373: Chapter 373 Let's Talk First

One second. Two seconds. All sound in the registration hall vanished simultaneously.

Thirty pairs of eyes were nailed to the words on Song Yuan's lips. After a pause of less than half a beat, they snapped back and forth between Lin Que and Xu Changge.

The Northern and Southern Stars. The same dormitory. Six months of living day and night together.

The authors of the two works that Professor Liu would dissect simultaneously in the public lecture the day after tomorrow were about to sleep within three meters of each other.

Almost at the same time, several gasps of cold air came from different corners of the hall.

Chen Jiahao stood in front of Lin Que and let out a howl to the sky: "Oh my god, my Master Que has drifted away from me just like that!"

Lin Que raised his elbow and poked him in the ribs, neither too hard nor too soft.

The beef jerky in Wei Yiming's hand nearly fell to the ground. He subconsciously muttered in a low voice: "Is God a screenwriter?"

Tang He and Su Xiaotang stood by the window, looking at the drawing table in disbelief, neither saying a word.

As for Xu Changge himself, he stood at the drawing table, looking down at the slip of paper in his hand that read "1-A-303".

Silence for two seconds. The corners of his mouth slowly curled upward.

That wasn't the polished arc used in social settings. It was a satisfaction surging up from a very deep place, unadorned.

He tilted his head to look at Lin Que, who was leaning against the window frame, his tone carrying undisguised pleasure. "It seems for the next six months, I will be the first to read your manuscripts."

Lin Que crossed his arms, leaning against the window frame, his lips slightly curved. "You... don't snore, do you?"

Xu Changge was stunned for half a beat. Then he laughed out loud.

The laughter emanated from his chest, carrying a kind of relaxation he didn't usually show.

Several surrounding students also laughed, and the tension that had been building all morning was largely dismantled by those four words.

The drawing continued. Several students went up in turn, drew their slips, verified them, and registered; the process was orderly.

Chen Jiahao was in the back, his neck stretched out like a goose, his eyes darting back and forth between the registration desk and Lin Que.

When it was his turn, he darted forward, reached into the box, pinched out a slip, and unfolded it. 1-A-306.

He held up the slip, tilted his head, and asked Song Yuan, his tone full of anticipation: "Senior Brother Song, 306—"

Song Yuan lowered his head to flip through the registration form, his fingertip pausing on a certain line for half a second. He looked up, a subtle glint flashing behind his lenses.

"Your roommate is classmate Danyi Lopivich."

Chen Jiahao's expression froze on his face. He turned his head mechanically, his gaze crossing the crowd, landing on the youth in the corner who had not said a word from start to finish, his hat pulled down to his brow bone, his whole person like a silent black stone monument.

Dan Yi seemed to sense this gaze. His gray-blue eyes slowly lifted from under the brim of his hat, meeting Chen Jiahao's eyes for a second.

That gaze was cold and deep, reminding one of the frozen surface of the Heilongjiang River in Mo City in winter; the surface was motionless, but you knew something was watching you from underneath.

Chen Jiahao's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. He forced a stiff smile, turned back, and gave Song Yuan a thumbs up. But his voice was as weak as a leaking balloon: "...It's pretty good, very good."

The light in his eyes dimmed visibly, but unwilling to give up, he took half a step closer, lowering his voice to probe: "Uh, Senior Brother Song... while the final list isn't confirmed yet, could I—"

"No." Song Yuan interrupted cleanly, not giving even one extra syllable.

Laughter exploded in the hall. Some slapped their thighs, others covered their mouths and leaned back. Wei Yiming laughed until his shoulders shook, and Tang He couldn't help but curl the corners of her mouth.

Xu Changge stood to the side, his gaze shifting from Chen Jiahao to the ginkgo tree outside the window. The arc of his mouth didn't change at all, but he adjusted his cuffs more times than usual.

Chen Jiahao stood in place, his expression full of theatrical despair that read "I have been abandoned by the whole world".

