Source: https://www.jjwxc.net/onebook.php?novelid=5881048
This translation is originally posted on https://love4baihe.blogspot.com please read it there. and check out other stories too.
1.
At eighteen, Song Qingluo was admitted into the Royal Academy of Music as a violin major as she had hoped. October marked the start of the school year, and students from all over the world flooded into the university, bustling about. She and her best friend Shi Chuning were among them.
They had agreed to visit each other's schools. This Friday, Song Qingluo first went to find Shi Chuning.
The campus was crowded with people, and it was even livelier outside the main auditorium. Song Qingluo, who had not even completed half a tour, was curious and stopped by the railing, lifting her chin slightly:
"It's so lively over there. What's going on?"
"European University Debate Competition, I think today is the finals for the master's group," Shi Chuning glanced casually.
"Let's go check it out."
Song Qingluo pulled Shi Chuning along, squeezing through the crowd and craning her neck to look. Shi Chuning thought she was just curious, so she stood with her for a while before checking her watch. "Shall we go? I'll take you to the student cafeteria to try that really delicious ice cream."
"Qingluo?"
Song Qingluo remained motionless, her eyes fixed intently on the debate stage, her face nearly pressed against the glass.
On the stage, the woman was the only Asian face. She stood at the third debater's position, her long, shiny black hair tied neatly at the back of her head. She wore gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose, her suit and shirt meticulously ironed. There was a steady and composed air in her brows and eyes, exuding an aura of restraint and elegance.
She was refuting the opposing viewpoint, speaking fluent English at a steady pace, her accent carrying a hint of Oxford. Among the many white students, she stood out remarkably.
Song Qingluo watched without blinking, her eyes growing sore from staring, completely forgetting everything around her.
The woman was calm and composed, her thinking clear and highly adaptable. She was quick and precise in finding flaws, making this religious debate topic—which Song Qingluo typically found boring—become interesting under her attack and defense.
“The third debater from the affirmative side is so beautiful... and really skilled...” she murmured to herself.
Shi Chuning followed her gaze and burst out laughing, "I was wondering what you were looking at. Turns out you’ve been captivated by a pretty sister. How about we go meet her when it’s over?"
Song Qingluo didn't respond.
Originally, she had only planned to casually watch, but she ended up seriously following the entire debate.
The team the woman was on won the championship.
In Song Qingluo's eyes, she didn't care how much of the championship trophy was attributed to the other teammates. She only felt that person contributed the most—countless times she turned the tide, leaving the opposing side speechless, her control of the scene was flawless.
In her youthful and naïve heart, a flower of love bloomed.
At eighteen, the age of first love, she didn't yet understand what it meant to have her heart stirred, or what it meant to like someone. She couldn't distinguish between a moment of curiosity and a lasting affection. As the participants gradually left the venue, Song Qingluo felt conflicted, unsure whether to chase after her and introduce herself, or stay where she was and wait for a chance encounter.
She wanted to know her.
The moment she made her choice, countless parallel universes were born, like a garden of forking paths. Different forks led to different outcomes.
Perhaps in another universe, they would have passed each other by and never met again.
"Chuchu, wait here for me for a moment." Song Qingluo's legs moved uncontrollably.
That woman was walking ahead with her teammates. Just as they were nearing, Song Qingluo heard an unfamiliar language. Nervous, she blurted out in her native tongue: "Hello—"
She blocked her path.
The eyes behind the glasses were deep and clear. As their gazes met, Song Qingluo's heartbeat almost stopped, and her cheeks started burning. "I watched your debate just now, it was really amazing. Some of your points were very novel, and it just so happens that I’ve been researching religious topics lately. Can we be friends?"
"What is your name? Oh, I’m Song Qingluo, a freshman at the Royal Academy of Music. I came here today to visit a friend. Don’t worry, I’m not a bad person..."
The woman looked at her for a moment and said, "Wen Ruoxian."
It was in her native language.
She had guessed right.
Song Qingluo couldn’t hide her joy. Her eyes curved into a smile as she eagerly took out her phone. "Do you use WeChat? I’ll add you."
"Okay."
2.
After getting her contact information, Song Qingluo began to cram knowledge about religion, seeking out Wen Ruoxian for chats every few days. Initially, they only talked about the debate competition, but gradually their topics expanded. Song Qingluo had a natural talent for social interaction. Without even trying, she managed to strike the perfect balance—never being intrusive yet never letting the conversation die.
