◎ The River ◎

At dawn, Chun Zao returned to the downstairs of their rental building.

Cuckoos cried incessantly from the branches. She and Yuan Ye hugged under the tree for a while, insisting that he not see her upstairs.

After all, this was a matter between her and Chun Chuzhen, mother and daughter. She didn’t want Yuan Ye to experience another round of verbal degradation and personal humiliation—that would be more painful than stabbing a knife into her heart. He was such a good person.

Yuan Ye no longer insisted, respecting her decision.

Moreover, he guessed that after a night had passed, Chun Chuzhen’s deep hatred for him would only deepen, and she certainly wouldn’t want to see him for a while.

He didn’t want to give her mother more grief and provoke more harsh words directed at Chun Zao.

Finally, he said to Chun Zao, “See you at school.”

Chun Zao pursed her lips, tears threatening to spill at any moment, but she blinked them back forcefully, stubbornly putting on a brave face: “Mm! Don’t worry about me—it’s not the first time I’ve had conflicts with my mom. I have experience!”

Yuan Ye wanted to say he couldn’t do it, but encouraging her against his true feelings was also extremely difficult. In the end, he could only respond: “Mm.”

Before going upstairs, Chun Zao was suddenly called back by Yuan Ye.

The boy’s phone had only 1% battery left, which he saved for the black-background, white-text handheld banner he had once set up.

“Chun Zao is the best.”

He held it up. The young man’s handsome face peeked out from behind the phone, smiling somewhat forced but also very, very sincere, with light flickering in his eyes.

Chun Zao pressed her lips tight, took a deep breath, and raised her fists in encouragement: “You too!”

She turned and went upstairs.

Taking the key from her pants pocket and inserting it into the lock, Chun Zao opened the door. Somewhat unexpectedly, she hadn’t expected her mother to still be sitting in the living room, at the dining table, in the same position.

She was exactly as she had been when Chun Zao fled in the night—like a plaster statue that had grayed with age, ready to fall apart and crumble at any moment.

Hearing the door, she came alive as if a curse had been lifted, turning her face to glance over.

The living room lights had remained on until now, even though it was bright outside.

Chun Zao looked at her expressionlessly.

The only soft sound in the room was the cast iron pot bubbling and simmering on the kitchen stove, with the fragrance of porridge wafting from there.

Chun Chuzhen rose from her chair, said nothing, and only asked: “Have you had breakfast?”

Chun Zao replied: “No, I’m going to do homework.”

Chun Chuzhen opened her mouth to speak, but her daughter was already walking toward the bedroom with her bag.

She placed the steaming porridge and a small dish of pickled vegetables beside her desk, swallowing all her words.

Before leaving, she closed the door behind her.

Teardrops fell onto the English test paper, one, then another, spreading the freshly marked black ink. Chun Zao could no longer contain herself. She pushed the large paper aside, dropped her pen, collapsed onto the desk, buried her face in her arms, and began sobbing with extreme restraint.

—

Yuan Ye wandered outside.

The sun gradually rose higher, boiling the late summer wind like scalding water. That long-absent anxiety and bewilderment descended, turning him into a rootless duckweed, stopping and starting among the crowds and traffic, his destination elusive.

On the taxi ride back with Chun Zao, he had deceived her.

He said he would go home first, then contact their homeroom teacher to arrange a dormitory, and reside back on campus like in his freshman year.

But he would never go back.

Bowing his head to Yuan Yi, begging for charity to reclaim a corner where he could shelter himself in that territory already taken by another—how could that be possible?

Fortunately, today was Sunday.

It gave him a gap and breathing room to think through and handle these sudden changes.

Entering his usual coffee shop, Yuan Ye borrowed a charging cable from a familiar staff member.

The other person seemed to notice his pale complexion and profuse sweating, asking if he felt unwell.

Yuan Ye shook his head, saying no.

The sleepless young man quickly finished his entire cup of coffee, constantly asking himself:

Yuan Ye, where to go? Where can you go?

Think quickly, where can you possibly go? Take responsibility for your choices and don’t make the girl you like worry.

The answer was blank, nowhere to start writing. The helplessness from hours ago returned with a vengeance, causing his spirit to collapse again. Yuan Ye leaned back into the sofa, his brow tightly furrowed, from daylight to evening, as the burning red sky slowly darkened. When he was nearly at his wits’ end, a long-sealed promise lit up like a firefly in the darkest realm.

It concerned Xiang Minshen, his mother.

Rather than a promise, it was more like verbal play between mother and son. On his eighth birthday, Xiang Minshen hadn’t prepared lavish gifts as in previous years, arriving empty-handed with only verbal blessings. Under her son’s disappointed gaze, the woman mysteriously indicated that this time’s gift was a magical treasure, like Aladdin’s lamp, hidden in some small shop in this city.

He was still young then, eager to go “treasure hunting.” But Xiang Minshen stopped him, telling him that unless he encountered really big trouble, he must never find and open it prematurely, or he would not only be disappointed but might even invite trouble and punishment.

The naive child believed her and suppressed his curiosity.

The following year, Xiang Minshen left him.

