458: Chapter 458 Leaving the Crane Flock, Will It Be Cold? —Bonus Chapter Sponsored by <Kukurin Night Owl>

When the figures of the four people disappeared behind the pavilion corridor, the crowd behind them had not yet dispersed.

Chen Jiahao walked at the very front, looking as if he had been injected with a liter of stimulants, his steps practically bouncing.

He held half a cup of leftover Douzhi in one hand and gestured in the air with the other, his mouth never stopping for a second.

"Since ancient times, people have lamented the loneliness of autumn, but I say autumn days surpass the spring morning."

He recited these two lines for the fourth time, and with each recitation, his tone rose by half a note.

"Master Que, I have to say, you've really been hiding your light under a bushel, haven't you?"

He turned around and started walking backward, facing Lin Que with an expression full of accusation.

"How long have I known you? From Fu Zhi Yao Competition until now, when did you ever reveal that you could write Classical poetry?

I was standing there just now with my palms drenched in sweat, do you know that?"

Lin Que had a piece of foxtail grass in his mouth that he had picked up from somewhere, his tone lazy.

"You didn't ask."

"I didn't ask?" Chen Jiahao's voice rose an octave.

"If I had known you had this trick up your sleeve, would I have been so anxious that I nearly crushed my cup of Douzhi?"

He held up the paper cup, which was already severely dented, as physical evidence.

"Look at this cup; all the strength in my hands was spent on it."

Lin Que glanced at the pathetic paper cup.

"I see it. Why don't you write a short biography for it later? Call it 'The Sacrifice of a Douzhi Cup'."

Chen Jiahao choked for a moment, then burst into a grin.

"Fine, you win."

He turned back around and walked normally, but his mouth still wouldn't stop.

"But seriously, 'A crane soars through the clouds into the clear sky'—I'll remember that line for the rest of my life.

How did you think of it? What was going through your head at the time?"

"I was thinking about Tanghulu."

"..."

Chen Jiahao stared at him for three seconds, first seriously doubting that his head really only contained Tanghulu,

then seeing the answer in Lin Que's punchable, relaxed demeanor, and finally giving up on the questioning.

Xu Changge walked to Lin Que's right, his pace neither fast nor slow.

The hem of his trench coat was lifted by the lake breeze and then fell back down.

After a period of silence, he spoke.

"Did you hear the analysis from those two graduate students just now?"

Lin Que gave an affirmative hum.

Xu Changge's gaze fell on the willow trees ahead, not looking at Lin Que.

"They said the focal points of the verbs in the two poems completely overlap, and the rhythmic patterns are identical.

From the perspective of textual analysis, that observation is indeed very keen."

He paused for a beat.

"What do you think?"

Lin Que shifted the foxtail grass to the other side of his mouth, his pace unchanged.

"It's a Responding poem," he said, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the nice weather.

"When two people are having a dialogue across time and space, matching the rhythm is a basic skill.

When you write a poem to respond to someone else, you can't completely ignore the other person's Phrasing."

Xu Changge nodded.

"So you agree with what the guy in the checkered shirt said? That you deliberately stepped in rhythm with the other person to create a sense of dialogue?"

"Pretty much." Lin Que took the foxtail grass out of his mouth and twirled it between his fingers.

"The Phrasing of good poetry often tends to converge toward the same point."

Lin Que took the foxtail grass out of his mouth and twirled it between his fingers.

"It's like two chess players reaching the mid-game; there are actually only a few places where you can truly make a move. It's normal for experts to see the same point."

After he finished speaking, his gaze had already drifted to the small red cart ahead.

"Tanghulu."

Xu Changge's pace faltered for half a beat before returning to its normal rhythm.

He glanced sideways at Lin Que.

Lin Que's expression was so relaxed there wasn't a single flaw to be found.

With that foxtail grass spinning between his fingers, his whole state was like a retired old man taking a stroll in the park,

rather than a youth who had just written a seven-character quatrain worthy of being recorded in poetic history.

Xu Changge withdrew his gaze, his lips twitching slightly.

