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When you leave, even if you don't deliberately memorize what the house looked like, no matter how long it's been when you return, you'll notice the changes—because the memory of everyday life has already been habitually etched into your mind.

Likewise, when nothing has changed at all, you can sense it instantly. Because the scene before you will seamlessly overlap with the picture in your memory, clearly telling you this place is still as it was.

Take Xu Yan, for instance—from the entryway beneath his feet to the entire bright living room after he turned on the lights, looking around, if not for the memories of the past few years still being there, he would have suspected he'd only just left a day or two ago, or even less—the time it takes for a single dinner.

The curtains, sofa, carpet, mural, tea set; the slippers in the entryway, the colors and number of throw pillows, the magazines on the coffee table, the remote in the lounger, the placement of the trash can and floor lamp... Xu Yan walked a circle around the living room and began to feel he couldn't believe it—everything before him, their style, quantity, position, were exactly the same as when he left three years ago, without the slightest difference, almost making him mistakenly think no one had lived in this house for years, which was why it could remain unchanged. But it was clean and tidy, a few crumpled paper balls in the trash can, half a pot of plain boiled water in the glass teapot—barely enough to serve as proof that someone lived here.

The dining room was the same, the kitchen too. Xu Yan stood in front of the refrigerator, looking at the magnets on the door—some he'd brought back from trips, some he'd bought online because he liked them when he saw them. They looked a bit older, but not one was missing. The memo board on the right door of the fridge was still there too, with 'Remember to drink yogurt!' written on it, and an ugly little smiley face drawn in the bottom left corner—both in Xu Yan's hand.

Before, Shen Zhi thought Xu Yan's drawing was ugly and would always reach out to smudge the smiley face away. Every time he smudged it, Xu Yan would draw it again—persistent, unyielding.

Xu Yan stood in front of the refrigerator until his legs ached and went numb. He turned and went upstairs, arriving at the master bedroom door. Not knowing whether Shen Zhi was inside, Xu Yan knocked.

No response. Xu Yan opened the door. The room was pitch dark, with only the terrace light on. He walked straight over. On the balcony's tea table, a few empty bottles lay askew; the wind blew and waves of alcohol smell wafted over, but no one was to be seen. Xu Yan turned back to look. The bed was empty, but he could faintly make out something dark on the left pillow.

His heartbeat quickened and grew heavier beyond his control. Xu Yan reached for the switch. The moment his field of vision was suddenly flooded with light, he looked at that dark green Little Crocodile and felt a pair of hands pressing hard on his shoulders—an unbearably heavy force pressing his whole body downward, pinning him in place.

A long time later, Xu Yan's gaze finally shifted with difficulty. On the nightstand sat the water glass he used to use, and the book he hadn't finished was lying face-down. Xu Yan still remembered he'd been on page 157—the reason he remembered was because Shen Zhi had once casually asked him how far along he was.

Xu Yan walked to the bed, picked up the Little Crocodile and squeezed it. It was the original one—very soft, ugly-looking, with some loose threads under its belly, and a small opening where you could fit a finger inside.

He was staring at it, lost in thought, when he suddenly heard a faint muffled sound from the walk-in closet. Xu Yan set down the Little Crocodile and walked over, turning on the light. Walking in, there were still two large wardrobes, one on each side. Shen Zhi's wardrobe was closed, but the other one was open, with its wall lamp on. The hanging clothes had all been pushed to one end, leaving half the wardrobe's space empty.

Xu Yan stopped in his tracks, stood there motionless, his expression turning blank and shocked, his eyes slightly widened.

The clothes hanging inside were still his old ones, and Shen Zhi was curled up in the empty half of the space, knees bent, his head tilted to one side and pressed against the wardrobe panel. From Xu Yan's angle, his profile, ears, and neck were all red—he'd clearly drunk too much. In his arms he was still clutching a gray sweatshirt—Xu Yan's.

Xu Yan's jaw trembled, and he even knocked his teeth against his tongue; a fine, stinging pain spread through him. He walked two steps forward and stood before the wardrobe, his voice low and hoarse: 'Shen Zhi.'

'...'

'Shen Zhi.' Shen Zhi didn't respond, so Xu Yan called him again.

Shen Zhi's lashes moved. His eyes opened. He slowly raised his head and turned to look at Xu Yan.

Those ink-black eyes were full of drunkenness and confusion. He looked at Xu Yan for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled—a very inebriated kind of smile. He reached out, took hold of Xu Yan's wrist, and pulled him a little closer, as if it were a very habitual gesture. He tilted his head up to look at Xu Yan, the smile on his face unconsciously deepening: 'You're here?'

'I was really afraid you wouldn't talk to me anymore.' Shen Zhi wrapped his arms around Xu Yan's waist, his face pressed against his lower abdomen, his voice very low. 'I didn't expect... to still be able to see you.'

He had thought that even the Xu Yan in his dreams would be like the one in reality—no longer willing to see him.

Xu Yan's voice began to tremble: 'You've drunk too much. Go to bed.'

'You don't want me anymore.' Shen Zhi's tone was a little sad, his eyes reddening too. 'They wanted to throw all your things away. I didn't agree. I wouldn't agree.'

Xu Yan's throat moved, but he couldn't speak.

'You don't want me anymore.' Shen Zhi repeated, not fully conscious, drunkenly mumbling, 'Little Crocodile... that Little Crocodile on the bed, you liked it so much—are you not keeping it either?'

