Chapter 88 – Returning Home from the Hospital

After a month in the hospital, she found herself oddly reluctant to leave.

Tang Dai took off her patient gown and changed into a white cashmere sweater that Tang Chao had brought from home. A beige wool coat hung from her wrist. She glanced around the arrangement of the hospital room.

Outside the window, the pale daylight was desolate, like a bloodless, wan face.

The door opened quietly. Qiao Siming entered. He wore a short black coat over his work uniform.

“Are you all packed up?” He gripped the doorknob with his left hand and leaned in.

He had learned a week earlier that Tang Dai would be discharged today and had requested a day off from Xu Shixi ahead of time. In fact, over the past month, his workdays and rest days had been completely inverted. Taking half-days off, working half-days, had become routine.

“Is he not here?” Tang Dai’s gaze slipped past Qiao Siming’s right side, looking out the door. All she saw was a nurse pushing a cart into the room across the hall.

“He…” Xu Shixi again. Is it that I can’t shake him, or that his shadow refuses to leave me? I come every day to care for her, taking her joys and sorrows as my own, yet still I am less important than a ghost from her past. Is it my tragedy, or my foolishness?

“He went to Rongcheng,” Qiao Siming said, bending to pick up the black tote bag of her clothes. “He left this morning.”

“Is something wrong at Happy City again?” Tang Dai asked anxiously. “Why didn’t you go with him? He might not be able to handle it alone.”

When will you ever think for yourself? Why must a blazing fire insist on scorching a stone? Knowing full well that even if it burns itself out, the stone will never melt. In the end, only the stubborn fool will be burned, left with blisters on her hands and pain swelling in her heart. Is that really what you want? If you love him so much, if you can’t let him go, why let go so easily in the first place, why walk away from his life? I don’t know the reasons, but if it were me, unless I died, I’d never abandon a love I cherished as life itself.

Qiao Siming watched Tang Dai, her face clouded with resentment and panic, devoid of her usual composed grace. He felt jealousy and frustration. Time seemed to roll back eight years, to the day they met. What he thought was the beginning of hope turned out to be the start of a lifelong nightmare.

She would smile and, as if nothing were amiss, casually recount details of her life with Xu Shixi in front of him. Even moments of intimacy would be alluded to with vague indifference. Qiao Siming, who had known about such matters since the fifth grade, could spin a world from the faintest ambiguous phrase. Sometimes, he wished he were still a child, innocent and oblivious.

Because of his family, Qiao Siming had often seen his father bring home women of all sorts. In that dark and endless tunnel of a home, their voices echoed like a song in a valley. His mother, not to be outdone, would respond in kind.

Until he was eleven, he was grateful his parents put on the façade of a loving couple. Not only outsiders, but even family living under the same roof could see nothing of the emptiness behind their harmony.

After five years of marriage, this pair—showered with blessings and heartfelt good wishes—finally ended their long-maintained charade.

Qiao Siming adjusted the bag and walked out the door.

The hospital bill had already been settled downstairs.

“I’m talking to you!” Tang Dai caught up, blocking his way. “Didn’t you hear?”

I heard you, but I don’t want to answer.

Qiao Siming blinked. “He puts his work above all else, but you put him above your own life? Have you ever wondered if all this is worth it?”

Why did I come? Because I am pathetic, because I am willing to debase myself, because I am lost, because I let myself fall. I am like a fool pouring water over sand, hoping it will become fertile earth, hoping I might grow in its life. But I must be wrong—how can sand become soil? Or perhaps I am an aquatic plant, able only to survive in water.

“Why didn’t I go? Isn’t it obvious!” Qiao Siming could not hold back his temper.

“What do you mean?” Tang Dai’s fine brows knitted together. “Are you trying to tally up your good deeds? Get this straight—I didn’t ask you to come; you insisted on it.”

