When The Snow Falls In Autumn Chapter 40

Chapter 40

The soaked plastic raincoat made a sticky sound as it peeled off, crumpled into a ball, and was casually placed by the door.I also took off my canvas shoes, which were soaked in water and heavy, and the toes of the shoes were still stained with mud.The socks were clammy and sticky to her feet. She held onto the wall and stepped on the heel of one foot. She took them off with great effort, revealing her toes that were slightly red from the cold and stepped on the slightly cool concrete floor.

The light in the room was dim, and the remaining twilight in the afternoon was filtered by the dense camphor trees outside the window, leaving only some swaying water shadows on the floor.There is a lingering dampness in the air that is unique to rainy days, mixed with the smell of old wood from the old house, and the faint smell of old books and paper left behind by herself.My roommate had probably gone out, and the room was so quiet that I could hear my own slightly rapid breathing, and the intermittent dripping sound of water remaining outside the window.

The feeling of fullness in the stomach has not completely disappeared, like a sponge soaked in water, sinking there heavily.She walked to the desk and turned on the lamp.The warm yellow halo dispelled a small patch of darkness, and also illuminated the messy manuscript papers, open books on the table, and the dark blue thermos cup – Ling Xueqing’s, it was left with her last time and she forgot to return it.

She looked at the cup and was stunned.His fingers unconsciously stretched out to hold the cup.The cold metal touch came, and there seemed to be a very faint warmth that had long since cooled down on it, maybe it was a psychological effect.She unscrewed the lid of the cup and found that it was empty and clean. There was only a very thin layer of scale attached to the inner wall, indicating that it had been used frequently.

She put down the cup, turned around and pulled out the small plastic organizer from under the bed.In the box were some of her sundries, with the light gray cardigan on top, Ling Xueqing’s cardigan.It had been washed and neatly folded, carrying the overly clean scent of the cheap laundry detergent she often used, but the crisp cedar scent that originally belonged to Ling Xueqing could no longer be smelled.

She took off her soaked shirt and trousers, balled them up, and threw them into the washbasin in the corner.The skin is exposed to the cool air, stirring up a cloud of tiny particles.She shook out the cardigan. The cotton material was soft and a little worn from the washing, but it was very clean.She put it on.The sleeves were long and the hem was wide, covering her thin body. The collar touched her chin with a soft touch.

Wearing it didn’t seem to bring much warmth. The damp and cold air still came in through the cracks in the door and window, wrapping around her bare calves and neck.But something indescribable, almost comforting, shrouded the familiar, oversized silhouette, making her tense shoulders and neck relax slightly for a moment.

She walked to the window and wanted to close it to block out the cold air. She put her hands on the window frame, but stopped.Outside the window, the rain stopped completely.The sky was washed into a light, uniform gray-white color, the clouds were thin, and there was a little light at the edges.The leaves of the camphor tree were covered with water drops, and the tips of the leaves were bent heavily. As soon as the wind passed, they fell rustling down and hit the awning downstairs with a crackling sound.In the distance, the red brick walls washed away by heavy rains are particularly bright, and the wet roof glows with a cool luster in the dim light.

The air was crisp and a bit pungent.

She retracted her hand and left the window open, letting the cool breeze with the smell of vegetation and earth blow in and brush against her bare arms, which were only wearing a cardigan.My stomach throbbed slightly again.She thought of the tablet of medicine given by Ling Xueqing and took it out of the wet canvas bag. The edges of the aluminum foil package were a little soft from the rain.She picked out the remaining piece and swallowed it with Ling Xueqing’s half bottle of cold water.The water slides down your throat, and the coolness hits your stomach.

It’s time to get down to business.The afternoon discussion was cancelled, but the report would continue. Those local chronicle clues and epitaph lists were all waiting for her to sort and digest.She sat back at her desk and spread out the manuscript paper she brought back in the afternoon.The edges of the paper are slightly damp and curled, but the ink marks are still clear.The tree diagram drawn by Ling Xueqing has clean lines and clear logic. The circled word “leaf” is slightly darker ink and penetrates the back of the paper.

