That Nameless Summer Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The rain showed no signs of letting up; instead, it drizzled incessantly, weaving a gray net that shrouded all of No. 5 High School.

Song Li held Ling Qingye’s black umbrella, walking along the wet cement road. The canopy was large enough to cover him completely. The lingering warmth on the handle seeped through his fingertips, a comforting sensation that made his heart itch. He looked down at the puddles beneath his feet, reflecting the gray sky and his own blurred shadow, his pace slowing unconsciously.

Footsteps sounded from behind—neither heavy nor light, yet exceptionally clear against the sound of the rain.

Song Li stopped and looked back.

Ling Qingye wasn’t using an umbrella; he was walking right through the curtain of rain. The drizzle dampened the ends of his hair, a few black strands clinging to his smooth forehead, while a dark wet patch spread across the shoulders of his school uniform jacket. He held a transparent file folder tightly, afraid the test papers inside would get wet.

“Why didn’t you leave with Qin Jiangwen?” Song Li frowned, tilting the umbrella toward him until more than half of it covered Ling Qingye’s head.

Rain hit the umbrella with a soft pitter-patter. Ling Qingye looked up, his gaze falling on Song Li’s slightly tense profile. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Ling Qingye didn’t answer; he just looked at him. The space under the umbrella was small, and they were close. Song Li could smell the faint scent of soap on him, mixed with the freshness of the rain—it was unexpectedly pleasant. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious, Song Li looked away and started walking. “Let’s go. What are you dazing off for?”

Ling Qingye followed by his side. As they walked shoulder to shoulder, raindrops dripping from the edge of the umbrella occasionally fell onto the backs of their hands, feeling cool and crisp.

They were silent the whole way, yet it didn’t feel awkward. Only the sound of the rain and their light footsteps echoed in the quiet rainy alley, slowly stretching out.

The alley where Song Li lived was in the same direction as Ling Qingye’s home. After turning two corners, Ling Qingye’s old Western-style house came into view.

Song Li suddenly remembered things from his childhood. Back then, before he had moved away, there was an osmanthus tree planted in Ling Qingye’s courtyard. In the autumn, the entire yard would be filled with its fragrance.

He had been mischievous then, always liking to climb over the wall to steal osmanthus flowers. Ling Qingye had caught him several times.

Back then, Ling Qingye was even colder than he was now. His small face would be pulled tight like a little adult, yet he would secretly shove a piece of candy into Song Li’s hand.

Thinking of this, the corners of Song Li’s mouth curled up unconsciously.

“What are you laughing at?” Ling Qingye’s voice suddenly rang out.

Song Li snapped back to reality and shook his head. “Nothing.” He didn’t mention the childhood memories. He was afraid Ling Qingye wouldn’t remember; after all, that was seven or eight years ago.

When they reached the entrance of Ling Qingye’s house, Song Li stopped and handed him the umbrella. “Here’s your umbrella back.”

Ling Qingye didn’t take it. His gaze fell on Song Li’s damp hair. “Your house is still a bit further away. Keep it and return it to me tomorrow.”

Song Li looked at the wet patches on Ling Qingye’s shoulders and hesitated. “Then what about you?”

“It’s fine,” Ling Qingye said, pushing open the iron gate to the courtyard. “Want to come in for a cup of hot tea?”

Song Li was stunned. He hadn’t expected Ling Qingye to invite him. Previously at school, they hardly spoke except for necessary communication. He hesitated for a few seconds before nodding. “Okay.”

The osmanthus tree was still in the courtyard, though many of its leaves had fallen. Ling Qingye led him into the house. On the shoe rack in the entryway sat a pair of small cotton slippers that looked quite old.

“Make yourself at home.” Ling Qingye changed his shoes and walked into the living room. “I’ll go find you some clean clothes and boil some ginger tea.”

Song Li nodded and looked around the house. The decor was very vintage, with old photos hanging on the walls. Most were of Ling Qingye as a child, but there was also one of two men together, smiling warmly. Song Li recognized one of them as Ling Qingye’s father.

He didn’t look for long, walking over to sit on the sofa. It was soft, covered with a checkered throw that had a faint scent of sunlight.

Soon, Ling Qingye came out with a gray sweater and handed it to him. “Change into this first so you don’t catch a cold.”

Song Li took the sweater. It felt soft and carried a slight warmth. He went into the bathroom, changed out of his wet school uniform, and put on the sweater. It was a bit large, fitting loosely on him, but it was exceptionally warm.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Ling Qingye had already finished making the ginger tea. Two steaming cups sat on the coffee table.

Song Li sat down and picked up a cup, taking a sip. The warm liquid slid down his throat with the spiciness of ginger and the sweetness of brown sugar, instantly dispelling the chill from his body.

“Your dads… aren’t home?” Song Li hesitated for a moment before asking. He knew about Ling Qingye’s family situation and knew that such a family would inevitably be gossiped about in a small town.

Ling Qingye’s movements paused. His gaze fell on the curtain of rain outside the window, and his voice was very soft. “They’re on a business trip.”

Song Li didn’t ask further. He knew Ling Qingye didn’t want to say more. The two fell into silence again, with only the steam from the ginger tea slowly rising into the air.

Song Li looked at Ling Qingye’s profile and suddenly remembered what Xu Jiangyou had said—that Ling Qingye often stared at him. He hadn’t cared before, but thinking about it now, it seemed that was indeed the case.

Just as he was thinking, Ling Qingye suddenly turned his head, his gaze crashing directly into Song Li’s eyes. Those eyes were very dark and bright, as if they held stars, yet also seemed to hide deep secrets.

Song Li’s heart skipped a beat.

“Song Li,” Ling Qingye called his name softly.

“Yeah?” Song Li responded subconsciously.

Ling Qingye looked at him, silent for a few seconds, before suddenly saying, “I remember you stealing the osmanthus from my house when we were little.”

Song Li was stunned. He hadn’t expected Ling Qingye to actually remember. His face flushed instantly, and he felt a bit embarrassed. “I was… mischievous back then.”

The corners of Ling Qingye’s mouth suddenly curved up, revealing a very faint smile.

It was the first time Song Li could remember seeing Ling Qingye smile. He might have smiled before, but Song Li had forgotten. That smile was like melting snow, like a spring breeze passing by, so beautiful it made his heart tremble.

Song Li looked at him, momentarily forgetting how to speak.

Outside the window, the rain continued to fall.

Inside the house, the ginger tea was steaming.

The air was filled with the faint scent of osmanthus and an indescribable sentiment quietly taking root.