CHAPTER 10: SALINGER

Life continued in its usual, uneventful rhythm. The news report Ruan Zhizhi submitted had received high praise from her boss, and her probation period was officially completed.

Although the result was expected, it still made her breathe a sigh of relief. During her studies in the U.S., Ruan Zhizhi had majored in finance—a field entirely unrelated to journalism. But after returning to China, she had considered her options carefully. She ultimately turned down many interviews at prestigious multinational companies to pursue a career she genuinely found interesting, which for a long time had earned her mother’s disapproval.

Yet she had no regrets. Life was far too long to waste on things one didn’t want to do. Similarly, life was far too long not to spend on the person one cared about most.

Thankfully, her probation period was over, her career was on track, and her mother would likely no longer have any objections.

….

Now a full-fledged journalist, Ruan Zhizhi had a relatively light workload. Consequently, she was often dragged out by Gu Nian, who claimed she suffered from pre-marital anxiety, to drink tea and chat.

Like today: a perfectly good weekend, which she would have spent sleeping in, had it not been for Gu Nian’s relentless early-morning calls.

Yawning, Ruan Zhizhi reluctantly dragged herself out of bed, too sleepy to even open her eyes properly, nearly squeezing toothpaste onto her face instead of cleanser.

She threw on a pair of ripped jeans, a sporty jacket, and brightly colored sneakers. Looking in the mirror, she felt that as a twenty-five-year-old woman, her outfit made her look far too young.

Just as she was debating whether to change her top, Gu Nian called again, urging her to hurry. Resigned, Ruan Zhizhi told her she was already heading out. After hanging up, she decisively tied her hair into a high ponytail.

Stepping outside, she felt certain that, dressed like this, people might mistake her for a student at A University.

Although she had no actual connection to this prestigious domestic university, she had visited a few times due to Gu Nian.

Following her memory of the building, she reached the office where Gu Nian worked. Just as she was about to push the door open, she saw Gu Nian hurrying out with a stack of lesson plans in her arms.

Seeing her, Gu Nian pouted and said in disappointment, “Zhizhi, a colleague of mine has an emergency today, so I had to substitute for his finance class. The class ends in about an hour—you go wander around first. I’ll take you out for lunch afterward.” Glancing at her watch, she didn’t bother with her heels, hurrying down the corridor holding her lesson plans.

Ruan Zhizhi watched her back, silently admiring how, though Gu Nian could be a bit dramatic and unreliable in love, she was extremely serious and responsible about work.

After all, she was a professor at A University, a golden name that shone brightly. Any faculty member there would surely feel tremendous pressure.

With her mind wandering, Ruan Zhizhi wandered slowly through the labyrinthine building, only to realize she had shamefully gotten lost.

Glancing around in mild confusion, she noticed a lecture hall door slightly ajar, with faint voices drifting out.

Someone must be inside—probably a class.

If she just asked for directions, it shouldn’t take long or disrupt anyone.

Hmm… it should be fine.

Resolute, she headed toward the lecture hall. The main entrance was closed, so she slipped in through the half-open back door.

The scene inside startled her: a lecture hall that could seat nearly three hundred people was packed to the brim. Some had even perched on the steps, the room truly overflowing.

What class could be so popular?

Her curiosity instantly overpowered her original purpose of asking for directions. She found an inconspicuous corner and sat down among the students. Everyone assumed she was just late, and with her simple, sporty attire, no one suspected she had graduated three years ago.

She settled in quietly, not even lifting her head before hearing a voice from the center of the lecture hall—a clear tone with a subtle rasp, deep, composed, and incredibly alluring.

He said, “Avoidant personality disorder. In Chinese, it’s called huibi xing renge zhang’ai (回避型人格障碍). The most prominent traits of such a person are behavioral withdrawal, deep-seated inferiority, a tendency to close oneself off from others, reluctance to form close relationships, and a strong sense of social anxiety.”

That extremely recognizable voice—Ruan Zhizhi had heard it countless times before. Even if she wanted to mishear it, her ears wouldn’t allow it.

Could something this coincidental really happen in the world?

A month had passed, and yet here she was, once again running into him in such an inappropriate setting.

Just as Ruan Zhizhi lifted her gaze, the man at the podium—the calm, composed presence she knew so well—turned to face her. She was defenseless, falling headfirst into the depths of his eyes.

Brooding, cold, world-weary—like a poppy soaked in poison. She knew he was dangerous, yet somehow, people still opened their arms willingly to embrace him.

Though surrounded by a sea of people and standing at the center of the crowd, Shi Yan exuded a presence that made it feel as though he were alone in a desolate wasteland.

