Chapter 1

When I was twenty-two, I came alone to M City, a completely unfamiliar second-tier city. Unlike the northern city where I grew up or the southern city where I went to college, this place had four distinct seasons in just the right measure—just like him.

We met through social media.

Back then, Douban was still a haven for artsy, literary types, and the term “hooking up” was still relatively new.

We exchanged Douban messages for a while, and as our mutual interest grew, our conversations helped dissolve my fear of living in a strange city. At the same time, my expectations for this guy kept climbing higher and higher.

He was amazing—young, handsome, successful, funny.

After every chat, I could never resist scrolling back to the top of our conversation, rereading the witty exchanges and trying to guess how much he liked me.

There was a group photo of my dormmates in my album. Four girls.

He asked which one was me.

I told him to guess.

“The one on the far left,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because she’s the prettiest.”

Pretending to be upset, I waited thirty seconds before replying:

“So if I weren’t pretty, we wouldn’t be chatting?”

“No,” he said. “It wouldn’t affect the chatting.”

“Then what would it affect?”

He laughed and dodged the question.

That night, about half an hour after we said goodnight, I was rereading our chat history when I noticed he hadn’t gone to sleep immediately, as he usually did.

A new message popped up:

“I didn’t finish what I was saying. It wouldn’t affect chatting—but it would affect whether we met in person.”

I was done for.

Clutching my phone, I stayed awake the entire night.

Later, he told me that he’d seen my replies to other Douban users in the comments section and had figured out that I was the girl on the far left.

“But even before I saw the comments,” he said, “I looked at the photo and immediately felt that one was you.”

“Why?”

“She had this spark about her. Just like the movie reviews you write. She seemed to glow.”

It wasn’t as though I’d never been in love before. Art students tend to start their emotional education earlier than most.

By my first year of high school, I was already passing love letters to boys.

Starting in my second year, the little grove behind the school became my favorite place. If I was dating someone, I’d go there to kiss. If I was single, I’d go there to eavesdrop.

I don’t know why, but I liked listening to people kiss. Listening to girls’ soft sounds, listening to boys breathing hard.

The appeal was similar to how some people today listen to recordings of wind, rain, or ocean shells. I liked that sticky, irresistible feeling of intimacy.

Naturally, I also loved the irresistible tension of mutual attraction.

And the feeling this man gave me was the strongest I’d ever experienced.

I thought it was the sound of Cupid drawing his bow.

I thought happiness was knocking at my door.

His Douban username was “Zach.”

An English name.

I added him on QQ, and that was his nickname there too.

He was a bridge and road designer.

I played dumb and asked what that meant.

To be fair, I really didn’t know.

He told me that maybe one day I’d travel on a road designed by his company, or perhaps a row of streetlights I’d look up at would have begun as a sketch he drew.

“Really?” I asked. “What’s your company called? From now on, every time I walk on a road, I’ll search online to see who designed it.”

He kept me in suspense.

“That…” he said. “I’ll tell you when we meet.”

Every day, my heart felt like a bell being struck by him.

First, it rang loudly.

Second, it rang on schedule.

Every morning at nine, he’d log onto QQ right when work started.

Every evening at five, he’d log off for dinner.

If he wasn’t working overtime, he’d be asleep by nine o’clock, with the regularity of a kindergarten kid.

Fortunately, his profession often required overtime. Sometimes he’d come back online after dinner to chat with me. When he worked late into the night, I’d keep him company and help him stay awake with my natural night-owl habits.

We chatted for about three months.

During that time, my new coworkers and I explored every corner of M City.

I discovered that the city was especially beautiful at night.

One coworker had a car.

Whenever we drove along the elevated highways, the countless lights looked like sparkling fireworks held in someone’s hand. They ignited my longing as well.

Thinking about him, I could completely tune out my coworker’s endless complaints about our boss.

During those months of online chatting, my favorite sound in the world was the QQ notification.

Ding-ding.

It was practically my pacemaker.

One ding, and my heart rate would shoot past a hundred.

That tiny rush of adrenaline was what kept my enthusiasm for this unfamiliar city alive.

I’ve always been somewhat solitary.

But being surrounded by completely unfamiliar people and places amplified my clingy side.

Coming home alone to my rented apartment every night felt dull.

My roommate left early and returned late every day.

After living together for more than two months, I still hadn’t gotten a clear look at her face.

So I was endlessly grateful.

Grateful that I’d spent a few years on Douban during college and built up a little presence there.

Grateful that I’d met him on Douban.

He felt like a gift that heaven had placed in M City just for me.

We finally met in person during the third month.

Before leaving, I removed and reapplied my makeup twice.

Too light, and I looked plain.

Too heavy, and I looked vulgar.

I even studied that old dormitory group photo again.

In the end, I went with my usual makeup.

I didn’t want to seem too formal.

As if I cared that much.

He said he’d come pick me up.

From the moment he messaged, “I’m on my way,” my bladder felt like it had been holding for days.

I’d rush to the bathroom and only manage a few drops.

Back and forth, over and over.

I used nearly an entire roll of toilet paper.

Finally, a message appeared on QQ:

“I’m at the entrance of your apartment complex. Are you coming down, or should I come up?”

I grabbed my heart, slammed the door behind me, and flew downstairs.