Hurrying home to change into a new pair of shoes that had just arrived, Cheng Shuo sent a message to Zhang Yijie as he opened the door, saying he might be half an hour late.

The other side replied with an OK.

Before leaving again, he noticed that Cen Zeng didn't seem to be home.

Two months ago, when he casually said the man looked a lot like his White Moonlight, was very handsome, and asked if he was interested in playing around for a bit, in a situationship, the man had agreed.

It had gone so smoothly that Zhang Yijie was amazed it could even happen like that.

The lukewarm relationship lasted for two months, and it just didn't feel right. He found it extremely boring. Coincidentally, that young guy from the bar was quite good-looking, so he planned to tell Cen Zeng it was over tomorrow.

He turned on the light and suddenly discovered someone lying on the floor.

Cheng Shuo walked over, intending to check what was wrong with him.

"Cen Zeng..." he called out, "Are you asleep?"

There was no response, so he gave the person a push.

The person didn't wake up.

He patted Cen Zeng's face.

Still no response.

It was cold.

Something wasn't right.

It was too quiet. There was only the sound of his own breathing.

He paused, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, and reached out to check for breath from the nose.

Then, in an instant, he suddenly felt a pain in his head.

A buzzing sound filled his ears.

When he came to his senses, he listened for a heartbeat, then checked for a pulse.

So cold, what was going on?

He suddenly felt short of breath.

What should I do? Is the person in shock?

A syringe, completely empty, rolled over on the floor.

Beside it were alcohol cotton balls and a strange, dark blue band.

He picked it up and looked at it again and again.

By the time he snapped out of it, he could already hear the voice on the other end of his phone: "110, what is your emergency?"

He answered the police officer's questions. Yes, please call an ambulance.

My relationship with him?

He paused. "Friends."

"He's temporarily staying at my place."

"Family... I don't know his family. He... his name is Cen Zeng."

"Please come over quickly. And an ambulance. An ambulance."

The person on the other end told him not to disturb the scene and to take a deep breath.

He listened to the instructions, not daring to look back again.

The ambulance took him to the emergency room.

Then, two hours later, a doctor came out and bowed.

What did that mean?

Such a clean and decisive end.

Not even a splash of blood on the scene.

As if he had just fallen asleep.

So neat.

The woman didn't cry when she arrived.

Cen Zeng's mother was even exceptionally calm.

She didn't introduce herself, nor was she interested in talking to him. She only answered the questions from the people opposite her. Then she signed the hospital's notice.

After the police finished surveying the scene and the hospital announced that resuscitation efforts had failed, Cheng Shuo was taken in to give a statement.

When everything was over, the medical examiner's autopsy report came out.

Cen Zeng had very few belongings.

The police called them and said the family could now handle his things.

Cheng Shuo took a taxi home, subconsciously intending to help her pack.

But the woman was much calmer than him, as if she had lost all emotion: "I don't want any of it. You can throw it all away."

"What?"

"Throw it away." After saying this, she thought for a moment, her expression like a mask, stiff and motionless. "He died at your place, it must have caused you trouble. I'm sorry. How much money do you want? I don't have much, but I can compensate you a little."

He had just overheard the conversation between her and the police and vaguely knew that Cen Zeng's family was not well-off.

"It's fine," he said. "It's fine. I'm not short on money."

"But are you sure you don't want them?"

The woman's expression was a kind of indifference he had never seen before. An extreme coldness, devoid of emotion for others and for herself.

She frowned, and it was a good while before she came back to her senses: "I don't want them. Thank you, young man."

No one had ever thanked him so expressionlessly. To be precise, very few people had ever thanked him at all.

"It's fine, I..." He paused for a moment, then said, "I'm also responsible. I'm sorry. Why don't you leave me your phone number? I... I can help."

She didn't say anything more, just shook her head and left.

She walked very slowly, each step as if treading into an abyss. He didn't dare to keep staring and moved his gaze to his hands.

Only then did he realize his phone had been blown up with calls and messages.

Zhang Yijie was asking why he hadn't shown up, why he wasn't answering his phone, that the guys thought something had happened to him, they'd already gone through two rounds of crazy partying at the bar, and this big shot still hadn't arrived.

He was silent for a moment, then finally said, "Cen Zeng committed suicide."

"What?"

