The Unseen Observer and a Difficult Conversation

By the time I reached the athletic field, the school was utterly deserted. Boarding students had either returned to their dorms or gone out to celebrate the eve of the holiday. Not a single sound—no footsteps, no conversations—broke the silence. This profound emptiness, ironically, felt perfectly in tune with the holiday spirit.

Dragon Boat Festival. I never quite understood its true purpose; it simply arrived each year. For students, its primary appeal seemed to be an additional day of vacation, though, inevitably, makeup classes would follow. Yet, people possess an innate ability to conjure their own sense of occasion. Offer them a mere pretext, and they find a compelling reason to act. For instance, a timid soul who usually lacked the courage to speak to their crush might seize the holiday as an excuse to send a ‘Happy Holiday’ message on WeChat, cunningly disguised as a mass-sent greeting.

During these holidays, people often harbored intentions entirely disconnected from the festivities themselves. They yearned for a spark, a thrill to ignite their otherwise monotonous routines. Change was their desire, even if only a fleeting, confined variation. Conversely, there existed those who resisted any form of alteration.

Unattended blossoms unfurled in quiet splendor, only to wilt and fade. Birds and insects then claimed their remnants. Silent indifference and blatant disregard were the world’s immutable norms. Who arrived, who departed, mattered to no one. Day after day, people found amusement in the same tired absurdities.

The vast athletic field, spacious enough for the entire student body and faculty, now lay utterly deserted. Colorful banners adorned the perimeter walls, gently fluttering with the breeze. Above, the drone of an airplane engine resonated through the sky. I tilted my head, searching the expanse, but could discern nothing.

A solitary figure jogged along the track, the only human presence. I made my way to the outermost spectator stands, selecting a comfortable seat for myself. The sunlight was perfect, the breeze gentle, and with no one to share the moment, the world felt profoundly tranquil.

Concealed beneath the spectator stand’s awning, nestled in the shadows where light could not reach, I listened as the wind swept through, again and again, observing the lone figure complete lap after lap. This continued until the sky above gradually deepened into twilight, and my stomach began its plaintive protests.

I couldn’t fathom the sentiments of others. What allure did holidays hold for celebration? What comfort did home offer for return? Their collective mood remained utterly beyond my comprehension. I could simply remain here, seated, until night fully descended, until I was utterly spent, and then find a place to sleep. Even a day deemed ‘special’ could simply ebb away like this.

I retrieved my phone and responded to several messages. Then, almost instinctively, I launched another video application, hoping to find something to watch. Instead, a pervasive advertisement instantly obscured my screen.

I attempted to tap the ‘X’ to dismiss it, but the incessant jumping of the pop-up ad thwarted my efforts, redirecting me instead to Taobao’s holiday promotions page.

All inclination vanished in an instant.

The wind died down, and the figure on the track was no longer visible. Yet, my heart remained suspended in a strange anticipation. A series of light, brisk footsteps reached my ears. The soles of shoes struck the spectator stand’s stairs with crisp precision, their rhythm slowing perceptibly as they drew nearer.

I lifted my gaze. Mei Ruolan, holding onto the stair railing, had just placed one foot on the step directly level with mine. She was breathless, sweat glistening profusely on her skin, and her eyes, fixed on me, were wide with surprise. Her lips trembled, as if attempting a smile, but the effort proved futile.

“What are you doing here?” she approached me, then settled into the seat adjacent to mine, leaving one empty space between us.

“I heard you were here, so I came to see for myself.”

“Tianman told you?”

“Yes.”

“You just gave me up?”

“She didn’t ask me to keep it a secret,” I replied, adding, ‘I don’t think so.’ If my memory served me correctly, “She asked me to help you, but I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do…”

“And so you just sat here, watching me for half the afternoon?”

“Yes.”

Mei Ruolan couldn’t suppress a chuckle, bowing her head as she laughed softly for a moment. She then noticed my gaze was fixed on the distant horizon. Following my line of sight, she found nothing remarkable.

“What are you looking at?” she inquired.

“I’m observing what is visible,” I stated, “while contemplating what remains unseen.”

She seemed to grasp my meaning, yet not entirely, as she mirrored my gaze forward. A thought seemed to cross her mind, but she uttered nothing. Mei Ruolan appeared uncomfortable with such prolonged silence. She lowered her head, blinking involuntarily, her mind seemingly racing for something to say.

