socalfunplaces Chapter 29 A Boring Dream
Chapter 29 A Boring Dream
The hot spring is small, only about five or six square meters.
The pool is nestled on the hillside, and the temperature is just right. When you soak in it, you get goosebumps on your skin.
Lu Siye leaned against the edge of the pool, his shoulders submerged in the water.
His arms were still sore, but the soreness slowly dissipated when the hot water enveloped his body.
Baozi sat opposite him, leaning against another rock, her eyes half-closed.
The two remained silent; the hot spring was quiet.
Then the older man came in.
He walked over barefoot, stood by the pool for a moment, tested the water temperature with his feet, and then slowly walked into the water.
"Hmm, the temperature is just right."
He sat down, leaned against the edge of the pool, and let out a satisfied sigh.
The pool wasn't very big, but the three of them each occupied one side, with a distance between them.
The stone-walled pool separated each person slightly, preventing them from touching or seeing each other below the water.
But Lu Siye still felt something was off.
It wasn't the kind of weird feeling of being "offended," it was more like... he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
It's like expecting to see something in one place, but actually seeing something else.
A rift has appeared between expectation and reality, and he stands in the middle of the rift, not knowing which side to stand on.
He closed his eyes, rested his head on the rock, and tried to relax.
The water temperature was just right, neither too hot nor too cold.
The muscles gradually relaxed underwater, and the bones seemed to slowly dissolve.
He started to feel a little dizzy.
The steam grew thicker and thicker, so thick that you couldn't see the steamed buns across from you or the uncle next to you.
The edge of the pool became a blurry line, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
He fell asleep.
Or rather, he thought he was asleep.
But he can still see things.
He saw a railway track.
Next to the railway tracks was a small train station, a gray-white building, with a few scattered people standing on the platform.
He stood on the platform.
No, is he standing on the platform?
He looked down at himself.
He was wearing a pair of cheap canvas shoes.
He recognized the shoes.
He looked up and saw the girl standing next to him.
Tang Yuan.
She stood next to him, holding two train tickets in her hand, looking down at the words on them.
"How many clothes did you bring?" she asked without looking up.
"Three items," he said.
"Are three items enough? We'll be gone for a whole semester."
"That's enough. We can buy more if needed."
"You don't like shopping."
"Then I won't buy it."
Tang Yuan looked up at him and a slight smile appeared on her lips.
"Can't you just cooperate with me for once? If I say it's not enough, you can say, 'Then let's go shopping.' If I say I don't like shopping, you can say, 'I'll go shopping with you.'"
"Isn't this a very simple conversation?"
He paused for a moment, then nodded. "Then let's go buy it."
"It's too late." Tang Yuan shoved the train ticket into his hand and turned away.
"Let's go, it's time to check tickets."
He followed behind, walked across the platform, entered the carriage, and found his seat.
A seat by the window.
He put his backpack on the luggage rack, sat down, and looked out the window.
The number of people on the platform dwindled, and the announcement over the loudspeaker was muffled and indistinct.
The train started moving.
The scenery outside the window began to move.
He sat in his seat, looking out the window, and a sudden sense of loss welled up inside him.
It's not the kind of loss that suddenly appears, but the kind that has always existed, previously suppressed, and is now surfacing.
It's like a stone sinking to the bottom of the water.
He kept pretending it didn't exist.
But now the water has become shallower, and a corner of the rock is showing. He can see it now, and he can no longer pretend he didn't see it.
He knew that person was about to appear.
He Chutian.
The train stopped at a station.
It wasn't their destination, just a small stop along the way.
The car door opened, and several people got on.
An elderly man, a mother with a child, and a young man.
The young man looked clean and refined.
He stepped into the carriage, glanced around, and then stopped at the empty seat opposite Tang Yuan.
"Is anyone here?" he asked, his voice pleasant, deep, and slightly magnetic.
Tang Yuan raised her head and glanced at him.
"no."
"Thank you." The young man sat down, leaned his guitar against the window, then turned and smiled at Tang Yuan. "Are you also going to Taoyuan University?"
"Yes," Tang Yuan's eyes lit up, "You too?"
"Third-year students, computer science major. Are you freshmen?"
"Yes! We are from the Chinese Literature Department."
Tang Yuan's voice became lively, carrying an excitement she hadn't shown when she spoke to him.
It's like finding a fun new toy; you can't wait to unpack it.
He sat across from them and watched them start chatting.
He Chutian's way of speaking is completely different from his way of living.
He Chutian speaks slowly, each word as if he has thought it through before speaking, but it doesn't seem deliberate, as if he naturally knows what to say at what time.
