Chapter 16: Dampness

After that brief elective course ended, for a long time, Liang Yuanzheng didn’t see Lu Canran again.

So long, in fact, that even in his dreams, her face was no longer there. Her precise eyebrows and eyes, her clothes, the length of her hair—there were no outlines, no details. The dreams left no traces behind, only the joy of dreaming about her lingered, stretching into reality.

In one psychology elective, the professor explained that the human brain has a self-protection mechanism. For example, “cute aggression”: when people see kittens or puppies, they often feel an uncontrollable urge to squeeze them. This is because, when faced with an overwhelming surge of cuteness, the brain requires a touch of negative emotion to balance and neutralize it.

When trying to remember someone important, deliberate recollection consumes a large number of brain cells. So the brain will automatically activate a self-protection mechanism to blur that memory.

Liang Yuanzheng had to visit her Moments often, quietly downloading photo after photo. He had considered liking her posts, but in the end, didn’t want to disrupt the fragile balance he had barely managed to maintain.

A fragile balance, barely maintained beneath refined rational restraint.

He was too clear-headed, too self-aware.

With an uncertain future ahead and the road known to be full of storms and thorns, how could he use something like “love” to bind someone else into walking that difficult path with him?

It was like two ships meeting by chance in the vast ocean, each with its own route. Standing on his little canoe, how could he promise the girl gazing from a cruise ship: come down, I love you, come with me, I’ll reach the fertile shore together with you.

It sounded just like the empty promises pitched to college students at a corporate recruitment seminar.

Most of the time, Liang Yuanzheng’s QQ status was set to offline, his profile icon a muted grey background—simply because he didn’t want to be pestered by that so-called “younger brother.”

He refused to acknowledge that weak, half-brother as family, nor would he allow the other any expectations of what a real older brother should be.

His Qzone rarely had any updates either. Liang Yuanzheng’s busy and barren life resembled a 《Guide to Discouraging Medical Students.》 He got up at six thirty in the morning, returned to his dorm at eleven at night, and worked a 24-hour shift every three days. Even in the little free time he had, he had to read or do research. There was a period when the pressure was so intense that he didn’t even have time to work out. His external obliques briefly disappeared but were slowly trained back into shape.

Lu Canran’s WeChat Moments were the opposite. Though she didn’t post often, each time she did, it was always a full set of nine photos: dorm get-togethers, solving problems in the library, preparing for the CET-4 and CET-6 exams, cramming at the last minute for the Computer Level Two test, studying late into the night during finals week…

Sometimes, one or two of those posts would be quietly deleted within five hours. Maybe she felt something wasn’t perfect enough. But even those deleted photos had already been saved by Liang Yuanzheng into a separate folder on his phone and computer.

He could even publish a book titled 《The Lu Canran Observation Journal》.

The road of medicine turned out to be even more grueling than Liang Yuanzheng had anticipated. Fortunately, he was well-versed in dealing with humiliation.

When another resident training student, who had started at the same time as him, was scolded to the point of tears, Liang Yuanzheng was still able to calmly finish all the ECGs alone after being reprimanded.

Crying didn’t solve problems. Liang Yuanzheng comforted the classmate, telling him that most supervising doctors were like this. Some emotionally charged, vulgar words were best forgotten as soon as they were heard—there was no need to take them to heart.

The classmate, feeling deeply insulted, choked out that the teacher had accused them of being uneducated—how could a teacher say that?

Liang Yuanzheng offered a few patient words of reassurance, though inwardly he thought this person had been too well sheltered by family. Just one sentence like that and it was enough to bring him to tears?

The things he himself had heard were a thousand times sharper and crueler. Especially during the period of adolescence, when pride was at its peak, Liang Yuanzheng had been forced time and again to trade away his privacy and dignity in exchange for money—to ensure that his grandmother, his younger sister, and himself could continue living a normal life.

After that, he ran into Lu Canran—someone who had been even more sheltered by her family.

She had been deceived again.

It was the “second time” Liang Yuanzheng had witnessed it, but certainly not the second time she had been tricked.