Ruan Zhizhi’s fingers, clutching her phone, trembled slightly at the sheer chill of his gaze.

And it was as if he noticed that tiny motion. She was acutely aware that Shi Yan’s eyes—normally devoid of emotion—softened little by little, as though he sensed he had startled her.

His gaze lingered on her for at least five seconds, then, without a hint of expression, he turned back, his tone still calm and even: “The primary cause of avoidant personality formation is a sense of inferiority. That inferiority stems from childhood experiences—feeling incapable, forced to witness events helplessly, which fosters a sense of incompetence and suffering. It can also arise from physiological or psychological defects, leading to self-deprecation.”

Shi Yan’s teaching style was not lighthearted; his speech was serious, even solemn. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, just like the three hundred students seated in the lecture hall, Ruan Zhizhi found herself completely absorbed in his words. There was no reason for it—her mind was uncontrollably drawn to him. It was entirely involuntary.

This man—he was truly magnetic.

She listened quietly, losing track of time entirely.

As class neared its end, Shi Yan wrapped up five minutes early. Standing behind the podium, head bowed, he methodically tidied his lesson plans and casually said, “As usual, before we finish, I’d like a few students to share a sentence they’ve enjoyed recently.”

Immediately, dozens of hands shot up.

Without looking, he pointed to a girl.

The girl froze for a moment, then widened her eyes slightly, as if she couldn’t believe her luck. She stood up, voice trembling with excitement: “Recently, I’ve been fond of a monologue from Jane Eyre: ‘If God had granted me wealth and beauty, I would make you find it difficult to leave me, just as I now find it difficult to leave you. God did not arrange it this way. But our spirits are equal. Just as you and I walk past graves, we stand equal before God.’”

“Very good.” Shi Yan nodded, his tone perfunctorily brief. Even so, the girl sat down with a happy smile.

He then pointed to several others.

“All phenomena arise from causes and conditions. I say cause and condition; when causes and conditions cease, they perish. This I declare.”

“Every life deserves recognition and respect. Death is our friend. Death is the greatest supporting force in our lives. Every day, we move toward death.”

“Spring has its flowers, autumn its moon; summer has cool winds, winter has snow. If there are no idle thoughts in your mind, this is the best of human times.”

…

After the last girl finished reciting her poem, she looked at Shi Yan shyly, bit her lip, and finally mustered the courage to ask, “Professor Shi, could you please share a sentence you like with us today?”

He paused, the class expecting the usual merciless refusal—but not today. He maintained his posture as if about to leave, neither turning nor looking back.

His back, shrouded in mist, solitary and weary, spoke in that faintly husky yet unbearably sexy tone:
“There are some people who think love is sex and marriage and six o’clock-kisses and children, and perhaps it is—but do you know what I think? I think love is a touch and yet not a touch.”

“From Salinger’s Nine Stories, class dismissed.” He never looked back. Following that straight trajectory, he exited the classroom.

Love is a touch and yet not a touch.

Ruan Zhizhi had read this short story by Salinger, Nine Stories, over and over. She remembered someone once commenting that even a lifetime of writing couldn’t produce a sentence so emotionally potent in just a few lines.

From One Hundred Years of Solitude to Nine Stories, Shi Yan’s preferred works seemed always tinged with melancholy and despair.

Perhaps they were both simply pitiful people, loving and unattainable.

Walking with the crowd out of the lecture hall, Ruan Zhizhi checked the time. Gu Nian’s class should be ending soon. Intending to ask a random student for directions, she glanced up—and unexpectedly saw Shi Yan in the smoking room across the corridor.

Better to ask someone she knew than a stranger, she reasoned.

After a moment’s thought, she changed direction, heading toward the smoking room.

At the door, Shi Yan stood with his back to her. Tall, slender, and cold, he seemed as emotionless as he had in class, radiating a “keep out” aura.

She opened her mouth to call him, but, for some reason, he suddenly seemed to sense her presence—and turned around at that very moment.

She was completely unguarded, meeting his eyes—cold, sharp almost to the point of cutting.

Seeing it was her, his expression softened slightly. A cigarette dangled from his mouth as he lowered his gaze, casually greeting her, “We meet again.”

“Yes, we do.” Ruan Zhizhi cleared her throat and, a little embarrassed, asked, “I came looking for my friend, but the campus is so big that I seem to have gotten lost. Could you tell me how to get to Teaching Building 3?”

Shi Yan pressed his lips together, giving a faint, almost imperceptible smile. He stubbed out the cigarette in his hand and slowly stepped out of the dimly lit smoking room.

For some reason, Ruan Zhizhi felt a subtle sense of relief as she watched him gradually emerge from the shadows into the light.

“I’ll take you there,” he said.