Speaking of which, when I was in college, I also had a cat in my residence. On the sixth floor, there is a studio of about 30 square meters, with decent windows, an open kitchen, and a separate bathroom. Because the heating pipes in the school's dormitory were frozen and cracked, it was impossible to provide heating for the students all winter, so the students began to negotiate with the school again and again, but the results were unsatisfactory, and the dormitory management department uncompromisingly checked all the electric heating facilities in the dormitories. Later, it evolved into a student strike, which widely publicized the school on the Internet, some of which were quite objective, and some of which were inevitably added to the fire.

For me, it didn't matter, and I didn't like to be obsessed with fighting for, albeit deserved, to move out because the dorm didn't provide a good place to live. Then I found the landlord online and rented it here for 400 yuan a month.

There weren't many things to bring, a suitcase of a change of clothes, a dormitory bed, a blue kettle, a black Huawei laptop, and an old-fashioned LP record player—a friend I knew from the music department gave it to me, and after he went abroad to study, he gave all the domestic daily necessities to his friend, "It's too much trouble to bring these things, do you have anything you want?" he said to me while holding his guitar and drinking beer, I pointed to the record player, he smiled and nodded- There are also some 11-inch vinyl records, mostly jazz that have become obsolete.

For two or three months after moving here, I used to sit alone on the windowsill while listening to the records that the man left for me, munching peanuts and drinking beer. Sometimes I stayed for two or three hours, and during those two or three hours I didn't think about anything, and I completely let my consciousness drift with the wind in my head, without external interference, and there was no so-called mechanical thing, and it moved almost naturally, like a branch outside the window, shaking irregularly.

Three months later, I was in the pantry of the western restaurant where I worked, squeezing the salad dressing for the fruit that had just been served. The maîtres-maître, a woman of medium height, with a plump body and fair skin, brought in a girl named Snow.

"It's the peak season soon, so we're hiring another part-time student from the same school as you, and you're going to be working together in the future," the foreman said clearly and in a bright voice.

"Hello, my name is Snow," Snow held out her right hand to shake my hand. I took her warm, soft right hand and made a brief gesture of friendliness.

"Then I won't disturb your work, Dongyu, you can help me tell her about the specific work," the foreman smiled politely at us and turned to leave the pantry.

Xue has an extraordinary talent for food arrangement, and every time she brings a dish back from the kitchen, she will be reborn through her skillful hands, and customers will naturally praise the restaurant for getting more and more classy, but almost no one knows that it is all due to her alone. Most of the so-called talents are manifested from birth, and of course, there are also talents that suddenly emerge like a volcanic eruption at a certain stage, and even if ordinary people try to accumulate acquired experience, these experiences cannot be skillfully arranged into beautiful music like musical notes. It may be unfair to ordinary people to say this, but "life is inherently unfair."

The first time we slept was three weeks after we met. When I got off work at eleven o'clock, I asked her if she wanted me to sit with me and have a glass of vodka to warm up, and she didn't hesitate to go back with me. Afterwards, we huddled together on a bed that wasn't too spacious, with a cigarette in my left hand and her white waist in my right hand. The record player spun slowly, and jazz music called "angeleyes" wafted from the stereo. Snow had one arm on my chest, and her small head, which wasn't heavy, rested on my shoulder. With his eyes open, he looked out the window motionlessly. It was her first time, and the blood on the sheets couldn't be washed off for a long time.

The next day I moved her belongings to the house, and began a life of cohabitation without any twists and turns, safe and peaceful, because I didn't have many friends with her, so there were very few guests who came to visit. Not sociable, not good at using social language, like a pair of penguins in Antarctica, snuggling together, watching the aurora every day, listening to jazz, drinking vodka, lingering together, warming each other.

A few months later, it rained in the sky, and the trees outside the window grew green branches. But she was gone, not at school, at home, everything about her seemed to have evaporated, except for the yellow and white cat.