"Cen Zeng committed suicide."

"Committed suicide?"

The person on the other end fell silent for a good ten seconds after asking.

After a long while, he finally heard his childhood friend's voice: "Who?"

"Cen Zeng," Cheng Shuo replied again.

"Cen Zeng?" The person on the other end was stunned for a moment before replying after a while, "You mean that guy who looks like Xing Ji, the one who agreed to play around with you?"

"Where did he commit suicide?"

"My place." Cheng Shuo paused. "My place."

"Holy shit!" The person on the other end froze, as if their brain had finally started working and fully processed what they were talking about. Shock finally appeared in their tone.

He moved to a different spot. The music faded into the distance. Zhang Yijie was silent for a moment before finally speaking, "So what now?"

"The police have already been here," Cheng Shuo said. "Just now at the hospital, he was pronounced dead. I'm at home now, his mom came by too."

"You... wait... he... wait... is his mom okay? Did she yell at you? Are you okay? Are you guys okay? I'll come see you in a bit. You're really..."

He hesitated for a moment, swallowing a string of vague words. "Never mind, never mind, I'll grab a cab and come keep you company right now."

Zhang Yijie arrived quickly, the smell of alcohol still lingering on him. When he got there, Cheng Shuo was standing there, his face completely blank.

He was holding an old leather notebook in his hand, his eyes unfocused.

"Have you eaten?" Zhang Yijie asked.

Cheng Shuo said, "Not yet. I'm reading his diary."

Diary Entry One, the handwriting was messy.

To be precise, I have no way of knowing how long I've been sitting in the light.

Spring is coming. Cheng Shuo said he's very busy. I nodded, maybe so. Then he left.

I hate spring. The damp weather is a hassle, shadows blur and spread across the marble. In that moment, I recalled many years ago, getting food in the cafeteria. The floor was very slippery, water dripped down the walls. We used a hairdryer on our clothes.

Now I'm in the north, there's no such damp weather. Winter really feels like winter. Smoking late at night, the moon will fall.

But spring's arrival is also inescapable.

I really want to die. Every spring day, I really want to die.

This spring is nothing special either.

Diary Entry Two, undated:

Sometimes I don't know why I'm still running experiments.

There's no point.

But what else can I do?

I don't want to study anymore, I really want to say it when my mom looks up at me.

Otherwise, how about we die together, just like you said when you had that breakdown when I was a kid?

Anyway, giving birth to me ruined you, and my being born was your mistake in the first place.

It's all a mistake. Why?

But it's just too laughable.

Diary Entry Three:

Spring is quite nice.

I didn't actually hate spring as a child, after all, it wasn't too cold.

What was I doing as a child?

Wondering why an award certificate and being first in my grade was only worth three hundred yuan.

Even when I got the money, my mom wasn't happy.

There was nothing.

Diary Entry Four:

Sometimes I actually really, truly wish that someone wouldn't hold my hand.

I don't really have that many thoughts on love and hate. But death is such a simple thing; you reach out your hand, and you can grasp it.

Lighter than a hand.

I don't need love. Love can't keep me.

I need something light. Like the little mermaid, walking on seafoam, ready to go.

Or a counterfeit, something not so heavy.

So when I got the chance, a counterfeit would have to do.

A counterfeit is just right, it won't burn me.

"Can I hold you?"

Cheng Shuo held my hand, like he was holding a piece of wood.

Spring is very good, but spring isn't actually that good.

Diary Entry Five:

I don't want to live anymore, and I don't want to write anymore either.

I want to jump from here.

I don't want to see anything.

Let me go.

It's best to never see the light of day again.

Cen Zeng, are you there?

He looks at me.

Cheng Shuo couldn't read anymore. He stared blankly at the wall in front of him.

Zhang Yijie waved a hand in front of his eyes. He didn't dare call out to him. He just subconsciously scanned the living room.

On the table, there was a note.

Zhang Yijie picked it up to read.

"Cheng Shuo..." the note read, "We're almost out of eggs, remember to buy more."

A man so good at writing suicide notes, wrote just ten characters.

Cheng Shuo finally followed his movement and looked down. The handwriting on it was clear and neat, with sharp, powerful strokes. Completely different from the chaotic scrawl in the diary.

A person like that, why would he die?

No one could answer him.