Yuan Ye gradually understood that this wasn’t a gift or contract, but an omen, a prophecy, a warning before parting.

In the long years afterward, he missed her and resented her.

He no longer wanted to touch anything related to her. Of course, she had also left with exceptional decisiveness and cruelty, leaving no traces.

Yuan Ye was surprised that he had never forgotten the name of that shop: “Shi Fen.”

He searched for it on his phone and indeed found a shop with that name.

The address was in the city center, not far from here, right next to an urban village.

Yuan Ye followed the navigation through winding, narrow alleys and finally found this tavern. Evening light filtered through wooden windows. The storefront was simple and rustic, with only the two characters “Shi Fen” written on it, carrying an air of hiding in plain sight.

Yuan Ye pushed open the door. The bell above chimed, and the woman reading behind the bar looked up, revealing a face with fine makeup but obvious lines of time.

She glanced at his school uniform and coldly shooed him away: “Get out, this establishment doesn’t welcome minors.”

Just as Yuan Ye was about to speak, the woman with her hair in a loose low bun seemed to sense something and looked up again, gazing over in slight surprise: “Are you Yuan Ye?”

Yuan Ye was stunned.

“You’ve grown so big?” She rose from behind the wine cabinet, unexpectedly tall. She came around to look him over, her tone carrying indescribable delight: “Still so tall and handsome, you look so much like Old Xiang.”

Yuan Ye guessed that “Old Xiang” in her mouth referred to his mother.

Perhaps they had met a few times in childhood, but his impression of her was very faint. When people suffer great trauma, the brain activates self-protection mechanisms, selectively forgetting and filtering out those unbearable associated images.

She was the first elder to say he resembled Xiang Minshen in appearance.

Before this, he had been universally assumed to be his father’s copy and badge.

Thinking of this, Yuan Ye’s nose tingled slightly.

Noticing the young man’s suddenly darkened emotions and barely concealed exhaustion, the woman didn’t immediately ask about his needs, only asking: “Have you had dinner?”

Yuan Ye shook his head.

The woman turned and walked to the wall, lifting a curtain to call to the back kitchen: “Husband—make a bowl of ramen, add an extra soft-boiled egg.”

A rather rough male voice replied: “Coming right up!”

After Yuan Ye sat down, customers continued to patronize the shop, an endless stream, mostly drinking beer and gnawing on braised snacks.

He sat alone at the table, occasionally lighting up his phone.

What if Chun Zao sent a message saying she was safe? What if her mother had a change of heart?

Miracles are called miracles because their probability of occurrence is extremely low.

Close to zero.

A large bowl of steaming ramen with rich toppings was placed in front of Yuan Ye. The woman sat down across from him and introduced herself: “You probably don’t remember me anymore. I’m your mother’s childhood friend—just call me Aunt Qin.”

Yuan Ye responded: “Aunt Qin.”

He carefully began: “Did my mother have…”

The woman said, “Eat the noodles first.”

Yuan Ye said, “I’m in a hurry.”

The woman looked at the calendar on the wall, suddenly realizing: “It’s Sunday—don’t you still have evening self-study?”

Yuan Ye nodded. He lied again. Actually, around 4 PM, he had asked for sick leave from their homeroom teacher, claiming a headache.

He decided to handle everything in the shortest time possible, using one evening self-study period to move out of his current residence.

This way, he could also avoid running into Chun Zao and adding to each other’s pain.

Where to move after that remained unknown.

That urgency was like scorching heat waves in summer, blazing and overwhelming.

Aunt Qin stopped dawdling and returned to behind the bar, taking out a dark brown leather envelope from a locked narrow cabinet below and placing it in front of Yuan Ye.

The envelope wasn’t thin, but what was inside didn’t seem to be letters—it was bulky and slightly heavy against his fingertips. Nothing was written on the outside, only tied with thin hemp rope on all four sides, knotted into an easily untied butterfly bow.

“What’s inside?” Yuan Ye looked up and asked.

Aunt Qin crossed her slender arms: “See for yourself.”

Yuan Ye pulled away the ties and spread the opening with his fingers. His eyes tightened slightly—deep in the envelope were a silver key and bank card, along with a folded note.

Xiang Minshen was a complete idealist.

He had many guesses along the way, but never expected such straightforward, practical items.

Aunt Qin spoke gently: “No need to take them out—I’ll tell you directly. Inside are the house and savings your mother left for you. The house isn’t big, just sixty-something square meters. She used to run there alone when she was in a bad mood to process things. The note has the house address and card password. I didn’t give it to you before because you were too young, and I was afraid your father would find out and harbor ill intentions, taking it for himself.”

“I thought you wouldn’t come. Your mother also said it would be better if you didn’t. Wait until you’re an adult to give it to you,” Aunt Qin covered her mouth with her hand, her expression complex, seeming somewhat sentimental and heartbroken: “But you still came.”

Yuan Ye listened silently, unable to speak.

He tried several times to catch his breath, restraining the sourness that repeatedly surged up.

“I won’t say anything else. I’m not making excuses for her—this was her choice. She was selfish, an irresponsible mother, but she also truly loved you deeply.”