He asked Tang Yuan what books she liked, and Tang Yuan said she liked Haruki Murakami. He said he liked him too, and then they talked about "Norwegian Wood," Midori, and Watanabe.
Tang Yuan's eyes grew brighter and brighter, her smile became more frequent, and her body leaned forward more and more, as if she were approaching a warm flame.
He sat across from me, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise.
It's not that I don't want to insert it, it's that I don't know what to say.
He has never read Haruki Murakami.
The things he had read were textbooks, exam outlines, and the well-worn copy of "Story Collection" that his grandmother kept by her bedside.
He didn't know what was in "Norwegian Wood," who Midori was, or what Watanabe had done.
All he knew was to sit there and watch Tang Yuan smile at another person.
He had never seen that kind of smile before.
It wasn't the polite, courteous smile that everyone received; it was a genuine smile from the heart, a smile that shone through the eyes, as if illuminated by something.
He suddenly felt very sleepy.
It's not physical exhaustion, it's mental exhaustion.
It felt like something was pulling his consciousness down, into a very, very deep place.
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, the scenery outside the window became increasingly blurry, and Tang Yuan's laughter grew farther and farther away.
He closed his eyes.
When he opened his eyes again, he was standing under a tree.
In the distance is the library of Taoyuan University, a red-brick building covered with ivy.
Tang Yuan stood in front of him, wearing that white dress, but the hem was stained.
Her expression was different from on the train. The smile was gone.
"I'm with He Chutian."
she says.
He stood there without saying a word.
"Aren't you dating Su Nian too?"
She looked up at him, a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth.
"I see you've talked to Su Nian, so I can't let myself be taken advantage of."
Su Nian.
He did not talk to Su Nian.
Tang Yuan knew that he had not spoken with Su Nian.
He also knew that Tang Yuan knew he hadn't talked to Su Nian.
But neither of them said it out loud.
Just like for many years before, many things are left there, untouched by anyone, pretending they don't exist, pretending everything is fine, pretending there's still a chance tomorrow.
She turned around and left.
He stood under the tree for a long time.
The wind blew in from the east, carrying the scent of old books from the library.
Then he woke up.
My forehead was covered in sweat, and my heart was pounding.
Real pain.
He looked up and glanced around.
The hot spring is still the same hot spring, and the stones are still the same stones.
Baozi was also in the pool, leaning against a rock, with her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open.
His facial expression shifted between frowning and pursing his lips, as if he were having an unpleasant dream.
The older man sat beside him, watching him.
"Awake?" the uncle asked.
Lu Siye did not answer.
He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it on his face to wash away the cold sweat.
The water was very hot, so hot that his face felt a little numb.
"What did you dream about?" the uncle asked.
Lu Siye paused for a moment. "It's nothing."
The man nodded and didn't ask any further questions.
I also dreamed a lot when I was young.
He said.
"I dreamt about things from the past, things I didn't do well, words I didn't say, and people I didn't hold onto."
"When I woke up, I felt empty inside, as if I had lost something, but I couldn't remember what it was."
Lu Siye remained silent.
"Later I figured it out," the man continued, "I dream not because I can't let go, but because I haven't figured it out yet."
"Once I figured it out, I let it go."
"Once you let go, you won't dream about it anymore."
Lu Siye lowered his head and looked at his reflection on the water.
The moisture blurred his face, leaving only a rough outline visible.
"What if you still can't figure it out?" he asked.
The man remained silent for a while.
"Then keep thinking about it. You'll figure it out someday."
He paused, then added.
"Or, it's okay if you can't figure it out. Some things don't need to be figured out."
"Accepting it happened, accepting it's over, that's enough."
Lu Siye remained silent.
He leaned against the rock, tilted his head back, and looked up at the sky.
Those images are still replaying in my mind.
He had seen these scenes countless times, each time feeling like a fresh cut on a wound, but he couldn't stop.
It's not because she's still important.
Tang Yuan is not an important person.
It's because he never said those words out loud.
He didn't say things like "I like you," because he knew he wasn't that close to her feelings.
It was something more basic, simpler, and more appropriate to say at that time.
For example, "I didn't talk to Su Nian."
For example, "I don't want you to be with He Chutian."
For example, "Could you please not leave?"
He didn't mention any of these things.
He swallowed them, as if swallowing a handful of shards of glass, which slid down his throat and into his stomach.
He always thought that he missed the opportunity because he didn't say it.
But now, lying in the hot spring, covered in cold sweat, with those images replaying in his mind, he suddenly thought of another possibility.
Maybe it's not because I didn't say it.