“Are you stupid or what!” Chen Wanli, sounding more beast than man, exploded in anger like an enraged beagle. “Why can’t you ever learn your lesson? Huh? Donating money without saying a word—what if they’re a scammer? Did you already forget the last time you got scammed?”

Lu Canran argued back, trying to reason with him. “But what if she really is in need?”

“If I get scammed, then that’s all I’m losing,” Lu Canran said. “Anyway, that money was meant for a trip. It doesn’t affect my regular life. But if she really needs it for medical treatment—”

“You’re so annoying,” Chen Wanli said irritably. “Don’t forget she was just your middle school classmate. You two haven’t seen each other in years. The moment she contacts you, it’s to borrow money—don’t you think that’s suspicious? Why didn’t she ask someone closer to her?”

“Doesn’t that just prove even more that she’s truly at a dead end?” Lu Canran said. “Back in middle school, we got along really well. She used to share the steamed buns her mom made with me…”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that she’s not replying to you now,” Chen Wanli interrupted. “You got scammed again.”

“At least I learned something new,” Lu Canran said. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I mind,” Chen Wanli nearly shouted. “Can you just… can you… forget it.”

Like a balloon suddenly deflated, Chen Wanli turned and stormed off, yelling as he went.

“Stop letting people treat you like a walking blood bank. Are you an idiot? Lu Canran, you’re not a kid anymore—stop living in your own self-righteous world. Can’t you be a little more cautious with people? Aunt Lu only has one daughter. How are you going to manage all those stores like this?”

Lu Canran replied, “I’m just nice to my friends. It’s not like I’m nice to everyone.”

Chen Wanli said, “Then I better have a word with Aunt Lu and help her screen people for you, so some poor loser doesn’t scam you away!”

That line made Lu Canran’s voice suddenly spike. “You’re so annoying!”

It wasn’t easy.

That was actually the first time Liang Yuanzheng had heard Lu Canran curse someone out. It wasn’t even that fierce, no swearing—just like a fluffed-up white long-tailed tit in a huff.

Her intimidation factor was minimal—only enough to scare off her own kind.

Chen Wanli ran off.

Lu Canran sat alone on a bench by what people jokingly called “Lovers’ Lake.” Not far away, a couple was breaking pieces of bread to feed the swans. She quietly continued memorizing vocabulary, looking as if she truly didn’t care about the money she might never get back.

Just like the lone swan gliding across the lake’s surface.

Liang Yuanzheng wanted to know how things turned out, but he had no right to approach her. Luckily, when the dorms were rearranged, he ended up rooming with Jiang Si, the older brother of Lu Canran’s roommate.

“Lu Canran? You mean that good friend of Xinxin, right? The one who always gets scammed,” Jiang Si recalled simply. “A middle school classmate borrowed money from her? That was earlier this year, wasn’t it? Let me think… Got it. Xinxin mentioned it—the person ended up paying her back, and Lu Canran even treated them to a big meal.”

“What kind of big meal?” Liang Yuanzheng asked.

Jiang Si scrolled through his chat history, then forwarded the restaurant’s address to Liang Yuanzheng, who saved it to his favorites.

“Oh right,” Jiang Si sat on the chair, half turning as he smiled thoughtfully. “Do you like Lu Canran?”

Liang Yuanzheng replied, “Ridiculous.”

He began working on medical licensing exam questions, but no matter what, he couldn’t focus.

Jiang Si scooted closer on his own. “Lu Canran’s still single, you know.”

Liang Yuanzheng read the question stem.

“Xinxin said a lot of guys are chasing after her.”

Liang Yuanzheng marked an X over one of the distractors.

“Lu Canran’s ideal type is a hardworking, motivated guy who’s clean, good at studying, has a clear plan and goals. He should be at least 189 centimeters tall, have a well-proportioned and muscular build, doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink—”

The pen tip pierced a hole right through the correct answer.

Liang Yuanzheng cut Jiang Si off. “How do you know that?”

