When the crisp ringtone of the mobile phone suddenly rang, it scared me hard in the bed, because I had just finished watching a horror movie "Apartment Ghost", and I was still in the afterglow of being frightened by the plot of the movie.

Maybe it's because the horror atmosphere of this film is so realistic that I didn't dare to take a shower when I was covered in sweat, I didn't even dare to go to the bathroom again, and I didn't even turn off the lights and lay down hastily.

The moment I lay down, I completely covered my head, after all, in such a strange city, such a strange environment, such a strange apartment, and the more important reason is that I had just finished watching a horror movie about apartments.

Since the phone rang, I couldn't help but answer it, so I carefully and slowly lifted the quilt on my head, and found that it was dark in front of me.

Is there a power outage? I turned my head to look at my phone on the bedside table, which vibrated continuously and sounded a melodious ringtone to alert me to an incoming call. The screen was constantly flickering with a faint blue light, adding to the eerie atmosphere of the already dim and creepy room.

I took a deep breath and looked around cautiously with my eyes as I reached out a hand to reach for my phone, which was still playing a ringtone.

When I picked up my mobile phone, I habitually didn't answer it immediately, but first looked at the time on the screen, it was already 2:14 midnight, and the caller ID was a local landline number in Nanjing.

Someone called me so late? It shouldn't be possible.

This is the first time I have come to Nanjing in such a big way, I don't have any relatives or friends, and my mobile phone number is still a new number just handled today, and even my parents haven't had time to tell them.

That is, this number is not known to a second person except myself. Oh no, I suddenly remembered that there was another person who knew, and that was renting this apartment to my landlord aunt.

Could it be her? But it's not right, the landlord aunt told me when she left today, her landline was broken, and if she had something to do recently, she would call her mobile phone.

So who is it? Hey, whatever, it's estimated that nine times out of ten it's just a wrong call, I just turned off my phone, and then put on the quilt again and planned to continue sleeping.

After putting on the quilt, I really couldn't see my five fingers in front of me, maybe the previous fright dispelled my sleepiness, and I didn't want to sleep, so I remembered the situation when I just came to Nanjing last night.

I got off the train at eight o'clock last night, and I originally planned to find a hotel to live in, and then go out to find a house during the day the next day, after all, I will live in Nanjing for a long time in the future, and renting a house is much more comfortable than a hotel, and the cost can be saved a lot.

Before I came, my parents explained all kinds of precautions for living alone in other places, and my ears were almost full of calluses.

But think about it, this is also the first time I have gone away after graduation, and it is inevitable that my parents will have too many concerns.

In fact, my parents originally suggested that I stay in Beijing to develop my career, after all, my home is in Beijing, I have never left Beijing since I was a child, and I also studied in Beijing, but I stubbornly chose to come to Nanjing.

As for the reason why I have to choose Nanjing, I told my parents that I have lived in the north since I was a child, and I have never been to the south, and I have always heard that Jiangnan is the land of fish and rice, and you can see small bridges and flowing water everywhere, and the beautiful scenery of pink walls and tiles, so I want to see and see.

Second, Nanjing is the ancient capital of the Six Dynasties, with a deep cultural heritage, and I have always preferred cities with a long history, and my own major is also related to Jiangnan dwellings, so it is more suitable for my future to develop in the south.

My parents couldn't refute it, so they had to follow my wishes.

But in fact, the real reason why I had to come to Nanjing is also a bit absurd, because I made a promise, a promise to a strange girl I had never met.

I still don't know what the girl's real name is, because I met her on a literary website for three years. I only know that she lives in Nanjing, and her pen name is - Xu I Chenyuan, and my pen name is Xu You I Chenyuan.

In the vast sea of people, it is also a kind of fate to meet a literary friend with a very similar pen name, our pen names are only one word apart, her second word is "I", and I use "you".

I was a freshman in college at the time, with three years to go before I graduated, and my hobby was writing novels in addition to finishing my school courses. Since the novels I write are all very romantic romance novels, they are all written in the first person, and the male protagonists are all good men who cherish the heroine all their lives. That's why I gave myself the pen name that I gave you.

At first, other literary friends on the literary network thought that we had known each other for a long time, and even were still lovers, but later I learned that she and I didn't know each other at all, it was just a coincidence.

