BSS - Chapter 133

Chapter 133

The spring of Deng Chuan's twentieth year arrived quietly, wrapped in Xu Wei's tenderness.

The gray-white winter made the arrival of spring all the more apparent. The wisteria below the apartment building, after a winter of silence, reawakened with a verdant vitality that could not be ignored. It crept silently upward along the window lattice, already showing a tendency to reach the bay window of Deng Chuan's room.

Walking down the street, Deng Chuan would often look down and see green shoots sprouting from the cracks between the bricks. In front of the library, on the patch of green grass she was so fond of, many unknown wildflowers had bloomed. People reading in the morning would often sit cross-legged on the grass in twos and threes, resting. The long, thin blades of grass, carried by the gentle breeze, would brush against the backs of their hands, bringing a bothersome itch.

In a spring like this, even without the gentle breeze, the green grass, and the wildflowers, an itch would still sprout unknowingly in one's heart. Even though Deng Chuan's coursework was as usual, and the spring semester schedule wasn't as demanding as the winter's, she had become more and more adept at life in the school after half a year of adjustment. But her heart still felt an unfounded, restless itch.

Perhaps this itch was a reminder, or perhaps an urging. But to maintain her usual composure, to let her heart settle and quell this stirring itch of unknown origin, Deng Chuan tried her best to fill her life to the brim. On weekends when she had no classes, she went hiking with friends, attended salons, socialized, and met more people worth learning from.

Deng Chuan certainly reaped plenty of rewards. The photos of flowers and plants growing in clusters along the hiking trails, the debates and consensus from the sharp verbal exchanges at the salons, new knowledge about wine tasting and fine dining, and new friends from majors other than just finance.

Everything she did was valuable, and the processes were all enjoyable. But Deng Chuan's heart still couldn't settle down. That itch gradually sank deeper, leaving her heart feeling hollow. She began to feel that she couldn't grasp anything she was doing, even though she knew nothing was actually wrong.

Deng Chuan felt that something was off with her state of mind.

Of course, life went on. Bustling and busy, never-ending.

For certain reasons, Deng Chuan didn't tell Xu Wei about these worries. She simply remained silent, using her usual stubborn posture to quietly resist that sense of emptiness and restlessness.

She began to suffer from insomnia. It was no longer just staying up late to complete a specific task. In the darkened room, the bay window at midnight seemed warmer than usual. Deng Chuan would occasionally sit on it and look out at the ink-blue night sky, quietly thinking about things. When she came back to her senses, it was as if she hadn't thought of anything at all.

Spring nights were often not completely silent, but the sky was very clear, revealing a bright moon and twinkling, fragmented stars.

Deng Chuan would sometimes wonder if Xu Wei, during these nights when they couldn't see each other, also suffered from insomnia like her. She couldn't help but picture Xu Wei's image in her mind, as if doing so could make her heart feel more at ease.

Of course, the current Deng Chuan couldn't yet fully comprehend what Xu Wei might be thinking about that would cause her to lose sleep. She had a vague outline of the troubles Xu Wei might face, but Xu Wei's work, Xu Wei's life, Xu Wei's true attitude towards certain things—across such a great distance and a seven-hour time difference, even the twenty-year-old Deng Chuan couldn't truly touch them.

Her lover had always been gentle and free-spirited, still full of strength even after experiencing such deep suffering and trivial worldly matters. Deng Chuan couldn't see through this version of Xu Wei yet. She still had to look up to her, just as she had when she sat below the lecture platform, waiting for a glance from Xu Wei, or a hand to land on her head.

There was still a distance between them.

This made Deng Chuan feel down all over again.

I'm twenty already. She thought quietly. What is being twenty supposed to be like?

Whether compared to her past self at eighteen or nineteen, or to her peers, in both Xu Wei's and Deng Chuan's shared understanding, Deng Chuan's twentieth birthday didn't seem like something that needed to be announced to the world. It arrived as quietly as the night outside the bay window at this very moment. And they only treated it as a definite fact, a fact that connected distant continents and seemed to shorten the distance between them.

Youthful passion and adolescent spirit always deserved to be described with the most ink. Throughout history, so many writers and poets have depicted the age of twenty, which shines like a meteor in a person's life. This brilliance and Deng Chuan's quietness ought to share some commonality; after all, no one ever decreed that being twenty must be flamboyant.

Should there be a difference in value between being reserved and being flamboyant? Should a person fully enjoy their youth, or should they start thinking about the direction of their journey early on? Perhaps one shouldn't even have such considerations. Because from another perspective, youth rolls forward like a great river, surging into the boundless sea of time. The aforementioned questions seem to become unimportant. A person appears so minuscule within it, just as a drop of water merges into a river. If one were to truly contemplate the specific meaning of certain choices at a certain stage, would that be demanding too much of this smallness?

