He lit a cigarette with a match and lit up her entire summer.
Ji Huaisheng, a doctoral student in architectural heritage protection, only uses matches to light his cigarette. He said that this can remind him that all light is short-lived.
Rong Yi, a major in urban and rural planning, sneered and took out her metal lighter - fast, bright, and sure to win.
They competed at academic conferences, worked side by side in ancient town research, and exchanged heartbeats with the sound of harmonica under the starry sky in a foreign land.
But when the cold water on family responsibility suddenly poured down, the voice on the other end of the phone was as cold as iron: "It's time for your willfulness to end."
The weak flame in Ji Huaisheng's hand that once illuminated their future was finally extinguished in the wind.
The last words he left to her were: "Rong Yi, there are no stars in my inheritance."
It was as if there was always only one match between them - the distance that would end as soon as it burned out.
