There Are Apricots to the South

In the early spring of 1953, Liaoning University. Tan Xixing first became famous because he wore his sweater inside out. While he was writing on the blackboard, a piece of thread was exposed on his shoulder. It dangled with his arm, and humming laughter came from underneath. He held on for three minutes, writing the three words as if he were embroidering, and finally left in despair, without even erasing the blackboard. The second time he became famous was because he asked about a female classmate with "very clear eyes" when he met everyone, and was awarded the title of Infatuated Person. No one knew who he was talking about. On a campus of more than 3,000 people, there are at least a hundred girls like this with big eyes, long skirts, round faces, and short stature. After listening to his description, the old teacher Wang Hua asked him seriously if he wanted to eat potatoes. He drew the girl's appearance on paper, and what he drew looked like a branch stuck in a potato. He drew again, more than a dozen pictures, but none of them looked alike. Finally, he folded the papers together and stuffed them into the deepest part of the drawer without telling anyone. But he remembered two things: she called him "sir", not "teacher"; when she ran away, the hem of her black skirt caught on the stubble of the willow tree, leading to their meeting. It was spring. The willow trees have just sprouted. Later he bumped into someone at the door of the cafeteria. The information fell to the floor. The other person squatted down to pick it up, and he was also picking it up. When their hands touched each other, they both shrank. He looked up and saw a pair of eyes as bright as pool water. It's her. He tried to say something, but his mouth opened and closed. Finally, he handed her the materials he picked up and said "I'm sorry." She took it, said "It's okay" and left. Once again he failed to see her face clearly. But he remembered her name. On the roster, seventh in the third row, Li Zhulan. He flipped through the roster three times from beginning to end before he was sure it was these three words. It's not because I can't recognize it, it's because I really want to recognize it correctly. He asked her to meet by the flower bed of the school. He said it was an "appointment", but he actually blocked her on her way out of class and said, "Classmate, I have some books that I want to ask you about." He regretted it after saying it - it was too fake and too deliberate, even he didn't believe it. But here she comes. When she came, she held a book of poems in her hand, the cover of which was wrapped in newspaper, just like his "Anthology". She stood by the flower bed, the wind blew over her, and her broken hair stuck to her cheeks. She stretched out her hand to hold it, but he couldn't help but take another look. She found out and her face turned red. They started talking about poetry. Talk about Hu Shi, Xu Zhimo, and those sentences that he may not understand completely but is willing to read for her. She said that she liked "the moonlight is still the moonlight of youth", and he said that he liked "the same color of Kyushu or the frost of Li Bai". After saying this, both of them laughed, because these two sentences were not from the same poem at all. But they don't care. "Comrade Li Zhulan, why do you smile like a flower?" The willow trees beside the flower bed changed from tender green to dark green, and then from dark green to withered yellow. They met many times, and each time they said "last time", and each time there was a next time. He didn't know if this counted as liking it. He only knew that every time he passed the willow tree, he would stop and take a look in the direction of the flower bed. She didn't tell him that every time she came, she would stand in front of the mirror in the dormitory for a long time, change into three skirts, and then change back to the first one. She also didn't tell him that she wrote down every word he said in a palm-sized notebook, including the sentence "I'll lend you this book, don't worry about returning it." That notebook was later tucked into the page of poetry she turned to most often. In the fall, my grandmother fell ill. The letter was brought by someone entrusted by my parents. It was a thin piece of paper with only a few lines of words on it: "Grandma is seriously ill and wants to see you. Come home soon." When he finished reading the letter, he was correcting his homework. The tip of his pen paused on the paper and smeared a small ball of ink. He put down his pen and started packing his things. The schoolbag was very light, a few pieces of clothes, the "Try Collection", and a stack of paper with willow trees - those potato paintings that he was not satisfied with but could not bear to throw away. He stood downstairs in her dormitory and waited for a long time. She didn't come back until it was completely dark. She was stunned for a moment when she saw him, then smiled and asked him why he was here. He didn't smile. He wrapped the scarf in his hand around her neck, once, twice, and his fingers touched her chin, which was cold. He wants to say a lot, wants to wait for me to come back, wants to say I have a lot of things to say to you, and wants to say don't forget me. But what he said was: "I need a little time. I'll come back to you. I'll write to you when I get there, and I'll write to you if I want." She nodded and said "ok". He turned and left. After walking a few steps, he turned back. She was still standing there, her scarf tied high, only her eyes exposed. He opened his mouth, but in the end said nothing, turned around again and walked into the night. That was the last time he saw her. It rained heavily that day. The road was slippery and it was so dark that I couldn't see my fingers. The car skidded on the winding mountain road and rolled into a ditch. He never came to his grandmother's bedside and never wrote the letter. His bag was soaked by the rain. A book of lesson plans was stuck together and could no longer be opened. The paper with the willow trees turned into a blur of ink, and nothing could be seen clearly. There was only one name, swollen by the rain, but still recognizable - Li Zhulan. Three words, he wrote on the note in the drawer, the one he put together with the "Attempt Collection". The note was wrinkled by the blisters, but the words remained intact. Later the school received the news. Wang Hua cleaned up his desk for him and put all the items in a box and placed it in the corner. There was dust on the carton and no one had opened it. She waited for months. No letter came. She wanted to write him a letter but didn't know the address. She went to see Wang Hua, who said she didn't know either. She went to his office, the door was locked, and through the window she could only see the empty desk and the gray cardboard boxes in the corner. She didn't go in. She stood outside the window for a long time. The wind blew and the branches of the willow trees brushed her shoulders. She reached out and touched it. It was dry. Spring has passed. Summer is over. Autumn has passed. She didn't wait for the letter. In 1956, Li Zhulan graduated. She returned to her hometown in the south and was introduced to a man. The man, also named Tan, wears glasses, speaks softly, and likes to read. She married him. She wore red on her wedding day, not black. She stood in the yard and someone called her "Mrs. Tan." She was stunned for a moment and responded. She gave birth to a child. On the day when her child was one month old, she dug out an old poetry book, the cover of which was wrapped in newspaper. She brought it back from Liaoning University. She opened it and found a palm-sized notebook inside, densely filled with words—the words he said. "I'll lend you this book to read. There's no need to rush to return it." "I think we can discuss some meaningful topics together" "Comrade Li Zhulan, why do you smile like a flower?" "I need a moment." "I'll write to you if I miss you." She looked at it for a long time, then closed the notebook, put it back into the poetry collection, and stuffed it into the deepest part of the cabinet. Later, when the child grew up, he asked her what the old book was. She said, it's nothing, it belongs to an old colleague. She didn't tell anyone that her husband's surname was Tan. She didn't tell anyone that every time someone called her "Mrs. Tan," she was thinking of someone else. One day a long time later, she passed a willow tree. The willow branches hang very low and sway when the wind blows. She stopped and looked for a while, and suddenly remembered that many years ago, a man asked her which poem she liked by the flower bed. She said that. He took the next sentence. Not in the same poem, but they didn't care. The wind blows and the willow trees rustle. She stood for a long time and then left. What she didn't know was that on that rainy night many years ago, one person's last thought was to write to her when he arrived. The letter was not written. But she waited. In a few months, in a lifetime. There are apricots to the south, and you are always lucky. It's a pity that fate never comes. Purpose: Love is the courage of the cowardly