You Said You Liked Me, Didn’t You? - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Memories flooded in. Holding her beer can, Li Canglang fell into an uncontrollable daze, as if she were slightly drunk.

The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock. Thick curtains blocked out any change in light. After an unknown amount of time, a familiar ringtone jolted her out of her trance.

She picked up the phone, it was a call from her grandmother.

Only then did Li Canglang realize she had forgotten to call and say she’d arrived safely. Feeling a bit guilty, she cleared her throat, forced herself to perk up, and answered.

The voice on the other end was quite cautious, seemingly afraid of sounding annoying. Li Canglang sighed inwardly and patiently responded to the elderly woman’s inquiries.

By the time she finished the call, she realized it was time to light the lamps. Outside the window, night had already fallen.

Perhaps during gaps in her work this afternoon, Shangguan had sent several more intermittent gossip messages. Even though Li Canglang hadn’t replied, it didn’t affect her enthusiasm at all. She chatted away by herself, her words fully displaying her shock.

Nan Yang and Zhou Junzhi—those two names appeared in Li Canglang’s sight once again.

Back in their school days, these two were the focus of everyone’s attention. One was the class monitor, the other the study representative. They had good grades, good looks, and had known each other since they were toddlers. Growing up together, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call them childhood sweethearts.

With a handsome man and a beautiful woman, gossip was naturally inevitable. However, over the past few years, as everyone grew older and began dating or getting married, these two had never crossed the line and remained just friends. People’s gossiping hearts had gradually quieted down—who would have thought that today, without a word of warning, they would suddenly announce their marriage?

The class group chat must have exploded by now. Li Canglang stared blankly at the screen, not knowing how to respond.

Shangguan asked her: “Zhou Junzhi sent out a mass invitation. The wedding is set for May 20th. Cang-cang, are you going?”

Li Canglang felt a dull sting in her heart again. She really wanted to see Nan Yang one more time, but she didn’t want it to be at their wedding.

She had once rationally envisioned this day, thinking she could attend the wedding calmly, watching her be entrusted to another person who loved her, sending her blessings with a hint of bitterness but restraint, and then gradually learning to let go.

Now she realized she wasn’t that broad-minded, she had overestimated herself.

Furthermore, Nan Yang hadn’t invited her personally.

Staring at those lines of text, Li Canglang replied: “Not going.”

As if she were waiting by her phone, Shangguan replied instantly: “Why? It’s not that far from where you are. You’ve been friends for so many years, you’re not going to the wedding?”

Li Canglang was halfway through a sentence when she sent it almost at the same time: “Busy with work lately, no time.”

Shangguan shot back quickly: “??”

Shangguan: “I checked. the 20th is a Sunday.”

Shangguan: “Didn’t you just say not long ago that your job is very relaxed? You didn’t even put effort into making up an excuse.”

“…”

Look at you being so clever, Li Canglang sighed and followed her lead: “Everyone is far apart now and we don’t really keep in touch. It would be awkward if I went, so I won’t go join the bustle.”

This was the truth; she wasn’t entirely making excuses. Given their current lukewarm relationship, a red envelope with a gift would suffice. Traveling a thousand miles to show up at the wedding would actually seem a bit abrupt.

After thinking it over, she added another line to patch it up: “And the timing really does conflict.”

Shangguan sent back a rolling-eyes emoji: “What’s awkward about it? You can’t just avoid social interaction.”

Shangguan: “You also said we haven’t seen each other in a long time. Maybe a lot of classmates will come this time, so isn’t it a good chance to have a reunion?”

Shangguan: “Just go, consider it accompanying me, okay? Cang-cang~”

This was followed by a string of “cute” emojis and a short voice message. Li Canglang didn’t even need to click it to know it was her acting spoiled in that sticky tone, calling her by the bunch of nicknames she’d made up for her.

Li Canglang’s lip twitched instinctively. She expressionlessly ignored the voice message.

She knew Shangguan wasn’t that easy to fool. After a moment of silence, she replied: “I’ll consider it.”

Shangguan: “Haha, I knew you still wanted to go. The feelings from all those years are still there.”

“Then it’s settled. Alright, I have things to do, I’ll beat it now.”

Without waiting for a reply, Shangguan immediately sent a ‘rolling out the door’ departure sticker.

Settled what? I didn’t agree, did I? Distorting her words again, Li Canglang was speechless. She’d said it all.

When she tried to message back, Shangguan played dead and didn’t reply.

Li Canglang shook her head helplessly and exited the chat box. She felt a bit dazed, she was swaying internally. Subconsciously, she didn’t seem to want to refuse that badly, and she was looking for excuses for herself.

Humans are such a bundle of contradictions. Knowing full well it’s self-torture, they still rush in like moths to a flame.

However, after this distraction, her mood had improved slightly. Pulling her thoughts back, she emerged from that groggy, dull state and noticed her body’s hunger. Her stomach felt as if something were gnawing at it; she had survived the entire day on that single bowl of noodles from the morning.

Li Canglang let out a long breath, got up to clear the trash, and went to the kitchen to make dinner.

No matter how painful it was, life had to go on. After all, love is just a spiritual luxury, but food is a necessity.

There were no fresh vegetables at home, but there was beef brisket in the freezer. Li Canglang cut up some potatoes to stew with it and steamed some pearl rice.

Her cooking skills had always been decent. The leisure of this job gave her plenty of time and interest to research it.

