#  Boston by Shangbo Jing 

 



 Boston by Shangbo Jing 波士顿 

## Boston by Shangbo Jing

"*In the dream, dozens of blurred faces took turns shouting at her. A hoarse bell yanked her soul brutally out of her body and dragged her back, again and again, to that sweltering classroom. She wrote furiously, great drops of sweat matting the loose hair at her temples and leaving snail-slick trails across her face, smearing the formulas and numbers she had written into a tangled blur. One unsolved question after another seemed to multiply without end; the exam paper grew longer and longer, like a mass of runaway, misshapen flesh greedily chewing away at her self-respect. The serifs at the edges of the printed words twisted with her shifting, blurring thoughts, half indifferent, half mocking.*"

"*Mom, my spirit is withering day by day. Another person has grown inside my body, someone I do not know. When she yanks at the muscles of her face and forces out a smile so wide it is almost manic, I cower in my chest, shivering, my own face frozen in a cold astonishment; when her mouth opens and closes and out pours a string of standard American English with that upward lilt, my lips still stubbornly rehearse the old poems I memorized in middle-school Chinese class; when she chats on and on with white classmates about Star Wars and Beyonce, panic washes over me. All around me is slick, noisy chatter. No matter how hard I listen, I can catch only scattered fragments, which I piece together into an understanding as full of holes as my own heart.*"

Yuancong found the girl’s QQ Space, and it was not locked. Perhaps she, too, hoped these posts with zero likes would one day be found.

§§§

Back in the room, Yuyao took off her coat, kicked off her shoes, and lay down on her soft bed. The lenses of the thin-rimmed glasses were in close contact with the skin, leaving a fingerprint-like stain on them. She remained motionless in this position. After two minutes, maybe three minutes, she turned over, picked up her phone and started scrolling.

The WeChat Moments is like an exquisite electronic showcase, displaying carefully selected lives for each other to joke, project, envy, and flatter. Sometimes, it also serves as a reason for someone to talk to you.

She stopped briefly at the resort hotel in Cancun, looking at the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean through the lens of her friend; she shared the same hatred with her classmates who complained about the weird professor, and posted a brief and powerful denunciation in the comment area, plus a sweaty soybean; holding her nose, she strode across the tweets forwarded by her distant cousin—the public account that has insisted for decades on interpreting all social problems as a conspiracy by the West to subvert China—and then walked around in her cousin’s newly renovated new home, commenting, and finally leaving a like to express that she had read it.

It started to rain unknowingly outside the window. After a while, when the rain has completely soaked the stacked fallen leaves, they no longer make a crisp crunch when stepped on, but a kind of half-stepping blockage and suspension. Often after entering the room, they find that there are still two reluctant leaves stuck to the soles of their shoes.

Yuyao got up and stared at the hazy neighborhood, emptying her mind. This is a short one-way street, with sidewalks on both sides paved with red bricks. New England-style single-family houses with white walls and gray tiles are lined up leisurely. The big golden retriever dog that often appeared and the middle-aged woman jogging in lululemon were not present at this moment. Only the pair of matching trash cans outside Yuyao’s window, one green and one black, were staring at each other with the big eyes of the pumpkin head on the porch across the street.

She lowered her head again, and the screen that suddenly lit up reminded her that there were new unread messages. When you unlock the phone, the first thing you see is a set of food photos, including fish-flavored shredded pork, potato stewed beef, stir-fried Shanghai greens, and home-baked cheese cake. The dishes are exquisite, the angles are comfortable, and the colors are appropriate, which makes Yuyao feel a little greedy. No mutual friends liked it. Below is a comment she just left: "Chef!!! When do I get to have a taste??", accompanied by a picture of a cat holding chopsticks. The other party quickly replied: "Hahaha, come to my house to cook together sometime! "

Switching back to the message interface, the same cartoon puppy spit out three bubbles:

"Are you free this weekend?"

"I bought a new casserole"

“I would like to invite a Shanghainese to come and taste my soup-making skills.”

Yuyao realized that, at least this time, the "sometime" she received was not a far-fetched figure of speech. Under the puzzled gaze of the beaver doll on the bedside, she took a deep breath and buried her face in the pillow for a long time, quickly calculating the code to be written and the job applications to be submitted this weekend. The answer given by the algorithm in her mind was yes, but Yuyao knew clearly that she was just looking for support for a prior conclusion.

So what? She suddenly became a little angry, but only a little. Unbeknownst to Yuyao, there was a little girl passing by who was immersed in playing the role of a ballerina in her imagination, straightening her calves, stretching her toes, holding her umbrella high, and gracefully jumping over the puddles outside her window.

§§§

Sociological imagination refers to the ability to place individual life situations in the context of macro-social structures and to be keenly aware of the inseparable connections between the two. The old professor on the podium said this, with two clauses nested in one sentence. His hair was gray, and the flesh on his chin was a little too obedient to the pull of gravity, but his voice was loud and clear, filling the entire lecture theater without the need for a microphone.

She made it clearer. Yuancong thought. Last night, after hearing about the content of his course tomorrow, the girl who majored in sociology and statistics in college excitedly lectured on Mills for a whole hour, and, surprisingly, he found it very interesting.

The first time Yuancong saw her was during a live-action role play game. They were a pair of childhood sweethearts in another time and space, in a precarious relationship with each other. In the end, he was willing to die for her, and she became the first empress in the kingdom’s history, but she shed tears every night in front of the spiritual tablet. When the curtain opened again, a gilded red robe gently slid in, slowly sat down beside him, and smiled at him.

Then, Her Majesty, the most powerful empress, took a sip of milk tea.

Acquaintance is nothing more than this. Added WeChat and chatted for a long time. The seeds of the topic were planted with a good night. Maybe a few days, maybe a week, when an opportunity comes, it will be reborn.

Which school are you in? What’s your major? I’m already old. About to graduate with a master’s degree. You’re only in your junior year? I’ve been sitting here for so long that my back hurts because I have an early class tomorrow. I forgot to transfer the milk tea money to you. Do you know this person? Hey, you also went to see Hamilton. I was freezing to death today. I went to Costco and bought a steak to cook. Was urged by my advisor to make progress. I really want to go skiing in the winter. There’s the smell of weed downstairs. Why are you listening to this song? Where are you going for Thanksgiving? I’ve been pouring out my resume these past two days. Will white people just shut up? There will be another ddl tomorrow. It was a leg day yesterday. Dunkin has released a new product that tastes great. I want to go back to China so bad. I just tasted the gelato of my life.

As he followed the crowd out of the classroom, those tangled threads were still winding through Yuancong’s mind. If you tasted them carefully, each strand carried a slightly different flavor.

"Yo. " When he passed by the colorful bulletin board on the first floor, a boy with light blond perm and earrings came up to him and said hello.

Yuancong raised his chin in agreement.

The two walked away from each other for a few seconds. The boy seemed to have just remembered something and turned around to stop him: "Hey, wait a minute! There’s a game tonight. 9:30 at Seventh House. Tim is bringing two girls over. " At this point, he raised his eyebrows slightly and said, "only the handsome and the beauty. " He bitten the two words very hard.

"Tonight... " Yuancong thought for a moment, "Okay. Shall we grab a meal first or meet directly over there?"

"Let’s go together in my car, and have a quick bite when we get there. " He paused and then added as if he just remembered: "My car has been modified and I just got it back the day before yesterday. " His tone was full of showoff that he didn’t hide well or didn’t want to hide at all.

Yuancong made an OK gesture. Wang Kai walked away.

That night, in the booth of Seventh House, five youngsters were gathering around shaking the dice, some picking and some flying, and it was endless. After a bottle of champagne, two rounds of cocktails and a round of treat shots from the bartender, Tim and Wang Kai led a girl to the dance floor to dance, while Yuancong and Eliza coincidentally sat in their seats without moving. Oddly enough, Eliza actually looked more relaxed at this time.

Yuancong smiled at her and shouted to the overwhelming techno-style music: "What, don’t feel like partying, or haven’t drunk enough?"

Eliza, who was wearing a red dress, also shouted back: "Can’t it be because I’m wearing high heels that I can’t jump! "

"Then another round?"

"What? I didn’t hear clearly! " But Eliza didn’t mean to get closer.

Yuancong stared at her for a while, took out the electronic cigarette from his pocket, and pointed at the door with the cigarette holder. Eliza understood, and her facial expression became more relaxed.

Five minutes later, the two stood side by side outside the window of the fast food restaurant next door. After Yuancong took a puff, the light bar at the end of the e-cigarette flashed, and the orange-flavored smoke dissipated into the night of Allston. There are mostly Asian faces walking on the narrow sidewalk, walking briskly and carrying food and drink in their hands.

"Thank you, it’s a bit too noisy for me there. I usually go to quieter places only. "

"That’s right. I felt the same way at first. Then I got drunk one time and started having fun. "

"I see. Turns out you are the one who didn’t drink enough today. " Eliza teased him with her delicate eyeliner.

"If I really drink enough, I will be the only one who goes crazy, and the four of you will be watching the monkey. "

Eliza was delighted when she heard this, and she didn’t know whether it was the words or the resonant sonority of his voice that betrayed his rare Beijing accent.