Perhaps it's because, from the very beginning, he wasn't in a position where he could "speak out."
The steamed buns represent another dream.
He was standing in the kitchen of a restaurant.
It's not the kitchen of a high-end restaurant, it's a family-style restaurant.
He looked down at his hands.
His hands were very white with short fingers. He was wearing a white chef's uniform with a few oil stains on his apron, but it wasn't dirty.
This is him.
He carried the plate of tomato and beef brisket out of the kitchen.
The restaurant was small, with five or six tables covered with red and white checkered tablecloths, and a small vase of flowers on each table.
A girl was sitting by the window, holding a book and looking down at it.
She put the book down and looked up.
She had a small face, delicate features, fair skin, and a pair of round-framed glasses perched on her nose.
Lin Zhiman.
Xiaoman (Grain Buds)
"This is the tomato beef brisket you ordered."
He said, placing the plate in front of her, his voice trembling slightly.
Xiaoman looked down at the food on the plate, then picked up a piece of beef brisket with her chopsticks, put it in her mouth, and chewed it.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"It's delicious," she said, looking up at him. "Are you the chef?"
"Yes," he said, his voice trembling even more.
"Could you please ask the chef to come out? I want to tell him that this dish is very well made."
He froze for a moment.
"I am the chef."
Xiaoman was also taken aback.
Then she laughed.
"Then sit down, and I'll tell you."
He sat down.
Across from her was a table covered with a red and white checkered tablecloth.
She said a lot.
She said the dish tasted great; the beef brisket was stewed until very tender, and the sweet and sour flavors of the tomatoes and the savory aroma of the beef blended perfectly. It was the best tomato beef brisket she had ever eaten.
She said she came from out of town and had just arrived in the city. She was not familiar with it yet, and she felt very lucky to have such delicious food for her first meal.
Her name is Lin Zhiman, but everyone calls her Xiaoman.
Ask him what his name is.
"Aruto," he said.
"Yusei?" She tilted her head. "A name like a shooting star."
"Um."
"Can I call you Shooting Star?"
"Can."
She smiled again.
She laughed even more heartily than before, and two shallow dimples appeared on her cheeks.
He sat opposite her, watching her smile, and a voice inside him said...
This is the person.
She's the one.
The first thing he did after waking up was to change his name.
Youxing should be changed to Youxiaoman.
homophonic.
It looks like a coincidence and no one will notice.
But he knew it wasn't a coincidence.
He engraved that name on his ID card, on his household registration book, and in every day that followed.
It's like burying a seed in the soil, somewhere no one can see it, and then watering it every day, loosening the soil every day, and hoping it will sprout every day.
But the seeds never sprouted.
He dare not.
He stood in front of her, unable to utter even a simple "I like you".
It's not that I don't want to say it, it's that I can't bring myself to say it.
He tried many times, practicing in front of a mirror, in front of a wall, and in an empty room.
I practiced until I could speak, until my voice stopped trembling, until my expression became natural. But the moment I saw her, I forgot all of that.
Later, Yi Songjin approached him.
It is said that he is a descendant of the Xia Lan, and has the Xia Lan Seal on his hand. He should join Jiu Gong Ling, inherit the mission of his ancestors, fight against Ling, and protect the human world.
He went.
Then, at Jiugongling, he saw her again.
She stood on the training ground, holding a wooden sword, practicing a sword move.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
She turned around and her eyes lit up when she saw him.
"I have the Xia Lan Seal. Uncle Yi said I am a descendant of the Xia Lan and that's why I came here to train."
"The same to you?"
"Yes."
She smiled, her gaze lingering on the name tag on his chest for a moment.
"You Xiaoman? You changed your name?"
"Um."
His voice started trembling again.
Why change it?
"Because...it sounds nice."
She glanced at him, her gaze lingering on his face for two seconds.
His heart probably beat two hundred times in those two seconds.
She didn't ask any more questions, but just smiled and said, "It does sound quite nice."
He thought this was the beginning.
He thought that in Jiugongling, amidst daily training and missions, and in the face of a common mission and enemy, he would finally have the opportunity to say those words.
He thought time would help him, distance would help him, and the days and nights they spent sweating and bleeding together would help him.
But time did not help him.
Distance didn't help him either.
She was just as kind, gentle, and patient with everyone in Jiugongling as she was outside.
She would help Baozi correct her movements, help Su Nian organize her notes, and help Lu Siye... She did even more for Lu Siye.
He saw it all and felt a pang of pain in his heart.
The way she looked at Lu Siye was different from the way she looked at him.
The way you look at him is like the way you look at a friend.
Warm and sincere, but that's all.