After the drawing ended, Song Yuan asked the students to go to their respective dormitories to settle in, and that the official registration briefing would be held in the afternoon.

Footsteps and the sound of dragging suitcases intertwined in the hallway, occasionally mixed with low conversations and suppressed laughter.

Chen Jiahao caught the moment everyone dispersed, hurried to Lin Que's side, lowered his voice, his expression so exaggerated that his features were almost squashed together. "Master Que, help me. Did you see that guy from the Northeast? Let me tell you, when he looked at me, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. That look, how should I put it—"

He swallowed, leaning half an inch closer. "It's like standing on ice in the middle of winter, and suddenly there's a 'crack' sound beneath your feet. You look down, the ice has cracked, it's all black underneath, but something is watching you from the black water. That kind of feeling."

Lin Que turned his head to look at him, an unperturbed curve on his lips. "Your perspective is too narrow. Don't just look at the surface; maybe after spending time together, you'll become good friends."

Chen Jiahao's face crumpled into a bitter melon: "Forget it, Master Que. Look at his aura; that's cold, the coldest of the cold, the kind that's cold enough to glow. Would a person like that be willing to be friends with me? If I talk to him, he probably won't even bother to acknowledge me."

Lin Que patted his shoulder. "Sometimes the person who looks the coldest is actually the one most afraid of the cold. That enthusiasm of yours might just be exactly what he lacks."

Chen Jiahao was stunned for a moment, scratched the back of his head, muttered "Master Que, everything you say is right," and dragged his suitcase toward room 306.

Lin Que watched his back turn into the end of the hallway, his gaze pausing on the 306 door number for a second. Interesting.

He turned around and pushed open the door to 303. Xu Changge was already there.

The black vintage suitcase was open on the floor. There weren't many clothes inside, but they were all folded neatly. The dark gray sweaters and white shirts were categorized and stacked by color, the creases looking like they had been measured with a ruler.

He was stacking books on the desk. He was still holding two in his hand, and there were already four or five stacked on the desk, ranging from literary theory to poetry collections.

Lin Que's gaze swept over the desk, pausing on the cover of the one at the very bottom. The dark blue back cover was facing up, but the exposed spine was printed with four characters: folding beijing.

The crease on the spine was deep, left by repeated reading.

Xu Changge looked down following Lin Que's gaze, didn't deliberately explain, stacked that book with the others, and pushed them to the corner of the desk.

He turned around, his gaze naturally sweeping over the things Lin Que was carrying. Two jars of crystal-clear pickled garlic. The glass jars refracted a gentle, warm yellow in the hallway light.

Xu Changge's gaze rested on the two jars of pickled garlic for a second. It wasn't appraising, but identifying. Identifying the sugar color wrapped around the garlic cloves. Even and translucent, it was the luster that only came from handmade pickling.

"Is it homemade?" He asked, his tone very light, but he used "homemade" rather than "yours".

Lin Que placed the pickled garlic on his own nightstand. "Yeah. My mom's craft."

Xu Changge didn't continue the conversation. He turned back to continue organizing the things in his suitcase, but his movements of folding the sweater slowed by half a beat.

The two of them finished tidying up and sat down, separated by a distance of less than three meters. The shadows of the ginkgo leaves outside the window were cast on the floor between the two desks, light and shadow overlapping, one bright and one dark.

Xu Changge spoke first. He didn't beat around the bush. His speaking speed was half a beat slower than during the day in the hall, each word placed heavily, like laying his cards out on the table one by one.

"To be honest, when I drew the same room as you, my first reaction wasn't surprise."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the folding beijing》 with the deep spine crease in the corner of the desk. "It was feeling that what should come had finally arrived."

Lin Que leaned against the back of his chair, not saying anything, waiting for him to finish.

"Tomorrow Professor Liu is going to dissect both of us at the same time. Rather than each of us carrying our own thoughts, why not... chat first?"