Chapter 4: Point of Intersection

Zhang Si came out of the bathroom and saw Li Ran waiting alone under the banyan tree. He shook off the water droplets from his hands. “It’s such a hot day—why’d you button up like that?”

The cool water droplets had warmed up after passing through the muggy air. That hand reached over and brushed Li Ran’s chin, leaving it somewhat damp and warm. Zhang Si was used to joking around with him and naturally went to undo his buttons.

Li Ran quickly stepped back half a pace, his back nearly bumping into the thick trunk of the decades-old banyan tree. “Can’t undo them.”

He had just been ordered to button them up.

The way he clutched his collar with one hand looked like he was defending his chastity. Zhang Si burst out laughing. “Fine, fine, I won’t undress you.”

During the final self-study period, Li Ran was utterly distracted, his mind full of Chi Mo. If asked what exactly he was thinking about him, Li Ran couldn’t pinpoint it. In any case, whether reading or writing, Chi Mo’s face haunted him more persistently than any ghost.

School let out at six.

The day students retracted their wings from the day and suddenly took flight like fierce raptors, soaring toward the school gate like great peng birds spreading their wings.

Only Li Ran dawdled.

After two years of high school, this was his first time walking home.

“Hey, A’Dai, where’s your bike?” Zhang Si had both feet on the pedals, reluctant to get off. Spotting Li Ran at the school gate, he propped one hand on his shoulder.

Li Ran bore the weight and suddenly felt like sighing. “It’s busted.”

“How’d it break?”

“…It just broke.”

Zhang Si said, “Want a ride partway?”

It was a kind offer from a classmate, and Li Ran had no words of refusal in his gut.

Besides, time was valuable.

Fifteen minutes by bike, over half an hour on foot.

Zhang Si clenched his fist, sticking out just his thumb and jerking it toward the back with flair, signaling Li Ran to hop on. Li Ran subconsciously took half a step forward, even lifting his leg, before realizing:

…There was no rear seat.

Both of them stared at the bare rear end of Zhang Si’s mountain bike.

No helping it—Li Ran still had to walk.

After about ten minutes, there were no more students in sight on the road. A black car slowly pulled up to the curb, quite close to Li Ran.

There was a scratch on the body that Li Ran recognized all too well.

Cullinan. Chi Mo.

Once he matched the car to its owner,

Li Ran climbed into the vehicle for the second time.

Chi Mo said, “Saves time.”

People were strange—experiencing the same thing twice, the first time felt like the sky was falling, but the second seemed almost okay.

Li Ran sat in his usual spot. This time, he didn’t look out the window but down at his own toes.

No one spoke in the car.

Once the fear subsided, the silence started to feel stifling. Li Ran didn’t stare holes into his toes and quietly lifted his eyes. In the rearview mirror up front was the lower half of “Shen Shu’s” face.

He looked very young.

Li Ran hadn’t meant to keep staring, but he couldn’t help it.

He sneaked careful glances.

A face like that—it didn’t suit being called “uncle” at his own age of seventeen.

Should call him “bro.”

How about Chi Mo…

Chi Mo: “What are you looking at?”

Li Ran’s body jolted, his arm hugging the car door tightly in shock. “…Nothing.”

Chi Mo: “He doesn’t like being stared at.”

It seemed like a kind reminder, but to Li Ran, it sounded like a warning.

Li Ran startled again.

He could even tell that? But I was being sneaky! For some reason, his nerves got the better of him, and words tumbled out. “Do you like being looked at?”

Chi Mo gave him a once-over but said nothing.

The implication was clear: I might let you look—do you dare?

Cowardly Li Ran of course didn’t dare. He bowed his head and hunched his shoulders, pretending to be a quail.

Chi Mo: “His name is Shen Shu.”

Li Ran: “Ah?”

Dopey Li Ran finally got it and realized with sudden clarity. “Oh, oh!”

No wonder.

With his puzzle solved, he felt relieved and quite pleased. He didn’t even realize how terrifyingly perceptive Chi Mo was, pinpointing his exact confusion.

Chi Mo: “Add my contact.”

He held a gold-embossed business card between two fingers and casually handed it to Li Ran, leaving the decision to add or not up to him.

Shen Shu in the driver’s seat had shown no reaction when being sneaked peeks at and remained silent, but now he glanced at Chi Mo in the rearview mirror with some surprise. He shrugged.

An honest kid like Li Ran couldn’t multitask like that. Right then, he was completely drawn in by Chi Mo’s voice, listening with utmost respect.

He noticed nothing else.

The big shot’s tone was cool and detached, clearly carrying a subtext: Add my contact—and remember to pay me back, in case you forget.

Where would Li Ran dare forget? He was wronged—he was just clumsy with words. He wouldn’t shirk any responsibility.

He nodded eagerly, took the card with both hands, pulled out his phone right in front of Chi Mo, and entered the number on the green bubble interface.

After typing it in, Li Ran remembered and pointed at the card, asking Chi Mo softly if the chat app number matched the phone number.

Chi Mo: “Mm.”

He sent the friend request.

Chi Mo unlocked his phone screen and tapped.

Friend request approved.

Chi Mo’s profile picture was a solid black background, his name just his own name.

Li Ran’s was a solid white background, his name a single character: “Ran.”

A few minutes later, the Cullinan arrived at the spot where it had “met” the mountain bike that morning—no meeting, no scratch.

Li Ran went to rescue his bike and wheeled it to a nearby repair shop.

After getting out, he closed the door, then guiltily examined the mark left by the mountain bike in detail.

It really was a huge gash, and pitted too.

This probably didn’t qualify as a minor scratch.

While wheeling the bike to the shop, Li Ran was still fuming and smacked the broken handlebar, muttering under his breath. “See? This is all your fault…”

The handlebar shook its head as if about to go on strike in protest: Wasn’t it you riding me?

