295: Chapter 295 Plum Blossom and Snow Partner

Guangzhou, Mid-levels Villa.

The afternoon sunlight slanted in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a sharp shadow across the mahogany desk.

Chen Jiahao was woken up by a pain in his neck.

His face was pressed against an open copy of "Being and Nothingness." His right cheek perfectly replicated half a page of Sartre's typesetting patterns, and saliva had soaked a dark circle into page 267.

Five empty red bull cans were scattered haphazardly across the desk; one was even stuck under his elbow, crushed into a flat oval.

"Ugh, what time is it..."

Chen Jiahao rubbed the back of his head and mumbled as he reached for his phone.

The moment his finger touched the screen, he practically bounced up.

The lock screen was a wall of push notifications.

Microblogging platform, Huzhi, Longdekong Forum, Wenyuan Pavilion, Hong Guo Net...

Every platform was buzzing with the same set of keywords.

#each holding their own grace#

#Dream Weaver's Reply Poem#

#Plum and Snow Do Not Compete for Spring#

Chen Jiahao rubbed his eyes vigorously, unlocked his phone, and clicked on the Microblogging platform trending list.

Three of the top five spots were taken.

He followed the trending hashtags to the official Hong Guo Net account. The first post featured black text on a white background in vertical Songti font.

"Each Guarding Their Own Universe...

...possesses a unique fragrance."

Chen Jiahao read it once.

He read it again.

On the third reading, his gaze fixed on the first character of each line.

each holding their own grace—

"Incredible!"

Chen Jiahao slammed a fist against his thigh, making himself wince in pain, yet a grin spread across his face.

He was a die-hard fan of Jian Shen; that had never changed.

But looking at these four lines from Dream Weaver, that sense of dignity radiating from the core, that pride in drawing a boundary to rule one's own domain, left him utterly impressed.

It wasn't an admission of defeat.

It was pure admiration on a literary level.

You release "snow plum," and I reply with an acrostic.

You say the plum must yield to the snow; I say each guards their own universe.

Back and forth, clean and sharp, neither side losing an inch of stature.

Chen Jiahao opened the Wenyuan Pavilion forum and scrolled to the stickied post that had been up all night.

The number of replies had already surpassed twenty thousand.

He quickly located his own final ceasefire statement.

[1 Online Alias]: "...I was too caught up in appearances. @The Drowned on Land, you are a worthy opponent, but for today, we call a truce."

Right below it was Dan Yi's reply.

[1 The Drowned on Land]: "The abyss does not deserve such tenderness, but thank you for this plum blossom. @Online Alias"

The two messages hung there side by side, with a dense crowd of comments following beneath them.

"The plum and the snow have reconciled, I'm tearing up."

"This is what literature should look like."

"Both masters are class acts. There's plenty of time ahead!"

"I'm shipping this duo already. Let's call them the 'Plum and Snow Duo'."

Chen Jiahao rolled his eyes at the last comment, but he couldn't stop himself from smiling.

He exited the forum and turned to look at the small mountain of philosophy books in front of him.

Sartre, Heidegger, Camus, Nietzsche.

Thirty-six hours, five cans of red bull, four colors of highlighters.

He reached out to close the saliva-soaked copy of "Being and Nothingness," wiped the cover with his sleeve,

And then stacked all the books neatly, one by one, sliding them back into the walnut bookshelf behind him.

His movements were gentle, almost careful.

Even though he still didn't truly understand most of the content.

But this thirty-six-hour crash course felt as though someone had taken a comb to the messy thoughts in his head.

He used to only be interested in literature.

Now he felt... this philosophy stuff.

Seemed like it wasn't so boring after all.

...

Meanwhile.

In Mo City, at the northernmost tip of Huaxia.

Outside the window, snow pellets continued to rasp against the glass. The wind was sharp and thin, sounding like someone scratching sheet metal with their fingernails.

Dan Yi sat on that creaky old chair, his body huddled inside an old coat.

The light from the laptop screen illuminated his face, highlighting his deeply sunken eye sockets.

He had been staring at the long comparison image of "each holding their own grace" for fifteen minutes.

On the left was a branch of red plum in a blizzard.

On the right was a nameless flower in a deep blue abyss.

In the middle was a golden line with four characters.

each holding their own grace.

Dan Yi's Adam's apple bobbed.

He moved the mouse and clicked into his "The Drowned on Land" profile page.

The line in his signature jumped into view:

[Suffering is not worth mentioning in the face of the abyss.]

He looked at the sentence.

When he had first written it, every word carried a sharp edge and hostility, as if he wanted to stab the eyes of everyone who looked down on him.

But looking at it now, the line only made him feel tired.

Dan Yi moved the cursor to the signature field, selected all, and deleted it.

The input box became a blank space.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard.

He paused for a long time.

Then, he typed it out, character by character.

"Each Guarding Their Own Universe, each holding their own grace."

He moved the mouse to the "Save" button and clicked.

The page refreshed.

The new signature sat quietly beneath his avatar.

Dan Yi stared at those eight characters, his lips twitching ever so slightly.

The jaw he usually kept clenched tight finally relaxed.

He closed his laptop and turned to look out the window.

In Mo City at the end of August, the daylight was blindingly white. The snow hadn't yet accumulated much.

A thin layer of white on the ground looked like someone had carelessly scattered a handful of salt.

An image suddenly flashed through his mind.

Heavy rain. Yellow earth.

A scrawny youth crouching in the corner of a construction site wall, stuffing a piece of black sorghum steamed bun as hard as stone into his mouth, his cheeks bulging as he chewed slowly.

Sun Shaoping.

When he had first seen that description, Dan Yi had been angry.

He felt that the narrative of "straightening one's spine in the mud" was just another way for the mainstream world to crush those who were different.

It was as if to say: Look, even suffering has a standard posture, and a misfit monster like you can't even suffer with dignity.

But remembering it now, that sting had faded.

Because Jian Shen had said it.

The plum must yield to the snow by three points of whiteness.

The person standing at the mountain peak had lowered their head, looked seriously at the snowy ground, and said: You are very white.

The abyss was a destination.

But the soil was not an enemy either.

Dan Yi pulled his old coat tighter around himself, listening to the sound of snow pellets tapping against the windowpane, and closed his eyes in the pale daylight.

...