Her writing is like her hometown of Nanjing, very delicate and soft, her feelings are simple and sincere, her prose always inadvertently reveals a touch of sadness, and this sadness always makes me fall into a certain ethereal state of mind, a poignant but extremely sweet sad state of mind.

I was very fascinated by this, and after reading her prose for more than two years, I couldn't tell whether I just liked her writing, or someone who already liked her, and even the city of Nanjing, which I had never been to, was inexplicably liked.

Every Sunday at midnight sharp, she publishes an essay punctually at 12 o'clock sharp, usually about 3,000 words, and every time at this time, I will be there for the first time, and undoubtedly occupy the sofa position of the commentary.

In the past two years, every time I have commented, there is only one sentence: good night, you in the dust, good morning, me in the dust.

Every time I left a comment, I began to read her prose carefully, and I would not let go of every word and punctuation mark, because she wrote very carefully and devotedly, and even the punctuation implied a special artistic conception.

I read it at least five times at a time, and then left her a few hundred words or more before I turned off the computer and went to sleep. In my comments, I can always vividly describe her real state of mind when writing this essay.

Over time, she finally noticed my existence, and she, who never replied to any netizens, replied to me for the first time:

Your couch review is smart, whether I'm going to bed late or waking up early, whether it's for you or for me, such a greeting is appropriate. And I was impressed by the comments you left after reading them, you always seemed to be able to guess my mind, as if you had known me a long time ago. Sometimes, the most carefully written reviews are often the most touching. Thank you.

I was concentrating on appreciating the prose, and when I saw that the system prompted a comment reply, I was pleasantly surprised, did she finally reply to me? I couldn't wait to read her comments, I thought for a moment and replied to her in a slightly ridiculous tone again: You're welcome, maybe we have gone through five hundred years of passing by in exchange for the fate of this life, maybe I once owed you, so this life is destined to promise you a lifetime of fate.

It was a long time before she replied to me: don't promise someone you will never meet, sometimes it hurts to give a moment of hope than to despair.

I hurriedly replied: I'm serious, maybe this world is sometimes not as big as we think, if, I mean, if one day we really meet, can you promise me to let you live a lifetime?

When I replied to this text, I felt a little numb all over my body, and even felt hot all over my body, and my hands trembled violently when I typed, and I have never been so excited and out of shape in my memory as I was that day.

After sending the reply, my hands were still shaking, I didn't know if this was a confession, and if so, it was the first time I had confessed to a girl at such an age.

It's still a strange girl I've never met, a girl I don't know anything except a pen name and hometown, and I don't know if I'm crazy enough to fall in love with a girl I don't know at all.

I don't know if my reply was too abrupt, if I was too anxious, if it would scare her, and what if she was afraid that my harassment would disappear forever? I can't help but regret it, if I really lose her news completely, I don't know how to spend the rest of my life.

Because I'm used to seeing her texts every Sunday at midnight, even though she never responds, I'm still addicted to them. I know that after more than two years of silent relationship, I can't do without her.

Then I waited anxiously for almost an hour, and finally I was a little desperate, she should never pay attention to me, right? She didn't know me, so how could she accept my presumptuous confession so easily!

I stared at the screen in unusually lost frustration, with unspeakable regret and self-blame. It was so late, and based on the usual rules of life described in her previous essays, I deduced that she should have gone to bed by this time.

It seems that I can't get an answer from her in this life, and at that moment, I would rather she reject me outright, and it is more acceptable to me than this silent rejection, at least not to be so tormented as I am now.

Just as I was about to turn off my computer and go to bed, she was prompted to reply! I took a deep breath and grabbed the mouse with my trembling right hand and clicked on her reply: Do you really believe that we will meet? Are you really willing to make this lifelong promise to a strange girl?

Without the slightest hesitation, I replied: I believe! I do!

This time she replied quickly: Good! I promise you! But I have a precondition, that is, before we meet, we no longer have any contact, everything is fate, can we do it?

Yes! I'm still quick to reply.

In this way, my first contact with her became the last contact. Since then, she still publishes an essay every Sunday at 12 a.m., while I still stick to my couch and detailed reviews.

Sure enough, she never replied to me, and I kept my promise and never reached out to her again. Time passed in this invisible tacit understanding for another half a year.

Half a year later, at midnight on a Sunday, I waited at my computer as usual, waiting for her to be published, only to see her prose again.