan stammers for a while, looks at his sincere, smiling eyes, and in the end, doesn't dare to argue anymore.

She picks up the plastic bag with tools beside her and follows him into the bathroom that makes her feel the most embarrassed.

The wall is not tiled, just painted with a layer of waterproof coating that has long since yellowed.

Because of years of dampness and poor ventilation, the wall surface is peeling and flaking off in large areas, revealing the mottled and ugly cement underneath.

It is truly terrible; every time Tang Song says he wants to go to the bathroom, she feels nervous and anxious.

Tang Song seems not to notice her unease, naturally helping her move the scattered items in the bathroom to the bedroom one by one.

Then, he takes a blue apron out of the shopping bag, puts it on, takes out a roller, brush, and putty knife, and begins to clean the wall surface with skilled movements.

"Look, for this kind of old wall, you must first scrape off all the peeling and loose parts, otherwise the new paint won't last long even if you apply it."

"Before painting, this waterproof primer is key, especially in damp places like the bathroom and kitchen; it can prevent the wall from getting damp and moldy, and can also make the topcoat adhere more firmly—"

He explains some renovation knowledge to her in a relaxed tone while working.

The bathroom is very small, about 4 square meters, and the wall area that needs painting is only about 10 square meters.

With Tang Song’s current physical strength and coordination, doing this kind of thing is exceptionally simple and neat.

The mottled wall skin is scraped off bit by bit in his hands, revealing the gray cement base.

Tang Song stirs the primer evenly and applies it carefully with the roller.

Zhang Yan follows beside him; at first, she is still a bit nervous and timid, not knowing where to put her hands and feet.

But slowly, she is infected by his relaxation and focus.

Sometimes, she helps him pass tools; sometimes, she helps him steady the unstable little stool.

And most of the time, she just stands quietly to the side, blankly watching the figure stained with sweat and white latex paint.

The roller rubs against the wall repeatedly, making a low "swish" sound.

The dilapidated bathroom is being covered and repaired bit by bit with a clean, brand-new white.

She watches and listens.

I don't know why, but she can't help but call out his name, "Tang Song—" This is the first time she has called his name alone after many years.

Tang Song stops, turns his head, his face still stained with a few spots of white paint, his smile bright and clean, "I'm here, what’s wrong?"

"No, nothing, thank you." She lowers her head in a panic.

In a trance, she feels that a corner of her heart, which is also mottled and damp.

Is being repaired by him bit by bit in the most gentle and understated way.