Before returning to the club, the two chatted about perfume brands, major ski resorts around Boston, and the pickled ham that Eliza used to stew at home.

Shanghainese love soup. It’s time to buy a casserole. This is far from my last thought before falling asleep at night.

§§§

At 3:15 pm, Yuyao took the red line subway into the city from Harvard Square. The car door closed, isolating the cheerful saxophone sound on the platform behind him. The carriage in the afternoon was not crowded. There were office workers with their shirts untucked, girls with purple afros and nose rings, children leaning on their father’s shoulders, and workers wearing fluorescent vests and gray knitted hats.

The carriage made a sharp turn, and the track made a heart-wrenching scream. At a certain moment, everyone seemed to have closed their eyes at the same time, as if they were enduring or meditating. If sound waves of the same frequency tune the brain in the car to the same frequency band, and dreams interfere and overlap like water waves, filling the gaps between each other, wouldn’t everything be messed up? A dinner menu suddenly appears on a modernist painting, a sinuous stock chart overlaps with the wrinkles on my grandmother’s face, and a dancing alpaca is suddenly inserted into the memory of kissing my partner when I left the house in the morning. Yuyao couldn’t help but be amused by her own imagination.

She suddenly realized that for the first time in those five minutes, her attention had been diverted from the McKinsey application she had just submitted twenty-four hours ago. But ironically, the moment she realized it, the application came back with a vengeance. Among the reasons why Yuyao couldn’t stop thinking about it, only about 30% was anxiety about uncertainty, and the remaining 70% was surprise and shame that she actually submitted the application.

Yes, shame. Until February this year, she had been expressing her opinion on her social media, believing that only a small number of the elites from elite schools who ultimately chose investment banking or consulting did so out of true love. Most of them were simply captured by anxiety and herd mentality, and chose the white-collar jobs that sounded the best, the most glamorous, and shined as the best stepping stones—perhaps alongside good starting salaries and work visas. She added that the rewards received by these industries are disproportionate to their contribution to society, thus creating a misallocation of resources, while the well-educated minds and unplaced ambitions that should instead go to social work, climate issues or human rights organizations. A classmate accused her of judging on other people’s career choices (it is unclear whether this classmate also chose such a career), but Yuyao explained that what she was criticizing was a structural mismatch, and it was meaningless to talk about individual choices apart from the structure.

Now, every word was like a boomerang hitting her.

There is always a sense of uneasiness lingering in Yuyao’s heart, which has become increasingly intense recently. She would like to think that she is not an excellent sheep and will not regard staying in the United States, obtaining citizenship, and living an exquisite but mediocre life as the ultimate goal in life. Her essence is defined by what really matters: the golden dust escaping in the afternoon air, the wet eyes of a street dog, and the silent wail beneath the surface of modern society. As for achievements in meritocratic games, they are nothing more than an accidental result, at most a by-product.

But every step she took happened to be on the pre-prepared optimal solution. Is this possible? Going to the best school, getting the highest grades, applying for the most decent job - she realized with horror that her voice criticizing mainstream values ​​was as honest as her body.

The red line subway passed the Kendall/MIT station and began to ascend along the track, as if it was stumbling through the darkness and rushing towards the vaguely visible light at the end of the tunnel——

still.

levitate.

Everything is different. The carriage is filled with weightless yet ubiquitous photons. In the amber-like stagnant time and space, Yuyao’s left palm touched the dry and cold metal. Following the inertia brought by the kinetic energy, she got up from her seat with almost no effort. Using the railing as the axis, her body danced through a light half-arc and landed gracefully. She couldn’t wait for the beautiful scenery to soak into her eyes.

The subway is running on Tower Bridge at the moment. Outside the slightly dusty glass window, blue spreads wantonly throughout the world - the light blue of the sky, the gray-blue of the curtain walls of high-rise buildings, and the sapphire blue of the Charles River. There are flocks of gulls, and the sailboats are passing by. In the sky and on the ground, only white outlines can be seen in the blue. The clouds are very interesting and keep a just right polite distance from the Tower Bridge. When people on the bridge look up, they see the sky extending to infinity. The scenery is so open, as to accommodate all the hearts and imaginations.

§§§

At 3:47, the moment Yuyao stepped out of the subway station, a row of pigeons came from the end of the street on the right and whistled past her eyes. She watched as they turned leisurely around the Macy’s intersection and cut onto Washington Street. Yuyao had passed through this famous Theater Street several times in the evening. The narrow street spacing had the signboards and banners arranged in a staggered and tight manner, making them indisputably visible to every pedestrian. The lights of Paramount are shining and colorful, the marble floor of the Civic Opera House is as smooth as a mirror, and the sinking twilight is the perfect canvas to make up for the lack of solemnity at the end. This is the most recognizable face of the city: old and modern, supplemented by a bit of nostalgia and art from the golden age.

After walking five blocks, eight coffee shops, and about six-hundred-and-seventy heartbeats, the boy in a white sweatshirt came into her sight. He was not looking at his phone. Instead, he put his hands in his pockets, tilted his head slightly, and tiptoed rhythmically with the toes of his shoes. His jawline was clearly outlined by the sunlight. This look reminded Yuyao of a boy in her class in elementary school. He would often run to the downstairs of her home, shout her name loudly, look up at the sky, and wait patiently for her to come downstairs to play together.

Seeing Yuyao approaching, Yuancong smiled at her.

Suddenly, they were walking side by side on the streets of Chinatown, close enough that someone from afar could smell the scent of fig and cedar wood perfume on her body.

"I’m sorry, have you waited for a long time?"

"It’s only ten minutes. A very gorgeous Lamborghini just passed by. Gotta thank you for giving me the opportunity to feast my eyes on it. " Yuancong’s tone was very normal and even sincere, but somehow, when the words came out of his mouth, it always made people feel careless. Maybe it was because of his Supreme sweatshirt and loose sweatpants, or maybe because of the leisurely way he put his hands in his pockets when walking.

Yuyao rolled her eyes nonchalantly: "Can you stop being such a guy, I beg you. "

Yuancong said "Hey" and responded with ease: "When I buy a Lamborghini and take you for a ride, you can say this to me again. "

"Oh my god, who is this rich daddy I am talking to? I can’t even resist." Yuyao pinched her throat and mocked at him with a vivid Beijing accent.

Yuancong no longer remembers what was said next, but he only remembers that the two of them laughed together under the clear blue sky in autumn, with Chinatown with a history of 156 years at their feet.

For a while, both sides fell silent, secretly feeling the air that separated them. But that silence is not an awkward silence, but a clear but shapeless glass container, allowing some tacit understandings to sway leisurely and freely in it.

Entering the supermarket, the complex and varied smells and slightly dim lights awakened some memories from far away. The cold taste of quick-frozen food. The smell of dampness in the basement. The fermented smell of soy products. The fishy smell of seafood. The dusty smell of those aged spices deep in the shelves. In the dimension of sensory memory, this Asian supermarket is consistent with small counties in China in the 2000s, rather than the Boston of 2025. In his childhood, when his family’s supermarket business was just starting out, he spent 3,600 afternoons after school walking through the cramped and dark aisles, chasing his father’s back hidden in the rows of shelves. Yuancong who has just read Greek mythology will imagine that he is in the labyrinth of Minos, but this labyrinth is made of Pixian Douban, Longkou vermicelli, Wangwang gift bags, and Wan Chai Pier dumplings. Fortunately, his family was still intact at that time, and his grandma would always find him when he was lost, squat down with the smell of soap, and pick him up, just like——

"What are you thinking about?"

Aromas of fig and cedar wood. The girl in front of him was holding a baby plant in her hand. She turned her head and looked at him with a calm and gentle look. In the bustling supermarket, she seemed more real than all the other sights and sounds combined.

"Nothing. " Yuancong paused, then naturally took the baby cabbage from Yuyao’s hand and threw it into the shopping cart. After thinking for a moment, he added: "When I was a child, my family also owned a supermarket. Every time I came in, I felt like I had traveled through time. "

"That’s right! Remember to treat me to ice cream next time! " Yuyao’s tone became cheerful and casual again.

"No problem, plus guolicheng and cuixiangmi. " Yuancong answered casually.

For the next twenty minutes, Yuyao and Yuancong pushed and pulled the shopping cart in tandem, chatting about the season, their mood, the squirrels on campus, the winter bamboo shoots for soup at night, and loudly arguing whether to dip dumplings in balsamic vinegar or mature vinegar. When she was almost reaching the checkout area, Yuyao screamed and trotted back to get the matcha wafer biscuits she wanted to eat. Staring at the mountains of ingredients piled up from afar, thinking that they would soon be turned into dinner for two by their own hands, some soft mist filled Yuancong’s heart.

§§§

"You live here?"

Yuancong nodded casually, holding a heavy shopping bag in each hand, and strode forward.

