Employees all made way: “President Zhang.” “President Zhang.” “President Zhang.” An endless stream of voices.

Li Weiyi raised her hand to cover her face, resigned herself to hanging her head, and followed him all the way into the elevator, then into his dark little room, finally shutting all those stares outside the door.

Li Weiyi shook off his hand and plopped down on the sofa by the window, looking outside, still ignoring him. Zhang Jingchan took off his coat, even removed his suit jacket and tossed it on the sofa, wearing only his dress shirt and pants as he sat down across from her again.

He looked at her for a while, then asked: “Have you resolved your matters?”

It was fine when he didn’t ask, but once he did, Li Weiyi thought of her father whose fate was likely grim, her heart filled with bitterness. She answered: “Maybe I rewrote all the misfortunes of the previous life, but new deviations appeared.”

Zhang Jingchan looked at her expression: “What exactly happened?”

Li Weiyi choked out: “My dad has been missing for eight years, we can’t find him no matter what… I don’t have a father anymore. Zhang Jingchan, I don’t have a father anymore either…”

She buried her face in her palms. After a while, she felt him wrap his arm around her shoulders. His embrace carried an unfamiliar scent, yet you’d feel this was a scent that belonged uniquely to him. Her ears and heart were filled with silence. She lowered her head and buried her face in his chest. His body temperature was warm. Li Weiyi’s tears quickly soaked through his shirt. But he remained completely motionless.

After a while, he began to gently pat her back, stroke after stroke, slowly, as if comforting a child. Li Weiyi’s tears silently flowed even harder, both hands clutching his shirt.

In the dim room, she didn’t see that Zhang Jingchan lowered his head to look at the small patch of her face showing, his eyes also slowly reddening. She didn’t know that when Zhang Jingchan woke up this morning and learned his father had repeated his mistakes and even committed suicide earlier, his heart held only fury and ruthlessness. But not until this moment, when she lay crying in his arms, did some intense emotion long suppressed in his heart suddenly surge out and flood his entire body. A tear silently slid from his eyes. He quickly wiped it away with his elbow, just continuing to pat her back, stroke after stroke.

Like a wounded wolf tightly embracing an equally injured rabbit, licking each other’s wounds that no one could see.

At a certain moment, Zhang Jingchan reached his hand to her waist, lifted with force, and placed her entire body on his lap, then held her even more tightly and completely.

It was so dark around them. Li Weiyi was already crying with swollen eyes and dizziness. Her heart jumped with alarm, but her mind was still fuzzy as she asked: “What are you doing?”

He was quiet for a moment before answering: “Didn’t you say over there that you lifted me up, and I had to return the favor?”

Li Weiyi thought to herself: But this isn’t how you return it. Only she suddenly didn’t dare speak. Both fell silent. Occasionally, Zhang Jingchan’s hand would stroke her short hair. Occasionally, he would lower his head, his chin resting on the top of her head.

Everything, everything—this room, the tightly drawn curtains, the gray light, the deep sofa, his shirt collar, the warmth in his embrace, his fingertips, the feeling of skin rubbing against each other through fabric… They were like a bottle of over-fermented wine, bitter mixed with sweet and sour, emanating some kind of rich, chaotic aroma.

Li Weiyi didn’t know when she fell asleep—probably too tired from crying, too mentally exhausted. When she woke up, the room was still dark, the time indiscernible.

She was still on his lap.

As soon as she moved, Zhang Jingchan noticed. His finger scraped across her face as he asked: “Awake?” That voice was unexpectedly low and hoarse.

His other hand was still around her waist. Li Weiyi became fully awake, embarrassed as if her backside was on fire. She quickly jumped off him, saying: “Oh my, my face feels so uncomfortable from crying, I’m going to wash it.”

He sat in place without moving and said nothing.

By the time Li Weiyi dawdled out of the bathroom, the curtains had been drawn open, the lights turned on, the room thoroughly bright. Zhang Jingchan had his back to her, having changed into another shirt and fastening the buttons. That designer shirt covered with her tears and snot was draped over the back of the sofa.

Li Weiyi was once again so embarrassed her toes curled. She rushed over, grabbed the shirt and said: “Wait two minutes, I’ll wash it for you!”

Zhang Jingchan had finished changing his shirt. He turned around, though the shirt hem hung loosely and his hair was somewhat messy—less of his usual cold severity, more of a young man’s casual dishevelment. He said: “Okay.”

How strange—he hadn’t said anything more, yet Li Weiyi’s face flushed red again.

