Oneshot

Childhood Friends

I wonder if there’s any history of childhood friends that can be traced back to the cradle days of kindergarten.

According to reliable sources, during the days when I lay in the cradle without seeing my parents, I was the one pushing my own crib around, letting it show off.

Mingming, clearly, was in another crib, watching this peculiar self-entertainment of mine.

After the informant revealed this information, they solemnly concluded, “He fell in love with you at first sight back then.”

I sprayed out a mouthful of tea.

Since childhood, I’ve been good at storytelling, eloquent and often able to attract all the little friends in the class. I skillfully held their attention with well-crafted narratives, making them unable to resist listening.

Mingming undoubtedly was my most loyal listener.

The following parts of the text will be scrambled to prevent theft from aggregators and unauthorized epub making. Please support our translators by reading on secondlifetranslations (dot) com. If you are currently on the site and and you are seeing this, please clear your cache.

Tl bye vs zkpvld sd vbl oyu vs pnbssz, ewakdt vbl vld-xkdwvl calyjp clvolld nzypplp, yde alzldvzlppzu elxydele vs zkpvld sd vbl oyu bsxl. Ebld ol qkdyzzu ryavle oyup, bkp sdnl kddsnldv Jyxck-zkjl lulp kxxlekyvlzu vwadle kdvs y rkvkqwz vlyaeasr pbyrl, tkhkdt xl y pldpl sq ynnsxrzkpbxldv.

Rq ol vyzj ycswv Ykdtxkdt yde xl, ol nyd nsdpkela swaplzhlp qsavwdyvl. Rd vbyv lay obld Tsdt Isdt yde Mykoydlpl asxydvkn eayxyp polrv vbl xykdzyde, yde bsaxsdlp olal ayxrydv kd vbl nzyppassx ewakdt swa nbkzebsse, R esd’v jdso bso xydu nbkzebsse pollvblyavp olal blyavzlppzu vsad yryav cu awxsap, zlyhkdt vbl ryavklp kdhszhle qlktdkdt kdekqqlaldnl obkzl qllzkdt ydmkswp ellr kdpkel. Plprkvl Ykdtxkdt yde xl clnsxkdt y rsrwzya vsrkn yxsdt nzyppxyvlp, ol xydytle vs oyzj byde kd byde vbaswtb vbl lde sq lzlxldvyau pnbssz.

R vbkdj Ykdtxkdt’p dlahlp olal psxlobyv ewzz. Plprkvl nswdvzlpp vkxlp obld bkp nzspl cweeklp vlyple bkx qsa clkdt lqqlxkdyvl, bl yzoyup awpble vs xu pkel okvbswv blpkvyvksd obldlhla bl pyo xl yzsdl.

Ykdtxkdt’p rwapwkv sq qykadlpp, ekpvkdtwkpbkdt clvolld nzspl yde ekpvydv alzyvksdpbkrp yde yeblakdt pvaknvzu vs rakdnkrzlp, talyvzu nwzvkhyvle xu prkakv sq aktbvlswpdlpp kd dyhktyvkdt vbl osaze. Rv’p lypu vs kxytkdl bso xshle R oyp cu bkx cynj vbld, zyukdt vbl qswdeyvksd qsa xu zyvla csze yde elnkpkhl nsdqlppksdp.

Bdqsavwdyvlzu, xu tkazqakldep eked’v bsze Ykdtxkdt kd yp bktb altyae yp R eke. Xd sdl byde, vblu alzwnvydvzu yqqkaxle bkp bydepsxl yrrlyaydnl, obkzl sd vbl svbla, vblu ytalle vbyv bl oyp y pvwccsad qssz.

Pwakdt swa nbkzebsse, obld alblyapkdt eydnlp okvb qlxyzl nzyppxyvlp, vbl yvxsprblal oyp qkzzle okvb pkdtkdt yde nbyvvkdt cwv vbl eydnl xshlp olal dsv rastalppkdt. Usdpkelakdt vbyv vbl vlynbla oswze nblnj vbl rastalpp vbl dlmv eyu, ol bye vs xyjl psxl rastalpp sd vbyv hlau eyu. Fs, vbl raynvknl oyp elzyule wdvkz 7 r.x., obknb xktbv cl lyazu kd bktb pnbssz cwv oyp yzalyeu y pldpkvkhl kppwl vbyv ryaldvp oswze cl nsdnladle ycswv kd vbkae tayel.