Wen Ruoxian was five years older than her and studied at the Mainz-Germersheim School of Translation and Interpreting in Germany. She will graduate with her master’s degree next year. Aside from reading and working part-time as a simultaneous interpreter, she didn’t have many hobbies.
She had never been in a relationship, having always been focused on her studies and work. She didn’t enjoy dealing with too much social interaction.
Even though she was busy most of the time, whenever they had the chance to chat, it seemed as if they could never run out of things to talk about, as though their conversations could go on endlessly.
Frequent chatting can create the illusion of ambiguous feelings.
One day, Song Qingluo was busy with school activities and hadn't checked her phone much. When she got home and opened WeChat, she found several messages from Wen Ruoxian—
[Picture]
[I woke up to see it snowing outside and casually took a picture. The snow at our school looks pretty nice.]
[I slipped and fell when I went out, but luckily, I was wearing enough layers and came out unscathed. This just proves that while the snow looks beautiful, it can be deadly.]
[Today's lunch.]
[Picture]
[After sticking to Western food for another two days, I will reward myself tonight by buying ingredients to cook Chinese food and continue for another two days.]
[I found the book you wanted at the second-hand market here. I will send it to you the day after tomorrow.]
[Picture]
……
The last message was sent half an hour ago:
[Are you very busy today?]
From the last message, Song Qingluo sensed disappointment, but she also feared it was her own overthinking.
When a person gets used to sharing their life with someone every day, an abrupt interruption leads to confusion, disappointment, and even worry. It feels disorienting for a moment. But these feelings are temporary. As long as she cools down and maintains some distance, they will both adapt to a new rhythm.
It won’t work through the phone.
Song Qingluo replied to Wen Ruoxian, not expecting the other person to seem to hold her phone, immediately sending a built-in "cute" emoji.
Wen Ruoxian was a reserved person; her speech was never serious, yet she found her cute. Qingluo thought she should perhaps be more composed and elegant, but Wen Ruoxian allowed her to be herself.
She began to feel that her feelings were not just a fleeting infatuation. The person on the other end of the phone became more intriguing the deeper she delved, making her unable to sleep at night.
[After Christmas, our student orchestra is going to perform in Germany. After it's over, can I come to visit you?] Song Qingluo slowly typed.
Wen Ruoxian: [Time and place?]
Song Qingluo: [January 20th, Berlin Philharmonic.]
Song Qingluo sent her a detailed schedule, not feeling hopeful. Wen Ruoxian was not in Berlin. It would be too much trouble to travel from another state just to hear a student orchestra concert. This made her happy, but it would be too much for Wen Ruoxian.
She should go visit Wen Ruoxian.
[Can I buy tickets now?]
[You are coming?]
[Mm.]
[But it's a bit far from you to Berlin. The train and bus are slow, and it takes a long time. It’s very troublesome.]
[It only takes an hour to fly to nearby Frankfurt.]
Song Qingluo felt both hopeful and conflicted. Seeing her so determined, a huge joy hit her, making her dizzy. She jumped up, hugging her phone, and fell onto the sofa.
[Then I will wait for you!]
[Okay.]
….
The day before the Christmas break, Song Qingluo received a gift from Wen Ruoxian: a music note brooch.
During the holiday, Wen Ruoxian's favorite activities were reading and writing. Every couple of days, Song Qingluo video-called her. Most of the time, they silently kept each other company, occasionally joking about the weather, food, and the streets being as empty as a ghost town.
When she got tired, Song Qingluo would play some impromptu music for her.
She always praised her as a rising star.
On the day of departure for Germany, Song Qingluo brought the Lolita dress she planned to wear on stage. Her preferences changed frequently; today she loved the punk style, and tomorrow she favored the pastoral style. At sixteen, she suddenly became interested in Lolita fashion and her family bought her many dresses.
As one of the representatives of her major, she was well-liked by the professors, and showing her personality was allowed. Even so, she did not choose a too flashy style; the color was a relatively conservative black and red.
Chuchu said this dress looked like "a vampire crawling out of a coffin."
The nervousness spread from the start of the rehearsal, but for Song Qingluo, anticipation outweighed the nerves. She wanted to present her most perfect and dazzling self in front of Wen Ruoxian.
[I am in the fifth seat on the left in the third row.]
[I see you.]
[You look beautiful today.]
[You look like you could cast black magic.] It was followed by a "cute" emoji.
Song Qingluo firmly believed that Wen Ruoxian would only send that one expression.
Engrossed in the performance, she could not spare a glance at the audience below. Only during the intermission did her gaze briefly seek out the fifth seat in the third row. When she saw Wen Ruoxian at that moment, the other person was also looking at her.
