Liu Chang’an was quite surprised to receive a text message from Zhu Juntang, probably because he had given Fan Jian his phone number, which was an oversight on his part.
It turned out that the girl who had stood on the rooftop of the Baolong Center, looking like she was about to commit suicide, was Zhu Juntang. The rooftop had a rainwater collection system, an aerial garden, and a helipad.
Liu Chang’an met Zhu Juntang on the helipad, and they chatted for a while.
Zhu Juntang laughed when she heard Liu Chang’an talk about living forever, saying, “I’ve never heard of someone who can live forever being so frustrated. You’ve lived for thousands of years, most of which were spent in prison, and you’re still so useless?”
Liu Chang’an still remembered the way Zhu Juntang’s eyes curled up when she said that, giving off a flirtatious vibe, with a beautiful smile.
“There’s nothing wrong with being in prison. For me, it’s just a fleeting moment, a mere white horse passing through. When the dynasty falls, the prison guards will all be dead, and I’ll naturally be released.”
“You’re really open-minded,” Zhu Juntang said with a cold smile. “But you wouldn’t understand. The real prison is the one that binds your heart, making you feel like you can’t escape, and even breathing is difficult. Do you know that kind of feeling?”
“Oh, if that’s the case, then just jump,” Liu Chang’an said.
“You want me to jump? I’ll jump!” Zhu Juntang retorted, taking a few steps back as her skirt fluttered in the wind, revealing her smooth, white legs. Her eyes sparkled in the dark, and she glared at Liu Chang’an, asking, “Are you still human? How can you encourage someone to jump?”
“Women are truly unpredictable,” Liu Chang’an sighed, thinking that women had always been like this since ancient times. No wonder people said that women and children were hard to raise.
“And this is my rooftop! This building belongs to me. What are you doing here?” Zhu Juntang walked over, her hands behind her back, looking at Liu Chang’an suspiciously. “Are you a thief?”
“I’m not a thief. I’m here to jump, just like you,” Liu Chang’an replied.
“Then go ahead and jump!” Zhu Juntang said sarcastically, not revealing that she was just feeling anxious and hadn’t really intended to jump.
“Fine.”
Liu Chang’an then jumped off.
Of course, Liu Chang’an wasn’t seeking death; it was just that doing this kind of thing was beneficial for his body and memory. However, he hadn’t expected that what was supposed to be just a passing dream for the girl would leave a lasting impression and lead to her sending him a half-baked text message.
Liu Chang’an deleted the message and blocked the phone number.
It was a bit of a hassle, but it was no big deal.
At this moment, Liu Chang’an had already returned home.
This was an old house, with a narrow alley behind the high-rise building. The bustling streets hid a desolate area, where a grand mansion from decades ago had been torn down, leaving only a few isolated buildings.
The house from that era didn’t have a garage on the ground floor; instead, it was a storage room. Liu Chang’an had rented out part of his house and lived in the storage room, earning a stable income and occasionally doing odd jobs, like the 200 yuan he earned today.
The 18-year-old Liu Chang’an on his ID card looked mature only in his eyes and demeanor, but otherwise, he was no different from most boys his age. It was May, and the summer heat was scorching in Junsha. He would be taking the annual college entrance exam next month.
Today wasn’t a Sunday or a holiday; Liu Chang’an had simply skipped a morning of classes because of a 200-yuan part-time job.
He would probably be scolded by his teacher, Huang Shanren, and asked a bunch of questions by his deskmate, Ann Wan. Liu Chang’an carried a folding chair out of his storage room and placed it under a tree, brewed a pot of tea, and prepared to spend a leisurely afternoon.
The only large tree in the courtyard was a parasol tree, which was lush and green in May, casting a cool shade.
Apart from Liu Chang’an, a few old people were also relaxing, preparing to spend a comfortable afternoon. There were few young people living here, mostly retired old men and women.
Liu Chang’an glanced at Old Qian, who was sitting with his eyes closed, his hair thinning, his face covered in age spots, and his wrinkles sagging.
Liu Chang’an turned his head and read the sentence in his book: “Riding the wind and clouds, embracing the bright moon, and experiencing the ups and downs of life.”
This was a sentence from Su Shi’s “Red Cliffs Ode.” Another phrase from a writer who wrote about the Three Kingdoms era was also great: “The Yangtze River flows east, and the heroic waves have washed away the past. Only the green mountains remain, with the setting sun still shining red.”
Su Shi had passed away many years ago, leaving behind only his writings. For the countless ants in the vast expanse of time, this was the most beautiful mark he could leave behind.
Most people didn’t leave any mark on this world, as if they had never existed.
The whole afternoon, Liu Chang’an didn’t sleep; instead, he read half a book of “Eight Masters’ Anthology.” He felt hungry, so he carried the chair and teapot back.
He was nostalgic, longing for the past, but not dissatisfied with his current life. On the contrary, he enjoyed reading ancient books while appreciating his present life, which made him feel very content.
Seeking death was just a joke; the longer one lived, the less one wanted to die. This beautiful or ugly world had too many unknowns, and he was curious about what lay ahead.
Liu Chang’an lightly patted the scallions, releasing the fragrance, and then stir-fried them with ginger and garlic in lard. He cooked the noodles for three minutes, and they were perfect. He finished his meal as the sky turned dark.
Going out for a stroll, Liu Chang’an’s pace was neither fast nor slow. This was the peak hour for going home from work, and the streets were bustling with people. He walked through the crowd, looking at strangers’ faces – some were cold, some were stiff, and some were relaxed or joyful. Liu Chang’an occasionally felt lonely.
Because too many familiar faces were gone.
Arriving at the riverbank, Liu Chang’an didn’t see the white-haired fisherman or the swaying black awning boat. He still thought that line of poetry was fitting.
“The white-haired fisherman on the riverbank, accustomed to seeing the autumn moon and spring breeze, enjoying a jug of wine together.”
With whom could he enjoy it? Liu Chang’an sighed quietly.
This was just Liu Chang’an’s ordinary day.
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