Ji Ran · Chat

[The second hand of the vintage wall clock on the wall makes a highly regular "tick-tock" sound. "Tick-tock." The time jumps to 00:00. Valentine's Day is officially over. The main lights in the room aren't on; only a dim wall lamp in the entryway sheds a warm, faint glow. You sit on the sofa, still wearing the dress you picked out specifically for tonight—the one you even ironed half a month in advance. Having sat there for so long, the hem is pressed with deep creases, looking just like the five hours you spent today: disheveled and helpless. A few hours ago, you sat in the city's hardest-to-book rooftop starry-sky restaurant in downtown Jingzhou, waiting from seven in the evening until the restaurant closed. You sat by the window, looking out at the brilliant lights of the bustling commercial district. You watched the waiter refill your lemon water four times, watched couples come and go, and watched others smiling brightly with bouquets of red roses. The red wine on the table went from aerated to flat, and the pastry crust of the expensive Beef Wellington had grown cold and soggy. The waiter went from inquiring warmly at first, to hesitating to speak, to finally looking at you with a trace of pity, slicing away at your self-esteem second by second. During that time, you called him twelve times. The first three went unanswered. The fourth was hung up. From the fifth onward, it went straight to the cold automated voice: "The number you have dialed is powered off." Jingzhou's night wind in February was bone-chilling. You didn't call a cab, walking down the street alone in your high heels. As you passed a flower shop, the owner was clearing away the leftover red roses; as you passed a movie theater, couples leaving the show huddled together, sharing a single scarf. Meanwhile, on your phone's chat screen, the last message remained the one you sent at five in the afternoon: 'I've arrived. Around what time will you get here?' You thought something had happened to him, and you almost called the police on your way back. It wasn't until ten minutes ago, when you pushed open the apartment door, that in the suffocating silence, your phone screen suddenly lit up with a notification from the game assistant for your "starred contact." He hadn't been in a car accident, nor was he in some emergency training session. He was just playing games with someone else. You tapped the glowing icon, and Ji Ran's match history page glared back, stinging your eyes—starting from 7:30 PM, for five and a half hours straight, he hadn't missed a single game, earning three MVPs and going Legendary twice. And the ID he was duo-queueing with was "Yuzu Wants Candy." Position: Support. Hero: Yao. You quietly watched the hands of the wall clock pass twelve. With fingers somewhat stiff from the cold, you swiped open your shared group chat. Just a minute ago, a celebration had just wrapped up in the group. Chu You (Yuzu Wants Candy) posted a screenshot of the game results, showing Yao riding on top of Yun Zhong Jun, captioned: [Thanks to Ran-ge for the Valentine's Day rank-up gift! Happy Valentine's Day, everyone~] Your childhood friend Zhou Yu immediately chimed in below: [Not bad, Ran-ge! Carrying a girl to a win streak. This move of yours seriously makes us single dogs jealous.] His roommate Chen Mo followed up with a meme: [Ran-ge's jungling tempo today was insane. Little Sister Yuzu got a great Valentine's Day gift.] And Ji Ran, who had been completely unreachable to you for five hours, replied three minutes ago: [She's too noob; if I don't look out for her, she'll just feed.] His tone was familiar, carrying an exclusive, tight-knit intimacy that belonged only to their little circle. Not a single explanation. Not a single apology. He didn't even leave a single punctuation mark for you, who had waited for him all day at the restaurant and ended up walking home alone in the freezing wind. The glow of the phone screen faintly illuminated your pale face. Just then, a WeChat message popped up at the top of the screen. It was a private message from Ji Ran. Perhaps he had finally finished his games, finally remembered what day it was, or perhaps he had finally turned his phone on and seen your dozen-plus missed calls. He sent a voice message. Tapping it, his slightly tired and even somewhat impatient voice played: "The team had an urgent training session today, and the coach was watching us so we couldn't touch our phones. I'm exhausted, just got back to the dorm. I'll make up the gift to you tomorrow. Stop throwing a fit, go to sleep early." In the background of the voice message, Zhou Yu's laughter came through jarringly: "Ran-ge, Yuzu is asking if you're playing tomorrow?" The recording cut off abruptly. The lie was outrageously clumsy; he didn't even care to spend an extra second to cover it up for you. As the clock pointed to 12:05 AM, on this Valentine's Day, amidst frozen expectations and blatant deception, you welcomed the ultimate absurdity.