It was Li Ran’s bike, so Li Ran apologized to it. “Sigh, sorry about that.”

And stroked it fondly.

New tire: 50 yuan.

New handlebar: 30 yuan.

Scan to pay.

Li Ran had money on his phone, but not much—just over 100.

He was old-fashioned, always thinking digital money on a phone wasn’t safe. If doomsday hit someday and the Earth didn’t blow up all at once, some humans would still have to struggle on.

Phones would be useless then.

Cash in hand was safer.

While the boss fixed the bike, he asked Li Ran’s age and grade, and Li Ran answered politely and straightforwardly. Very courteous, but kinda boring.

“You pretty kid, with such a sharp face—you look like you’d chatter away nonstop. How come your mouth’s so clumsy?” The boss laughed with some regional accent. “Hahaha.”

Li Ran wanted to know too. “…I don’t know.”

The boss said, “These days, where are there kids like you who can’t talk? They’re all big braggarts. My daughter’s two years younger than you, and that mouth of hers runs trains all day. Hahaha, she’s something else. They say your status is what you make it out in the world. Make one for yourself.” He eyed Li Ran’s looks again and pointed him in the right direction like an immortal. “Just say you’re a big star.”

Li Ran could only give an awkward smile, unsure how to respond.

He said thanks several times.

But he envied the boss’s hearty laugh when mentioning his daughter.

Their relationship must be great.

Next, the boss focused on patching the tire. Li Ran wasn’t one to start conversations, so he searched on his browser for the price of Chi Mo’s Cullinan. He noted down the exact model to minimize error.

—Over 8 million.

Li Ran clutched his forehead, nearly passing out from the shock. He felt like he could go reincarnate now.

He searched again: how much to compensate for scraping a Cullinan. The browser said it depended on the damage—2,000 to 100,000.

For the extent he’d scraped it, maybe 80 or 90 thousand.

While he fretted over the Cullinan here, its owner had already scrolled through his Moments from top to bottom.

“Ran”‘s Moments:

[I am not A’Dai.]

Paired with a clever emoji.

[I am not A’Dai.]

Another clever emoji.

[I am not A’Dai.]

Still another clever emoji.

Almost every day, almost the same post. Like brainwashing himself.

Wash it enough, and his head would get smart.

Chi Mo kept scrolling—same format, same images.

He guessed Li Ran had a nickname at school, like A’Dai. Too embarrassed to say it outright to classmates, he vented subtly in his own Moments.

He must’ve blocked the class group when posting these. High schoolers probably had a special label group; Chi Mo wasn’t a high schooler, so no need to be in it.

After an hour, he’d reached the bottom. Chi Mo laughed speechlessly.

The protagonist who left him speechless was oblivious. Li Ran waited for the repair, rode home in the evening.

No Black Impermanence on the road.

Probably still mad. What a temper.

Back at the complex, Li Ran locked his bike, went upstairs. Ten minutes later, he came down with a half-basin of clean water, a towel floating in it.

He wiped his aggrieved black mountain bike from top to bottom until it shone. Then he pulled out some lube from his pocket and carefully applied it to the chain.

Another good-looking bike. Satisfied, Li Ran headed home.

He made a simple dinner, ate it, then went to his bedroom. He drew the curtains, opened the bottom drawer of the nightstand, took out a sewing kit, turned on the desk lamp, and focused under the light to mend the torn pocket of his blue-and-white school uniform.

Threading the needle, matching the thread color to the fabric, tiny even stitches—very practiced.

“Wise wife and good mother.”

Li Ran usually got up early to buy fresh veggies at the market—exercise, fresh air, all in one.

But remembering yesterday’s disaster, he skipped the market Tuesday morning.

Before class, he hard-boiled eggs ahead of time and left ten minutes early, allotting extra buffer against surprises.

After stewing a day and night, Black Impermanence finally forgave Li Ran and jumped out menacingly to rob him. No wife this time.

Li Ran parked by the road, crouched down with perfect contrition, and peeled the egg flawlessly. Soft, bouncy, pure white.

“Here, your egg,” Li Ran said.

The egg white went into the man’s mouth, the yolk into the cat’s. Black Impermanence let out a pleased rumble in his throat, devoured one yolk greedily, picked up the other in his mouth without eating it, then carefully leaped into the roadside shrubs.

Gone in a blink.

Black Impermanence’s rudeness was par for the course with Li Ran—he felt relieved. If the black cat had rubbed against him in thanks, he’d be under massive pressure and definitely see the black-and-white cats as his responsibility.

Couldn’t even raise a person properly, let alone cats.

Having added Chi Mo’s contact, Li Ran figured the “victim” would initiate on the compensation amount. He waited anxiously.

But Chi Mo thought that Li Ran, who had proactively owned up in the car, should take the initiative again on compensation—to start a new conversation.

A day passed. Aside from work matters, his phone didn’t vibrate once.

Pretty steady for such a young kid.

That evening after work, Shen Shu said, “Found him.”

The perp who hit Li Ran.

“Mm.” Chi Mo checked his phone, then pocketed it. “Thanks.”

Meanwhile, Li Ran had just gotten out of school and was turning toward his old neighborhood when his phone buzzed twice in his pocket.

The verdict must be in… Li Ran’s heart skipped a beat. He wouldn’t miss any message, even if he wanted to flee. He slammed on the mental brakes, pulled out his phone.

Seeing Chi Mo’s name, his heart—which had just restarted—died again.

“Please don’t let it be 100k…” He muttered a bitter prayer. “Really, I beg you—I can’t pay it.”

Chi Mo: [Don’t go home after school. Meet up. Wait for me at the neighborhood entrance.]