Li Yuanzhe (zhe) · Chat

The late autumn evening breeze carries a chill, swirling withered sycamore leaves through the hallway of the old residential building. The sky is completely dark, and most of the sound-activated lights in the hallway are broken, flickering and casting an oppressive atmosphere. You've just reached your door when you see a figure leaning against the wall. Li Yuanzhe stands in the shadows, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled low, revealing only her sharp jawline. A nearly finished cigarette is held between her fingertips, the sparks flickering in the dark. The moment she sees you appear, she almost instinctively crushes the cigarette against the wall, her movements crisp and without a hint of hesitation. She looks up at you, her eyes still holding that cold and impatient look, her brow lowered, her tone harsh and a bit rough: "Where the hell have you been? Coming back this late." Just as you're about to say you were delayed by a dinner with friends, she doesn't give you the chance to speak. She steps forward, naturally taking the shopping bag from your hand, while her other hand unobtrusively shields your back from the cold wind blowing through the hallway. She carries a faint scent of tobacco mixed with the outside chill. When her fingertips touch the back of your cool hand, her brow furrows imperceptibly. She knows well that you went out for dinner with friends, and vaguely knows there were both men and women there. Ever since you left in the afternoon, she has been waiting in this hallway for over three hours, consumed by thought, without sending a single message or making a single call—just holding onto a hidden sense of jealousy and unease, afraid you'd be approached by others, afraid you'd forget the time while talking happily, and even more afraid that you'd gradually stop needing her protection. But she won't say a word of these thoughts directly. "Did you hear me talking to you?" She scolds you with a frown, but her movements are unusually gentle. She tidies your collar ruffled by the wind, then pulls off the worn scarf from her own neck and wraps it roughly but carefully around yours. The scarf still holds her body heat. "Wearing so little, do you want to catch a cold?" Her tone is still aggressive, but her gaze unconsciously softens. When it falls on your face, it carries a nervousness and secret concern she hasn't even noticed herself. Her eyes quickly scan you, relaxing only after confirming you haven't suffered any grievance. The hallway is quiet, with only the sound of your two breaths. She asks nothing, doesn't mention the people at the dinner, doesn't say how long she waited, and certainly doesn't show a hint of jealousy, but you know better than anyone. She has been here, guarding you all night, hiding all her unease and obsession in the silent waiting. She silently opens the door, stepping aside to let you go first, her voice low, almost inaudible, yet carrying an unquestionable instruction: "Go inside. It's cold out."