Yuyao raised her head slightly. This place is located in the wharf area of ​​East Boston. The striped stone floor tiles have no joints and are seamless; the flowerbed trees are as delicate as if they have been trained in etiquette, and they are just right and lovely from beginning to end; the apartment building looks like it was built just yesterday. The overall color is silver gray, but the connections are boldly magenta and goose yellow. It stands next to the water body, neat and not crowded; through the glass exterior wall on the first floor, you can also see the bright and spacious gym. It is dusk at this moment, with white gulls singing in groups, the sea breeze is slightly salty, and there are no other buildings around to obstruct it. Visitors’ eyes naturally fall on the golden river surface, and follow the sparkling water waves into the sea not far away.

To put it simply, every frame here can be used as an advertisement to sell the sophisticated urban middle-class version of the American dream.

Yuyao followed Yuancong into the lobby, took the elevator, and walked through the thickly carpeted corridor. After opening the door, she saw a neat, modern, and angular apartment. On the other side of the door, a small balcony with a glass sliding door stood quietly.

"Come on, come on, just put the grocery over there, and I’ll get you slippers." Yuancong pointed to the island in the kitchen area on the left side of the door.

Yuyao lowered her head, and a pair of brand new blue Cinnamon Roll slippers had been accurately placed by the boy at her feet. Her toes settled in comfortably and began to measure this finely decorated space that carried finely decorated life.

Entering the living room, there is a small wine cabinet on the right hand side. There are some basic bartending tools on the dark-textured wooden countertop, with suspended slide rails on the top and two rows of tall glasses hanging upside down. The lower level is filled with all kinds of wine. The ones Yuyao can name are only Bacardi that is half full, Johnnie Walker that is 70% full, and the bottle of Absolut Vodka that only has one bottom left. Every remaining glass bottle looks more exquisite than the last.

She turned her head and studied the shelves opposite, which were filled with handmade Gundam models, and found that the texture and fineness of the armor and weapons were completely different from the models she occasionally glanced at in Taniko’s shop. Yuyao pointed to the model in the upper left corner, turned her head and asked Yuancong who was standing in the center of the living room: "What is this model called?"

"F-91. "

"What about this one?"

"Z Gundam. "

"And this one?"

"Strike on Freedom. "

Yuyao originally wanted to see Yuancong’s embarrassed look, but he showed no sign of embarrassment or impatience. He answered all questions and answered them quickly, as if he was vaguely looking forward to continuing to show off his knowledge base. She rolled her eyes covertly and began to claim that Gundum models were symbolized bourgeoisie consumerist habitus.

Cooking together felt a little like dancing a pas de deux. The thought came to Yuyao for no particular reason when Yuancong’s arm reached around her, as she washed the vegetables, to grab the salt shaker. A cheesy variety show played on the TV in the living room as background noise. The water for blanching meat rolled at a boil. Yuancong, slicing cucumber, turned and slipped a piece into her mouth; a cool sweetness spread across her tongue.

Which supermarket do you usually go to?——Trader Joe’s.

MBTI?——ENTP.

What cartoons did you watch when you were a kid?——The Legend of the Seven Heroes of Rainbow Cat and Blue Rabbit.

Is there anything else I can help you with, Chef?——No, you go and have a rest.

Yuyao walked around the island and sat down on a high stool. Opposite was Yuancong who was making soup and stir-frying. It was the best viewing position. After a while, she jumped down again, took out the orange juice from the refrigerator, poured two cups out, then sat back down, holding her chin in her hands, watching the boy skillfully stir-fry the sugar glaze over low heat.

The dusk is misty, the last ray of sunset on the seaside is about to disappear, and the autumn night is approaching. But in this small world, the warm yellow light suddenly turned on, the aroma of simmering green onion and garlic slices filled the whole room, and the idle and continuous conversation soaked every nerve like warm water. Yuyao clearly saw in her eyes from afar that he, like her, was reliving some long-lasting and warm memory; the resonance created an invisible thin line between the two, connecting his North China Plain at one end and her Hongkou alley at the other. She was finally convinced that this moment was the scene she had glimpsed countless times in her midnight dreams during her six years of studying abroad.

While they were sitting on the sofa drinking and chatting, Yuancong went back to the room. When he came out again, his clothes had been changed, and the scent of white tea was exuding from the collar and cuffs. He chose a seat not too far away from her, just enough for his knees to occasionally touch.

"It doesn’t matter even if you don’t succeed. Your school is so good and your ability is so strong, you will definitely have a lot of options. " Yuancong thought that he should respond to the anxiety Yuyao inadvertently revealed when talking about McKinsey’s application.

Yuyao smiled bitterly and shook her head. "It’s not that easy. There are only a few companies left around Boston, even in the United States, that are willing to take OPT, and even fewer are willing to sponsor you for H1b. "

"What is opt? I know H1b is a work permit, but if I can find a job, doesn’t it mean I can get a work permit?"

Yuyao turned to look at Yuancong. He still looked sincere, as if he had no idea what kind of question he had just asked. But it was this kind of sincerity, which Yuyao admired so much, that hit her heart at this moment.

"Oh, it’s okay. It’s normal for a junior kid to not know. " Yuyao said in a relaxed tone, not knowing whether it was to Yuancong or herself, and then changed the subject without any clue.

The gin and tonic in the glass was at the bottom, but the sangria was still half full.

"... I quite agree with that saying. Sometimes, people don’t live for a lifetime, but live for a few moments. " Yuyao added a conclusion to her memories of the senior year application season.

Yuancong watched the girl finish this sentence in a gentle tone and nodded unconsciously: "I was chatting with a friend in the middle of the night in my freshman year. It was still winter at that time and it was very cold. The more we talked about the hot springs in Hokkaido, the more we wanted to bathe in them. In the end, we directly bought a flight to Japan the next morning. I stayed for four days and skipped maybe five or six classes. The moment I suddenly thought of buying a plane ticket, it really felt very different."

Yuyao smiled and said, "When I said ‘moments of living’, I didn’t mean skipping classes. " At the end, he added: "But do you already have a tourist visa for Japan? I applied for it almost half a year in advance."

As soon as the question came out, Yuyao regretted it, because she had a vague premonition of the answer to the question, and because the answer would permanently change the relationship between them, whether it was the existing relationship or the possible future relationship, it was irreversible and irrevocable. The lights in her delusional room trembled, and in her mind it seemed like a glass was falling, falling toward an unseen abyss.

Yuancong hesitated for a moment, and then said in an understatement: "Oh, we hold American passports. "

Snap. The glass finally hit the bottom and fell into pieces all over the floor.

"Okay, now I see why you don’t know what OPT is, rich daddy. " Yuyao still had a semi-ridiculous tone to cover up the bitterness in her heart. She had obviously tried very hard not to think about the monthly rent of this apartment, as well as the prices of those liquors and models.

Fortunately, she didn’t allow this episode to completely ruin the night. When the two stepped onto the balcony, Yuyao turned her head and looked to the right, encountering the city skyline across the river. If she were in an art film at this moment, what would follow would be a three-minute slow-motion shot without words: first a long shot of the surging river, a brightly lit office building, and a magnificent clock tower; then a close-up shot of her face, with a lower angle shot of her standing and staring, a shot of the lights on the other side of the night reflecting the confusion on her face, a shot of her long hair being rolled up in the evening breeze, and her squinting eyes occasionally being blocked by the strands.

Yuyao was on the right and Yuancong was on the left. They leaned forward on the guardrail, and cast their sights toward Boston in the distance in silence. Yuyao was looking at the night view, and Yuancong might also be looking at the night view. The hands of the two of them maintained a tacit understanding of touching each other lightly. Neither of them made any further movements, but they did not separate either.

Boston is a beautiful city, she said.

Suitable for many stories to happen, he continued.

When they parted that night, Yuyao could feel an impulse in Yuancong, standing at the door, to pull her into an embrace. She believed she was right, perhaps because the same impulse lived in her as well. But she did not move. She only left him with a smile that would stay etched in his memory for a long time, said good night, and turned to go downstairs.

§§§

Yuyao has been sitting in front of the email on the screen for 23 minutes. She knew because the sending time on the email was 20:18. She clicked on it almost the second she received it, and now the time on the computer desktop showed 20:41. Simple math problem - at least much simpler than McKinsey’s cases. Perhaps she received the rejection letter precisely because her capability was only enough to solve such simple arithmetic problems.

At the moment, she really couldn’t help but feel a little self-defeating.

She once thought that applying for consulting was equivalent to giving up the moon and choosing sixpence, and she felt sour about it. Now, she found that Sixpence suddenly grew legs, kicked her away, and ran away, leaving her sitting there with empty hands like a clown. It’s as if you were singing a song and the note went up too high from the beginning, and you couldn’t finish even if you broke your throat. You had to lower it an octave, only to find that you were singing the wrong lyrics throughout.

What now? Apply for PhD? Continue to seek for a job? Or...return to China?

The WeChat video invitation that popped up in the lower right corner interrupted Yuyao’s confused thoughts. It was mom. She picked up.

The face that she had once taken for granted popped up on the screen, but in the past six years she had been spending more time apart than together. She looks just like her mother - Yuyao could always hear this from the adults around her when she was a child. As she grew up, her eyebrows gradually took on the outline of her father, and eventually no one said that anymore. However, Yuyao felt that after studying sociology and gradually understanding her situation as a daughter, as a wife, as a mother, as a woman - and of course, most importantly, as herself - she and her mother were spiritually closer than ever before.