“Speaking of which,” I began, “why are you jogging here?”

“…To boost my WeChat step count.”

The rationale struck me as remarkably modern.

“Alright,” she amended, “it’s for weight loss, and incidentally, to boost my WeChat step count.” Her correction, however, felt largely inconsequential.

“Don’t you usually play basketball? I’ve heard that sport is far more effective for weight loss.”

“The effects of these two types of exercise are quite distinct,” she explained. She scratched her neck, a gesture that inadvertently drew my gaze to her pristine nape and a few unruly strands of hair that had escaped her tie. “Lately, my friends keep dragging me out to eat. Despite playing basketball consistently for the past few days, I’ve still managed to gain two kilograms. I’m worried about my figure, so I decided to come for a run.”

“Aren’t you weary?”

“Playing basketball, or even running, is manageable. This level of exertion…”

“I mean, isn’t it exhausting, living this way?”

When I was a child, we stumbled upon a massive hole on the mountainside, concealed beneath a steel plate. An older child, with a mischievous grin, shifted the steel aside and tossed a small pebble into the abyss. Approximately five seconds later, a faint echo reverberated back to us. Every child, as if unearthing a hidden treasure, ignited their wildest fantasies, speculating on the hole’s mysterious contents. Only I quietly retreated, steering clear of that ominous opening, terrified that their adventurous schemes might somehow entangle me.

Now, Mei Ruolan’s expression evoked in me that very same sensation.

Her pupils, constricted with a primal fear, widened in abject terror. Her trembling smile, however, was a transparent veil over her true emotions.

“What… what exactly do you mean by that?” She struggled to compose herself, her voice barely a whisper.

“Humans are incapable of being all things to all people, Mei Ruolan. The desire to be universally adored is, quite frankly, an unrealistic aspiration.”

“You waited all this time, just to tell me that?” Her smile was laced with a mocking edge, and the warmth in her voice plummeted to an icy chill.

I knew I should have remained silent, that the gentlest course of action was to simply disregard others. But I couldn’t. Today, I had made a promise.

“That sentiment just occurred to me,” I admitted.

“But I sense you’ve been searching for an opportunity to say precisely that,” she countered. “All to tell me that I’m wrong.”

Each individual possesses their own distinct way of life, shaped by their environment and experiences. I harbored no intention of invalidating anyone’s interests; furthermore, it is human nature to err and to feel regret. People inherently understand how to bear their own burdens; it wasn’t my place to criticize.

Yet, there are occasional exceptions. Not everyone possesses self-awareness, nor does everyone truly understand how to think independently. Sometimes, in the relentless pursuit of self-justification, we inadvertently neglect introspection.

“To desire change, to aspire to become your ideal self—I find such endeavors truly admirable.”

I wanted to convey this to her.

“However, there’s no need for you to rush. Some things, you’re not yet equipped to handle. Do not mistake others’ perceptions of you for the person you are destined to become. No one can fault you for a momentary pause in your progress. Wait until you’ve matured further, until you’re capable of doing better, before you truly delve into defining the person you wish to be.”

I found myself adopting this didactic tone, speaking as though I were her senior in life, offering counsel. Yet, I was no paragon of success, and I knew my words likely carried no weight in her heart.

Mei Ruolan rose from her seat, her gaze fixed on me with the intensity of an adversary. Her entire being bristled with resistance. My words had disrupted the very foundations of her existence, and I had become an unwelcome anomaly in her life.

“I’m leaving,” she declared. “You should head back early as well.”

“No one is waiting for me at home,” I replied. “That’s why I’m waiting for you here.”

“Waiting for what?”

“Until you are willing to truly open your heart to me.”

She shook her head, as though I had uttered something utterly preposterous.

“Tianman asked you to come find me, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Then may I also ask you,” she countered, turning her head to meet my gaze, “to refrain from meddling.”

Mei Ruolan unveiled a flash of genuine malice; such a glacial demeanor was reserved only for those she despised. I was engaged in an unpleasant task, and the transgression of interfering with another’s thoughts and way of life filled me with deep shame. More significantly, Mei Ruolan’s aversion proved far more agonizing than I had anticipated.

“No,” I replied, “there’s an order to these requests, a precedence.”

“That’s… truly a shame,” she murmured, tears welling in her eyes as she received my answer, a profound sorrow etched across her face. “I had hoped you, at least, would support me.”

