Nie Jiuluo listened intently as Yan Tuo spoke about Lin Xirou’s diary from years ago. She also folded paper stars, which was a kind of diary-keeping, though not nearly as detailed. She folded them without intending to show anyone and had even planned to leave a will requesting all her stars be burned after her death—a fitting farewell to her eventful life.
Having heard this much, she had already guessed some of what happened: “So, you didn’t listen to your mother and still went after the ducklings, which ruined your family’s escape plan, right?”
Yan Tuo gave a bitter smile. “It wasn’t exactly disobedience, it was just… there was an accident. Do you remember when I told you there were two trains that night?”
Back then, there were no high-speed rails. Even the T-series and Z-series trains wouldn’t appear until after the year 2000. Passing through small county towns like Tang, most were old green-colored trains that didn’t stop for long. Getting on one was like fighting for your life.
When Yan Huanshan arrived, they had just announced boarding for the 9:30 train. Half the waiting hall rose at once, creating chaos like soldiers rushing into battle.
Lin Xirou kept watching the entrance, and when she finally saw Yan Huanshan, she joyfully stood up and waved. But with everyone else standing too, and Lin Xirou being of average height, she was instantly lost in the crowd. Anxious, she stood on tiptoes and jumped until, in a moment of desperation, she climbed onto a bench.
Yan Tuo, meanwhile, kept his eyes fixed on the old man with the duck basket, remembering Lin Xirou’s words: “Wait for your father to come, he’ll buy you one.”
The old man rose with the surge of people, lifting his carrying pole and basket—clearly, he was taking the 9:30 train to Gansu.
Yan Tuo panicked. At his young age, this felt like the most urgent crisis of his life: his father hadn’t arrived yet, but the ducklings were about to leave.
His voice cracked with tears: “Mom, Mom, the ducks are leaving!”
The noise was too loud, and his childish voice was instantly drowned out. Lin Xirou, standing on the bench, was sweating anxiously as she kept waving and waving.
Yan Tuo looked back and forth between the old man and Lin Xirou. Mom was safe on the bench, but the old man was being pushed away by the crowd, his figure appearing and disappearing, getting further and further away.
He was a little man now and had to make a quick decision.
Yan Tuo said, “At the time, I thought, I need to grab hold of the old man, make him wait—my dad would be here any moment, and then we could buy the duckling.”
He paused and smiled. “I was too young then, had no concept of catching trains. Thought buying the duckling was the most important thing, that the train should wait until I finished buying it.”
So he pushed into the crowd.
Xin Xin always held tight to her brother’s clothes, and seeing him run, she followed like a little shadow. At just over two years old, she could speak simple words and walk, her little legs spinning like wheels as she kept up.
In the noisy waiting hall, amid streams of people heading to various destinations, at one end, Yan Huanshan finally saw Lin Xirou and waved forcefully, pushing through the crowd. At the other end, Yan Tuo used all his strength to squeeze between adults’ legs, with his determined little shadow following behind.
This moment perfectly captured fate’s indifferent face—what Lin Xirou thought would be a family reunion was the beginning of their true separation.
Yan Tuo closed his eyes, his lips trembling, a tear sliding down his cheek: “After that, my mom never saw Xin Xin again.”
Nie Jiuluo sat stunned, feeling the heat on her face, only then realizing she was crying too. She pulled out a tissue to wipe her eyes, then crumpled it in her palm: “You got separated? She wasn’t taken by traffickers, was she?”
She should not have been—hadn’t Chen Fu said Yan Xin was in Bai Jian?
Yan Tuo was silent for a long while before saying, “If she had been taken by traffickers, it might not have been the worst outcome.”
They hadn’t encountered traffickers—they had simply gotten separated, lost in the crowd. In the end, they hadn’t caught up with the ducklings, and they couldn’t find their mother. Xin Xin kept crying, and Yan Tuo comforted her: “Don’t be afraid, let’s find the police uncles.”
Train stations usually had police stations, and Lin Xirou and Yan Huanshan went there first, but the adults all assumed the worst—suspected kidnapping. Given that station kidnappings were indeed common then, they focused their efforts in that direction. Meanwhile, Yan Tuo and Xin Xin walked down the street sobbing until kind passersby took them to the local police station.