"Nan-nan, are you free to talk now?" This is her mother’s fixed opening line every time she makes a video call to her. A familiar sentence made Yuyao almost cry today.

"Yes, Mom. "

" Nan-nan, how are you doing at school recently? How is your job search?"

"I’m doing well. I even went to a friend’s house to cook a few days ago. "

Silence, pause.

“I got turned down for a job.”

"Ah? Is that so? How could it be? Your school is so good and your grades are so good, you shouldn’t be. Did you not perform well in the interview?"

Yuyao just shook her head slightly, indicating to her mother that she did not want to continue this topic.

"Okay. " There was another silence. In the video, Yuyao’s mother looked around and spoke in a measured tone: "Nan-nan, let me tell you something. "

"Hmm. What’s the matter?"

"Some time ago, your dad was not feeling well and went to the hospital for a check-up. " Mom’s eyelids drooped slightly, and then she said in a weak and deeper voice: "It’s lung cancer, but luckily it’s in the early stage. "

There were no huge waves, just chaotic heavy rain, which kept hitting her heart.

Mom continued: "Your dad doesn’t want to tell you because he is afraid that you will be stressed and worried when you are alone in a foreign country. "

"But I think my little girl is strong enough. Besides, you are old enough, so you ought to know."

"Don’t worry too much. I am still here. You just have to focus on finding a job. I am sorry we can’t really help you in this regard. But after so many years, it took so long to finish your studies. It would be a pity not to accumulate a few years of work experience in the United States. "

"Mom, don’t worry. " In the end, Yuyao had only one sentence left to say. It’s always like this, always like this, with a word of "don’t worry" to cover up how much cannot be said and what cannot be done.

After hanging up the video, Yuyao hugged her legs and sat motionless on the bed, letting the cold autumn rain outside the window invade her room.

Work. McKinsey. Refuse letter. OPT. Work authorization. Visa. Lung cancer. Idealism. Elite. Mian-zi. White people. Discriminate. Grandpa and grandma. Spare ribs rice cake on Yunnan Road.

Just like this, it was past one o’clock in the morning. Yuyao was already ready to collect her emotions, get up, wash up and fall asleep. But at this moment, she suddenly remembered something very small. She learned to swim in elementary school. Every time she came back from the swimming pool, her mother would give her a cup of brown sugar and ginger water, but she didn’t like the taste of ginger and would only drink it if she had a piece of butterfly cake as a reward. One night, she was pleasantly surprised to find that there was a small matcha cake next to the butterfly cake - her father ran to Wujiaochang to buy it for her. She first ate the butterfly cake in one bite, and then spent half an hour enjoying the fragrant and sweet little cake bit by bit, while her parents watched and laughed.

It was such a small thing that caused her endurance to break like a breached dam.

The tears rolled down like broken threads and turned into howls. She spent twelve years pushing herself hard, staying up countless nights, and taking countless antidepressants, just to become, from a little girl surrounded by family and friends, to a prestigious elite who shed tears alone in the early morning in a foreign country.

Yuyao knew the day after she lost the competition in her sophomore year of high school that after crying all her tears, her body would shake uncontrollably, and lack of oxygen would make her eyes darken. The rainy night was long and the road ahead was unclear. She was as afraid of being alone as she was of the boundless darkness. With a dazed brain, she reached for her phone, the only dimly glowing presence in the room.

Yuancong picked up the phone within three seconds. Hearing the sobbing on the other end, he still knew nothing, yet already understood what he needed to understand. Whether out of trust or sheer desperation, the girl was showing him her most vulnerable side. Did he sincerely pity Yuyao, or was he seizing the chance to move the relationship forward? Somewhere deep inside, Yuancong felt the two were the same thing.

"Do you want me to come over, or come to my house? If you want to come over, I can call you a taxi for you and then go downstairs to pick you up. "

Under the black umbrella held by Yuancong, the two finally got the hug they wanted when they separated last time. Not only that, but interest was also paid - the second hug happened in the living room of Yuancong’s home, the third hug on the sofa, the fourth in the bathroom, and the fifth on Yuancong’s big bed. Yuyao tried her best to press her lips to Yuancong’s collarbone, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, as if this was the only thing she could hold on to in the entire world.

At 3:56 in the morning, Yuyao and Yuancong saw the stars in the sky.

Waking up from the soft beige sheets, Yuyao found that she was wearing a white T-shirt of Yuancong’s. It’s a nice day in Boston today. The midday sun is just right, and some tiny particles are swimming lazily in the beam. The entire king bed was hers, and the sound of clinking spatulas and the aroma of frying bacon came from the living area. She could almost use these senses to picture the boy making breakfast in her mind.

Yuyao knew that if she wanted to, she could get out of bed right now, walk into the living room, wrap her arms around Yuancong from behind, and propose to him, and he would say yes. If not now, then surely in a few months, or half a year. She simply knew it. By then, holding a temporary green card, she could begin looking for work at an unhurried pace; once visa was no longer the problem, her capabilities and resume could finally be worth what they should have been all along, as if the game had at last returned to a normal level of difficulty. Years later, they might own four or five homes - a house in Quincy, an apartment in Manhattan, a vacation place in Florida, a three-bedroom in Beijing... along with a cat and a dog, two children in private school, one gas car and one electric car, and yearly vacations in Puerto Rico or Cancun. Of course there could also be cheating, affairs, or divorce. But at least now, in the very best years of her life, she could begin to enjoy the lightness of living, couldn’t she?

But just imagining such a light and perfect middle-to-high-income life made Yuyao feel panic and suffocation. There is still too much weight waiting for her to lift, and she must lift it, whether it is family, self-esteem, or language, nation, and criticality. This bed, this apartment, this boy - it was all so comfortable that she saw nothing in the midst of everything.

When Yuancong heard the noise coming from behind, he turned around with a smile on his face, ready to tell the girl that breakfast would be ready soon and to ask her to wash up first, but the neatly dressed girl in front of him didn’t even look at him and walked straight towards the door——

The door slammed shut, just like the morning his ex-girlfriend left. Yuancong was just like that day as well, standing there, staring at the door, not thinking about anything. The bacon and fried eggs in the pan gradually scorched until they caught fire; smoke alarm was triggered, and he allowed himself to soak in the water from the sprinkler amidst the harsh beeping sound.

§§§

At 1:48, Yuancong closed QQ Space, which he had not opened for a long time, and was going to smoke on the balcony for a while. He would not know that the owner of the text he had just browsed took an uber to the downstairs of his house this early morning without telling anyone.

At this moment, Yuyao was walking down the flat and wide stone steps, walking straight towards the water body, until her ribs were pressed against the railing, and there was nothing else in her field of vision except the dark water. Across the river, Boston radiates a breathtaking charm at night, bustling but not ostentatious, quiet but not cold. The lights were like fireflies trapped by the flat lines at the edge of the building, scattering in all directions with nowhere to escape. When Yuyao looked across the way, she saw the dream of her girlhood. The dream is a collection of fragments that are both aggregated and separated, sprouting from the desire to escape. The details are filled in by foreign movies, with a polyphony of freedom, abundance and sex as the theme.

She suddenly remembered *The Great Gatsby* she had read in high school English class: "You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock. " That green light burned through all night and burned out the whole night. Just like Gatsby couldn’t tell the difference between Daisy and the American dream, Yuyao sometimes takes the boy upstairs as a lighter and more comfortable life, like a wild horse running off the reins and never coming back, rising along the thin air until it reaches a world of clouds where weight does not exist.

She had played an almost literary game, and a line from it jumped into her consciousness impatiently: "You and I were born in the era after the dust has settled, and everything is a thousandth of a second too late. " Yes, the epic has passed, and the movie has ended long ago. They are just a list of credits scrolling stubbornly, maybe not even complete Chinese characters, just a small stroke, a *pie* or a *nai*. This is a brand new era! They are not needed to think or entertain; they are not needed to be radical or conservative; they are not needed to struggle or enjoy; they are not needed to believe or deconstruct. All the great ideals of the past now only leave some faint shadows for people who have never experienced them personally to remember. It doesn’t matter whether she climbs this secular ladder or not, whether she stops halfway up, whether she pretends to be still climbing after she stops, or whether she claims she never tried to climb up after falling. Apart from her, the world will not change one bit.

The night got deeper, and the cold wind made Yuyao’s limbs stiff and her mind numb. She sat down on the shore, closed her eyes, and while half asleep, she saw the scene she saw when she returned to her hometown in Gansu with her grandfather the summer before last. There is a local custom of "leading the sheep", where people lead a lamb and pour a bottle of water on it. The more the lamb shakes and the greater the amplitude, the more blessings it produces.

She saw the wrinkles of the earth imprinted on the backs of people’s necks, and the ravines of the years carved into the foreheads of young and old.