"The Optimal solution," he softly repeated those three words.

"That's an interesting way to put it."

Xu Changge didn't continue questioning, only replaying those three words in his mind.

The Optimal solution.

It was a beautiful answer, beautiful enough to temporarily cover any doubts.

Beneath the willow trees ahead, a red cart was parked by the roadside.

The cart was filled with bright red Tanghulu, the hawthorns coated in a layer of crystal-clear sugar that shimmered with an amber light under the sun.

The vendor was a man in his fifties wearing a white hat, his apron stained with traces of syrup.

Chen Jiahao dashed up to the cart in two steps.

"Old uncle! Four sticks, please!"

"Sure thing. That'll be forty in total, but since you're students, just scan for thirty."

"Thanks, uncle!"

He pulled out his phone to scan the code, his movements even faster than his speech.

After paying, he pulled four sticks of Tanghulu from the straw bundle and turned to distribute them.

"Brother Xu, here."

Xu Changge took it and looked at the shiny red hawthorns,

as if he were studying a piece of handicraft he had never seen before.

"Brother Dan Yi, yours."

Dan Yi reached out to take the bamboo skewer. His movements were very light, as if he were afraid of breaking something.

"Master Que."

Lin Que took it and took a bite.

The sugar coating shattered between his teeth, and the sweet and sour flavor of the hawthorn exploded in his mouth.

"Let's go, there's a bench up ahead."

Two benches by the lake faced the water, with a row of old willow trees behind them.

The location was secluded with few tourists,

only the occasional sound of laughter from afar and the flapping of waterfowl on the lake.

The four of them sat down.

Chen Jiahao and Lin Que shared one bench, while Xu Changge and Dan Yi shared the other.

The two benches were less than a meter apart, both facing the same stretch of water.

The early morning of October in the capital still carried a hint of chill,

and the sunlight had just begun to spread over the willow branches, its color light and gentle, not dazzling, like a layer of pale gold gauze blown open by the wind.

The edges of the willow leaves were damp with tiny droplets of moisture, and when the light hit them, shimmering shadows danced across the ground.

The lake surface was very still.

The wind blew from the opposite shore, pushing the water into a layer of fine ripples,

and the reflection of the White Pagoda was shattered and then gathered again, over and over.

Chen Jiahao took a large bite of his Tanghulu, his cheeks bulging like a squirrel's.

He ate as fast as he spoke, finishing off a hawthorn in two bites.

Xu Changge held the Tanghulu in front of him, examined it for two seconds, and then carefully took a small bite.

The sound of the sugar coating shattering was crisp, and his chewing was slow, as if he were tasting some precious ingredient.

Lin Que leaned against the back of the bench with one leg crossed over the other,

his eyes half-closed, letting the cool morning light fall on his eyelids.

He held the Tanghulu in his hand, taking a bite every now and then at a very slow pace.

None of the four spoke.

The sound of the wind, the water, the distant laughter of children, and the occasional bird call.

This kind of silence was rare, so relaxed that no one felt the need to find a topic to fill it,

as the sounds of the wind and water were enough to steadily hold the four of them.

Dan Yi sat at the very end.

He hadn't taken a single bite of his Tanghulu.

He held the bamboo skewer in his hand, his knuckles slightly strained.

The layer of sugar coating reflected tiny points of light under the sun, like solidified amber beads.

His gaze fell on the Tanghulu, but it didn't seem like he was actually looking at it.

Those grey-blue eyes were downcast, his eyelashes casting a small shadow,

holding back many words that were too heavy to surface for the moment.

Chen Jiahao finished his last hawthorn, twirled the bare bamboo skewer in his hand a couple of times, and caught sight of Dan Yi out of the corner of his eye.

"Brother Dan Yi, why aren't you eating?"

There was nothing extra in his tone; he had simply noticed the person next to him hadn't started eating and asked casually.

Dan Yi's shoulders tensed instantly.

For many years, "someone noticing he wasn't eating" usually meant that in the next second, gazes would fall upon him,

scrutinizing, snickering, or a whispered "look at him."

