Chapter Forty-Nine — Longing for Return in Emptiness

She had been distracted the whole day.

Yishu sat at the desk, facing Guo Yamei. She didn’t want to see that sullen face, and she was certain Yamei felt the same about her own expression.

She lowered her head, gazing at the lines in her palm—innumerable, deep and shallow, interwoven into a net across her hand.

She vaguely remembered someone saying that this kind of palm meant a life destined for hardship.

Yan Lu’s sudden appearance brought her more than a little emotion and surprise. She had once prepared for the worst, thinking perhaps they would never meet again in this lifetime. All the friendship they had once written together had, at some point in time, come to an abrupt end, as if a large black hand had picked up a pen and drawn a period at the end of their story.

From then on, the ray became a segment, never to be extended.

And some people were like cotton lint clogging the veins, impeding the normal flow of blood.

For instance, Tang Dai.

Yishu could no longer ignore her existence. She was always there, in the past, the present, and perhaps even the future.

Xu Shixi’s casual retelling of the past—was it truly as light and insubstantial as smoke, vanishing with a gust of wind? Or had it simply grown more ambitious, dissolving into the vast air, so that those who must breathe could never escape it?

Would she become such a person?

And then, Tang Chao.

Yishu jolted herself out of her wandering thoughts. How did she come to think of him? That barbarian who seemed to bring disaster wherever he went. And the hurt Yihui had suffered—she could not forget that.

She should not forget, should she? After all, she was his elder sister.

The sunset sank in anxious haste.

When the heat of day faded, the night’s breeze brought a hint of coolness.

Xu Shixi’s work had again entered a busy phase.

Though Yishu was used to it, she could not help but feel a little lost.

Outside the window lay an endless night. Amid the brilliance, it hardly seemed dark. In Yishu’s eyes, nighttime was meant to be starlight, moonlight, or a faint lamp’s glow.

She sat on the carpet, her arms resting atop the coffee table.

She was particularly fond of this table—made of five solid rectangular wooden planks, each deliberately offset rather than lined up, giving what should have been an ordinary table a unique, refreshing look.

In two days, it would be National Day. After dining alone, Yishu sat on the sofa and called Yihui.

Separated by mountains and rivers, if they missed each other during the holiday, it would be winter break before they could meet again.

Yishu and Yihui rarely spoke on the phone. They hardly had any common topics, as was often the way with family.

After all, there was an eight-year age gap.

Yishu didn’t like to show her vulnerable side. Learning to face life’s ups and downs alone was a required lesson—one she worked hard to excel at. Even with Yan Lu, she rarely spoke of such things. Sometimes, Yan Lu felt Yishu was truly someone gentle on the outside but strong within.

The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.

A hubbub of noise came from the other end, as if in a restaurant. Yishu faintly heard someone calling out dish names.

But it was not Yihui who spoke to her, but a hoarse male voice. He introduced himself as Yihui’s friend, saying Yihui was busy and couldn’t answer, so he picked up instead.

From his tone, he seemed to get along well with Yihui. This made Yishu quietly happy, too preoccupied to worry further.

He seemed worried she might overhear too much, betraying something, so he said, “I’ll have Yihui call you back in a bit,” and hung up in a hurry.

By the time Yihui called her back, an hour had passed.

Yishu lay on the sofa, the dim light deepening her drowsiness.

Yihui’s voice on the other end was weak, as if he’d been through some exhausting ordeal. Yishu asked about it with concern, but he brushed her off with a few words.

Since leaving home, Yihui had been living in an apartment that Cheng Shuguang had rented in advance—a three-bedroom, one-living-room place. He shared a twelve-square-meter secondary bedroom with two middle-aged chefs from the kitchen. Because space was limited, a bunk had been added above the two single beds; Yihui slept on the upper bunk, the others below.

The two chefs, being older, no longer cared much for cleanliness or personal hygiene. Underwear, socks, and dirty laundry were tossed everywhere. Cigarette butts and trash littered the room.

Living here was a disaster!

Sometimes Yihui couldn’t help but clean up, but the next moment the room would return to its former state, as if his hard work had been nothing but a tiring dream. Once awake, exhausted, everything was as before.

A chef would take a long drag of his cigarette, exhale slowly, and tease Yihui for being like a girl—why should a man care about cleanliness? Men should be carefree and untamed.

