Chapter 3189: Paulownia Tree Lane Bitter Summer 32

On the morning of departure, the sky just began to lighten, and summer in Ling City was drawing to a close.

Downstairs, Aunt Wang, who had been very good to them, was sweeping at the lane entrance; seeing them come out dragging their suitcases, she froze for a moment, "Leaving already?"

Chenshu smiled and nodded, "We're leaving, Aunt Wang, take care too." Jin Chen bought steamed buns from the stall, took an extra serving of sweet tofu pudding, and returned to give it to Aunt Wang.

Aunt Wang smiled as she took the breakfast Jin Chen handed her, waved her hand, and said, "Go on, young people always have to aim higher—this kid Jin Chen is suited for the big city."

Jin Chen walked over the waterlogged cement path of Paulownia Tree Lane, passed the familiar scenery he had seen countless times, and no longer needed to look back.

Arriving at the train station, the train headed north all the way, as if opening a brand‑new adventure.

Jin Chen seemed not quite accustomed to long‑distance train travel.

After just a few hours on board, he leaned against the bed and grew drowsy, his eyelids sinking. Fortunately, Chenshu was particular; he drew the curtains on both of their lower bunks, and soon he went to Jin Chen's bed, pulled the curtain shut, shutting out the noisy chatter and announcements outside.

Jin Chen's soft hair brushed against Chenshu's neck; even in sleep he was restless, his cheek lightly rubbing, as if having an uneasy dream. Chenshu withdrew his gaze from the window and gently watched Jin Chen's sleeping face resting against his neck.

The scenery outside the window receded in reverse—city, fields, villages, telephone poles, distant mountains—flashing by frame by frame, like a film fast‑forwarded.

At dinner time, Chenshu ordered hot tea and two boxed meals, and woke Jin Chen.

Jin Chen blinked open his eyes, still not fully awake, his gaze drooping as he leaned in to kiss Chenshu; his weary, half‑asleep brows and eyes bore a lazy languor, his breath exhaled onto Chenshu's cheek, where he lightly sucked for a moment.

The countryside view framed by the window blurred; Chenshu willingly surrendered his strength, yielding to Jin Chen's embrace as they held each other.

Until the kisses became too much, he slightly curled his waist, and Jin Chen seemed to sense it, stopping, his breath lightly grazing Chenshu's nose tip as he whispered, "Brother."

Chenshu responded with a sound and asked, "Are you hungry?"

The curtain was drawn open; the compartment was a four‑person bunk.

The upper bunk held two fellow‑traveling youths who looked like college students, sitting cross‑legged on a bed playing games; the glow of their phone screens lit their faces, they stared straight ahead, absorbed in their own game worlds, completely unaware of what was happening below.

That was fine; Jin Chen's subtle tension eased considerably.

The boxed meals on the train weren't particularly tasty—the rice was a bit hard, the dishes monotonous—but with a different mindset, tinged with freedom and the wear of travel, Jin Chen found them fairly satisfying.

After washing up in the restroom and returning, night had already fallen outside the window.

The moon hung on the distant horizon, faint and shifting, obscured then revealed by swiftly passing clouds; fields and villages sank into darkness, leaving only a few scattered lights that flickered by. Jin Chen tilted his head, earphones on, and gazed for a long time.

The youth in the upper bunk couldn't sleep, leaned down, and chatted with Chenshu, "Handsome guy, where are you headed?"

"Didu," Chenshu replied with a smile, "We're going to start a new life."

The youth probably thought the answer amusing, smiled and gave a thumbs‑up, "Good luck! We're dodging college military training to wander for fifteen days, and after wandering we'll have to go back for make‑up training."

The other upper‑bunk youth chimed in, "Pah, you're a jinx—maybe the school cancelled the military training." The two then laughed and joked for a while.

The chatting gradually quieted down.

In the deeper night, they drew the curtains tight and insisted on squeezing onto the same bed to sleep.

The bunk was narrow; the two had to lie very close to fit. Jin Chen wrapped his arms around Chenshu's waist from behind, resting his chin on the shoulder.

The train headed north, rocking; the cramped soft‑sleeper compartment bred ambiguity in the darkness—kisses, falling asleep together on the road to a new life.

Upon arriving in Didu, the first thing greeting them was Didu's comfortable autumn.

Jin Chen stepped out of the train station and inhaled the distinctly different air of the new city. Unlike Ling City, here the air held no damp water vapor, no mixture of cooking smoke and dust like that of Camphor Tree Lane.

A cool breeze brushed his face, refreshing and dry. The sky was high and blue, clouds like wind‑blown cotton fluff. Standing in the clear morning sunlight, the cool air filled his chest, making Jin Chen utterly certain that the most important summer of his life had passed.

Dragging his suitcase, his weary body, the two arrived at Chenshu's apartment in Didu—a modest flat.

Chenshu attached great significance to the moment; he handed the suitcase to Jin Chen, then hurried a few steps to the Main Gate, unlocked it, and pushed it open.

He turned sideways to look at Jin Chen, eyes crinkling, "Welcome home."

In front of his lover, Jin Chen was not stingy with his smile; he set down his suitcase, followed his heart forward a few steps, opened his arms, and embraced Chenshu deeply, his chin resting against the ear, gently rubbing.

He also said, "Chenshu, welcome home."

Chenshu, held in his embrace, closed his eyes; his heart raced, gaining an ineffable sense of fulfillment.

His heart held many tender feelings—those nights in Paulownia Tree Lane, the evenings watering the balcony, the dawns spent sleeping entwined. In countless unknown tomorrows, they would come together to Didu, a place that once gave him no sense of belonging; he had gained his lover, and thus was no longer lonely.