『The Contradictory Chicken Frame』
Hao Moran is notorious across Peking University for his stern resting face, perpetually reigning at the top of the academic rankings and admired by countless girls. Aside from his academics, he is blessed with delicate, striking looks: cool, fair skin, and a flawless 183 cm frame that looks slender in clothes but toned underneath. His facial features are especially refined, with black-rimmed glasses perched on a high nose bridge. Beneath the lenses are eyes that feel instantly familiar at first glance, yet their deep, full pupils lend him an unexpectedly sweet, well-behaved charm. His full lips, gorgeous as if touched by lipstick, are bright and luscious like tempting cherries. On March 11 of your sophomore year, having harbored a secret crush on him for a year and two months, you finally prepare to ask for his contact information. Tall and strikingly handsome, the moment he walked into the cafeteria, he started fidgeting with the watch around his slender wrist. After getting his food, he sat next to his friends, laughing and chatting. Hao Moran's smile was nothing like his cold, unapproachable exterior; it was like a warm spring breeze, gentle enough to make anyone surrender. When he went back to line up for more food, you begged a friend to ask for his name. (To me, Hao Moran is still an enigma shrouded in mist, sparking an urge to delve deep and uncover him.) Your loyal friend stepped up to ask his name for you, but none of the guesses hit the mark. The first friend said his name was Yan Yiran. That friend's loyalty turned out a bit unreliable, so you asked another friend. As the cafeteria grew more crowded, the second friend returned and told you his name was Yan Qiran. You silently repeated the name Yan Qiran in your mouth a few times. Turning around to look at him, you saw they had already finished eating and were about to leave, so you urged your friend to hurry up and finish. Your friend rolled their eyes and groaned, "Your pure love is my pure hate, big sis!" You watched Yan Qiran walking ahead; his puffy winter coat did nothing to make him look bulky. A sudden urge seized you to ask for his contact info right then and there, but too scared to do it yourself, you begged your best friends again. They let out an utterly resigned sigh. Just as Yan Qiran was about to slip out of sight, your friends sprang into action, rushing over for the sake of your happiness. You quickened your pace a few steps forward. You saw your friend say something to him and then sprint back, but with your ears pounding from pure nerves, all you could hear was your frantic heartbeat. Your friend went to ask for you again and came running back with great news: "He doesn't have a girlfriend! Go get your man!!" Back in the classroom, you grabbed a pretty sticky note and a pen, then dragged your friend along to his academic building. The fourth floor—high up, yet not out of reach. There lived the boy you had loved for a year and two months. Today was the day to get his WeChat. It was a leap of faith where you might not even end up as friends, but on second thought, you didn't know each other to begin with, bringing both relief and a pang of loss. Standing outside his classroom door, your heart drummed and roared like thunder. Your friend knocked on the door for you once more, leaning in slightly: "Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, is Yan Qiran from your class here?" But there didn't seem to be anyone by that name. A student in the back looked puzzled, then seemed to catch on: "I know we don't have a Yan Qiran, but hey, whatever-Qiran, get out here!" At first, my friend told me to wait there for her, but I was so nervous that I ran up to the landing on the stairs, staring at his academic building. My friend brought him out, but the moment she turned around, her world crumbled—I was nowhere to be found. Yan Qiran looked at my friend in confusion. She gave an awkward laugh and turned to him: "Wait a second, let me go find her, haha." Then she spotted me by the window, my body stiff with nerves. Taking two steps at a time, Yan Qiran briskly followed her up. My friend pointed at me and looked nervously at Yan Qiran: "This is my friend. Can she have your contact info?" Yan Qiran looked at me standing by the window, paralyzed by nervousness and embarrassment, turning toward the window only to be dragged back by my friend. She thrust the sticky note and pen into my hands. My cheeks were flushed and the tips of my ears were burning red from anxiety. He let out a soft chuckle, took the sticky note and pen from my hands, and wrote down his contact info. That smile was faint, almost imperceptible. I took back the note with his contact info and the pen. The tip of the pen still held the lingering warmth of his palm, so comforting. Sunlight bathed his hair, his shoulders, and the soft curve of his smiling lips. After writing down his info, he said goodbye to us and turned back toward the classroom. You asked your friend how she called him at his classroom door and what he was doing at the time. Your friend looked at you, utterly exasperated yet delighted: "When I went to call him, someone said there was no Yan Qiran in their class and shouted for whatever-Qiran to come out. At the time... he was looking at the whiteboard." "Oh, and he's also the Left Protector of the class! Is it because he's too mischievous? Doesn't look like it, though." You two lingered where you had just gotten his contact info, your walk back filled with fluttery nerves and sweet daydreams about the future. Back in the classroom, you pondered for ages over when to add him. That evening, you used the excuse of returning a package to borrow a phone from your homeroom teacher. It was your first time lying, but you felt it was entirely worth it for him. After the first period ended, you typed his phone number into WeChat and composed this message: (Hi, I'm the girl who asked for your contact info this afternoon.) Not knowing if he would accept, you didn't dare check WeChat, until after evening self-study ended when you nervously checked—the request hadn't gone through yet. Well, you felt a little disappointed, but also thought, "Figures." Until the next morning, a WeChat notification popped up: "You and U Yuji are now friends and can start chatting." You scrolled down to see a message sent at 6:48 AM: "I use a smartwatch. It was charging last night." Your heart fluttered. You replied "Okay" and sent an abstract meme.
I don't like single-word replies; they feel so cold.