This time, Mr. Wu was not standing. He sat on an ocher wooden bench, patiently flipping through a black-covered book.
Because of the distance, Zheng Qing could not see the contents of the black book clearly.
But he could see the bench very clearly.
It was the kind of bench whose seat and back were pieced together from broad wooden planks. Black metal armrests stood on either side, their paint peeling in patches, giving them a weathered look.
Beneath the bench was not white mist, but a small patch of red mosaic tiles. More than a dozen weeds poked their heads out from between the cracks, resolutely welcoming the sunlight and rain that belonged to them.
A moment ago, Zheng Qing had still been standing dozens of steps away, cautiously asking about the wizard on the bench.
The next moment, his vision blurred, and he was already sitting on the bench with a wooden box in his hands—as though he had been sitting here from the start, holding these things all along.
"Mr. Wu!"
Zheng Qing somewhat speechlessly repeated the words he had uttered a second ago. Countless complaints rose within him, but he had not yet decided where to begin—Mr. Wu's sudden, ambush-like way of dragging people over, this unchanging meeting environment, the wooden box in his hands, or their overly frequent meetings lately.
Mr. Wu had been meeting him more often recently than before Zheng Qing came to First University. During high school, Mr. Wu had usually not been at the shop. Zheng Qing had practiced Rune Copybooks and watched over the bookstore alone. In the more than half a year since entering university, Mr. Wu had appeared only once. Zheng Qing had not even seen him when he went home for winter break.
Yet ever since returning