What could be a better comfort than good food? When you’re sad, you should eat more. The satisfaction produced by food tricks the brain into feeling much better.

After dinner, Li Canglang spent two hours calmly practicing brush calligraphy. When she didn’t think or reflect, immersing herself in the brush strokes and the scent of ink, those chaotic emotions naturally settled and dissipated.

If life continued day after day like this, she might soon be able to accept reality and gradually fade out and forget. But when the night was deep and quiet, she couldn’t help but overthink.

Before bed, Li Canglang replied to a few accumulated messages. Her gaze instinctively moved back to the pinned WeChat account. The avatar in the upper left corner was a hand-drawn little girl. It hadn’t changed in a long time, and she didn’t know what it meant.

Li Canglang flipped through their past chat records. The further back she went, the longer the intervals became. In the past year, there were only holiday blessings. The more estranged they became, the more polite they grew; without a reasonable excuse, it wasn’t convenient to disturb her.

There weren’t many records saved on the phone, and she remembered almost all the content. Li Canglang quickly finished scrolling and stared dazed at the background image.

It was a photo of the two of them taken during their high school graduation year. Compared to today’s resolution, the image quality looked a bit blurry.

Li Canglang still remembered that the sun was lovely that day and the sky was clear—perfect for graduation photos. Their class was scheduled for the morning. The school only gave them an hour, so time was tight. After the group photo, not much time was left.

The female students hurriedly touched up their makeup, and the male students pretended to casually smooth their hair. Beneath their school uniforms, everyone wore the outfit they were most satisfied with. Since it wasn’t yet the time for actual parting in April, it wasn’t sad—it was all laughter and chatter.

She didn’t understand her own heart back then, she only thought Nan Yang was a very kindred friend. Yet she instinctively wanted to leave a photo with her, getting nervous before she even spoke.

Nan Yang wore a simple sky-blue T-shirt and beige casual pants that day, revealing her slender ankles. The girl’s skin was fair and her features were like a painting—more dazzling than the grand sunlight of that day.

She had her arm linked through Li Canglang’s, her head tilted slightly to rest against her shoulder, eyes curving into crescents. Li Canglang looked at the camera, her fingers pinching the hem of her clothes, standing there a bit awkwardly. Their posture was very intimate. The red and white running track stretched out behind them, and a corner of the lush green field was visible in the distance. The frame was frozen in time, the vigorous spirit of youth almost bursting through the lens.

The further one gets from their student days, the more they miss them. Out of their few photos together, Li Canglang liked this one best. Back then, the only things they worried about were studying and grades.

Thinking of the past, the lines of her face softened instinctively. She smiled and carefully typed on the keyboard.

She really wanted to contact her but didn’t know how to start a topic. She typed and deleted, feeling none of it was appropriate.

After a long while, she sighed, the phone screen went dark, and she turned off the light to lie down.

Forget it. What was there left to talk about? It would inevitably revolve around the wedding. Better not to go looking for heartache.

The moonlight was clear tonight, spilling onto the floor in front of the window, marking out a small patch of silver-white in the darkness. Li Canglang lay on her side watching it, suddenly remembering a line of poetry by Wang Changling:

“The same clouds and rain cover the green mountains; the bright moon has never belonged to two different lands.”

She really liked the free-spiritedness in the poem—that no matter how far apart you are, you can see the same moon, bathe in the same moonlight, and think about what the other person is doing; it seems to create a wonderful connection.

Li Canglang wondered, what was Nan Yang doing at this moment?

Her thoughts slowly drifted, recalling a summer many years ago. Before the Gaokao, the school had given them a day off in advance. That afternoon, she had packed her things but lingered, refusing to leave first.

She stood at the place everyone had to pass under the teaching building. Nan Yang saw her, said something to her mother, walked over holding a stack of books, and asked with a smile: “Not going home yet? What are you doing standing here?”

In the shadow of the large locust tree, fragments of light fell on her, making her look truly beautiful. Li Canglang felt nervous for some reason and didn’t know where to look. She made an excuse: “I still need to go back to the dorm.”

She didn’t quite know what she was thinking; she had naturally just waited here, driven by a strong emotion.

Many words welled up in her heart, but they wouldn’t organize into speech. She thought and thought, and in the end, only said normally: “Nan Yang, good luck on the Gaokao.”

Nan Yang laughed, her dark eyes watching her as she winked playfully. “Didn’t we just say that? You too—good luck on the Gaokao, and good luck.”

Her mother was still waiting for her. Nan Yang freed a hand, patted her shoulder twice, and said goodbye with a smile. “Then I’ll head out first, Classmate Li. See you after the Gaokao.”

“Goodbye.”

Li Canglang watched her back until she slowly faded into the distance and could no longer be seen, feeling a sense of panic she had never experienced before.

After the Gaokao, everyone would go their separate ways. The most intimate days of their lives might end right here. Thinking of this made her heart ache.

That sense of lingering attachment, which went beyond just being friends, finally made her begin to realize the other kind of emotion hidden within.

Fortunately and unfortunately, their grades were similar, they had the same goals, and they were admitted to the same university.

If their intersection had stopped then, perhaps this would have just been a plain memory scattered by the wind.

Disturbed by memories, Li Canglang tossed and turned, only falling asleep after a long time. Memories and dreams intertwined, and in the space between fiction and reality, it became difficult to tell for a moment whether she was dreaming or awake.

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