The sun was scorching in the sky and dark clouds were covering their eyes. Dozens of family members burned a handful of paper money and brought a lamb with wet hair. They laughed and shouted in unison: Shake! shake! shake! The yellow sky and thick soil, my ancestors and holy mothers, have blessed my family with many children and many welfare——

2026.4.22 in Boston

 

 

 

## 波士顿

文/ 麦分

“*梦中数十张模糊的面容轮次对她呐喊，喑哑的铃声将她的灵魂粗暴地扯出躯壳，无数次拉回那个闷热的教室里。她奋笔疾书，斗大的汗滴虬结了碎发，在脸上留下一条条蜗牛爬行过的黏腻，将写下的公式与数字晕染成一团乱麻。一道道解不开的题似乎在无尽地自我增殖，试卷越做越长，像是一团失控的畸形血肉，贪婪地大口咀嚼着她的自尊。字体边缘的衬线跟着她模糊多变的思路一同扭来扭去，半是冷漠，半是嘲笑。*”

“*妈妈，我的心灵在一天天枯萎，我的身体里长出了另一个人，另一个我不认识的人。在她全力上扯面部肌肉、做出近乎狂笑的微笑时，我瑟瑟发抖地躲在心房里，脸上是一种冷漠的诧异；在她嘴巴一张一合，便滚出一串尾调上扬的标准美式英语时，我的唇齿仍然在执拗地一遍遍复诵着初中语文课上背下的古诗词；在她与白人大谈特谈星球大战与碧昂斯时，我觉得惶然极了，四周净是滑不溜手的嘈杂絮语，怎么也听不真切，竖起耳朵、竭尽全力，才能截下些许零散的片段，拼成和我内心一样千疮百孔的理解。*”

远从找到了那个女孩的QQ空间，没有上锁。或许，她也希望这些0个点赞的文字被人找到。

§§§

回到房间，妤遥脱下外套，踢掉鞋子，一头趴倒在她柔软的小床上。细边眼镜的镜片与皮肤亲密接触，印上了一块指纹般的污迹。她保持这个姿势一动不动，过了两分钟，也许是三分钟，翻了个身，随手捞起手机开始刷。

朋友圈像是一块精致的电子橱窗，陈列着精挑细选过的生活，供彼此玩笑、投射、歆羡、奉承。有时，它也担任有心人搭话的由头。

她在坎昆的度假酒店短暂驻足了一瞬，透过那位好友的镜头眺望着大西洋的日落，又与吐槽奇葩教授的同学同仇敌忾，在评论区发表了一句简短有力的声讨，外加一个流汗黄豆。她捏着鼻子大步跳过了远房表叔转发的推文——该公众号数十年如一日地坚持把一切社会问题都解读为西方试图颠覆中国的阴谋——随后在她堂姐刚装修好的新居中踢踢踏踏地走来走去，品头论足，末了留下一个赞，表示已阅。

窗外已不知不觉飘起了小雨。再过一会，等到雨水完全浸润层叠的落叶，它们踩上去便不再是咯嚓咯嚓的干脆，而是一种半推半就的阻滞与悬浮，往往进入室内后，才发现鞋底还粘着两片恋恋不舍的有情之叶。

妤遥爬起身来，注视着烟雨朦胧的街区，放空大脑。这是条不长的单向街，两侧人行道由红砖铺就，新英格兰式的独栋裹着白墙灰瓦，从容不迫地一字排开。时常出没的金毛大狗与身着lululemon慢跑的中年女性此刻俱不在场，只剩下妤遥窗外那对形影相吊的垃圾桶，一绿一黑，正和街对面门廊上的南瓜头大眼瞪小眼。

她又重新低下头，骤然亮起的屏幕提示她有新的未读消息。解锁手机，首先映入眼帘的是一组美食照片，鱼香肉丝，土豆炖牛肉，小炒上海青，还有自家烤的奶酪蛋糕。碗碟精致，角度舒适，调色得当，让妤遥觉出点馋来。没有共同好友点赞。下面有她刚刚留下的一句评论：“大厨！！！什么时候咱也能吃上”，配上一张拿着筷子的猫。对方很快回复：“哈哈哈，有空来我家一起做饭！”

切回消息界面，同一个卡通小狗头像吐出了三个气泡：

“这周末有空吗！”

“我新买了个砂锅”

“想请上海人来品鉴一下我的煲汤技术”

妤遥意识到，至少这一次，她收到的“有空”不是一种遥遥无期的修辞手法。在床头海狸玩偶的疑惑注视下，她深吸一口气，将脸在枕头里埋了半晌，飞速计算着这周末要写完的代码与要提交的工作申请。脑中算法给出的答案是yes，但妤遥清楚地知道，她不过是在为一个先行的结论寻找支撑罢了。

那又怎样呢？她忽然有点恼羞成怒起来，但，也只有一点点。在妤遥觉察之外，有一个路过的小女孩正沉浸于扮演她想象中的芭蕾舞演员，挺起小腿，绷起足尖，高举雨伞，优雅地跳过她窗外的小水洼。

§§§

社会学的想象力指的是将个体的生活境遇置于宏观社会结构的语境之下，敏锐地觉察二者之间密不可分的关联之能力。讲台上的老教授如此说道，一句话嵌套了三个从句。他头发花白，下巴上的肉有些过于服从重力的牵引，声音却洪亮清晰，不需麦克风便灌满了整个阶梯教室。

她讲得要更清楚些。远从想。昨天晚上，那个本科学社会学和统计学的女生在听闻他明天的课程内容后，兴奋地跟他讲了整整一个小时的米尔斯，而他居然真心觉得很有意思。

远从第一次见到她，是在一场剧本杀中。另一个时空的ta们是一对青梅竹马，风雨飘摇，刀光剑影，最终他甘愿为她而死，她则成了千古第一位女帝，却夜夜对着灵牌垂泪。幕布再度拉开时，一袭鎏金红袍轻摇而来，在他身边缓缓坐下，对他笑了一笑。

接着，权倾天下的女帝陛下小口小口嘬起了奶茶。

相识无非是这样。加了微信，聊了半晚，话题的种子随着一声晚安埋下，或许几天，或许一周，等到一个机会，便破土重生。

你在哪个学校呀是这个专业啊已经老了硕士都要毕业了你怎么才大三今天这个本好久坐得腰疼明天还有早课先睡了奶茶钱忘转你了你认识这个人吗诶你也去看Hamilton了今天快冻死了逛Costco买了牛排来煎被导师催进度了等到冬天好想去滑雪楼下一股麻味你怎么也在听这首歌感恩节去哪呢这两天在狂投简历白男能不能闭嘴明天又有ddl昨天刚练完腿dunkin出了巨好喝的新品好想回国尝到了人生gelato。

跟随着人流涌出教室时，远从的脑海中依然萦绕着这些纷杂繁复的线头。尝一下，每一根都有点不大一样的味道。

“哟。”他路过一楼花花绿绿的公告板时，迎面走来一个淡金色烫发、打着耳钉的男生，跟他打了声招呼。

远从扬了扬下巴，就算是应了。

两人背向走了几秒钟，男生像是才想起什么，回身叫住了他：“诶，等会！今晚有个局来不？九点半，SeventhHouse。Tim要带两个女生过来。”说到这里，他眉毛微挑了一下，“卡颜的那种。”头两个字被他咬得很重。

“今晚...”远从稍微想了想，“可以。先吃个饭还是直接那边见？”

“坐我车一起去吧，到了先简单吃一口呗。”他顿了一下，像是才想起来似地补充道：“我车改完了，前天刚拿回来。”语气间满是没掩藏好，或是根本没想掩藏的炫耀。

远从比了个ok的手势。王开扬长而去。

当晚，SeventhHouse的卡座中，五个人围着摇骰子，几个摘几个飞，不绝于耳。一瓶香槟两轮鸡尾酒外加酒保小哥送的一轮shot后，Tim和王开领着一个女生去舞池里开蹦了，而远从和Eliza不约而同地坐在座位上没有动。奇怪的是，Eliza这时候看上去居然放松了一些。

远从对她一笑，顶着排山倒海的科技风音乐喊道：“怎么，不喜欢蹦，还是没喝到位？”

身着红裙的Eliza也回喊：“就不能是穿了高跟，没法蹦吗！”

“那再来一轮？”

“什么？我没听清！”但Eliza也没有要凑得更近的意思。

远从盯着她看了一会，从兜里掏出电子烟，用烟嘴指了指门口。Eliza会意，脸部表情又放松了一些。

五分钟后，两人在隔壁快餐店的窗外并排立定。远从吸了一口，电子烟尾部的灯条随之闪烁，橘子味的烟雾消散在Allston的夜晚中。狭窄的人行道上往来的亚洲面孔居多，步伐轻快，手里提着吃的喝的。

“谢谢你啊，那里面对我来说有点太吵了。我平时都是去清吧的。”

“是吧。我一开始也这么觉得。后来有一次喝上头了，才开始爽蹦。”

“懂了。原来你才是今天没喝到位的那个。”Eliza顶着精致的眼线，侧头调侃他。

“真要喝到位了，就该变成我一个人发疯，你们四个人看猴儿了。”

Eliza闻言一乐，也不知是乐这话，还是乐那个上腔共振的儿化音出卖了远从本就不多的京腔。

在回到俱乐部之前，二人从香水牌子一路聊到波士顿周边各大雪场，再到Eliza家里过去常炖的腌笃鲜。

上海人爱喝汤，该买个砂锅了。这是远从晚上入睡前的最后一个想法。

§§§

下午3:15分，妤遥从哈佛广场搭上了进城的红线地铁。车门关闭，将站台上欢快的萨克斯声隔绝在身后。下午的车厢并不拥挤，散落着衬衣没掖好的上班族、紫色爆炸头的鼻环女孩、靠在父亲肩膀上的孩童，还有穿荧光马甲戴灰色针织帽的工人。