Li Weiyi took the shirt and ran back to the bathroom, scrubbing it in the sink, thinking: What is this? Why was she hand-washing his shirt? They could send it to the dry cleaner. She really had lost her head today.

When she came out again, Zhang Jingchan had already tidied his shirt, draped on his black suit jacket, and sat back behind his boss desk, restored to that calm and profound appearance. A pot of tea had been brewed on the desk, with two empty cups beside it.

As if nothing had happened.

Li Weiyi walked over, plopped down in a chair, picked up the tea and drained it in one gulp, smiling sweetly as she said: “Oh well, don’t be awkward, don’t be awkward. We still have to fight side by side, absolutely can’t be awkward. What just happened is easy to understand—fellow sufferers under heaven, emotions ran high for a moment, we warmed each other up. Don’t take it to heart, I won’t take it to heart either. If it were any other person, I would have embraced and cried with them too, hahaha.”

Zhang Jingchan’s hand holding the teapot paused. His eyes remained still and composed as a stream of clear tea continued pouring into the cup.

“Let’s discuss what to do next,” Li Weiyi said. “I still want to go back. As long as there’s the slightest chance of finding my dad, I won’t give up. What about you?”

Zhang Jingchan placed that cup of tea in front of her, setting it down a bit heavily. The liquid trembled and some spilled out. Li Weiyi froze, hearing him say: “Fine, I’ll go with you.”

Li Weiyi felt that “fine” sounded rather stiff. She said sheepishly: “Thank you so much. Actually… you should try again too. You can’t give up because of one failure.”

Zhang Jingchan lowered his head to drink tea, his well-defined fingers gripping the teacup. Not even his brow bone moved as he said: “I don’t need to. It’s a waste of time.”

Li Weiyi silently finished her tea and said: “You may be smarter than me, better at business than me, understand your father better than me. But there’s a saying: Those involved are confused, observers see clearly. I don’t believe he would lie. His eyes at that time were real, his heart was real. I could truly feel it. Although we failed this time, why do you immediately conclude it was because he refused to change? Maybe some other accident occurred that left him powerless; or maybe he tried, but it was still too late? If that’s the case, he needs you even more to go back and help him, to rewrite destiny. Why have you convicted him before even finding out the truth? You clearly have prejudices against him.”

Zhang Jingchan raised his eyes in stunned silence.

——

Li Weiyi recalled the many events before and after her father’s disappearance. At seventeen, she understood nothing, was grief-stricken and dazed. Now looking back, she resolved to carefully comb through everything.

She called the criminal detective who had handled the case back then. His contact information was still in her phone.

She put it on speaker so she and Zhang Jingchan could listen together.

“Uncle Ding, hello, this is Li Weiyi.”

Ding Chenmo had been the captain of the district criminal police team back then and was now retired. An upright and brave man, his voice was resonant and warm: “Little Li, hello.”

“I’m sorry, regarding my father’s case, there are some details I’d like to confirm with you again.”

Ding Chenmo answered: “No problem. Have you remembered some new clue?”

“I’m not sure.”

It was May 8, 2014, a Thursday.

Li Weiyi’s parents—Li Zhongheng and Xiang Qinling—rented a storefront on Qingyuan Street in Chenshi, only about ten square meters, selling middle-aged and elderly clothing. Rising early and working late every day, though they couldn’t make big money, with their diligence and honesty, it was enough to support the family.

That evening around seven o’clock, Xiang Qinling went home first to make dinner with their eldest daughter Li Xiaoyi. Around 8:10 (based on footage from street cameras), Li Zhongheng closed the shop. By rights, he should have walked home by around 8:30.

However, surveillance cameras captured him suddenly turning away about 800 meters from home, heading toward the road by the river. He didn’t have his phone—Xiang Qinling had taken it home earlier to charge.

Li Zhongheng had a wholesale supplier by the river, a clothing wholesaler whose warehouse was also located there. Strangely, Li Zhongheng hadn’t contacted them, and the warehouse entrance camera showed he walked to the warehouse door but didn’t go in, continuing forward instead.

The next section of road had no surveillance.

Later, at 9:08, a camera captured Li Zhongheng entering an alley. That was neither the direction of the shop, nor the supplier, nor the Li family home.

From there, Li Zhongheng disappeared. Chenshi’s surveillance in 2014 wasn’t as widespread as today, especially in that old residential area. Li Zhongheng was like a drop of water vanishing into the small city’s night, with no witnesses, no one knowing where he went, not even a body ever appearing.