“Oh, right, she also insisted I tell you that the bank savings amount is an important number from a science fiction novel she used to read with you. She said after ten years, there would be more interest, afraid you wouldn’t notice her unique thoughtfulness. She also said you especially loved that book.”

As a close friend guarding the secret treasure, she had been puzzled for many years, but she didn’t ask about the amount, only curious about the work:

“So, what book was it?”

Yuan Ye didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to think at all. Those memories wrapped in amber-like texture—beautiful yet melancholic—dissolved at this moment, flowing and rushing forth. The answer was within them:

Douglas Adams’ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

And that number was: 42.

Representing “the ultimate answer to life, the universe, and everything.”

—

Leaving the tavern, Yuan Ye didn’t go ahead to confirm whether that house was suitable for living, because Aunt Qin told him she would regularly go there to hire housekeeping for cleaning and check water and electricity. These were all Xiang Minshen’s repeated instructions, in case her son had unexpected needs.

If he were truly at his wits’ end now, he could move in immediately.

Just after eight o’clock, Yuan Ye returned to the rental house and began packing his luggage.

Chun Chuzhen, who had been scrolling through TikTok in her room, heard the sound and came out. When Yuan Ye met her gaze, he still politely called “Auntie,” but the woman only gave him an indifferent glance, then turned and returned to her room as if he were air, continuing to watch short videos.

The house was unusually quiet, with only the constantly switching background music—vulgar yet familiar.

Yuan Ye packed quickly. When he emerged from the nearly emptied bedroom with his suitcase, he looked toward Chun Zao’s closed door. The girl should be at school for self-study, and he didn’t know if she had taken an afternoon nap. His ability to care for her had become faint and sparse.

His breathing became light, as if seriously ill, as if his heart had been unexpectedly hollowed out, like a little boy who had just tasted candy only to be forcibly cut off. Unbearable, but must be endured. He stared at that door, telling himself for the countless time not to think, don’t think anymore, don’t get stuck in dead ends, don’t enter blind alleys, stop that unwillingness and self-loathing. Face the choices—someday, he would be able to break down that door and welcome his princess. Even if his heart was being cut by knives at this moment.

He glanced toward Chun Chuzhen’s room, hesitating whether to bid her farewell in person.

Finally, he carried his suitcase to that door, didn’t push the half-open door panel, and only said: “Auntie, I’m leaving now.”

“I’ve left the key on the table.”

“Thank you for taking care of me this year.”

The room seemed empty, with only exaggerated laughter from background music answering him.

Yuan Ye turned to leave. When he was almost at the door, someone suddenly called out behind him: “Wait a moment.”

Chun Chuzhen came out, holding in her right hand the iron box of Chun Zao’s that had been exposed to public view last night: “Help me take this down and throw it away.”

Yuan Ye looked pained. He said as steadily as possible: “Shouldn’t you ask Chun Zao’s opinion first? These are her things.”

Chun Chuzhen’s tone was dismissive: “Whatever—either you take it or I throw it away.”

Yuan Ye paused, then took it.

Chun Chuzhen said nothing more, turned back to her room, as if saying one more word would be too much.

Yuan Ye took a taxi to the house his mother had left behind. The location wasn’t particularly good—in a remote suburb, quite far from school and even farther from home—but the building was toward the back, with large expanses of lush forest beyond the fence. In the night, he could see leaf shadows swaying and hear gentle forest sounds.

Yuan Ye turned on the lights.

Though small, this place had everything needed. Traces of the previous resident were barely visible, but certain ingenious and romantic touches that belonged only to her remained. Like clay-made planet refrigerator magnets, with some food recipes and methods pressed underneath, the handwriting is somewhat blurred.

Yuan Ye pulled his suitcase into the bedroom and turned on the light.

The first thing he noticed was a rectangular black gift box on the bedside table.

He left his suitcase by the door and walked over alone, picking up and opening that box.

Inside was an unopened bright red toy car model, made of alloy, sealed and preserved, not yet rusted or oxidized by time, new as ever.

On the steering wheel of the driver’s seat was tied a small, exquisite card, folded in half.

Yuan Ye pulled it from the thin gold thread and opened it to see:

“Little Ye,

We will eventually drive anywhere we want to go.

If there are storms for now, just sleep in this warm little house.

The sky will clear, the sea will calm, then continue accelerating.”

Below was a roughly sketched, simple smiley face.

Looking at it for a long time, it seemed to be crying, or perhaps laughing and crying at the same time.

Yuan Ye didn’t know how many times he had read this passage. Finally, he lifted his eyelids and gazed blankly at this empty room, this blank white wall. The young man’s vision gradually slowed and blurred. He turned off the light and, unable to bear it any longer, collapsed from the bedside to sit on the floor.

It was as if he had returned to that summer night eight years ago, when the thin little boy rushed out of the house just to chase a plane he could never catch up with. Looking at the sky while running, he fell hard, his knee bloody and mangled. When he tried to climb and stand up, the stabbing pain forced him to kneel back down. In the end, he could only despairingly curl up on the uneven road surface, pressing his eyes tightly with his hands.

The night became like a rushing river, and he was being swept away by the current.