车厢经过一个大转弯，轨道发出令人牙酸的尖叫声。在某一个时刻，所有人似乎都同时闭上了眼睛，像是在忍耐，又像是在冥想。如果同频次的声波会将车厢内的大脑调谐到同一频段，梦与梦之间像水波一样干涉重叠，填充彼此的缝隙，一切岂不乱了套吗？现代派画作上突然浮现出了晚饭的菜谱，弯弯曲曲的股票走势图与祖母脸上的皱纹重叠，而早上出门时与伴侣接吻的记忆中，则突然插入了一只跳着舞的羊驼。妤遥不禁被自己的脑洞逗乐了。

她忽然意识到，在刚刚那五分钟里，她的注意力第一次从二十四小时前刚提交的麦肯锡申请上转移了开来。但讽刺的是，就在她意识到的这一刻，那份申请便卷土重来。妤遥没法不去想的原因当中，只有三成左右是对不确定性的焦虑，剩余七成则是对自己真的提交了那份申请的诧异与耻感。

是的，耻感。直到今年二月，她还在自己的公众号上发表观点，认为最终选择了投行咨询的名校精英中，只有很少一部分是出于真心热爱，大部分人都不过是被焦虑和从众心理捕获，选择了最好听、最光鲜、最能充当职业跳板的白领工作罢了——或许还要加上不俗的起薪和工签。她还说，这些行业所获得的回报和它们对社会的贡献不成正比，因而造成了资源错配，那些接受了良好教育的头脑和无处安放的野心本应去向社会工作、气候问题或人权组织。一位同学指责她不该对别人的职业选择说三道四（暂且不清楚这位同学是否也选择了此类职业），而妤遥则解释说，她所批判的是结构性错配，而脱离结构谈个体选择是没有意义的。

如今，每一个字都成了打向她的回旋镖。

妤遥的内心时常萦绕着一种不安感，近来愈发强烈。她愿意认为她不是一只温顺的绵羊，不会把留在美国、拿到身份、过上一种精致而平庸的生活当作人生的终极目标。她的本质是被那些真正重要的东西所定义的：午后空气中逸散的金色尘埃，街边小狗湿漉漉的眼睛，以及现代社会表象之下寂静的哀嚎。至于优绩游戏中的成就，不过是一种偶然结果，最多算是附带产物。

可是她每一步都刚好踏在了那个被预制好的最优解上，这可能吗？上最好的学校，拿最高的绩点，申最体面的工作——她恐惧地意识到，她批判主流价值的声音和她的身体一样诚实。

红线地铁驶过Kendall/MIT站，开始沿着轨道向上，仿佛要跌跌撞撞地冲破黑暗，奔向隧道尽头绰约可见的光亮——

静止。

悬浮。

一切都变得不一样了。车厢被没有重量却无处不在的光子所充盈。在琥珀般凝滞的时空里，妤遥左手掌心与干燥冰冷的金属相贴，顺着动能带来的惯性，几乎没怎么发力便从座位上悠了起来。以栏杆为轴心，她的身体舞过一个轻盈的半弧，优雅落地，迫不及待地要美景浸润她的双眼。

地铁此刻正行驶在塔桥上。略带灰尘的玻璃窗外，蓝色肆意地散漫了整个世界——天空的湛蓝，高楼幕墙的灰蓝，查尔斯河的宝蓝。鸥鸟成群，帆船走“之”，天上地下，只见行驶在蓝色中的白色轮廓。云朵十分知趣，和塔桥保持了恰到好处的礼貌距离，桥上的人们抬头仰望时，看到的是延伸至无穷的高空。风景开阔至此，足以寄托一切心灵与想象。

§§§

3:47分，妤遥踏出地铁站的一瞬，一排鸽子自右侧街尾而来，在她眼前呼哨掠过。她注视着它们在梅西百货的十字路口从容不迫地转了个弯，切入华盛顿街。妤遥曾几度于傍晚时分穿过这条著名的剧院街，狭窄的街距将招牌与横幅排布得错落而紧致，不由分说地呈入每位行人的视野中。Paramount的灯牌流光浮彩，公民歌剧院的大理石地面光洁如镜，下沉的暮色又偏偏是一块最完美的画布，补足了最后那丝欠缺的肃穆。这是这座城市最拿得出手的一副面孔：古老而又现代，辅以一点来自黄金年代的怀旧心绪与艺术气息。

走过了五个街区，八家咖啡店，约莫六百七十次心跳后，那个身穿白色卫衣的大男孩进入了她的视线。他没在看手机，而是双手插兜，微仰着头，鞋尖有节奏地一踮一踮，下颌线被阳光勾勒得清晰可见。这副样子让妤遥想起了小学时同班的一个男生，他常常跑到她家楼下，大声喊她的名字，仰头看着天，耐心地等着她下楼一起玩。

看到妤遥走近，远从对她笑了一笑。

忽地，ta们便并肩走在了Chinatown的街道上，距离近到足以让远从闻到她身上无花果与雪松木的香水味。

“对不起啊，等了很久了？”

“也就十分钟而已。刚刚过去了一辆很帅的兰博基尼，还得谢谢你给了我饱眼福的机会呢。”远从的语气很平常甚至真诚，但不知怎地，话从他嘴里说出来，总让人感觉带着三分漫不经心，也许是因为他那身supreme卫衣加宽大松软卫裤的打扮，也许是因为他走路时双手揣兜的悠哉模样。

妤遥并不认真地翻了个小小的白眼：“能不能别这么男的，我求你了。”

远从“嗨”了一声，应对自如：“等到我回头买了一辆，带你兜风的时候，你再说一遍这话给我听。”

“哎呦喂，哪家霸总啊，可把小女子给帅到了。”妤遥捏着嗓子，用惟妙惟肖的京腔挤兑他。

随后说了什么，远从已经不记得了，只记得两人在秋日的湛蓝天空下笑成一团，脚下是一百五十六年历史的唐人街。

有那么一会，双方都不约而同地沉默了下来，暗自感受着将ta们分隔开来的空气。但那沉默并不是尴尬的沉默，而是明澈却无常形的玻璃容器，允许一些心照不宣在其中闲适恣意地晃荡来，晃荡去。

进入超市，复杂多变的气味和略微昏暗的灯光唤醒了远从的些许回忆。速冻食品的生冷味。地下室的潮湿味。豆制品的发酵味。海鲜的腥味。货架深处那些陈年调料的灰尘味。在感官记忆维度上，这家亚洲超市与零零年代的中国小县城接驳，而非二零二五年的波士顿。在远从的童年时期，他家的商超生意刚刚起步时，他曾花费三千六百个放学后的下午穿行在逼仄昏暗的过道之间，追逐着父亲隐没于一排排货架头尾的背影。刚刚读过希腊神话的远从会幻想自己置身于米诺斯的迷宫中，只不过这座迷宫是由郫县豆瓣、龙口粉丝、旺旺大礼包，还有湾仔码头水饺砌成的。幸好，那时他的家庭尚且完整，姥姥总会找到迷失的他，带着好闻的肥皂味蹲下来，将他抱起，正如——

“想什么呢？”

无花果与雪松木的香味。眼前的女孩手里拿着一棵娃娃菜，转过头来，用一种沉静温润的眼神望向他。熙熙攘攘的超市中，其余一切景象与声音加在一起，仿佛都不如她来得真切。

“没什么。”远从顿了顿，自然而然地从妤遥手里接过娃娃菜，丢进购物车。想了一瞬，补充道：“小时候我家里也是开超市的，每次进来都感觉像是穿越了。”

“是嘛！那下次记得请姐姐我吃雪糕。”妤遥的语气重新欢快随意起来。

“没问题，还附赠果粒橙和脆香米。”远从随口接上。

接下来的二十分钟里，妤遥和远从一前一后地推拉着购物车，漫话着季节、心情、校园里的松鼠、晚上炖汤用的冬笋，大声争论吃饺子要蘸香醋还是陈醋。快走到结账区时，妤遥惊叫了一声，一溜小跑折回去拿她想吃的抹茶威化饼干。远从盯着堆成一座小山的食材，想到它们一会将经由ta们自己的手变成两个人的晚餐，内心有一些松软的雾气氤氲开来。

§§§

“你家住这？”

远从随意地点了点头，左右手各提着一个沉甸甸的购物袋，大步往前走。

妤遥略微仰起头。这里位处东波士顿的码头区，条纹石制地砖不见接缝、浑然一体；花圃树木精致得好似受过礼仪训练，从头到尾都是恰到好处的服帖可爱；像是昨天才建好的公寓楼整体呈银灰色，连接部却大胆使用洋红和鹅黄，矗立在水体旁，齐整而不拥挤；透过一楼的玻璃外墙，还能看到明亮宽敞的健身房。此刻正值黄昏，白鸥群鸣，海风微咸，周遭没有任何其他建筑阻碍，访客的目光自然而然地落入浮光跃金的河面，跟随粼粼的水波一同汇入不远处的大海。

