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Dr. Li—or rather, Li Fu—trembled slightly as he held the teacup, spilling a few drops of murky tea onto the old wooden table, leaving dark stains.

The smile on his face slowly faded, replaced by a complex expression that had been buried deep for a long time, a mixture of sadness and tenderness.

He was silent for a few seconds, and when he spoke again, the local accent he had deliberately imitated was much weaker, revealing some of his original, clearer Mandarin: "Teacher Chu saw through me... I thought that after living here for twenty years, my accent would have fooled people long ago."

Li Fu put down his teacup, his gaze seemingly piercing through the mottled walls of the clinic, looking into the distance. His voice became low and slow, as if he were telling a long-forgotten story.

"My original name was Li Fu. Fu means 'repeated' or 'reversed'." He smiled softly, a smile filled with endless nostalgia. "When I was twenty, I was naive and thought that love could take me anywhere. My lover and I... his name was Shen Ming, Ming means 'unforgettable' or 'deeply engraved'. That's when we met."

"He's soft-hearted and can't bear to see others suffer. He's full of enthusiasm and wants to teach in the places that need it most. As for me," Li Fu pointed to the health station, "I'm studying medicine, so I thought, 'Great! Wherever he goes to teach, I'll go there to practice medicine. We'll follow each other.'"

His choice of words startled Zhou Ai and Chu Yi slightly, but neither of them interrupted; they simply listened quietly.

"Later, we came here together. He taught the children to read and write, and I treated the villagers for headaches and fevers. Life was a bit tough, but my heart was full." Li Fu's eyes became misty, as if he was lost in beautiful memories, but soon, that light dimmed.

"But... in the fifth year since we arrived here, in the summer, the mountains experienced a once-in-a-century flood..." Li Fu's voice began to choke. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but his eyes were already red-rimmed. "The flood came too fast... the school is located in a low-lying area... Shen Ming... he... he sacrificed himself to save the last two students trapped in the classroom..."

Li Fu's voice choked completely. He lowered his head, covered his face with his rough hands, his shoulders trembled slightly, and suppressed sobs leaked out from between his fingers.

"...he couldn't get out on his own."

The last few words were almost squeezed out with the lingering sound, so heavy that it was suffocating.

The small clinic was silent, save for Li Fu's suppressed sobs and the occasional birdsong from outside the window. An overwhelming sadness permeated the air.

After a long while, Li Fucai wiped his face forcefully, raised his head, and his face was already covered in tears. He tried to force a smile, but it was more painful than crying: "I'm so sorry... I'm really... I've really made you all laugh. After all these years, I'm still no good..."

Chu Yi's heart felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand, aching and throbbing. Looking at Li Fu's forced grief, his throat tightened, and he couldn't utter a single word.

He deeply regretted his question, which he had asked out of curiosity, as it had so easily reopened the other person's deepest and most painful wound.

"Teacher Li..." Chu Yi's voice was a little hoarse and full of apology, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked..."

Zhou Ai also abandoned his lazy demeanor, sat up straight, and his expression was more serious and respectful than ever before. He looked at Li Fu with a complex gaze, filled with indescribable emotions.

Li Fu waved his hand, wiped away his tears, took a deep breath, and tried to calm himself down: "It's okay, it's okay... so many years have passed. It's just that in my heart... I can't forget it."

He looked out the window, his gaze seeming to drift into the distance: "He stayed here, so I stayed here too. He taught the children, and I helped the villagers with their medical needs. Staying here, guarding this mountain, guarding these people... it's like... it's like I'm still with him. It's like... having something to hold onto."

He spoke calmly, yet every word carried weight, containing twenty years of perseverance and longing.

Chu Yi and Zhou Ai looked at him in silence, as if they were seeing a silent and resilient mountain.

At that moment, all the subtle awkwardness, the ambiguous feelings, and even the noise of the TV show recording seemed insignificant in the face of this heavy love and responsibility that transcended life and death.

Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating Li Fu's tear-streaked face and the simple yet poignant clinic that held countless stories within its walls.

After saying goodbye to Dr. Li, the two walked back to their stilted house. The floodwaters had not receded, and the potholed road reflected the broken sky.

Zhou Ai and Chu Yi walked silently, one in front of the other, half a step apart.

Zhou Ai's fingertips unconsciously rubbed against the seam of his trousers. The rain had stopped, and the umbrella, now an unnecessary burden, was clutched tightly in his hand.