When asked about their parents, Xin Xin couldn’t answer, but Yan Tuo remembered clearly: “My father is Yan Huanshan.”
Ah, Yan Huanshan—the county mine owner, quite a celebrity who loved maintaining connections and often received awards and commendations. At least two or three officers at the station had dined with him. One of them laughed when he heard: “Yan Huanshan? That big boss is so busy making money he lost his kids. Well, I’ll take them home.”
At home, Aunt Lin was there. She had already discovered Lin Xirou was missing and found the hole cut in the iron window screen.
Then came a knock at the door.
She accepted the two children with mixed confusion and understanding, smiling and thanking the police: “I’m so sorry about this. It’s late—we’ll come to thank you properly another day.”
After the police left, she asked Yan Tuo: “Little Tuo, tell Auntie, where did you go?”
Yan Tuo sniffled and said, “Mom took me to ride the train.”
“And your father? Did he go too?”
Yan Tuo thought for a moment, certain his father would go: “Mom said when Dad comes, he’ll buy me a duckling.”
These memories were enough to break one’s heart.
Nie Jiuluo sat uncomfortably, wanting something to lean against. She lay at the edge of the bed, resting her forehead on her arms and burying her face in the bedding: “Do you remember all this yourself?”
Yan Tuo stared at the ceiling hidden in the darkness above: “Actually, I forgot it all later. For a long time, I forgot everything completely. If it weren’t for my mother’s diary, I might have remained just Lin Xirou’s godson.”
“Then one day, Uncle Chang Xi found me and said he had something of my father’s to give me—my mother’s diary, sealed in a large envelope with my father’s handwriting on it. My father knew how to judge people; Uncle Chang Xi kept this for so many years, always keeping his promise, never opening it.”
“Reading the first few pages, I was skeptical, thinking… after so many years, who knows if the diary was real? But when I got to the train station part, suddenly, I remembered everything.”
Remembered that after that, he never saw Xin Xin again.
Remembered his mother kneeling before Aunt Lin, crying and begging for her child, and Aunt Lin saying: “As long as your daughter is in my hands, you’ll behave. So just keep behaving, do as I say, and don’t cause any more trouble. That way, maybe someday, you’ll have a chance to see her again.”
Remembered his mother holding him and crying, murmuring: “Silly boy, just for a duckling, just one little duckling, and they managed to trick you away…”
How did he forget all of this later?
Nie Jiuluo looked up at Yan Tuo. The light was before her eyes, but he was in shadow—so close, yet far away.
“Later, I thought about it over and over—that night, our family really could have escaped. The train left at ten o’clock; we only needed another half hour. Back then, Aunt Lin had just established herself in this world, hadn’t built up her power yet, and had no one to use. She couldn’t have caught us. What a shame…”
He mumbled: “If I hadn’t insisted on chasing after those ducks, maybe our family of four would have already put down roots in Yunnan. My father died, my mother was paralyzed, Xin Xin disappeared—why am I the only one who lived peacefully all these years? It’s not fair, is it? So maybe suffering a bit is karma.”
Nie Jiuluo remained silent.
For a moment, she felt that both she and Yan Tuo were like kites. Yan Tuo’s past was too heavy, preventing him from flying up, and even when he did fly, he lived eternally in the past, constantly looking back along the road traveled. She, on the other hand, had too light a past, not even having the spool of string. Her parents had left early, leaving clearly and completely, and she had no relatives worth missing, so she kept flying upward, pursuing fame and pleasure, only wanting to live more comfortably, never thinking to glance behind.
She said: “What you’re saying isn’t right.”
As she spoke, she tucked in the blanket in front of her: “I think a five-year-old child has the right to fold the flowers they love, to chase the ducks they like. That’s their freedom.”
“Don’t trap yourself with ‘what ifs’—by your logic, there are too many people to blame. What if your mother hadn’t let go of your hands, you wouldn’t have run off; what if your father hadn’t dug the coal mine so deep, Lin Xirou wouldn’t have been able to get out? Why do people who suffer always look for guilt within themselves? Shouldn’t we focus on those who harm us?”
Yan Tuo said: “That’s true in theory…”
Nie Jiuluo interrupted him: “If it’s true in theory, then live by that theory. You can escape from enemies who won’t forgive you, but if you won’t forgive yourself, everywhere becomes a prison.”