Their eyes met for a few seconds, and both smiled. Song Qingluo felt her heart race, her attention drifting like a fish.
She did not dare to look longer, nor did she want to lose focus.
After the curtain call, Song Qingluo was the first to leave the stage. She was afraid that Wen Ruoxian would leave, so she waited for the audience to gradually exit through the front door and rushed outside.
Wen Ruoxian stood by the streetlight, wrapped in a thick brown down jacket. Her scarf nearly covered half of her face, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on her high nose, reflecting the light beneath the lamp.
No matter how long it had been, she would never forget this face.
"Wen Ruoxian!"
Song Qingluo ran over.
Wen Ruoxian smiled, just as gently as in the video. Her gaze behind the glasses was a bit shy. "Long time no see."
“Mm, the second time we've met."
"You..." She carefully looked at Song Qingluo. "You look a lot like someone I met before, especially in that dress; the style is similar."
Song Qingluo was confused. "Huh?"
Wen Ruoxian took out her phone and scrolled through her albums. She found a photo from last spring when she was walking along the Rhine River. She had seen a girl in a Lolita dress standing by the bank, playing the violin. The music was beautiful, and she could not help but listen quietly.
That day, the sky was clear, and the river reflected the shadows of the trees on both banks.
Wen Ruoxian had quietly taken a picture.
In the photo, the girl only showed her back. The elaborate Lolita dress was in green and white, a fresh and tender green that matched the vibrant season.
"This was taken last spring in Cologne," Wen Ruoxian said, handing her phone to Song Qingluo.
Looking at it again, it resembled Song Qingluo even more—height, figure, clothing style, and the instrument... A guess began to form in her mind: "Could it be you? I remember you said you visited Germany for a few days last year."
Song Qingluo stared at the photo in shock.
“It was me…”
“How could it be?”
She looked up and then down, repeatedly checking, her face breaking into a surprised smile.
“It really is you.” Wen Ruoxian also found it hard to believe. “So we met last year?”
“Not exactly ‘met.’ I had my back to you, and I didn’t know anyone was behind me. Now I know, someone took a sneak shot of me.” Song Qingluo lifted her chin and took a step closer.
Wen Ruoxian felt a bit awkward and lowered her gaze, explaining, “I thought the scenery was beautiful, and you looked good. It had a special atmosphere, so I couldn’t help but take a picture. If you mind, I can delete it right away.” Saying this, she turned her phone around.
“I don’t mind.” Song Qingluo quickly grabbed her wrist.
“I was just joking. You take things too seriously.”
After a moment, she added, “Like an old cadre.”
Wen Ruoxian was surprised by this comment. “Really? Does that mean I am rigid and dull?”
“That is a negative interpretation. I meant it positively—serious, diligent, and earnest. For example, when you study or work… Who in this world doesn’t enjoy slacking off?”
“I thought you would find me too boring, uninteresting.”
“Are you worried I think that way?”
“Mm.”
“Why?” Song Qingluo asked, puzzled, like catching a glimpse of light through thick fog but unable to see clearly.
Wen Ruoxian thought for a moment and said, “I do not know how to explain it, just a fleeting thought.”
The atmosphere fell into silence, with whispers of conversation surrounding them, especially jarring in the quiet.
“If you like it, then keep it.” Song Qingluo gazed at Wen Ruoxian's face and said, “I want to be more than just someone in your phone; I want to be in your memory.”
Wen Ruoxian was taken aback.
“Hey, you are blushing.”
“Am I?”
Wen Ruoxian raised her hand to touch her face. Song Qingluo was still holding her wrist but instinctively let go. When that hand fell, she realized she had no reason to touch her again.
This person was chatty on WeChat but very reserved in person, which surprised her.
Song Qingluo turned and ran a couple of steps ahead, saying, “Let us go! I have two days off. Will you take me to see your school?”
“But if you are busy, just forget what I said.”
“I’m not busy lately.” Wen Ruoxian caught up with her, with a smile in her eyes.
“Oh, no wonder you are not afraid of the trouble and are willing to come from another city to see this unknown student's performance.”
“Because I wanted to see it.”
“What do you think of me?” Song Qingluo asked half-jokingly.
“Talented and beautiful, with an interesting personality. I am very happy to know a friend like you.”
“You are right.”
Wen Ruoxian laughed at her approving nod.
In this world, there truly were people who were not modest or polite, generous and sincere. Her so-called “prejudice” felt too cliché; applying it to Song Qingluo seemed almost blasphemous.