She picked up the pen and tried to add more systematically to the clues to the “Yiyun Pavilion” she had discovered in the afternoon. The tip of the pen hung on the paper, but it could not come down.Her mind was in turmoil, sometimes the ancient maps on the screen in the library’s special collections room, sometimes Ling Xueqing’s slightly frowning eyebrows as she lowered her head to analyze, sometimes the clammy and strong hand that tightly grasped her arm in the rainstorm, and the fingertips under the eaves that seemed to touch but not touch, brushing through her wet hair.

The pen tip scratched unconsciously on the paper, leaving a few short, meaningless lines.She put down her pen a little irritably and rubbed her temples.Unable to concentrate, like a dandelion blown away by the wind, erratic.The discomfort in my stomach seemed to be amplified by this irritability, and there was a faint hint of colic in the bloating.

She simply pushed away the manuscript paper, leaned over and pulled out another older cardboard box from under the bed.There were nothing valuable inside, just some old textbooks that I couldn’t bear to throw away, a few diaries, and a flat wooden box.She opened the wooden box, and inside were some bits and pieces she had collected: a few fallen leaves with special shapes that had long since dried up and become hard; a few origami cranes folded with sugar paper, the color faded; a rusty old school badge with rough edges; and… a piece of neatly folded cardboard with rough edges.

She picked up the cardboard and slowly unfolded it.

It’s that old bookmark.It is a very ordinary cardboard paper used by students. It is not neatly cut. On one side is a few lines of delicate but immature words written with a blue ballpoint pen. It is her handwriting in junior high school. It is a copy of a record about a river named “Qingrui” in an ancient book. There is also a small crooked curve on the side that represents the flow of water.On the other side, there were two powerful words that Ling Xueqing later wrote with a black pen: “Read”, and a date, which Ling Xueqing left behind when she put this bookmark in one of Ling Xueqing’s monographs and returned it a few years ago.

“What we see is the same.”

She once wrote such a very faint and almost legible sentence with a pencil in the blank space on the back of the bookmark.Later, I don’t know why, but I probably accidentally got it into the book that was returned to Ling Xueqing.Ling Xueqing found out and didn’t ask her. She just returned the bookmark to her, but wrote “read” on the other side.

What did you see?Is it the same?

She stared at the two words, her fingertips rubbing the rough edges of the cardboard.What was Ling Xueqing thinking when she wrote these two words?Do you think she is childish and ridiculous, or…have you ever had a faint resonance with her?

have no idea.Ling Xueqing’s mind is like the deep sea, calm and calm on the surface, but turbulent undercurrents on the inside, but never easily revealed to others.The help she gave was always just right, and the boundaries she drew were always clear.Just like in the afternoon, she could go out in the rain to look for her, give her medicine, brush her wet hair away almost by touch, and then turn around and leave, leaving no room for ambiguity for daydreams.

The sourness came up again, choking in the throat, which was more uncomfortable than the bloating in the stomach.She folded the bookmark carefully and put it back in the wooden box.Those fragmented memories now have an old, yellowish tone, as if covered with dust.Only the rain, humidity, cold touch and crisp breath this afternoon were so vivid that they were dazzling.

The sky outside the window became darker again, not a sign of rain, but dusk was approaching.The gray clouds were dyed with a very light and ambiguous orange edge by the setting sun that had not yet appeared in the west.The wind stopped, and the world became extremely quiet. There was only the vague sound of the campus radio in the distance, and the tidal-like sound of city vehicles driving through the water in the distance.

She sat upright again, her eyes falling on the dark blue thermos cup on the corner of the table.The lid of the cup was not tightened, leaving a slight gap.She reached out and took it, unscrewed it, hesitated for a moment, then got up and went to the corner to pick up the hot water bottle.The bottle was very light. After shaking, only a little water remained at the bottom of the bottle.She poured the last of the warm water into the cup, covering only a thin layer at the bottom.

Holding the only bit of warm water, she slowly sat back on the chair.The wall of the cup quickly became hot to the touch, and the heat was transferred through the palm of the hand, dissipating some of the coldness on the fingertips.She sipped the water in small sips. The temperature of the water was just right, not hot, and felt warm against her dry throat and restless stomach.