He glanced at Chu Yi beside him several times. The man had his head slightly lowered, his profile was taut, and his eyelashes were drooping.

Zhou Ai's little scheme to get closer to him, which arose because of the weather, seemed particularly insignificant at this moment.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something to break the suffocating silence, but found that even he, who was usually eloquent, didn't know where to begin.

Zhou Ai simply gripped the umbrella ribs tighter, her Adam's apple bobbing as she suppressed the inappropriate restlessness in her heart.

The path beneath his feet was difficult to walk on, slippery and muddy. Chu Yi seemed completely unaware, trudging forward with uneven steps, his expression dazed. In front of a particularly muddy puddle, he almost slipped and staggered.

Zhou Ai almost instinctively reached out and firmly supported his arm.

When their hands touched the cool fabric of each other's arms, they both paused almost imperceptibly.

"Be careful, the road is slippery." Zhou Ai's voice was lower and hoarse than usual, and she immediately let go of his hand after saying that.

Despite the brief contact, I could clearly feel the coolness of the other person's skin and that momentary tremor.

Chu Yi snapped out of his daze at the sudden touch and support. He looked up at Zhou Ai, his eyes still filled with lingering sorrow and a hint of confusion. "...Thank you," he whispered, his voice a little hoarse.

After this brief exchange, silence returned, but something subtle seemed to have changed.

They no longer walked one in front of the other, but instead became truly walking side by side.

The pace remained slow, the silence remained, but the air was no longer so stagnant that it was hard to breathe.

Zhou Ai stopped trying to find an excuse to get closer. He simply walked silently beside Chu Yi, occasionally slowing down in particularly difficult places and keeping an eye on Chu Yi's feet.

Chu Yi remained lost in his own thoughts, but Zhou Ai's presence acted as a silent anchor, gently pulling him back to reality from his excessive grief.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns of light on them.

A mountain breeze blew by, carrying the coolness of the rain, and stirred the hem of their clothes.

"Zhou Ai".

Two words, clear, steady, and even carrying a hint of barely perceptible weariness, stirred up a huge, unexpected wave in Zhou Ai's heart. He turned his head sharply to look at Chu Yi, his eyes filled with undisguised astonishment.

Chu Yi had never called him by his full name before.

He waited for what would follow, his heart pounding inexplicably.

"Zhou Ai, don't say those things again."

Chu Yi repeated it again: "Not Teacher Zhou, but Zhou Ai."

I finally heard it clearly this time.

Zhou Ai curled her lips, gripped the umbrella handle tightly, and reflexively tried to put on her usual nonchalant and innocent expression, using a light "Which words?" to muddy and obscure the sudden serious atmosphere.

This was his specialty and habitual method—a way to break the "automatic protection" mode that Chu Yi activated when facing him.

However, the moment the corners of his mouth curved into a slight smile, he met Chu Yi's eyes.

Those eyes, which usually held a certain aloofness and calm scrutiny, were now devoid of any hint of jest.

At this moment, they were like two bottomless pools of still water, clearly reflecting Zhou Ai's attempt to feign composure. His earnest, even obstinate, gaze was like a cold mirror, instantly revealing his true nature.

Zhou Ai's Adam's apple bobbed uncontrollably, and a dry feeling quickly spread.

The rhetorical question that was already on the tip of his tongue, "What words?", was stuck in his throat and could not be uttered.

His open mouth slowly closed, and all the pre-prepared perfunctory tricks crumbled automatically in the face of Chu Yi's overly serious demeanor.

Chu Yi's gaze shifted from his face to the distant, verdant, and hazy mountains after the rain, but quickly returned to Zhou Ai's face, this time with a desperate frankness.

"Zhou Ai, I'm actually a very insecure person." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear, striking Zhou Ai's heart. "Stop making those unrealistic jokes at me."

Chu Yi paused slightly, as if she needed to catch her breath before she could continue to express the deepest-rooted beliefs in her heart.

"In my view, all relationships are phases." He said this softly, but with an almost cruel certainty, as if stating a truth that had been proven countless times. "So, stop saying things that will make me misunderstand or cause me distress."

In the last sentence, Chu Yi's voice even seemed to tremble slightly, revealing the vulnerability beneath her calm and self-possessed demeanor.

"For me, any brief companionship is cruel."

The words "very cruel" were almost breathed out by Chu Yi, light and airy, yet so heavy that Zhou Ai's heart clenched, a sharp, aching pain rising within her.

