Gu Xichen's voice rose, but because of his guilt, it sounded even sterner: "You said it yourself when you were sick! You forgot?"
"If you make promises you don't keep, what's the difference between you and a salted fish?"
Lian Xia, inexplicably called out: "Huh? Is it that serious?"
Still seemingly seething, Gu Xichen pointed at her bed one step away and continued indignantly: "Salted fish mentality is unacceptable. Look at your blanket—it's nearly grown a patina!"
Lian Xia was floored.
A... patina?
Ha?
That was definitely an insult!
Lian Xia was about to fight back when the man gave a light cough and softened his tone: "Just focus on your studies. I'll wash it tomorrow."
The harshest tone, delivering the most accommodating words.
Seeing the girl's attention quickly diverted, he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead that wasn't even there.
Jealous of yourself, Gu Xichen. You're really playing with fire.
Gu Xichen: (stripping the duvet cover, washing the duvet cover, putting the duvet cover back on.)
Lian Xia: Man... Mommy?
Gu Xichen: ????
Chapter 19
The weather was fine, a rare weekend.
Lian Xia knocked on the door across the hall early in the morning, planning to invite him out for a park stroll and some street shopping.
Gu Xichen answered the door, and she noticed he was holding a... French book?
If Lian Xia could read the title, she'd have recognized Merimee's romantic masterpiece "Carmen." Before she could look closer, the man put the book away with a light smile: "I just want to grow together with you."
And to give you a better version of me.
Lian Xia's face flushed under his gentle gaze. She quickly ducked into the inner room, pretending to look out the window.
The two apartments faced each other, with Gu Xichen's side being slightly brighter. Looking out the window, one could see a lively corner of the city park in the distance. The furnishings inside were simple—a rickety bookshelf against the wall, crammed with old books.
Hmm, she remembered he only had a high school diploma, right?
Yet he loved reading so much... and his collection was all obscure foreign-language texts. She could only recognize a few English classics; the rest was beyond her.
A breeze drifted through the window, rustling a thin collection of essays on the desk. On the title page, three lines of elegant writing were clearly inscribed:
"We have lost even this twilight. No one saw us hand in hand when the blue night fell upon the world."
He seemed to love collecting these exquisite handwritten journals for his reading notes, always using a fountain pen. His strokes were steady, each character deliberate, radiating an underlying power.
The handwriting was like the man himself—reserved, yet utterly decisive.
Lian Xia held the journal, thoroughly enchanted: "Do you write three-line poetry too?"
"Mm-hmm."
"I like it too, but I always feel like mine aren't very good..."
"How could they not be? Try it."
She was rusty with a fountain pen, and her flow was a bit awkward. He stood behind her patiently guiding her grip. Tolerant, reserved, and gentle.
Fortunately, her handwriting came out legible enough. Like a child who'd accidentally glimpsed the true face of the stars, she trepidatiously, carefully, traced the mysterious beauty word by word.
"I was once sand at the bottom of life's valley,
And became a pearl only because
You wrapped me in love, layer by layer."
As the final period fell, he spoke earnestly from behind her: "Truly beautiful."
"Are you talking about my poem?"
"No. You, too."
Lian Xia froze, tilting her head slightly to gaze at him. The color in his eyes was so pale, elemental, and deeply affectionate.
Time flowed silently, love priceless and so hard to obtain—yet in that moment, through those light-colored eyes, she saw its unvarnished essence: so far, yet so near. Seemingly out of reach, yet almost in her grasp.
Sensing her terror like a small animal's, he considerately retrieved the pen and left his own writing in the blank space.
"Water carves the mountain; the mountain gives shape to the water.
You are the pulse of my heart,
The rippling that keeps my soul from running dry."
In that instant, their eyes met.
His smiling eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the elegant line of his brow and bone—all of it sparkled in the sunlight.
Lian Xia felt every pore on her body prickle, as if ice were melting and stone were splitting. She couldn't stop this person from walking into her heart. It was a gentle but mighty force, a soul-deep attraction—
No, this was definitely not the Chen Xi she knew. Something was wrong—
"Sign your name, won't you?"
Before she could sort out her thoughts, he handed her the pen again. The subtle warmth on its barrel made her face flame.
So she signed her name below her poem.
The pen returned to the man's hand. He mirrored Lian Xia's strokes and signed his own name.
The girl stared at his signature, thoroughly puzzled: "Huh? Gu Xichen? Who's that?"
He paused, then quickly collected himself: "Ah, I tried writing a novel a while back. Gu Xichen was my pen name..."
To his surprise, Lian Xia was deeply impressed: "Sounds great! Like the name of a domineering CEO!"
Ha. Which novel would feature a CEO who worked himself to liver cancer and was driven to hang himself at such a young age?
Gu Xichen touched his nose: "Let's just keep it between us. It's pretty cringey, isn't it?"