After taking a few sips, she put down the cup and her eyes drifted to the phone involuntarily.The screen was dark, lying quietly on the corner of the table.After parting ways in the afternoon, Ling Xueqing didn’t send any more messages.She probably felt that she had returned to the dormitory safely and took the medicine, which was enough.Superfluous concern is not Ling Xueqing’s style.

Should she… send a message?Tell her that she has changed her clothes, drank hot water, and her stomach feels better?Or, ask her if she has caught a cold?

His fingers tapped lightly on the cold tabletop, hesitating.Wouldn’t it seem too trivial and too deliberate to say this?Ling Xueqing would probably only reply with a “hmm”, or not reply at all.Their conversations have always been concise and efficient, focusing on specific matters and rarely involving personal feelings.

Finally, she picked up her phone and turned on the screen.Unlock it, click on the communication software, and find the familiar name without any fancy remarks.In the dialog box, the last message was still the permission notification sent by Ling Xueqing, and she said “received” dryly.

Her fingertips hovered above the virtual keyboard, and the light from the screen reflected her hesitant face.She slowly typed out a few words: “I’m here. I’ve taken the medicine.”

Delete.Too blunt.

“I changed my clothes and drank hot water.”

Still like a report.

She bit her lower lip, typed and deleted, deleted and typed.The last bit of skylight outside the window also faded away, and the darkness in the room became thicker. Only a small circle illuminated by the desk lamp enveloped her in an island-like halo.The warm water in the cup has become completely cold.

Suddenly, the screen of the phone lit up. It was not a message, but a warning that the battery was too low. The battery icon turned dazzling red.Only then did she remember that when it rained in the afternoon, her phone might have also been dampened, and the battery had dropped rapidly.

She put down her phone with some annoyance and plugged in the charger.The screen dimmed, and the charging symbol flickered faintly.

never mind.No more posting.

She drank the cool water in one gulp, and the cold liquid slid into her esophagus, causing her to tremble slightly.The cramping in my stomach seemed to have eased, but the feeling of emptiness and nowhere to focus became clearer.She wrapped the cardigan tightly around her body, and the fabric rubbed her skin, bringing a slight warmth.

Night was completely shrouded.The lights of the dormitory building in the distance lit up one after another, creating hazy patches of light in the humid air.The radio stopped, and the campus fell into a kind of tired tranquility after the rain.

She spread the manuscript paper again, picked up the pen, and forced herself to focus on the ancient place names, unfamiliar records and intricate clues.The tip of the pen scratched the paper, making a rustling sound, which was particularly clear in the silent room.

“Guixi…Yiyun Pavilion…Yuanhe residual carvings…”

She whispered the words, trying to weave them into a persuasive argument.But in her mind, Ling Xueqing’s soaked back, dripping hair, and calm but profound eyes always popped up at inappropriate times, interfering with her thoughts.

She stopped writing, sighed, and rested her forehead on the cold table.The wide sleeves of the cardigan slipped down, revealing her slender wrists.The light from the desk lamp stretched her shadow very long, casting it on the empty wall behind her, like another silent and lonely silhouette.

I don’t know what Ling Xueqing is doing now.Have you changed into dry clothes too?Are you also at your desk, sorting out the core arguments of the report?Or… do you occasionally think of the sudden rainstorm in the afternoon, and the brief, moist contact in the rainstorm?

She doesn’t know.There is no way to know.

On the camphor tree outside the window, another large handful of accumulated rainwater fell from the leaves. With a “crash”, it hit the awning downstairs. The sound spread far in the quiet night.

The night is still long.Reports need to be written, clues need to be analyzed, and the stomach discomfort may return.And the emotions in her heart, swollen by the rain, sour and yet tinged with unknown sweetness, were like a slowly growing vine, quietly wrapping around her tighter.

She straightened up, rubbed her sore eyes, and tightened her grip on the pen again.Under the light, Ling Xueqing’s handwriting on the manuscript paper, the circled word “leaf”, was silent and clear, like a silent anchor, temporarily pulling her back to this realistic and necessary task.

The ink slowly spreads on the paper, blending with the deep night outside the window.