“Xinxin told me,” Jiang Si watched his expression and grinned. “She asked me to keep an eye out. If I know anyone suitable, I could introduce them to Canran. Honestly, I think you fit the bill perfectly. It’s like her checklist was written based on you.”

Liang Yuanzheng lowered his head. “Don’t joke around.”

He did ten multiple-choice questions and got nine of them wrong.

After turning off the desk lamp, Jiang Si added, “Tomorrow’s Xinxin’s birthday. Her roommates are going too. Do you want to come along? Just a dinner.”

Liang Yuanzheng declined.

Knowing full well that once he took that first step, things would spiral out of control, he refused to take it.

“Really not coming?”

“Yeah. What’s with that slap mark on your face?”

“Oh, this?” Jiang Si touched his face and smiled cheerfully. “The wind was too strong. Blew me right into Xinxin’s hand.”

Liang Yuanzheng: “…”

The second time Jiang Si was blown into Zhu Huaxin’s hand happened on the night before Lu Canran was discharged from the hospital.

Liang Yuanzheng had been chatting with a friend specializing in neuroscience and learned that a certain sample from their lab had gone missing. The professor, students, and even the security department at University A were all secretly investigating the theft.

With a fresh slap mark on his cheek, Jiang Si told Liang Yuanzheng that things were going pretty well, and they were just waiting to invite her whole dorm over on Sunday.

“You too,” Jiang Si sighed with layered meaning. “Better make the most of your time, or you’ll miss your chance.”

Lu Canran’s parents were planning to send her to the UK for a master’s degree. By that count, the time she would remain in the country was just a little over a year.

Liang Yuanzheng had long known she intended to study abroad. He also knew that before her last IELTS exam, she had volunteered at a school charity event, caught a cold after getting drenched in the rain, and ended up performing poorly.

He looked up flights to London. Outside of the school admission season, the cheapest direct economy flight cost 3,890 yuan and took eleven hours. Alternatively, a connecting flight in a budget class would take nearly nineteen hours but only cost 1,600 yuan—saving 2,000 yuan.

“Let me know once you’ve chosen a school,” Chen Wanli said to Lu Canran. “You going abroad alone makes everyone worried. I have a few friends studying over there, they can help look after you a bit.”

Lu Canran replied, “Got it, got it.”

She kept glancing nervously at Liang Yuanzheng’s face, hoping he wouldn’t be discouraged by this. After all, times had changed—modern communication meant going abroad no longer meant cutting ties.

Lu Canran wanted to earn her master’s degree as quickly as possible, at the very least to reach academic parity with Liang Yuanzheng…

But what was Liang Yuanzheng thinking?

Lu Canran didn’t know.

Qin Bingshuang and Xu Qiao quickly created an opportunity for their friend by dragging away Chen Wanli, who still wanted to keep barking out his werwerwer.

But Lu Canran didn’t manage to go for a walk with Liang Yuanzheng either—Director Xue called him back to work.

From noon until evening, all the way up to bedtime, Lu Canran didn’t receive another message from Liang Yuanzheng. Not even a good night.

“Everyone thinks long-distance relationships don’t work,” Lu Canran said gloomily as she lay on her bed, speaking to her friends. “Liang Yuanzheng definitely thinks this is unreliable. He might even feel like I’m toying with him—flirting when I’m about to leave the country to study abroad.”

Lu Canran’s head hurt.

The worse her mood got, the stronger the mushroom’s effects became. Ever since dinner, she had been uncontrollably hearing all sorts of jumbled noises, and in her line of sight, the floating bullet screens had started clumping together in a chaotic mess.

She could even hear the door talking to the window about something that happened thirty years ago.

Even Zhu Huaxin’s comforting voice sounded fuzzy. Amid the disorderly thoughts and scrolling bullet screens, Lu Canran had to concentrate hard to distinguish which words were actually being spoken to her face-to-face by her friend.

“Don’t worry,” Zhu Huaxin reassured her. “It’s not like you were hiding it on purpose. You two were just flirting, not even officially dating yet. There’s no need to tell him everything… Think of it as a little test, isn’t it?”