Zhou Ai was completely speechless, and could only stare blankly at Chu Yi. The usual composed and indifferent expression on his face had vanished without a trace, leaving only utter astonishment and a bewildered feeling of being caught off guard.

He could even feel his blood flowing slower, his brain buzzing, the phrase "it's cruel" echoing repeatedly.

Chu Yi looked at Zhou Ai's bewildered and stunned appearance, and saw that the usual lazy look in his eyes was completely shattered, revealing the most real thing beneath, which was perhaps Zhou Ai himself was unaware of.

"All relationships are temporary," Chu Yi murmured to herself, lowering her head.

"But I longed for eternity with you, and that is my punishment."

Chu Yi had long ago decided to bury this deeply hidden, almost untouchable longing deep in her heart forever.

Chu Yi stopped looking at Zhou Ai, turned his head slightly to hide the complex emotions surging in his eyes, leaving only a slightly taut profile bathed in the pale afternoon sunlight, as if his confession had exhausted all his courage.

The astonishment on Zhou Ai's face slowly faded, and the mask of innocence that she usually used to feign shattered silently in the face of Chu Yi's unprecedented seriousness.

At this moment, Zhou Ai could even hear the heavy pounding of her own heart, one beat after another, striking her chest and echoing Chu Yi's words, "It's cruel."

He glanced at Chu Yi's profile, his Adam's apple bobbing again with difficulty.

At this moment, Zhou Ai belatedly realized that all her skillful banter and feigned frivolity in probing had become pale, laughable, and even... despicable.

He originally thought it was just an unspoken game among adults, a back-and-forth exchange that was harmless, but he never imagined that for Chu Yi, it might mean another form of "cruelty".

He opened his mouth, a thousand thoughts stuck in his throat, but in the end he could only utter a single word in a hoarse voice: "...Okay."

There was no explanation, no joking, and not even any further questioning.

It was just a dry, solemn promise.

This reaction seemed to surprise Chu Yi. His eyelashes trembled, and his gaze returned to Zhou Ai's face.

He saw that the frivolous light in Zhou Ai's eyes was gone, replaced by a calm and almost serious emotion.

Zhou Ai took a deep breath, as if he had made up his mind. He took half a step forward, closing the distance a little, but his posture was no longer an aggressive approach, but rather a clumsy sincerity.

"I'm sorry." Zhou Ai's voice was low, each word clearly enunciated. "I...I didn't know it would make you think that way. It won't happen again."

He paused, seemingly choosing his words carefully, then met Chu Yi's gaze frankly: "Those words... I admit, some were jokes, but some..."

Zhou Ai stopped speaking, seemingly feeling that it was pointless to distinguish between what was true and what was false at this point, and might even become another form of "unrealistic". So he swallowed the second half of his sentence and said instead, "Anyway, I won't say anything more."

Chu Yi listened quietly; Zhou Ai's frankness and apology seemed to be beyond his expectations.

Looking up at Zhou Ai's unusually serious peach blossom eyes, Chu Yi finally gave a soft "hmm," which was a way of accepting the apology and also a way of temporarily putting an end to the topic.

The atmosphere fell silent again, but it was no longer the heavy, oppressive silence of before, nor the ambiguous, sticky silence. Instead, it was a kind of... a slightly awkward but cleaner calm after being washed away by honesty.

Looking at Chu Yi's slightly lowered eyelids, Zhou Ai felt that inexplicable soreness welling up in her heart again.

He suddenly realized that Chu Yi's ever-present sense of detachment did not stem from arrogance or indifference, but rather from a deep-seated fear of loss and a form of self-protection.

He built the wall not because of rejection, but precisely because he was afraid of its brevity, afraid of the desolation that would follow its splendor.

His flippant words might have repeatedly struck that wall, reminding him of the "phased relationship" principle he firmly believed in.

"Let's go," Chu Yi suddenly said softly, breaking the silence. "It's time to prepare for the afternoon's recording." He turned and walked towards the stilted house, his back view slender and upright.

Zhou Ai watched his retreating figure but did not immediately follow.

In his heart, he silently shattered and reassembled all his previous frivolous thoughts.

Is it a phase-based relationship?

He lifted his foot and stepped on Chu Yi's footprints, following along step by step.

maybe.

But he suddenly wanted to try making this "phase" a little longer, and then a little longer still.

Use words that are no longer frivolous, and use methods that no longer make the other person feel uneasy.

All relationships may eventually come to an end.

But he could try to make the journey to the end... less like a short, destined-to-be-cruel companionship.