The girl leaned gently against him: "Okay. Then this is a name only we know."
Then, in that sweet voice, she called him tenderly.
"Gu Xichen..."
"Xichen!"
Her calling grew more earnest, until tears even gathered in her eyes.
Gu Xichen stared at her.
Did she really not know it was him?
Or did she see everything and simply chose not to say?
Chapter 20
The weather grew colder.
A tall young man appeared in the night market's used bookshop.
He had those narrow, distinctive eyes with their thin lids, wore a high-necked knit shirt under a light gray wool overcoat—very much like the Korean-style stars popular on screen, refined and understated.
Beside him was a slender girl with shoulder-length hair and a clean, delicate face.
Her arm was linked through his, the pair clearly a well-matched couple.
Gu Xichen had picked up several foreign-language books and noticed Lian Xia's inquiring glance, mumbling: "Ah, I'm planning to self-teach."
So many languages—English, French, Japanese—all self-taught? The girl was deeply impressed.
It was a lie he had to tell. Gu Xichen touched his nose.
In truth, he planned to take self-exams and raise his education level. His current credential was holding him back—promotion at the company was all but impossible.
They bought a heavy stack of books, then strolled to another pedestrian street, passing a small shop that sold incense, candles, and paper effigies.
The young man from the stall next door poked his head out: "Looking to buy something, handsome?"
Gu Xichen glanced at him and spotted a red banner hanging at the stall.
Everything ten yuan, each item ten yuan.
He refused with cool disdain: "No need."
And walked straight ahead.
These cheap, flimsy things clearly weren't in his world. The only reason he'd wandered over was because the incense smelled familiar.
Lian Xia recognized the young man who'd given her the censer before, so she hung back and greeted him politely: "Do you still have that incense you gave me last time?"
"Yes, yes, yes!"
"Give me twenty yuan's worth."
"Coming right up!"
As the man bagged her purchase, she noticed what looked like a person lying among the paper effigies, a fan covering their face, apparently fast asleep.
Gu Xichen stood a few steps ahead. Seeing her skip back over, he couldn't help but laugh: "These days, ten yuan can still buy things?"
"Not just things—it buys happiness, too!"
"As long as you're happy."
After the two disappeared, an old man crawled out from the pile of paper effigies and stared after them for a long time.
Unlike an ordinary person, his eyes were two patches of white haze with no visible pupils, yet he moved with ease and didn't seem blind at all.
He stroked his beard and murmured: "That's not right. This girl should have died ages ago."
"First time, killed on the spot by a gas explosion. Second time, jumped from the exam room window—suicide on the spot..."
"Third time, she was assaulted... ugh! Died horribly. Truly horribly!"
The ten-yuan-shop attendant helped him up: "Uncle, what are you babbling about again?!"
The old man let himself be pulled back inside, muttering: "But heaven always leaves a glimmer of hope. Three strikes and you're not out—if you survive three times, even the heavens grow merciful!"
"And that young man beside her—something's off either way. A living person with a dead soul, a dead person with a living soul. Those two actually ended up together. It's the most preposterous thing in the world..."
The young man shook his head, laughing and crying at the same time, and pulled him away.
...
...
Back at the apartment, Lian Xia replaced the incense that had been out of stock.
Gu Xichen drifted over involuntarily and took a deep breath of the curling smoke.
Lian Xia, watching from the side: ????
Probably a habit from his ghost days that he couldn't break so easily. The man explained awkwardly: "It smells nice. Refreshing. Ahahaha."
Even he didn't find that convincing. He gave a light cough and retreated to the kitchen.
After dinner, Lian Xia sat at the desk studying as usual, while Gu Xichen sat beside her, working on a secondhand laptop.
Since being promoted to team leader, the performance metrics from above had grown more demanding. He worked overtime in his spare time, aiming to save enough for a down payment once Lian Xia got into school.
Right now, the young man sat ramrod straight, his lips pressed tight—inadvertently cute amid the seriousness.
When his fingers flew rapidly across the keyboard, he exuded a dignified, scholarly air. Even after hours at the desk, his shoulders stayed level and his jaw straight, a testament to fine upbringing.
For some reason, Lian Xia couldn't tear her eyes away from him.
In her twenty-some years, she'd never met anyone like him—a mass of contradictions yet irresistibly magnetic. Unfathomable, unreadable, impossible not to drown in.
Noticing her gaze, Gu Xichen glanced over and saw her reddened nose tip. "Cold?"
Before she could answer, he took her icy little hand and tucked it into his coat pocket, his long fingers threading through hers—palm to palm, fingers interlocked.
A sweet warmth flooded through her, thawing her from fingertips to toes.
In the evenings, they mostly sat across from each other, reading. The apartment was hushed and still.
Love unspoken is deafening.