Source: https://www.jjwxc.net/onebook.php?novelid=5881048
This translation is originally posted on https://love4baihe.blogspot.com please read it there. and check out other stories too.
3.
In early spring, Wen Ruoxian graduated and was recommended by her professors to intern at the EU headquarters. By summer, she returned to Germany and joined an automotive company in Berlin as a full-time translator.
Song Qingluo often visited her and was also eager for Wen Ruoxian to come to London.
Wen Ruoxian's aloofness was merely a facade; inside, she held the heart of a pure girl. She blushed easily and could not match Song Qingluo’s wit, often feeling outmatched.
However, when it came to serious matters, Song Qingluo could not outdo her.
The concert originally scheduled for July had to be postponed by a day due to changes in the school’s arrangements, meaning Song Qingluo would see Wen Ruoxian a day later. She packed her things early, but her soaring excitement was deflated.
That night, she held her phone, voice chatting with Wen Ruoxian.
“The school isn't a place for human beings!”
“Mm, but for someone I want to see, even if I have to wait a year, I am willing to.” Wen Ruoxian comforted her.
Song Qingluo fell silent.
Her restless heart calmed down, sinking into the whirlpool of ambiguity.
She heard some noise in the background and interrupted her thoughts, asking, “Are you outside?”
“Mm, I am at the supermarket buying some things. A little fox is coming to my house tomorrow, and I want her to try my cooking.”
“Aaaah!”
Just a moment ago, she was lifeless, but now she was so happy she could lift the ceiling.
Her loud and cheerful personality was the complete opposite of Wen Ruoxian. At first, she thought they would not blend well, but unexpectedly, they complemented each other.
As they chatted, Wen Ruoxian was almost at the supermarket. Song Qingluo jokingly said this was “cloud grocery shopping” with her. Before she finished her sentence, a loud explosion-like sound erupted, and someone was faintly screaming.
“What is that noise on your side? Are they setting off fireworks?”
After a long pause, Wen Ruoxian took a deep breath and calmly said, “There are two men with guns…let's talk later.”
The voice message was cut off.
Song Qingluo felt blank, then snapped back to reality and hurriedly called back, but no one answered, no matter how long she waited.
A chill ran down her back as she thought of many possibilities, feeling restless.
Soon, news flooded the internet. Just a few minutes ago, a shooting occurred near a supermarket in downtown Berlin, and the number of casualties was still unknown.
[Are you okay?]
Song Qingluo struggled through a long, agonizing hour.
When the phone screen lit up with a voice call, she eagerly answered it. Hearing Wen Ruoxian's voice made her burst into tears. “You scared me to death! What took you so long...”
After saying that, she could not hold back her emotions, shifting from sobbing to outright wailing.
That was a gun.
Bullets don't have eyes. The attackers don't care about the lives of civilians.
“I’m fine, Qingluo. Those two were not very close to me, but I didn’t dare to run. I just found cover and hid for a bit. I’m already home now,” Wen Ruoxian said, breathing heavily with a hint of panic in her tone.
But she still remembered to reassure Song Qingluo. “Don’t cry.”
Song Qingluo quickly composed herself and choked out, “It’s good that you’re okay. I won't cry. Just don’t go out anymore... I will come over tomorrow and we can talk.”
The one who needed comfort was not her.
Tomorrow, she will fly to her.
4.
Song Qingluo, who was on vacation, moved into Wen Ruoxian's apartment in Berlin.
It had been more than half a month since the shooting incident, and the shadow gradually faded. However, Wen Ruoxian no longer dared to go to that supermarket, and she no longer went out after dark.
Living together brought them closer. During the day, Wen Ruoxian went to work while Song Qingluo stayed home to practice the violin and occasionally tidied up the house. Around four or five o'clock, she would go to pick up Wen Ruoxian from work. In the evening, the two of them cooked hotpot together and curled up in bed to watch movies.
But not long after, Song Qingluo discovered that Wen Ruoxian seemed to be avoiding her.
She also stopped letting her pick her up from work.
When they talked, she avoided eye contact, as if they had returned to the indifferent state they were in when they first met.
"Are you annoyed that I'm staying here?"
One evening, Song Qingluo cornered Wen Ruoxian at the doorway when she returned from work.
Wen Ruoxian's body was almost pressed against the door. "No. Why would you say that?"
"You're avoiding me. I can feel it."
"...I'm not avoiding you. I just think we're too close."
"Can't friends be close?"
Her expression became strange, and a blush spread across her cheeks. She stayed silent for a long time, without any intention of explaining. Song Qingluo just watched her, feeling guilty herself.