With that, she turned and departed without a backward glance. Once more, I was left utterly alone, the profound silence my sole companion.

****

The night wind proved even colder than I had anticipated. I ought to consider finding something to shield myself from the biting chill. I sent a message to Huang Zhouyu, informing him that I might not be home tonight, and thus, his planned visit to my place would need to be postponed.

Huang Zhouyu responded with a query, but I refrained from offering a detailed explanation.

Ten-meter-high pillars encircled the field, each topped with a ring of illuminating lights. These pillars, arrayed along the perimeter of the athletic field, were tasked with casting a dazzling glow across the entire track by night. Yet, this intense illumination failed to reach the spectator stands, for the lights were never intended for an audience.

I remained in this empty athletic field, savoring the stillness and the night. I felt no discomfort. Compared to my home, it was simply a larger space, with more mosquitoes and a colder night wind. Beyond that, there was no discernible difference. I wanted to check the time, but discovered my phone had died. No matter; daydreaming was a skill I had mastered.

I could watch the stars twinkle all night, pondering life, existence, and meaning until I drifted to sleep. That was precisely my intention.

I lay down, attempting to use the spectator seat as a bed. However, I reconsidered, mindful that Mei Ruolan had sat on the adjacent seat, and resting my head there felt somewhat inappropriate. So, I shifted my position.

The incessant chirping of cicadas, seeking mates, filled the air. They were truly creatures unable to tolerate solitude, constantly striving to create a stir to capture attention. Humans, I realized, were much the same. We too would, without apparent cause, make noise, yearning to be seen by someone. If unseen, everything we did seemed to lose its meaning. Fortunately, I had overcome this feeling; I could endure loneliness, and being ignored was as common as daily bread to me. Indeed, I almost preferred to be forgotten.

Sleeping outdoors proved more challenging than I had imagined. The night deepened, the wind grew colder, and the mosquito bites on my ankles itched intolerably. It seemed nature was not particularly kind to me; if I didn’t conform to the normal human way, even sleeping became an arduous task.

The itching on my feet became unbearable, prompting me to rise and scratch. Opening my eyes, I found a person standing before me, possessing ample thighs and buttocks. Looking further up, their face was obscured by the formidable peaks of their chest. This scene felt strangely familiar.

“I swear, you’re unbelievable,” the person before me declared, taking a few steps back to allow us to see each other’s faces. “You’re not trying to soften me up with this tactic, are you?”

I sat up.

“I told you I’d wait for you.”

Mei Ruolan had already returned home and showered. She wore casual shorts and a short-sleeved top, simply covered by a knee-length coat. Her hair, untied, cascaded freely over her shoulders.

She was momentarily speechless, then turned her head away, unwilling to meet my gaze.

“Haven’t eaten yet?” Her tone was exceptionally cold, yet it carried a viscous undertone. She tried to prevent her voice from betraying emotion, but it still sounded remarkably gentle, like water caressing skin, like silk brushing a face.

“No,” I nodded.

She hesitated, then lifted the plastic bag in her hand. Seeing this, I cupped my hands, watching her release her grip on the handle. The plastic bag and its contents settled into my hands.

“You truly are a weirdo,” Mei Ruolan tilted her head, observing me as if I were some rare species.

But I ignored her assessment and looked inside the plastic bag. There was a pineapple bun, a snail-shaped pastry, and a can of milk tea. The bag’s logo belonged to a bakery on the school street.

I tore open the wrapper and began to eat the bun. Mei Ruolan sat beside me, still one seat away. She crossed her legs, resting her hands on her knees, propping up her chin. She remained silent, watching me with her peripheral vision until I finished eating.

“You don’t drink anything when you eat?” she asked.

“I always drink after I’ve finished eating.”

I didn’t eat particularly fast, but thankfully, Mei Ruolan wasn’t in a hurry.

After a while, “Finished eating?” she inquired.

“Yes,” I replied, gathering the bun wrappers and milk tea bottle, stuffing them into the plastic bag.

“Are you full?”

“Not completely.”

“Shall I buy more?”

“There’s no need for that.”

After our brief exchange, we fell into a short silence. Neither of us seemed to know how to naturally introduce a new topic. Yet, Mei Ruolan remained the one who couldn’t endure the quiet.

“If you’re done eating, then… let’s talk.”