Chapter Fifty-Five: Deep Affection, Fleeting Destiny

“It was nothing, really! Oh, I poured him a bag of milk and peeled an apple for him, and he showed me his injury. You didn’t see it—his ankle was swollen like a pig’s trotter, tsk tsk!” Gu Xiaohan’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“So you two spent all that time studying pig’s feet?” Dong Yanyan couldn’t help but laugh.

“We also talked about my competition! I told him I made it to the next round, and he congratulated me. We practiced singing together for a bit.” Gu Xiaohan grinned with excitement. “Yanyan, why am I so nervous? Your competition is tomorrow, and if I forget the lyrics in front of everyone, how embarrassing would that be?!”

“Who else can you blame but yourself for not practicing? But don’t worry, Tiantian and I already made a plan—if you forget the words, we’ll sing along with you. We won’t let you embarrass yourself,” Dong Yanyan reassured her.

“Huh? Where’s Tiantian gone?!” Only then did Gu Xiaohan realize Tiantian wasn’t there.

“She’s out on a date,” Dong Yanyan shrugged and pulled her downstairs.

Lin Feng was helping Yang Lili decorate the classroom. It was Friday, and there was a class party at eight in the evening. Du Xinmeng was busy sketching on the blackboard with chalk. Dong Yanyan helped arrange the desks and chairs. Seeing there were still more than ten minutes left before eight, she decided to head downstairs to the restroom. As soon as she opened the door, she bumped into Leng Haoyang and Xu Cheng. Leng Haoyang cheerfully shoved a pile of clothes into Dong Yanyan’s arms and said with a grin, “Liu Qiang chickened out—he stammered forever and couldn’t say a single useful thing. Well? Time for you to wash our clothes!”

Dong Yanyan stared at the heap of clothes in her arms, her eyes wide with dismay. Xu Cheng didn’t have many clothes—just a jacket and a suit he alternated as outerwear, and two or three pairs of pants and sweaters, all hand-me-downs from his relatives’ older brothers. The rest belonged to the young master Leng Haoyang. Yang Ruining was too much of a princess to wash his clothes, so he’d finally found a sucker for the job.

“Don’t listen to him, Yanyan. The water’s so cold—how can a girl wash so many clothes?” Xu Cheng snatched the clothes back with a smile. “You admit defeat and that’s enough; we’ll wash our own clothes.”

“No way! I keep my word,” Dong Yanyan snatched the clothes back, tossed her head proudly, and kicked open the door, heading downstairs to look for a basin.

Back in the dorm, she spread the clothes on her bed, picked out Xu Cheng’s suit jacket, found needle and thread, and carefully stitched up the sleeve. Then she found his trousers and mended the split seam. Suddenly, she remembered the first time she sewed a button onto his suit jacket, all thumbs and accidentally stitching both sleeves together. Back then, she couldn’t do anything, but he never minded—he even wanted to raise her like a daughter. But once they had a child, she learned to wash clothes, cook, and fix pipes—people have to grow up; being pampered doesn’t mean you never have to mature. She realized she was never the caring type—she could count on one hand the times she’d washed his clothes in ten years, and whenever she did, he’d be so overwhelmed with gratitude, as if he’d been given the world.

No one had ever been good to him as a child, so he tried so hard to be good to others, just to earn a little pitiful affection in return.

A wave of sorrow washed over her.

After finishing the mending, she fetched two more basins from the lower bunk and borrowed another from Leng Yue, piled in the clothes, grabbed laundry detergent and hangers, and headed to the washroom. Leng Yue helped her carry a basin brimming with clothes, asking curiously, “Fifth, what’s gotten into you today? Who are you washing so many clothes for?”

Dong Yanyan forced a smile. “It’s all Xiaohan’s fault. I’m rarely this industrious. Do you have any dirty clothes? I’ll wash them for you too.”

“No need, don’t wear yourself out. Don’t forget your keys—we’re heading upstairs soon.” Leng Yue gave her a reminder before leaving.

There were other students in the washroom, so Dong Yanyan wasn’t afraid. She washed clothes while chatting and laughing with them.

Soon, Yang Ruining arrived with two basins. Seeing Dong Yanyan, she grinned, “You’re here too? I thought you were upstairs!”

“When would I have the time? I’m here washing Leng Haoyang’s clothes,” Dong Yanyan replied, showing her the pile.

Yang Ruining giggled. “I heard you lost a bet.”

“Help me wash a couple, will you? He’s got way too many,” Dong Yanyan said, tossing a few unwashed jackets into Yang Ruining’s basin—only to spot a few pieces of men’s clothing in there.

“What? You’re not washing for Leng Haoyang, but for Song Mingcheng?!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“You don’t get it,” Yang Ruining replied, full of conviction. “Song Mingcheng is the face of our class. Of all the boys, he’s the only one who can hold his own. He has to stay handsome at all times. Making sure his clothes are clean is the shared responsibility of all the girls in our class.”

Dong Yanyan burst out laughing. “We have sixteen boys in our class, and you just offended fifteen of them with one sentence. Wait, why is there Yang Xiaohai’s jacket too?” Dong Yanyan held up a dark green jacket—one she knew for certain belonged to that rascal Yang Xiaohai.

“Huh?” Yang Ruining picked up the jacket, inspecting it for a long time. “You’re right! That scoundrel slipped his clothes in with mine! I’ll show him!” She grabbed the jacket and was about to storm upstairs to settle the score with Yang Xiaohai.

Dong Yanyan pulled her back. “Let it go. You’re both surnamed Yang, after all. You’ve already washed half of it—may as well finish and let him off easy.”

“Hmph! He’s getting off lightly this time!” Yang Ruining fumed, pounding the jacket with both fists.

Dong Yanyan couldn’t help but grin at the scene—there it was, the difference between handsome and not.

By the time Dong Yanyan finished washing the two huge basins of clothes, lights out had already come. She remembered her pencil case was still upstairs, so she dashed back to the classroom. At midnight, only a handful of students remained, doing their homework by candlelight. Lin Feng sat at the back, cradling a guitar, practicing a song. The wavering candlelight played across his face, lending him the air of a dream. Leaning against the door, Dong Yanyan stared at him, transfixed.

“After sharing your joy, I found more trouble than delight; after loving deeply, fate proved shallow for me. Who hasn’t made mistakes in their youth? I’d rather shed hot tears than bow my head, cherishing the hands I once held, the memories I once owned. Treasure the dreams of youth, treasure the time we spent together; who can say they were never reckless when young, venturing out alone...

Even if the moon waxes and wanes, even if people know sorrow and joy, who can resist hoisting the sail of dreams? Treasure the tears shed for me, treasure the years given for you; who could remain unmoved, untouched, by this precious time…”

At that time, Su Youpeng’s songs were all about fleeting love and beauty—but whose youth wasn’t filled with such fleeting moments? Dreams are beautiful because of them; memories precious because of them.

Even if they were so ephemeral, so unreal, vanishing at the slightest touch.

“Yanyan, why are you standing at the door? What are you thinking about?” Lin Feng waved her over with his guitar.

“You sing beautifully,” Dong Yanyan replied softly with a smile.

In the candlelight, Lin Feng’s gaze lingered on her. “Yanyan, why do you always have that blissful, silly smile on your face?”

“To see your youthful smiles is a rare happiness,” Dong Yanyan averted her gaze and whispered, “The competition is tomorrow—don’t practice too late.” She passed by him, retrieved her pencil case from the desk, and hurried downstairs.

[Song: “Cherish” by Su Youpeng]