But did being a man mean living in filth? When had the bar for men been set so low?

Yihui no longer argued; he was never much of a talker. Nor did he keep doing pointless, thankless chores—he just kept his own things in order.

Everything was for himself.

He used to ask himself over and over, what was the point of enduring? Now, the answer was finally close at hand; everything seemed to make sense.

Though the two chefs were married, their wives and children lived far away, back in their hometowns.

Over time, certain desires and needs grew stronger. They bragged, but never dared get involved in anything illegal. Still, with no outlet, the frustration was unbearable. Eventually, they somehow got hold of a few adult films and watched them openly in the bedroom.

Yihui found it incomprehensible and escaped at the first sound.

At nineteen, he was utterly clueless about such matters—almost unique among his peers.

The other bedrooms in the apartment were also occupied by migrant workers from nearby. Their habits were little different from the chefs’. Yihui rarely interacted with them. The most he said was in the mornings, asking how long the bathroom would be occupied.

Yishu got up and turned on the living room light. Her pupils barely had time to shrink; the sudden brightness stung her eyes.

“Will you come home for National Day? If you’re coming, buy your ticket early, or there’ll be none left. And…”

And now she no longer lived in Jinlan Community. Yishu was about to say more.

“I won’t come back for the holiday. There’s something at school, and I… I want to… save some money,” Yihui stammered, the words tangled and unclear.

The round-trip train ticket from Jiangxi to Yuncheng was only a bit over two hundred yuan; it wasn’t the money he minded, he simply couldn’t go home. If he did, and was asked about university, he’d be tongue-tied. His leaving school without permission would surely come to light. He had always respected Yishu’s feelings—as the eldest sister, she was like a mother. If she knew, he’d have to endure her scolding and see her sadness, but what he dreaded most was the possibility of losing her, a pain worse than death.

“You don’t have to scrimp so much. Spend where you need to, otherwise—”

Otherwise, you’ll be ostracized by your classmates. The words “otherwise” were so soft as to be nearly inaudible, and she swallowed back what came after.

“Jie…”

Yihui’s voice trailed off, his nose stinging as the ache spread to his throat, making him unable to continue.

“I’ll come back for winter break. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine,” he managed.

Yihui’s heart felt as though it were soaked in something sour, the bitterness spreading through his veins to every part of his body. His feet seemed to step on cotton, weightless, as if freed from gravity—yet still burdened.

Yishu said nothing more.

The front door creaked open.

She ended the call.

It must be Shixi back. The clock on the wall read 9:50 p.m.

The wind slipping through the window signaled the deepening night.

How many more evenings like this would there be, waiting in the long darkness?

“Yishu?” Xu Shixi’s voice was low. “Are you asleep?”

With her early-to-bed, early-to-rise routine, she should have been asleep by now.

The light in the living room was her waiting.

The light was for waiting, wasn’t it?

“I’m still up,” Yishu emerged from the living room behind the glass wall. “Have you eaten? If not, I’ll make you something.”

Xu Shixi caught her hand, his touch gentle beyond words. “I’m not hungry.” His breath was heavy with alcohol, washing over her face. “There’s something…” He hesitated, his words faltering, “I hope you can help me.”

The sudden smell of alcohol made Yishu’s stomach churn. Seeing his serious expression, she felt a vague unease. “What is it?”

She hoped whatever he had to say was within her capacity to bear.

“It’s…” Xu Shixi scratched his head, “it’s Tang Dai.”

Hearing the name, Yishu’s pupils widened involuntarily.

“She’s drunk,” he explained quickly. “Tonight, a client from Shanghai invited me and Tang Dai to dinner. She had a few too many drinks, so… I didn’t feel right leaving her alone at the hotel, so I brought her back. After all, she lives just downstairs.”

After all, she lives downstairs? The words grated in Yishu’s ears.

By what right could he ask her to take care of his ex? An ex was supposed to be in the past—why was she still so tangled up in the present, and would she appear in the future, too?

Yishu’s face darkened; the world before her seemed to lose all color.

“Let’s go,” she said, exhausted, swallowing her grievances.

Since he had placed such a weighty choice before her, she couldn’t run away. On reflection, Xu Shixi had considered her feelings—he was aware of the line between men and women. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have come to tell her; he could have easily fabricated a convenient lie.

But he hadn’t.

Thinking of this, Yishu found a small measure of comfort.