Day 30 of living together.
At 1:17 AM, Lin Xia was in a light sleep when she was startled awake by a faint sound.
She turned over and listened for a moment, but didn’t hear a second sound, so she lay back down to try to sleep again.
Then her phone screen lit up.
It was a text message.
The sender was Su Xin.
The content read: “If someone knew the outcome of everything, do you think they should still choose the process?”
Lin Xia stared at the message, squinting at it for a while before she suddenly felt a bit more awake.
She sat up and replied: “Why are you sending such a weird message at one in the morning?”
The other person replied almost immediately: “Can’t sleep. Just asking casually.”
Lin Xia pressed her brow, thought for a moment, and responded: “What’s the use of knowing only the outcome? The process is more important.”
Su Xin: “What if the process is boring?”
Lin Xia: “Are you bored?”
Su Xin: “No, I’m fine. It’s just a hypothetical.”
Lin Xia looked at the message, thought it over, then got out of bed, pushed open the bedroom door, and walked to the living room.
Yin Qi was sitting in the living room with the lights off.
She was leaning back against the sofa, the city’s glow from the window spilling in and clearly illuminating the contours of her slightly enchanting profile.
Lin Xia sat down in the chair across from her, not turning on the lights either.
In the dim light from the window, she spoke: “What were you just thinking about?”
“I already told you, nothing,” Yin Qi said without turning around.
“It was just a hypothetical.”
“What kind of person,”
Lin Xia said,
“would say they have a feeling of knowing all the outcomes?”
Yin Qi didn’t answer immediately.
A car drove by outside, its headlights sweeping across the wall before quickly disappearing.
“Sometimes, when your perception is too strong,”
Yin Qi said, “it gets a little… tiring. Then you start overthinking.”
“Perception too strong,”
Lin Xia repeated.
“Are you talking about your Memetic Trait?”
“Maybe,”
Yin Qi said.
“Sometimes I just… inexplicably know a lot. It’s always like that. It feels a bit stale.”
“Then,” Lin Xia said, “what comes next?”
Yin Qi paused for a moment, then turned her head slightly to look at Lin Xia from the side.
In the darkness, it was hard to see clearly, but Lin Xia could feel that the gaze was serious—not like the usual teasing.
“Then you just keep going,” Yin Qi finally said.
“There’s no ‘next.’ You just keep living like this, right?”
“Keep going because of what?”
“Because…”
Yin Qi thought for a moment, pausing for three seconds.
“Because sometimes there are interesting things around.”
“What do you mean… what interesting things?”
“Like you,” Yin Qi said, her tone flat—not like a compliment, more like stating an objective fact.
“You’re pretty interesting.”
Lin Xia fell silent.
She wasn’t sure if this was part of Su Xin’s strange behavior, but her tone didn’t sound like she was teasing.
“What’s interesting about me?”
Lin Xia said, her tone also flat.
“I’m just an ordinary Agent.”
“You’re so serious,” Yin Qi said.
“That’s pretty rare.”
“Being serious is my job,” Lin Xia said.
“What’s so special about that?”
“Of course it’s special,”
Yin Qi said, turning her head back to look out the window.
“You’re serious but not stupid. That combination is pretty rare.”
“…Are you complimenting me?”
“Yes.”
“…Thank you.”
The two of them sat there in the darkness for a while.
Neither turned on the light, nor did they continue the conversation.
The city’s glow still poured in peacefully, just as usual.
Finally, Lin Xia stood up first and said, “You should go to sleep. I still have to write my report tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Yin Qi said.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Lin Xia returned to her bedroom, lay down, stared at the ceiling for a while, then turned over and closed her eyes.
She did not write this conversation into her observation log.
The reason was… it was difficult to quantify, impossible to describe objectively.