“Yes—” Qiao Siming spat out the word as if wrenching a stone rooted deep within him, its jagged edges scraping his organs, bones, and flesh with every inch it moved. Cold sweat broke out on his brow, his limbs convulsed and trembled, but she could not see the blood and wounds inside him. “Yes, I insisted on coming. I’m the fool. I couldn’t let go. Even knowing you have no feelings for me, I keep playing the fool, again and again…”

Tang Dai was moved. She had always avoided facing Qiao Siming’s feelings, but now, hearing him admit them aloud, she still chose to look away.

Qiao Siming and her—wasn’t that just like her and Xu Shixi?

Tang Dai understood the principle well enough. The irony was that all the wisdom in the world is meant for others; we ourselves are merely the creators of such wisdom. If only we could apply a fraction of our advice to ourselves, would life be easier? Is it not a tragedy, a farce, to repeat the same ignorant mistakes?

A sly, cold wind slipped through the seam in the plastic door curtain. Tang Dai shivered, pulled the beige coat tighter around her arm, her slender fingers slipping through the sleeve. Once both arms were in, she tugged a stray lock of hair from inside her collar, letting it fall down her back as she regained composure.

“I’ll take a cab home myself,” she said at the door, her back to Qiao Siming. “You don’t need to bother with me anymore.” You shouldn’t be like me—live for yourself.

To Tang Dai, Qiao Siming lived humbly, while she lived nobly.

To Qiao Siming, Tang Dai had lost herself, while he lived like the walking dead.

He stood there in a daze for several minutes, watching her back retreat until she was nearly out of sight. “Wait!” he called out suddenly, his voice loud and hoarse. “Let me take you home.” At least let me do this one last time.

I won’t be at ease if you go alone.

Let me be stubborn and foolish for you.

Tang Dai said nothing, clutching her coat tightly, gripping the side seam so not a breath of wind could sneak in.

The taxi driver eyed the handsome, somber pair and imagined all sorts of romantic drama. With faces like that, only the most passionate, love-hate-laden storylines could do them justice—something to make the audience swoon. She was about to try out some prearranged lines, but a glance at Tang Dai’s steely gaze made her swallow them down, the car jolting as she did.

With that jolt, her thoughts scattered. She readjusted the wheel and turned on the car’s music player, casually selecting an old sad song—something from the 1980s, which matched her age.

“I’m here, you should go back,” Tang Dai said, taking the tote bag from Qiao Siming.

“Let me walk you in,” Qiao Siming’s voice was almost a plea.

“There’s no need, since we’re already here,” Tang Chao interrupted, pulling over and striding up. “Why didn’t you tell me you were being discharged? When I got to the hospital, the nurse said you’d checked out half an hour ago.”

“I didn’t want you to go to all that trouble, rushing back from Shanghai.”

“It wasn’t that bad—just the traffic jams, that’s all. The whole way from the highway was gridlocked.”

Tang Chao brushed aside her apology and gratitude. His frequent trips between the two cities were not just for her, but for another woman as well.

“Come on, let’s get inside. No need to stand out here in the wind.” Qiao Siming stepped in front of Tang Dai, shielding her from the west wind.

“Let’s go.” Tang Chao nodded, took the bag from her, and led her into Fu Garden. He saw the thick foliage tossing wildly in the wind, and felt a pang of pity. Taking a step back, he turned and said, “Go on home. My sister has me—she’ll be fine. Get back to your own business.”

He wanted to say thank you, but the words stuck in his throat.

After a month of observation, he had found that Qiao Siming truly spared no effort for Tang Dai, asking for nothing in return. He didn’t dislike him anymore, though he still couldn’t bring himself to like him.

Qiao Siming stood beneath the pale sky, a fog of melancholy slowly enveloping him. From certain angles, he looked almost boyish.

He blinked, long and slow. Dew from the mist clung to his lashes, and as his eyelids closed, the droplets rolled along their arc, fell to his cheeks, and dropped to the ground.