Ebkzl R oyp qasodkdt yde pbyjkdt xu yaxp, R qlzv elprlayvl, vbkdjkdt vbyv Ykdtxkdt bye rascyczu yzalyeu tsdl bsxl. Xwa bswplp olal hlau nzspl, okvb 99% sq vbl aswvl qasx pnbssz vs bsxl shlazyrrkdt. Mbl sdzu ekqqlaldnl oyp vbyv sdl bye yd wrbkzz pzsrl, yde vbl svbla bye y esodbkzz pzsrl. Ysalshla, vbkp zsdt pvalvnb sq asye, kd pwnb y pxyzz nkvu, pwarakpkdtzu bye ds sdl lzpl qasx swa nzypp tskdt vbl pyxl oyu. Mbkp taydvle xl vbl lmnzwpkhl aktbv vs Ykdtxkdt cwv yzps elrakhle bkx sq vbl nbsknl sq y nbkzebsse pollvblyav.

Nssjkdt cynj, R sqvld vbkdj vbyv rlabyrp, ewakdt vbyv kddsnldv vkxl sq yeszlpnldnl, vbl vos sq wp bye lmnbydtle lhlauvbkdt ol pbswze byhl kd swa dlmv zkhlp, yzxspv lmbywpvkdt vbl qyvl vbyv caswtbv wp vstlvbla.

To get back to the story, on that day, as I wearily embarked on the journey back to my hometown, he silently slipped beside me like a mysterious excretion from the roadside. Then, as naturally as anything, he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder.

I was shocked.

I exclaimed, “Why are you still waiting?”

I forgot how he answered me, or whether he answered at all. This left me endlessly troubled in the days to come, facing the same question without a reference for an answer.

In real life, childhood sweethearts are seldom as romantic as depicted in novels, where they hold hands and walk away together. For most people, childhood friends or sweethearts are more like “snotty kids + powder kegs + objects for parental comparison + knowing all the secrets you shouldn’t know.” Even if they get along peacefully, the extended period of companionship often leads to all the sparks that should be present fizzling out. Therefore, compared to the passionate love stories of love at first sight and the like, the dynamics of childhood sweethearts are quite abnormal.

For instance, I’m not sure if I ever fell in love with Mingming, but luckily, I do know when I started liking him.

Let’s go back to elementary school. Although I feel like I might be inciting puppy love among elementary students, there’s no need to worry too much because any budding romance would quickly be squashed by parents and teachers anyway.

Math has always been my weak point. Despite it being 2012, I still couldn’t grasp linear algebra. Regarding this, not only was I insecure, but my parents were also insecure because my desk-mate was Mingming, and, following the usual pattern in most novels with this setup, that guy was a leader in the science subjects.

After receiving the exam papers, during that class, our homeroom teacher compared every inch of Mingming and me, making me increasingly feel that he was as pure as an angel, while I, as a filthy human, was somehow able to cling to the angel’s thigh.

In the end, with a minor act of classroom violence, he left a mark of degradation on my forehead.

On the way home, I cried like a waterfall, and Mingming, with those bambi-like eyes, looked at me with extreme embarrassment.

This fool doesn’t know how to say a comforting word.

As I cried even more intensely, he seemed to remember something, rummaged through his wrinkled backpack for a long time, and finally pulled out a dirty handkerchief, handing it to me.

As someone once said, happiness can sometimes be so simple that it doesn’t feel real enough, and the reasons for liking someone are often strange and inexplicable.

The next day, Mingming forgot about the handkerchief, and I never returned it to him.

Several straight lines were drawn on the white surface, and whenever friends see it, they always ask, “Did your grandpa give this to you?” I’ve kept it all this time, even if there were better ones, I wouldn’t want them. Besides, there are none.

In junior high school, we ended up in different classes in the same school. Due to his outstanding performance in the sciences, he deservedly entered the science experimental class. I moved, and now our paths home don’t overlap even by one percent.

One day in the second year of junior high, we unexpectedly passed each other and noticed that he was wearing glasses.

In high school, we attended different schools. In college, we went to different cities.

Online, scientists claim that every seven years, a person’s cells undergo a complete and thorough renewal, meaning that after seven years, you are no longer the same person you were seven years ago; you are completely different individuals.

This theory is so powerful, providing ample reasons for all the seven-year itches.

Unfortunately, I fell victim to it. The me in university, after seven years, was a completely different person from the storyteller king I was in elementary school seven years ago.

Perhaps due to outstanding academic performance and limited personal charm, classmates in university were only willing to maintain an academic partnership with me. They viewed me as a wooden top-tier student, uninterested in romantic affairs and unfamiliar with worldly matters.

In my third year, prompted by a friend’s suggestion, I felt that to avoid wasting my precious youth, I should actively find a companion. Through a chance encounter, I met a cultured and fair-skinned glasses-wearing guy from a neighboring school. We left a good impression on each other and happily began dating.

Two months later, this relationship came to an abrupt end because the glasses-wearing guy felt that I cared more about his cafeteria card balance and the new dishes in the cafeteria than I did about him.

