The moon hung cold, dust drifting in its light.
Wherever its glow reached, vast and boundless, silence fell—and in that silence, someone sought comfort.
He ran laps around campus, the oversized jersey clinging to his sweat-dampened body, moonlight outlining his lean muscles.
In one hand he gripped his phone, in his ears a simple, steady R&B track. A towel draped loosely around his neck, but though sweat streamed down his skin, he never stopped to use it.
His eyes were calm. No runner's high, no weariness. From time to time he glanced at the rippling surface of the artificial lake, or at the moon reflected in the glass windows of the teaching block.
Finally, Tang Li slowed to a stop. He glanced at his phone—still no new message from the friend pinned at the very top of his WeChat.
He was waiting.
Though for what, he could not say.
For an answer to his clumsy confession?
All he'd received was evasion—and, buried between the lines, an excuse: she was busy.
He bought a bottle of water from a shop. The cap bore the words "Try Again—Win Another Bottle." Without looking, he drained it in one go and tossed it into a bin. A neat parabola, like a three-pointer.
The night was still young. He decided to head for a supermarket a little farther off-campus.
To experience the city? Or simply to lose himself in the local bustle? Either way, the seaside metropolis was alive, and he wanted to walk among it.
People picked over vegetables and fruit, squinted at yogurt expiry dates. Even the men in suits cracked seeds by the dried-goods aisle.
For all the skyscrapers and neon, people still ran about for rice, oil, and salt.
That warmth—the smoke and fire of ordinary life—felt strangely familiar. Tang Li adjusted his hoodie and drifted toward the snack aisle.
"Seriously? Not a single cart left today? This time of night there's usually plenty. What is it, a holiday?"
A girl's voice.
He followed it to a figure in a white dress, long black hair flowing down her back. In her hands, a basket so full she struggled under its weight.
She looked familiar.
He stepped closer, asking quietly, "Miss, need a hand? I can carry that for you."
The girl turned. Black eyes, clear and bright—and they met a handsome, harmless face. Color rushed into her cheeks. Bashfully, she passed him the basket.
And then, as she turned away—she smiled.
At what? At his awkward attempt at small talk, perhaps. Any other guy, she would have brushed off. But his looks were enough to soften the moment.
Her blush deepened. Maybe she guessed: the boy liked her.
Tang Li carried the heavy basket with ease, following as she picked through snacks, dropping each new find into his basket. Watching her, he couldn't help but smile.
And then—memory stirred.
The same crowded aisles. The same quiet steps behind a girl.
Back then, it had been Ji Yu.
Did he feel something?
Maybe. Alone in a strange city, finding echoes of the past… it was hard not to.
The night air was unusually still. The pavement silver under moonlight.
She glanced back at him. "Sorry to trouble you so long, handsome. I'm Gu Yu. What's your name?"
Her fringe brushed free of her damp forehead. Tang Li looked at her—familiar, yes—but said nothing.
The girl laughed lightly, tucking her phone from her bag, QR code open and ready.
"You approached me, remember? And now when I ask your name you clam up? Add me on WeChat, hmm? Next time, when I've got the cash, I'll buy you dinner."
The code quivered in the sea breeze, like the heart behind it.
She pouted when he still hesitated.
"Don't tell me you've got a girlfriend already, and you're still out here chatting up strangers? Ugh—scumbag."
The word hit. For a moment, something flickered in his chest.
At last, he raised his phone and scanned. His reply was slow, voice heavy:
"My name's Tang Li. From Yudu."
Gu Yu's smile returned. She nodded.
"Tang Li, huh? Elegant name. Matches you, I think."
"…Elegant?" He chuckled softly, lifting his gaze to the moon.
Ji Yu's teasing words surfaced unbidden: "Maybe your parents hoped you'd grow up polite. Still waiting on that, if you ask me."
"Names don't matter," he murmured. "One day, depending on what happens, you might come to hate your own."
Another smile. Gentle, but distant.
"Shall I walk you home, Miss Gu Yu?"
"What, already fishing for my address? Maybe you're some kind of playboy, hmm? No thanks."
She snatched back the bags, grinning.
"Next time, then—Mr. Tang?"
Her footsteps echoed on the stone path.
"If fate allows."
He stepped back, let the moonlight drape his body, and closed his eyes.
"…And if we meet again," Gu Yu called, a teasing lilt in her voice, "would you still greet me in front of your girlfriend?"
Her smile mixed nerves with hope, and something harder to name.
"…Girlfriend?"
Tang Li took another step back. Eyes on the vast, infinite sky.
Then slowly—closed them.
Pale blue eyes opened.
In Yuyang University, Ji Yu looked up from her papers at the student council member holding yet another stack of requests.
"…What do you mean, it's gone?"
Today, once again, she was drowning in the bizarre demands of the clubs.
"Mo Yachen told me we had a movable piano stored in Xinde Hall. How could there not be one?"
She poured juice into paper cups for the members seated around the table, saving the last sip for herself.
"It's not that there isn't," a bespectacled senior answered coolly. "We asked Director Dong. She said the Guitar Club borrowed it. Unless the Music Society negotiates directly with them, the council can't exactly intervene."
"…Why would a Guitar Club even need a piano?" Ji Yu muttered darkly.
Requests kept coming: more odd, impractical demands from the clubs. She rubbed her temples. Yet here, at least, the council debated and resolved things themselves, without waiting for her verdict.
And for Ji Yu—this was the only kind of meeting that felt almost… light.