The eternal contemplation of the era and the individual descended upon her at this moment. But Deng Chuan also thought: This is my one and only life.

Reserved or flamboyant, precocious or idle. This was her one and only life. A life for which she had to be responsible to a certain person.

Commonalities did exist. No matter how reserved and calm, Deng Chuan was, after all, still twenty. The passion of twenty, the considerations of twenty, the abundant vitality belonging to twenty filled her entire body, able to support the toll of her staying up late at this moment.

There were some scattered sounds outside the window. Deng Chuan rested her chin in her hand, staring at a point in the darkness before her. Her thoughts were unusually scattered. The lights in the room were off. Moonlight fell silently on the crown of her head, and the night breeze brushed past gently, carrying the faint scent of flowers, just like on her first night in England.

As if Xu Wei had once again brushed the top of her head, Deng Chuan found the courage to look back. She remembered what she had been thinking before coming to the UK, what she had done after arriving, and with what purpose. Thinking back even further, she recalled the fearless courage she had once possessed.

Deng Chuan's floating, drifting heart began to land solidly on the ground. Just like a balloon drifting about, gradually losing its air and lying obediently on the floor.

A surge of energy from an unknown source made Deng Chuan jump from the bay window to the floor. She switched on the room light, then strode to the refrigerator to grab a bottle of mineral water and took two large gulps.

Back in her room, under the bright white light, everything was still the same. It was the room Deng Chuan had lived in for over half a year and was familiar with. Deng Chuan examined it carefully, then walked to the sink and washed her face. She stared at the person in the mirror, feeling the same familiarity.

In the deep of the night, Deng Chuan's soul returned to its place, once again radiating the brilliance that was rightfully hers. As a result, she thrived even more in the following six months. She was just that kind of person. As long as it was something she wanted to do, she could always do it well. Knowing that she would be returning to her country in June, her professor gave her a great deal of advice—about her studies, about employment, about the industry. Finally, in crooked, clumsy Chinese, he wished her all the best.

"You must learn to manage your own life," the professor said at the end of their conversation.

Deng Chuan thanked him earnestly, then paused for a moment and said, "I will manage my life as if I'm unwrapping a gift."

The weather grew hotter, and summer soon arrived.

A year of study was about to come to an end, ushering in the final test. The exams at Oxford were more burdensome and difficult than those back home. There were also strict requirements for attire. Lao Lin, as her senior, went to put a carnation in Deng Chuan's mailbox. He muttered to himself as he carefully placed the flower stem inside, a sight that made Deng Chuan want to laugh.

"Sigh," Lao Lin said with a sigh. "When you go back, I'll have to find a new roommate again."

"Good luck," Deng Chuan said.

"Good luck to you too," Lao Lin replied.

The exams lasted for three consecutive days. After the bell rang for the end of the last subject, Deng Chuan heard a commotion no less intense than the end of the Gaokao. She packed her things with some amusement and went out to the designated spot to take photos with her friends.

It was already a chaotic scene outside. It was the traditional post-exam carnival at Oxford, with confetti and spray cans everywhere. Some people were even being pushed into the river. Everyone had their ties askew, their hair messy and full of confetti. When a completely clean Deng Chuan suddenly appeared, they all looked at her with ill intent.

Deng Chuan sensed trouble and turned to leave. But Lao Lin, appearing from nowhere, hooked an arm around her neck. "No running!"

Lao Lin was covered in colored snow spray. Caught off guard, Deng Chuan was held tightly by him. Immediately after, a blond man shot out from the crowd nearby and started shaking a bottle of champagne at the two of them as they struggled.

The cool liquor splashed all over Deng Chuan's head and face. Her hair was soaked, and wine dripped down from her chin. There was even some white foam on her clothes, trickling down to the bright red carnation pinned to her chest. Since the damage was done, Lao Lin pushed her into the crowd where the blond man was.

The crowd was full of disheveled but excited students. Deng Chuan recognized many familiar faces among them. Being in their midst, she seemed to be influenced by this huge wave of excitement. Everyone was pushing, cheering, and jumping into the river with splashes. She could vaguely hear the clicking of cameras, but none of it mattered anymore. Deng Chuan put her arm on Lao Lin's shoulder, saw his smiling profile, pulled the carnation from her chest, and threw it forcefully into the sky.

Countless bright red flower stems were tossed into the air together, looking exceptionally dazzling in the sunlight.

"Deng Chuan!" A smile spread completely across Deng Chuan's lips, just like the fragrant liquor flowing all over her head and face. Deng Chuan smiled, looking up at the clear sky. Suddenly, she heard the Spanish girl shouting her name loudly in clumsy Chinese. She froze for a moment, turned to look, and heard a crisp congratulatory cheer that seemed to have been tossed into the air along with the flower stems: "Congratulations!"

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