The delicious memories of those two months made me realize a truth: apparently, the only thing I can pick up and not put down in this world is chopsticks.

In my fourth year, Lehman Brothers collapsed, and we were also victims. Originally, I wanted to work in the city where Mingming was, but now I had to change my path while keeping the general direction unchanged. I decided to pursue a master’s degree at his school.

This inevitably led to a new round of love and hate with mathematics. During my miserable days of preparing for exams, in order to make me cultivate a love for the target city, fate provided me with an opportunity to closely examine it.

All thanks to the great social network—allowing you to find that “him.”

Seeing the footprints Mingming left on my personal page, I felt a spark ignite in the pile of black ashes in my heart. This feeling was so tangible that, after receiving Mingming’s welcome, I boldly packed up and headed to S city.

In the bustling train station, I finally found him. Excitedly, I scrutinized him for a while, wondering how I could have been so blind in the past, mistaking the cafeteria card guy for him.

Those deer-like, bambi-eyed eyes that occasionally appeared in my dreams belonged to no one else in the world. The smile in the corners of his eyes, conveyed through the golden-rimmed glasses, said, “You…”

I gestured to the height difference between us and asked, “How’s the air up there?”

He nodded, “It’s bearable.” His smile was gentle. “You haven’t changed at all.”

I replied, “I have my ways to stay youthful.”

He still smiled, his voice a bit deeper than before, “Just gained a bit of weight.”

Truly, childhood friends are capable of delivering a heart-piercing comment with just one sentence.

The process of reuniting with an old friend, lacking any prior planning, inevitably fell into clichés. We started with a buffet, reminiscing about the past; then, we watched a movie, forgetting what it was about because we were still reminiscing about the past; finally, we strolled through the streets, explored shops, and admired the night view, continuing to reminisce until neither of us could recall what else happened.

We never found time to ask about each other’s recent life. Compared to the shared memories of the past, the experiences of these years seemed mundane. After successfully transitioning into a research monk, I thought to myself, “God, you’ve won. You’ve filled every blade of grass and every tree in this city with memories of Mingming. I willingly stay here, waiting for his return.”

As our conversation reached its end, feeling parched, I opened another bottle of drink and said, “Come on, tell me about your girlfriend.”

After uttering those words, I felt like I deserved a slap, no matter what the answer was. I had already committed myself, and changing schools wasn’t really an option.

His eyes turned into crescent moons behind his glasses, and he said, “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Not even one?” I was surprised.

“Can you have several girlfriends?” he countered, equally surprised.

“I mean…” I scratched my head. “Over these many years, you should have had at least one or two or three or four…”

He looked at me and said slowly, “Really, I haven’t.”

I suddenly felt an indescribable sense of defeat. This science prodigy from childhood to adulthood, emotionally pristine like an angel’s wings, accentuated my wavering stance and life’s failures.

So, I asked, “Could it be that you only have boyfriends?”

He smiled with a hint of surprise, raising an eyebrow. Unfortunately, this expression didn’t detract from his beauty, proving that a man’s face is indeed the most important.

He chuckled, “What have you learned in college?”

I solemnly declared, “In these last four years about to escape campus life and face society, one must cherish life, whether it’s studying or dating, just enjoy life to the fullest.”

He laughed, “So, would you say your college life is fulfilling?”

I finished the last pack of cookies, clapped my hands, nodded, and said, “Pretty fulfilling.”

“Oh,” he casually asked, “Do you have a boyfriend now?”

“I had one.”

After saying this, I wanted to smack myself again. Perhaps being too honest was the fundamental reason I couldn’t leave a good impression on interviewers.

He, curiously, pushed up his glasses and asked, “Why did you break up?”

My initial reaction was “None of your business,” but luckily, I remembered his identity in time and switched to another response, “Carefully observing him, he doesn’t resemble you at all.”

After saying that, I despaired, thinking that it might have been better to say “None of your business.”

Before I could think of a way to conceal this bold confession a bit, he followed up by saying, “I feel the same way.”

I looked at him, blinking to indicate that I didn’t understand.

He explained, “Sometimes you feel that someone looks quite like you, but after a few words, you realize… they are completely different.”

We looked at each other, exchanged a couple of silly smiles, and then fell into silence. Apparently, both of us were waiting, but we didn’t even know who we were waiting for.

Finally, he asked, “So, do you have a boyfriend now?”

Gazing at the distant lights, I nonchalantly replied, “This position is vacant and currently recruiting. Are you interested?”

He chuckled twice and asked, “How many applicants are there?”

I said, “Considering our past friendship, I can open a green channel for you.”

If my mom knew about these private conversations, she would surely lament that most girls in today’s society have forgotten to be reserved, and in the future, they will definitely be looked down upon by men. But I don’t know why those words just naturally came out. In front of a childhood friend, you can never hide anything.