Her inner voice repeated the same sentence.

[Just wait until this Sunday.]

The bullet screens seemed to be malfunctioning.

Xu Qiao and Qin Bingshuang came over to comfort Lu Canran, but vaguely, all three of them kept repeating the same sentence—

[Just wait until this Sunday.]

Lu Canran thanked them, then covered her ears and hid under the covers. In that moment, a sudden wave of regret washed over her. She regretted being swept away by that surge of emotion—maybe she shouldn’t have initiated so much interaction with him. Maybe she had been too much these past few days, pushing the relationship too quickly.

Somewhere in the universe, there always seemed to be a force punishing those who got carried away with joy.

Lu Canran hadn’t been fully prepared. Her impulsive flirtation had possibly ruined a friendship that might have lasted.

If things couldn’t work out with Liang Yuanzheng in the end, Lu Canran would rather stay his good friend for a lifetime.

The space between more than friends and not quite lovers always made one toss and turn, restless and uneasy. She slipped her phone beneath her pillow and closed her eyes, knowing that the moment Liang Yuanzheng sent a message, she would sense it instantly.

Her phone never buzzed, not even by the time she fell asleep.

Lu Canran woke up at two in the morning. The phone was silent, its screen showing no unread messages. Feeling disappointed, she tapped in out of habit, wanting to secretly check if Liang Yuanzheng had posted on his Moments, changed his status message, or if he had once again walked more than twenty thousand steps today—

And then she saw something unbelievable.

The message had been sent at 00:58.

【“Himalaya” tapped^[1]On QQ and WeChat, users can “tap” another person’s profile—an interaction originally designed as a playful way to get someone’s attention. Over time, this feature evolved into a way for … Continue reading himself and said, Sorry, I was working overtime today and got busy.】

【“Himalaya” tapped himself again and said, Almost done, I didn’t want to wake you.】

【“Himalaya” tapped himself and said, Sorry I didn’t say ‘good night’ tonight.】

【“Himalaya” tapped himself and said, Wishing Lu Canran sweet dreams tonight.】

A “tap” on oneself doesn’t trigger any notification or vibration. Each message is limited to ten characters, and every one of his messages landed precisely at the limit.

Lu Canran couldn’t picture how Liang Yuanzheng, still working overtime in the middle of the night, sat there editing each message word by word to fit the character limit.

Curled up under her blanket, she changed her own tap and replied.

【“Mount Everest” tapped herself and said, It’s okay, Senior. Take care of yourself.】

【“Mount Everest” tapped herself and said, Wishing Liang Yuanzheng sweet dreams tonight.】

It was the first time she had ever sent his name in a message, and she was so nervous that all her sleepiness vanished.

But Liang Yuanzheng replied instantly.

Himalaya: 【Why are you still awake?】

Mount Everest: 【I fell asleep but woke up again.】

Mount Everest: 【Turns out I really do need your good night.】

Liang Yuanzheng immediately sent several different 【[good night.jpg]】 images—each one a cute animated cat sticker.

He followed up under each image with a message, carefully noting: this one is tonight’s good night, this one is yesterday’s, this one is the night before that—oh, and here’s one for tomorrow too. Since he’d be working the night shift again, he might not have time, so he was sending it in advance.

Lu Canran read every single word with meticulous care.

Mount Everest: 【Are you still on the night shift, Senior? You replied to my message so fast at this hour.】

—There were no notifications for “tap” messages.

—Could it be that he was staring at their chat window too?

Himalaya: 【No, I’m already back at the dorm.】

Himalaya: 【Just thinking.】

Mount Everest: 【About what?】

Himalaya: 【Thinking about how to make chicken broth with mini wontons.】

Himalaya: 【And also how to apply for leave.】

Mount Everest: 【Did something happen? Why are you taking leave, Senior?】

Himalaya: 【I’m going to the UK.】

Himalaya: 【If there’s no chicken broth with mini wontons in London, remember to call me.】