His entire aura retracted into its shell in an instant,

like a snail that had just extended its antennae only to be touched by something, immediately retreating.

His fingers gripped the bamboo skewer harder, his knuckles turning from pale to a bluish-white.

The air froze.

The smile on Chen Jiahao's face stiffened.

He realized he seemed to have stepped on some invisible line again, but he had no idea where that line was.

"I..."

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something to fix it, but didn't know what to say.

Xu Changge's finger tapped lightly on his knee.

He had sensed the change in Dan Yi and was about to speak to lead the topic elsewhere.

But Dan Yi was one step ahead of him.

The usually silent youth lowered his head.

The shadow of his hat brim once again covered most of his face, leaving only his chin and tightly pressed lips visible.

His Adam's apple moved, as if he were swallowing something very hard.

Then he spoke.

His voice was very soft and slightly raspy, as if it were being squeezed out from somewhere deep inside.

"When I was in Mo City, no one ever asked me 'why aren't you eating'."

Chen Jiahao's hand stopped in mid-air.

Xu Changge turned his head.

Lin Que remained leaning against the bench, his half-closed eyes didn't open, but the rhythm of his breathing changed.

Dan Yi stared at the Tanghulu in his hand, his voice devoid of ups and downs.

"In the cafeteria, I would carry my tray looking for a seat. As long as I walked toward a table, the people at that table would stand up and move somewhere else."

His thumb rubbed back and forth on the bamboo skewer, his fingertip brushing against the rough bamboo fibers.

"Later on, I stopped going to the cafeteria.

Every day I'd bring a piece of bread and go to a corner of the rooftop to eat.

Only, the bread would get a bit hard in the winter, so I had to tuck it inside my shirt for half an hour to warm it up before I could manage the first bite."

A very soft sound came from Chen Jiahao's throat.

It was a faint sound, like a sentence rushing to his throat only to be blocked by something hard.

Dan Yi didn't look at anyone. His gaze remained fixed on that stick of red Tanghulu.

"When that older woman stuffed the bun into my hand earlier, I didn't know how to react."

He paused for two seconds.

"It's been so long since someone... without asking anything, just stuffed something warm into my hand."

The lake breeze blew over the water, carrying a chill.

The willow branches swayed gently overhead, and patches of light moved across the ground.

Chen Jiahao clenched the bare bamboo skewer in his hand until it snapped.

He realized for the first time that his usually non-stop mouth was completely useless at a time like this.

"I'm sorry" was too light.

"Don't be sad" was too fake.

Any comfort felt like a thin sheet of paper when faced with this weight.

Xu Changge sat quietly, his gaze resting on the lake.

His finger stopped tapping on his knee and didn't move again.

Lin Que was still leaning against the back of the bench, his posture unchanged.

Except the Tanghulu in his hand remained suspended in mid-air, and he hadn't taken another bite for a long time.

The morning breeze blew, and the end of the bamboo skewer swayed slightly.

He was listening very intently.

Dan Yi's voice sounded again. It was even softer than before, almost drowned out by the wind.

"Lin Que."

He called him directly by his name.

As if he had finally crossed a certain icy crack that had been separating them.

Lin Que opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him.

Dan Yi's hat brim was pulled very low, revealing only the lower half of his face.

His lips moved, as if he were organizing his words.

"The crane you just wrote about."

His voice was slightly raspy, each word sounding like it was being dug out of frozen earth bit by bit.

"It flies into the sky alone. Through the clouds."

He stopped for a long time.

So long that Chen Jiahao thought he wouldn't say anything more.

Then Dan Yi raised his head.

Beneath the brim of his hat, there were no tears in those grey-blue eyes, only something very, very deep.

Like the Black River in a Mo City winter, the water beneath the ice was bottomless.

"After leaving the flock."

His voice was very soft.

"Will it be cold?"

The wind on the lake stopped for a brief moment.

On the hawthorn at Lin Que's fingertips, a tiny crack appeared in the sugar coating.

...