The subsequent developments were filled with inexplicable factors. You can understand it as old feelings always being especially easy to reignite in a different city. Or you can understand it as precisely because they didn’t spend adolescence together, they naturally didn’t have to go through the rejection stage of teenage boys and girls. Furthermore, you can understand it as both of them being confidants who don’t need to play tricks or pretend, so everything just followed the logical order, smoothly and naturally, without obstacles but lacking excitement. It was as plain as water, while I felt like a fish freely swimming in it.

Compared to the dormitory girls boiling phone congee with their respective husbands until the phone lines were about to catch fire, the silent text message exchanges between me and Mingming were like a continuous flow of water.

I returned to my city, and the days of self-study were no longer lonely. Every time I tackled those math problems with no apparent solution in the XY range, it seemed like the faint fragrance of childhood was floating around me—Mingming sat beside me, displaying extraordinary patience, meticulously guiding me step by step in my thought process. He accompanied me until my mom called us to go eat.

When I felt tired, I would take out the well-preserved handkerchief from many years ago and couldn’t help but smile, thinking that this was the careful tenderness of a Virgo man who wasn’t good at expressing himself. So, in a whimsical manner, I would go read fortune-telling books when I had nothing else to do. Unfortunately, after flipping through more than fifty books on astrology and fortune-telling, I still couldn’t find a warm and pleasant ending for a Gemini and Virgo.

After learning that I passed the exam, I excitedly went to find Mingming overnight. He was infected by my emotions, and the two of us foolishly hugged each other and cheered. In that moment, I felt like a hero born for love.

However, the term “hero” is often intricately linked with tragedy.

When I swallowed I don’t know how many pieces of barbecue, covered in the smoky scent of grilling, Mingming looked at a charred chicken wing and said, “I also got admitted to a school in the United States.”

I said, “Oh, that’s quite close.” My response clearly showed that my brain had already been befuddled by the barbecue.

He glanced at me, with no playful thoughts, “I… am considering whether to go.”

Chewing on a piece of meat, I mumbled, “Go, why not?”

He asked, “What will you do if I go?”

I said, “Studying for a master’s degree abroad is much faster than in the country.”

He looked at me, slowly saying, “I’m going for a joint Ph.D. program.”

I felt like he had pushed me into the dust with that statement, and I sprouted a dog-tail grass from the dust.

In just one night, I experienced the saying “joy turns to sorrow.” I regretted it instantly. On the night of our reunion in senior year, I shouldn’t have said so much. If I had followed my mom’s advice, been more reserved, perhaps those evil Americans wouldn’t have let him through the application process.

I poked at the barbecue with my chopsticks in a gloomy mood. Mingming said, “Come with me.”

I thought for a long time but didn’t nod. From start to finish, I was a child who refused to grow up, only accepting everything familiar, always resisting unfamiliar environments.

This was really terrible.

After this, my life took another turn. I came here for Mingming, but he left again. I walked in silence with my head down, sometimes wondering whether I should just go and find him, find this childhood friend who, apart from the naive memories of childhood, left almost nothing else.

Five years of time, and the previous long ten years, were my destined most beautiful years, spent in waiting. But this time, unlike before, I finally understood why I was waiting and who I was waiting for.

That person not only had a famous name but was also quite renowned. However, in my heart, he would forever be the youthful figure with the innocent gaze of a little fawn.

Mingming. Mingming.

He sent an email, saying, “It’s not quite comfortable in this hemisphere without you.”

I replied, “We were apart for ten years before, and you still came over.”

His response, with a hint of helplessness between the lines, read, “Many things, you don’t know.”

Mingming wasn’t good at expressing himself, or one could say he was naturally shy, always speaking halfway. For example, I expected him to follow up with some cheesy lines like “I’ve missed you all along” or “You’ve always been in my heart,” but he calmly continued, “Eat less from roadside stalls.”

Childhood friends, perhaps it’s a kind of emotion like this: excessively familiar and intimate, to the extent that for each other, it becomes like the air. Even if unseen, it is very significant.

Childhood friends, many budding emotions turn into a deeper bond before they even have a chance to sprout. Perhaps few relationships can withstand the test of time, and countless vows become jokes in the so-called cell division. Yet, even if I am obtuse to the Nth degree, he may be my childhood friend, but he is not mine. The term “partner” implies accompanying each other on the journey, and everyone has to walk their own path in life.

I once heard a pretentiously artistic saying: Parallel lines are frightening because they will never intersect throughout a lifetime, but intersecting lines are even more frightening because they gradually move away from each other.

Childhood friends, I think, don’t belong to either of the above two kinds. They are like trigonometric functions; although separation is inevitable, they will always intersect again.

—”Why are you still waiting?”

—”For the future reunion.”