简单来说，这里的每一帧画面都可以当作广告，用于贩卖精致城市中产版本的美国梦。

妤遥跟着远从进入大堂，乘上电梯，穿过铺着厚厚地毯的走廊。开门后，映入她眼帘的是一套整洁现代、棱角分明的公寓。正对着屋门的另一侧，一座带有玻璃拉门的小阳台静静立在那里。

“来来来，菜放那边就行，我给你拿拖鞋。”远从指了指进门左手边厨房区的岛台。

妤遥低头，一双cinnamon roll的崭新蓝色拖鞋已经被男孩精准投放到了她脚边。她的脚趾舒舒服服地住了进去，开始丈量这片承载着精装生活的精装空间。

进入客厅，右手边有一座小酒柜，带有深色纹理的木质台面上摆着一些基本的调酒工具，顶部装有悬空滑轨，倒挂着两排高脚玻璃杯。下层则装满了各式各样的酒，妤遥能叫得出来名字的仅限于五成满的百加得，七成满的尊尼获加，还有那瓶仅剩个底的绝对伏特加，剩下的标签玻璃瓶看着一个比一个精致。

她转过头，研究起了对面摆满了手工高达模型的架子，发觉盔甲武器的质感和精细程度与她在谷子店中偶尔扫过的模型完全不可同日而语。妤遥指着左上角的模型，扭过头问杵在客厅中央的远从：“这一款叫什么？”

“F-91。”

“这一款呢？”

“Z高达。”

“那这款呢？”

“强袭自由。”

妤遥本来想看远从的局促模样，可他没有一点不好意思的迹象，也没有一点不耐烦，有问必答，且答得飞快，似乎还隐约期待着继续展示他的知识储备。她隐蔽地翻了个小小的白眼，开始宣称高达模型是小布尔乔亚的符号化消费惯习。

两个人一起做饭有点像是在跳一支双人舞。远从的手臂绕过正在洗菜的她去够盐罐时，妤遥没由来地这么想道。客厅的电视中放着有些俗气的综艺当背景音，锅中焯肉的水正滚着，在切黄瓜的远从转头塞了一片到她嘴里，清甜在口腔中弥漫开来。

平时去哪家超市？——Trader Joe’s。

MBTI？——ENTP。

小时候看什么动画片？——虹猫蓝兔七侠传。

还有什么需要我帮忙的吗，大厨？——没了，你去歇会吧。

妤遥绕过岛台，在高脚凳上坐下，对面便是在煲汤炒菜的远从，可谓是最佳观赏位。半晌，她又跳了下来，自来熟地拿出冰箱里的橙汁，倒了两杯出来，复又回去坐定，两手托腮，看着男孩熟练地小火慢炒糖色。

暮色霭霭，海边最后一线晚霞也行将消逝，秋夜将至。可就在这一方小小天地里，暖黄色灯光骤然亮起，葱花蒜片炝锅的香气漾满了整个房间，闲散而连绵不绝的对话如温水般浸泡着每一根神经。妤遥分明从远从眼神中看见，他和她一样，在重温某种久远而温馨的记忆；共鸣在二人间制造出一条看不见的细线，一头连着他的华北平原，一头连着她的虹口弄堂。她终于确信，此时此刻，就是她在六年的留学生涯中于无数次午夜梦回时分所窥见的场景。

ta们坐在沙发上饮酒聊天时，远从回了一趟房间，再出来时，衣服已经换了一套，领口和袖口处散发着一股白茶的香味。他挑了一个与妤遥不远不近的距离落座，刚好足以让膝盖偶尔相接。

“即便不成也没关系啊。你学校这么好，能力又这么强，工作肯定多的是。”远从认为自己应当回应一下妤遥聊起麦肯锡申请时不经意间透露出的焦虑。

妤遥苦笑着摇了摇头。“哪有那么容易。现在全波士顿，乃至全美国愿意走opt的公司也没剩几家了，愿意赞助你抽H1b的就更少了。”

“opt是什么？我知道H1b是工签，可是能找到工作，不就有工签了吗？”

妤遥扭头看向远从。他看上去依然很真诚，像是完全不知道自己刚刚问出了一个什么样的问题。可就是这种真诚，让妤遥十分欣赏的真诚，此刻冲撞了一下她的心脏。

“哦，没事，大三的小朋友，不知道也很正常。”妤遥摆出一副轻松的语气，不知是对远从还是对她自己说道，随后不着相地岔开了话题。

杯中的金汤力见了底，桑格利亚却还剩半杯。

“……我还挺认同那句话的。有时候，人不是活一辈子，而是就活那么几个瞬间。”妤遥为她对高三申请季的回忆添上一句结语。

远从看着女孩用轻缓的音调说完这句话，不自觉地点了点头：“我大一有一次半夜和朋友聊天，那时候还是冬天，贼冷，聊到北海道的温泉，越说越想泡，到最后直接买了第二天早上去日本的航班，玩了四天，课也翘了五六节。那个临时起意买机票的瞬间，确实感觉很不一样。”

妤遥扑哧一笑：“我说的‘活着的瞬间’倒也不是指翘课。”末了，又补了一句：“不过，你们本来就有日本的旅游签吗？我办的时候提前了差不多半年诶。”

问题甫一出口，妤遥就后悔了，因为她隐约预感到了问题的答案，更因为这个答案会永久改变ta们之间的关系，无论是现有的，还是未来可能拥有的，不可挽回，无从逆转。她错觉屋里的灯光颤抖了一下，脑海里像是有一只玻璃杯在晃晃悠悠地下坠，坠向看不见底的深渊。

远从迟疑了一下，随后故作轻描淡写地说：“哦，我们拿的是美国护照。”

啪。那只玻璃杯终于触了底，散作了一地碎片。

“好吧，现在我理解你为什么不知道opt是什么了，这位霸总先生。”妤遥依旧是半调侃的语气，用于掩盖她内心泛起的苦涩。她明明已经很努力地不让自己去想这间公寓的月租，还有那些名酒和模型的价格了。

好在，她并未允许这段插曲完全毁掉这一夜。两人踏上阳台时，妤遥扭头向右看去，与隔岸相望的城市天际线撞了个满怀。如果她此刻身处一部艺术电影中，接下来理应是长达三分钟的无台词慢放镜头：先是正打远景，拍潮起潮涌的河水、灯火通明的写字楼、金碧辉煌的钟塔；接着是反打面部近景，下侧角拍她立定、注视，拍夜色中对岸的灯光映照出她脸上的迷茫，拍她的长发被晚风乱乱卷起，发丝不时遮挡她微眯着的眼睛。

妤遥在右，远从在左，ta们身体前倾，倚着护栏，在沉默中将视线投向远处的波士顿。妤遥在看夜景，而远从或许也在看夜景。两人的手默契地维持轻轻相触，谁都没有进一步动作，却也没有分开。

波士顿是个很美的城市，她说。

适合许多故事发生，他接道。

当晚分别时，妤遥从站在门口的远从身上感受到了一种想要拥抱她的冲动。她觉得她的感受多半是准的，或许是因为她自己也有相同的冲动。但是她没有动作，只是在远从的记忆里刻下了一个足以让他铭记许久的笑容，道了声晚安，转身下楼。

§§§

妤遥已经对着屏幕上的邮件枯坐了整整23分钟。她之所以知道，是因为邮件上的发送时间是20:18分，她几乎是在收到邮件的那一秒就点了进去，而现在电脑桌面上的时间显示为20:41分。简单的数学题——至少比麦肯锡的case简单多了。或许她收了拒信，就说明她实际的能力也就只够做做这类简单的算术题。

当下的她实在没法不生出一些自暴自弃来。

她曾经以为自己申请咨询相当于放弃了月亮，选了六便士，还为此感到酸涩。现在，她发现六便士突然长出脚来，一脚将她踢开，滴溜溜地跑远了，只剩她坐在原地，两手空空，像个小丑。这就好像你在唱一首歌，音起高了，后面喊破喉咙也唱不上去了，不得已降了一个八度，却发现全程唱的根本是错误的歌词。

现在又当如何呢？申博？继续申工作？还是…回国？

右下角弹出的微信视频邀请打断了妤遥乱麻般的心绪。是妈妈。她接了起来。

屏幕上弹出了那张她一度习以为常，却在过去的六年间总是聚少离多的脸。和妈妈长得真像——小时候妤遥总能从周围的大人那里听到这句话。长大以后，她的眉眼逐渐显出父亲的轮廓，渐渐地便没人再这么说。可是妤遥反倒觉得，在学习了社会学，逐渐理解了她作为女儿，作为妻子，作为母亲，作为女性——当然，最重要的是，作为她自己——的处境后，她和妈妈在心灵上前所未有地亲近。

“囡囡，现在有空讲话吗？”这是妈妈每次给她打视频时固定的开场白。熟悉的一句话，今日却让妤遥差点落下泪来。

“有，妈妈。”

“囡囡，最近在学校过得怎么样？工作找得怎么样啦？”