A sour, swelling ache suddenly spread through his throat and nasal passages. Xu Yan tilted his head back and blinked hard. Shen Zhi let go of him, took one of Xu Yan's hands, and placed his own right hand in Xu Yan's palm, looking very aggrieved: 'Xu Yan, my hand hurts.'

'Didn't you...' Xu Yan choked after a few words, swallowed, then continued, 'Didn't you tell me you were fine, that it didn't hurt?'

'It hurts.' Shen Zhi lowered his head, pressed down on the back of Xu Yan's hand, buried his face in Xu Yan's cupped palms, his voice breaking: 'It hurts so much.'

Xu Yan felt his palms grow wet, a warm stream trickling down through the gaps between his fingers—Shen Zhi's tears. His heart clenched tight, he couldn't catch his breath. Xu Yan opened his mouth and took a big gulp of air, trying to ease the unbearable pain in his chest.

'Xu Yan...' Shen Zhi began to cry softly. 'I don't know how to make it up to you, how to be good to you... You won't give me a chance, you don't want to see me, I don't know what to do...'

'Then what do you want me to do.' Xu Yan asked him, and asked himself. He had finally spent years smoothing over the old wounds and lingering fears. He had no longer imagined a future with Shen Zhi, had long ago decided to live a life without Shen Zhi. What was he supposed to do. No one gave him an answer—only dissuasion, urging him to recall the past's pain and humiliation, not to repeat the same mistake.

Shen Zhi shook his head, choking out: 'Nothing. Just take care of yourself, rest more, eat on time.' He raised his head, his face covered in tears as he looked at Xu Yan. 'I won't bother you. Just don't go abroad again.'

Xu Yan, his eyes red, turned his head away, took a shaky breath, and pulled his hand free: 'I'm going to get a towel.'

He walked briskly out of the walk-in closet and went to the bathroom, turning on the light. He saw his towel, toothbrush, cup—all still in their original places, unchanged. Xu Yan turned on the faucet and wrung out a hot towel. As the water poured down, tears slid down his face; he didn't even have the courage to look in the mirror.

He turned off the water. Xu Yan walked out with the hot towel, but Shen Zhi was already standing in the doorway, his expression somewhat dazed.

Xu Yan went over to wipe his face. Shen Zhi kept his lowered eyes on him, then pressed Xu Yan's hand down, cupped his face, and asked with a furrowed brow: 'Why are you crying? Did I make you sad again?'

'It's all my fault.' Shen Zhi wiped the tears from Xu Yan's face bit by bit. 'Please don't cry, okay? I don't want to see you shedding tears even in my dreams—it would make me so sad.'

'It's nothing.' Xu Yan sniffed, then took the towel again to wipe Shen Zhi's face. 'Go to sleep.'

'Haven't taken my medicine yet...'

Shen Zhi said, turning his head to look elsewhere, as if searching for medicine. Xu Yan held him back: 'What illness do you have? Why do you need medicine?'

The air was quiet for a moment. Shen Zhi seemed to be thinking, then he said: 'Mm... sleeping pills.'

'You can't take medicine after drinking.' Xu Yan got him onto the bed and pulled the covers over him. He happened to notice the necklace around Shen Zhi's neck—it seemed to be the same one he'd seen him wearing last time in Beijing. Xu Yan asked, 'Should I take the necklace off?'

Shen Zhi lay on the bed and shook his head. Then he pulled the pendant out from under his T-shirt collar and said seriously: 'I never take it off.'

The pendant caught the light. When it turned to face forward, Xu Yan finally saw clearly—it was the Snoopy Pendant necklace.

'The chain... was very old, so I just replaced it with a new one.' Shen Zhi murmured.

Xu Yan couldn't stay on his feet. He sat down on the edge of the bed, sobbing as he curled his body forward. Wanting to hide his tears, he swallowed hard and said as calmly as he could: 'I'm turning off the light. Sleep well.'

'Then you'll have to turn on the bedside lamp.' Shen Zhi said. 'I'm afraid of the dark.'

How could that be, Xu Yan turned to look at him. He knew Shen Zhi's habits—Shen Zhi was very particular when sleeping; even a sliver of light was unacceptable; he had to have it completely, utterly dark to fall asleep.

'Why are you afraid of the dark?'

'If I don't leave a light on... I can't sleep.' Shen Zhi stared at the ceiling lamp, as if remembering. 'I keep thinking of that time—the day Li Ziyou got married... you said we were really over. I was alone in that pitch-black room for a long time, and after that I was afraid... every time I turn off the lights, I think of the way you left.'

Xu Yan's nape stiffened, as if he'd just lost a battle; his whole body went limp, tears silently and continuously rolling from his eyes. His five fingers clenched the bedsheet, then suddenly released. He turned on the bedside lamp and turned off the ceiling lamp. Only this small patch of light by the bedhead remained in the room. Shen Zhi reached out his hand toward him and asked: 'Can I hold your hand? I'll fall asleep faster that way.'

When drunk, he was earnest and matter-of-fact in his candor. Xu Yan gave him his hand. Shen Zhi gently took it, then closed his eyes.

But after only a few minutes, he suddenly opened his eyes again and asked, a little anxiously: 'What time is it?'

Xu Yan wiped his eyes and looked at the night-vision clock, answering in a nasal voice: 'Twelve-oh-three.'

Shen Zhi seemed to relax: 'Just in time. I almost forgot.'

He smiled a little, looked at Xu Yan, and said softly: 'Xu Yan, happy birthday.'