The two walked one after the other. The winter chill couldn’t seem to slow their eager steps.
Perhaps there really was a small patch of spring here, right under their feet.
It didn’t matter where they were headed; the journey itself was enough to make them happy.
Or rather, the journey was more important than the destination.
Then Gou Yu hailed a taxi, veering farther and farther from the crowd.
They even reached a somewhat desolate area.
Zhu Niao wasn’t worried, though. She was just curious, watching the scenery grow increasingly familiar.
‘It’s like something I saw in a dream.’
The driver wasn’t a talkative man. He only occasionally cast a few envious glances their way, accompanied by the incense in the car.
The half-open window let fresh air circulate for passengers who might get carsick, but mostly because the driver was reluctant to turn on the AC.
The road would suddenly get bumpy from time to time, stirring up a bit of dust, like flipping through a corner of a photo album.
“I think I’ve dreamed of this place before.” Sitting by the window, Zhu Niao looked outside, watching the houses flash by.
The wind carried the fresh, clean scent of the buildings.
The streets weren’t as chaotic as those in the city; some places even had wooden houses.
There was an upside-down “福” (fortune) charm, pasted during some past Spring Festival, now faded to a pale pink by muddy time and years.
Mugwort hung on the doorframe, from some long-ago Dragon Boat Festival.
It wasn’t even yellow and withered anymore—just a thin, blackened bundle, as if it would crumble into ash at the slightest touch.
Between the houses stood wild, straight trees, not yet tall enough to reach the height of the dried ivy on the walls.
“This is where we went to junior high school,” Gou Yu said, finally unable to hold back.
“Is it?”
Zhu Niao’s face lit up in sudden understanding. “No wonder I always dream about this place. It must have been a nightmare.”
The car stopped at the front gate.
The two got out one after the other. Gou Yu heard the driver reminding him to pay.
He didn’t bother with it; the money would come in a couple of days, and he’d pay then.
The ring on his finger had already emptied the savings he’d painstakingly scraped together.
But he didn’t regret it.
Gou Yu stepped forward to the gate. The door was locked, clearly not intended for passage.
The height was just right, though.
Gou Yu rubbed his hands together, ready to try climbing over.
Then Zhu Niao suddenly grabbed him.
He turned around. Zhu Niao pointed to the white dress under her trench coat. “I don’t want to get this dirty.”
Zhu Niao cherished this dress, just as she cherished the ring on her finger, just as she cherished the bond between them.
It wasn’t that Gou Yu didn’t cherish it.
He believed they could create more memories, and he thought the bond between him and Zhu Niao was as solid as rock—something that wouldn’t disappear because of anything.
But Zhu Niao was more pessimistic.
She was afraid this relationship would shatter at the slightest touch.
That was why she still couldn’t give her whole self to Gou Yu.
She merely clung to this beauty, coveting it.
She felt she didn’t deserve it, believed this love would break, thought it would be better never to have had it than to lose it.
That was Zhu Niao’s way of thinking.
She yearned for it, yet she avoided it. She was insecure.
“Then let’s go in some other way.” Gou Yu grabbed Zhu Niao’s wrist. “Remember the place we used to sneak out to play?”
Of course Zhu Niao remembered. It was one of the few joys of junior high life, a tiny bug in the entire school’s operation.
So small that only the two of them knew about it.
No teacher or principal had ever discovered it, not even after they graduated.
“The dog hole. Of course I remember.”
It wasn’t really a hole you had to crawl through—more like a gap in the wall about half a person’s height.
It was behind a small bamboo grove, covered with an old tarp by Zhu Niao and Gou Yu, and they used it until graduation.
Coming out of that dog hole led to a lush little vegetable patch and a riverbank.
Following the road, you could go out, pick up trash, and play with cats and dogs.
The dog hole was still the same, still unrepaired. It seemed nothing had improved over the years.
But the vegetable patch had turned into barren soil, and the clear river was now covered in trash, filthy and murky.
The old tarp was gone, replaced by a few urea bags hanging over the opening, barely providing cover.
It seemed someone else had taken over this fine immortal artifact after they left.
But the school had been abandoned. Its only use now was for the two of them to revisit old memories.
“I saw a video of our school’s new campus, and I figured the old one must be abandoned.”
Gou Yu held open the urea bag that hung like a curtain over the entrance.
“If they used this place for a paintball arena, it’d be amazing. Our K/D here would be sky-high.”
Zhu Niao immediately remembered the times they got caught with contraband at school and were chased by the teachers.
Of course, they were never caught, not once, right up until graduation. Zhu Niao even got the “Three Good Student” award.
The path in the bamboo grove was uneven.
Zhu Niao was wearing a pair of white Mary Jane shoes with thick soles; she was afraid of falling, so she held on to Gou Yu’s clothes and arm, pulling tightly.
She held on very tight.
Gou Yu kicked aside the wild grass and dodder, walking ahead, and pushed aside all the yellowed, stiff bamboo branches.
At the end of the bamboo grove, warm sunlight streamed in. Outside was the school, utterly lifeless.
Yet at the same time, it felt full of life, because Gou Yu and Zhu Niao could always see students laughing and playing in every corner.
Those were their memories.
People online said old abandoned buildings were terrifying, like some kind of monster ready to swallow you whole.
But Zhu Niao and Gou Yu didn’t think that way. Perhaps it was because, like territorial wild dogs, they had left their marks all over the building with their memories—from the first floor to the third.
Even pushing open the door raised clouds of dust. Sunlight crept in, making the dust look like chaotic electric sparks.
The desks and chairs were a mess—some stacked, some lying on the floor.
She and Gou Yu used to sit in the corner by the window, where they could do anything without being caught.
She could only remember that area.
The person in front of her was a noisy guy who loved to show off.
Zhu Niao didn’t dislike him, but he always drew the teacher’s attention, messing up their operations in the back.
In front of Gou Yu sat a boy named Jiahao, who would wear a hoodie and mask even in hot weather.
Everything else was blurry, like portraits with their faces erased.
“Little Bird.” Gou Yu casually picked up a piece of chalk from the desk.
Just as he was about to throw it like a dart, the chalk crumbled to dust in his hand.
Zhu Niao snapped back to reality—as if she was still in that classroom, still in that era, still in their carefree days.
She grabbed a book from the nearby desk, lifting it to shield herself.
But she ended up with dust all over her face, and a handful in her hand.
At least she didn’t get it on her dress.
Gou Yu’s hand was still frozen in midair; he couldn’t laugh at her.
So he just brushed off his suit. The white marks on his white suit were barely visible.
“What do you think of this world?”