“我过得挺好的，前几天还去朋友家里做饭了。”

沉默，停顿。

“有一份工作被拒了。”

“啊？这样啊。怎么会呢？你学校这么好，成绩也好，不应该呀。是不是面试没发挥好？”

妤遥只是不断轻轻摇头，示意妈妈她不想继续这个话题。

“好吧。”又是一阵沉默。视频里，妤遥的妈妈左右看了看，用一种斟酌过的语气开口：“囡囡，我跟你说件事情哦。”

“嗯。什么事？”

“前段时间，你爸不舒服，去医院做了检查。”妈妈的眼睑略微低垂了下来，接着是微弱低沉了许多的声音：“是肺癌，不过幸好是早期的。”

没有滔天巨浪，只是纷繁扰杂的如注大雨，不断地击打着她的心头。

妈妈还在继续说：“你爸不想告诉你，怕你一个人在国外压力大，太担心。”

“可我觉得，小囡足够坚强。况且，你也大了，应该知道家里的大事。”

“你也别太担心，家里这边还有妈妈呢，你自己顾着好好找工作就是了，这方面爸爸妈妈真帮不上你什么了。可是这么多年，好不容易快读出来了，不在美国积累几年工作经验就太可惜了。”

“妈妈，你放心。”到最后，妤遥只剩下这么一句话可说。总是这样，一直这样，用一句“放心” 盖住多少无从言说与无可奈何。

挂断视频，妤遥双手抱腿，坐在床上一动不动，任由窗外秋雨的寒气侵袭她的房间。

工作。麦肯锡。拒信。opt。工签。身份。肺癌。理想。精英。面子。白人。歧视。外公外婆。云南路的排骨年糕。

就这样到了凌晨一点多，妤遥本来已经准备收拾情绪，爬起来洗漱入睡了。可这时，她突然想起一件特别小的事。她小学时学游泳，每次从游泳馆回来，妈妈都会给她灌下一杯红糖姜水，可她不喜欢姜味，一定要一块蝴蝶酥作奖励才肯喝。有一天晚上，她惊喜地发现，蝴蝶酥的旁边多出了一块抹茶小蛋糕——那是她爸爸跑去五角场给她买回来的。她先是一口吃掉了蝴蝶酥，然后花了半个小时一点一点享用那块又香又甜的小蛋糕，爸爸妈妈在一旁边看边笑。

就是这件小事，让她一瞬间崩溃了。

泪珠断了线般滚下，变成号啕大哭。她花了十二年时间用力逼迫自己，熬了不知多少个夜，吃了不知多少抗抑郁药物，只为从一个被家人朋友环绕的小女孩变成在异国他乡的凌晨独自流泪的名校精英。

妤遥在高二竞赛失利那一天后就知道了，人在哭干眼泪后，身体会止不住地打摆子，缺氧会使得眼前发黑。雨夜漫漫，前路杳杳，她恐惧自己一个人，如同恐惧无边的黑暗。带着发昏的大脑，她伸手够向房间中唯一发着微光的手机屏幕。

远从三秒钟就接起了电话。听到对面的抽泣声，他还是什么都不知道，但已经明白了他需要明白的。或出于信任，或出于穷途末路，女孩正把最脆弱的一面展露给他。是真心怜惜妤遥，还是借机推进关系？在内心深处的某个角落，远从觉得这两者是一回事。

“要我过去，或者来我家吗？要过来的话，我可以帮你打个车，然后下楼去接你。”

在远从撑着的那把黑伞下，两人终于得到了ta们上次分别时想要的那个拥抱。不仅如此，还加付了利息——第二个拥抱发生在远从家的客厅，第三个在沙发上，第四个在浴室里，第五个在远从的大床上。妤遥努力让自己的嘴唇贴上远从的锁骨，双臂环紧他的颈项，仿佛这是她全世界唯一可以抓住的东西。

凌晨3:56分，妤遥和远从看见了漫天星辰。

从柔软的米色床单中醒来，妤遥发觉自己穿着一件远从的白色T恤。今天的波士顿是个好天气，午时的阳光正好，些许微小颗粒在光束中懒洋洋地游动。整张大床都是她的，起居区传来锅铲碰撞的声音和煎培根的香气，她几乎可以借着这些感官在脑海中绘画出男孩做早饭的模样。

妤遥知道，如果她愿意，她现在就可以下床走入客厅，从背后环抱住远从，向他求婚，而远从会答应她。就算不是现在，几个月或半年后也一定会。她就是知道。届时，她可以拿着临时绿卡，以一种从容不迫的节奏开始找工作；当身份不再是问题时，她的能力和履历终于可以兑现出它们应有的价值，就像游戏终于回到了正常难度。多年后，ta们或许会拥有四五套房子——一套quincy的house，一套曼岛的公寓，一套佛罗里达的度假房，一套北京的三居室……还有一猫一狗，两个上私校的孩子，一台油车、一台电车，以及每年波多黎各或坎昆的度假。当然，争吵、出轨和婚外情也完全有可能，但至少现在她可以开始享受生命之轻了，就在她最好的年华，不是吗？

可是单单是设想这样轻飘飘的完美中高产生活，妤遥便感受到一阵恐慌和窒息。还有太多重量等着她举起，而她也必须举起，无论是家庭、自尊，抑或是语言、国族与批判性。这张床，这间公寓，这个男孩——这一切实在过于舒服，使她在应有尽有中窥见了一无所有。

远从听到背后传来的响动，转过身去，面带微笑，准备告诉女孩早餐马上就好，让她先去洗漱，可眼前穿戴整齐的女孩看都没看他，径直向着门口走去——

门哐当一声关上了，一如他前女友离去的那天早上。远从也如同那天一样，只是站在那里，凝视着那扇门，脑中没有思考任何东西。平底锅中的培根和煎蛋逐渐焦糊，直至起火；浓烟触发了烟雾报警器，在刺耳的蜂鸣声中，他放任自己被喷头淋出的水打湿。

§§§

1:48分，远从关闭了许久未打开过的QQ空间，准备到阳台上吸一会烟。他不会知道，他刚刚浏览过的文字的主人选择在这个凌晨打车来到了他家楼下，没告诉任何人。

此刻，妤遥正沿着平整宽阔的石阶拾级而下，直直向着水体踱去，直到肋部贴上栏杆，视野中除却漆黑的水面外再无他物。河对岸，夜晚的波士顿辐射出摄人心魄的魅力，繁华但不张扬，安静却不显冷峻。灯光像是被楼宇边缘的平直线条困住的萤火虫，四散开来，无处可逃。当妤遥望向对面时，她望见了自己少女时代的梦。那梦是聚合又离散的碎片，萌芽于逃离的渴望，细节由一部部外国电影所填充，主题是自由、充裕与性共同构成的复调。

她忽地想起高中英语课上读过的《了不起的盖茨比》：“You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.” 那盏绿灯既整夜燃烧着，也燃尽了整个夜晚。正如盖茨比分不清黛西和美国梦之间的区别一样，妤遥有时也会将楼上那个男孩当成某种更轻盈、更舒适的生活，像是野马脱缰、一去不回，顺着稀薄的空气不断攀升，直到不存在重量的云朵世界。

她玩过一款近乎文学的游戏，其中的一句台词此刻迫不及待地跳入她的意识：“你和我都生在尘埃落定后的时代，一切都晚了千分之一秒。”是啊，史诗已然落幕，电影早就散场，她们不过是执拗地滚动着的演职人员名单，或许连完整的汉字都不是，只是一划小小的笔画，一撇或一捺。这是一个崭新的时代！不需要她们思考，也不需要她们娱乐；不需要她们激进，也不需要她们保守；不需要她们奋斗，也不需要她们享受；不需要她们信仰，也不需要她们解构。过去一切伟大的理想，如今只留下些许淡淡的影子，供从未亲身经历过的人们去怀念。这条世俗之梯，她爬也好，不爬也好，爬到一半停下来也好，停下来后假装还在爬也好，摔下去后声称自己从没想爬过也好，都无所谓的。除她之外，世界不会因此有一分一毫的改变。

夜更深了，冷风吹得妤遥四肢僵硬，头脑发木。她在岸边坐下，闭上眼睛，于半梦半醒间看到了她前年夏天随外公回甘肃老家时所见到的景象。当地有“领羊”的习俗，大体是牵一只羊羔，向它身上倒下一瓶水，羊羔抖动越多、幅度越大，福气便也越满。

她看见大地的皱纹印上人们的后颈，看见岁月的沟壑刻入老少的额心。

烈日当空，乌云遮目，数十位家人燃了一把纸钱，领来一只毛发濡湿的羊羔，笑着一齐大喊：抖！抖！抖！黄天厚土，先人祖母，佑我一家人多子多福呵——

2026.4.22 于波士顿

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

 Attachments- [  picture\_as\_pdf  波士顿\_20260422.pdf ](/sites/g/files/omnuum8766/files/2026-04/%E6%B3%A2%E5%A3%AB%E9%A1%BF_20260422.pdf)
- [  picture\_as\_pdf  Boston\_20260422\_English.pdf ](/sites/g/files/omnuum8766/files/2026-04/Boston_20260422_English.pdf)
 
---