Because it wasn’t entirely pure. She hadn’t completely treated her as just a friend.
That day was bound to come.
Song Qingluo did not get an answer, so she packed her things and returned to London the next day. For three whole days, there was no contact between her and Wen Ruoxian. Coincidentally, during this time, there were performance activities, and their student orchestra was extremely busy.
It wasn't until a week later that Wen Ruoxian took the initiative to talk to her, breaking the standoff that felt like a childish standoff.
[Shall we go on a trip to Southern Europe next month? I promised you before, and I happen to have some time off.]
[Okay.]
Song Qingluo accepted the olive branch.
These days, she felt frustrated, wronged, and missed Wen Ruoxian very much. She thought countless times about taking the initiative to resolve this inexplicable stalemate but being proactive meant admitting—she liked her, a different kind of liking from normal friendship.
After hesitating and struggling, she decided to be brave this time. Even if Wen Ruoxian did not reach out, she would take the initiative someday soon.
Song Qingluo's emotions came quickly and left even faster. She enthusiastically made travel plans. She returned to the previous state of holding her phone, counting down the days with her fingers.
This time, Wen Ruoxian came to London to find her.
Then the two of them went to Southern Europe together.
Two days before they set off, Wen Ruoxian met a girl named Cheng Suran. The other person was there for tourism and stayed next door. She borrowed the kitchen from Wen Ruoxian because her stove was broken. After chatting for a bit, she discovered that they were not only traveling companions but also alumni.
"She is three years younger than me, from the French department. This means that when I was a senior preparing to graduate, I might have seen them during their freshman military training. What a wonderful connection."
“She is studying abroad like me, but she is on a government scholarship. Very impressive. Guess which organization?”
On the other end of the phone, Wen Ruoxian spoke non-stop.
Song Qingluo felt gloomy. Listening to the person she liked to talk about another girl, with a tone completely different from her usual mildness, filled with surprise and excitement, made her feel uncomfortable inside.
A wave of sour feelings bubbled up.
“Which one?” Song Qingluo asked dejectedly.
What organization could be that impressive? She had seen a lot of the world.
“The Foreign Affairs Department.”
“…”
Indeed impressive.
She retracted her earlier words. However, she felt even worse inside and stubbornly said, “Sure, it is impressive, but it is just a job. Even the cleaning lady from the Foreign Affairs Department could say the same. I think personal talent is more important than the organization’s prestige.”
“Qingluo?” Perhaps sensing the sourness in her tone, Wen Ruoxian softened her voice and paused for a moment.
“Aren’t you happy?”
“Yes.”
“I’m just petty. I can’t stand hearing you praise others or see you getting close to someone else.” Song Qingluo slammed her hand on the nearby stuffed toy.
That was a gift from Wen Ruoxian.
Silence filled her ears.
After a long while, Wen Ruoxian's low voice came through, “I’m sorry.”
Song Qingluo knew she was in the wrong, feeling inexplicably unreasonable and making a fuss. She did not want to lash out at Wen Ruoxian or blame someone completely innocent. Before her emotions surged, she hurriedly said, “I need to practice the violin.”
She ended the call.
She tossed her phone aside and wiped her face.
She felt like a sponge filled with water, sinking further down. She realized that jealousy was making her ugly.
….
On the day they met, Song Qingluo went to the airport to pick up Wen Ruoxian. She thought that after this trip, she would confess her feelings. No matter the outcome, at least there would be no regrets.
But when she saw Wen Ruoxian walk out, holding a bouquet of blood-red roses, everything else slipped her mind.
Roses.
Symbols of love.
“Wen Ruoxian, you...” Song Qingluo was completely stunned.
“For you.”
“Me?”
“Mm,” Wen Ruoxian nodded gently, her gaze warm yet tinged with a bit of nervousness. “I didn’t answer your question last time. Today, I want to give you my answer.”
“What?”
“Friends can’t be too close, but girlfriends can.”
Author's Note:
In another parallel universe, Song Luobo bravely took that step and never had any regrets.
(End of the text)
___________
Eighth project done!!! 🥰🌻🎉
Started: Sept 12, 2023
Finished: Sept. 24, 2024
Thank you for reading with me, I hope this edited MTL gave you a better reading experience. Apologies for the mistakes and erratic schedule. 😅🙏🙇🏽♀️🌻🌹
See you on the next project. Check out the INDEX for other stories, if you haven't yet. And join Discord if you want, I have three novels not posted on NU in there.
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