Looking at Lu Siye is like looking at someone else.
She is a meticulous girl.
She knows everything.
One day, after training, she called him to the pavilion next to the training field.
As the sun set, it dyed the entire Jiugongling area orange-red.
She sat on the stone bench in the pavilion, her hands on her knees, her head down, and remained silent for a long time.
He stood in front of her, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was going to jump out of his chest.
His palms were sweaty, his legs were trembling, his throat was dry, and his mind was blank.
She finally raised her head and looked into his eyes.
"Baozi," she said, "I know."
His heart stopped beating.
"I know how you feel," she said, her voice devoid of pride or boasting, only a gentle, tenderness that made him want to cry.
"but……"
She didn't finish her sentence.
She didn't need to finish speaking.
He stood there, the setting sun casting a long, long shadow on his face.
"I know," he said, his voice much calmer than he had expected.
She lowered her head.
Then she stood up and walked past him.
As she passed by, her arm brushed against his arm; it was only a fleeting touch, but he felt it.
Her arms were cold.
She walked away.
He stood in the pavilion for a long time.
It was long before the sun set, long before the stars came out, long before the night wind blew, that he realized something was streaming down his face.
It's cold.
Later, Lu Siye arrived.
He has very handsome features, but he doesn't talk much. However, when he stands there, there is something about him that makes it hard to look away.
Baozi could sense it. The way Xiaoman looked at Lu Siye was different from the way she looked at him.
It wasn't the look of someone who was "good to a friend," it was the look of someone who was "looking at that person."
Just like he treated her.
He stood to the side, watching them talk.
Lu Siye said something, and Xiaoman replied with a sentence, her voice much softer than usual, and the tips of her ears were red.
As Baozi watched that scene, something inside her seemed to shatter.
It doesn't hurt, it's just broken.
Then Zero attacked Jiugongling.
That night was chaotic.
He knew he should rush forward, should fight, and should protect those behind him.
But his legs wouldn't obey him.
Lu Siye left.
It's not heading in a safe direction, it's heading in the most dangerous direction.
Heading in the direction of Xiaoman.
He dare not.
He didn't dare to rush forward on instinct like Lu Siye did.
He dared not risk his life to save a person.
He stood there and finally understood—he had never been in that "right" position.
It wasn't because Xiaoman chose Lu Siye, but because he himself never took that step.
He changed his name, practiced cooking, learned the Xia Lan technique, and did everything he could, except for that one most important thing.
Stand in front of her, look into her eyes, and say those words.
It's not that I'm afraid of being rejected.
I was afraid of putting her in a difficult position.
He knew what kind of person she was.
She is so gentle that she would never refuse anyone, never hurt anyone, and never make anyone sad because of her.
If he tells her, she won't know what to do.
She would spend a very long time thinking about how to answer, she would repeatedly consider every word in the dead of night, she would lose sleep because of him, and she would blame herself because of his sadness.
He didn't want to put her in a difficult position.
So he chose not to say anything.
He buried those words deep in his heart, beneath those seeds that would never sprout, behind the name "You Xiaoman," and between all his cowardice and courage.
Xiaoman was unharmed after the attack.
He knew that from this moment on, some things were completely over.
It wasn't ended by anyone; it ended naturally, like a flower withering in autumn.
It took him a very, very long time to figure something out.
Liking someone doesn't necessarily mean you have to be with them.
Some people appear in your life just to let you know that such a person exists in this world.
You know she's a good person, you know she deserves to be loved, you know she will have her own life, her own choices, and her own happiness.
And you were just a passerby in her life, someone who appeared at a certain point in time and then disappeared at another point in time.
This is not tragic.
This is the story of most people.
He lay in the hot spring, his face covered in water.
It's hard to tell if it's sweat or tears, maybe both.
Then he woke up.
His face was red, his eyes were red-rimmed, his nose was a little stuffy, and he took a breath, making a snoring sound.
He blinked, and a few drops of water slid down his eyelashes; it was hard to tell if they were hot spring water or something else.
The uncle sat in the pool, leaning against a rock, looking at Lu Siye on his left and then at Baozi on his right.
The two of them were remarkably in sync.
The middle-aged man shook his head and let out a helpless sigh.
"Young people these days," he said, "are always thinking about romantic relationships."
Baozi wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his wet hand and sniffed.
"You saw it?"
"I thought I was going to see something exciting."
"Like fighting, flying, or saving the world."
Lu Siye pushed himself out of the water and leaned against a rock, his voice a little hoarse.
"You have no right to look down on our dreams."
"Exactly," Baozi chimed in, "You peeked into our dreams, and you still have the nerve to complain."