The first time Zhu Yun told Tian Xiuzhu about Li Xun was the night before she returned home to China — and it was Tian Xiuzhu who brought it up.

That year, she completed her master’s degree. Her family had hoped she would stay abroad, but Zhu Yun had refused. After several months of persistent persuasion, her parents — who didn’t know much about the technology industry — finally came around to believing that there were more opportunities and better prospects back home.

With her plane ticket booked, Zhu Yun planned to take Tian Xiuzhu out to dinner — partly to say goodbye, partly to express her gratitude. But when they arrived at the restaurant, Tian Xiuzhu casually announced that he would be leaving on the same flight the next morning.

“You’re leaving too? Why?”

“More opportunities back home. Better prospects.”

“…” Zhu Yun set down her knife and fork. “Tian Xiuzhu.”

Her expression was serious — serious enough that Tian Xiuzhu had to stop cutting his steak. He wiped his hands and cleared his throat.

“I want to go back.”

Zhu Yun was about to say something; Tian Xiuzhu got there first.

“With you.”

His work was at its peak. His career was flourishing. The reason he would return to China at this moment needed no further explanation.

“Tian Xiuzhu, I—”

“You have a boyfriend.” Tian Xiuzhu smiled. “You’ve said so about two hundred times.”

Zhu Yun held her wine glass by the stem. Tian Xiuzhu turned back to his steak and cut a piece, then asked, as if just making conversation: “How do I compare to him?”

“You’re not the same type.”

“We’re both men.”

Zhu Yun looked up. The candlelight in the restaurant made the crystal glasses shimmer. Tian Xiuzhu had one-quarter French ancestry — his face was narrow, with more definition than most East Asian features, yet not overly so. He had a lovely pair of warm brown eyes, and though he could be a little odd and otherworldly at times, he was genuinely gentle.

Zhu Yun answered honestly: “You’re better than him.”

Tian Xiuzhu seemed to think she was saying it to be kind.

“Really.” Zhu Yun looked at the clean rim of her plate and said quietly: “Actually, when I think about it carefully, most of the time he was quite awful.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“Why do you always ask about him?” Zhu Yun said, exasperated.

“Don’t you want to talk about it?” Tian Xiuzhu dabbed his mouth with the cloth napkin. He had just finished eating, and his lips looked particularly vivid — the kind of effortless perfection that made him seem almost polished in the glow of the candlelight.

Tian Xiuzhu poured her a little red wine, and said with a hint of playfulness: “We go back home tomorrow. If there’s a story that needs to be told, this is the place to tell it — leave it here, in a foreign country. That way, going home really will feel like a new beginning.”

He signaled to the waiter to clear all the dishes, leaving only two wine glasses. He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward, as attentive as a student, listening to her with great seriousness.

That year, Zhu Yun was twenty-six years old. She had been abroad for over five years. The days without Li Xun now outnumbered the days she had spent with him, by a wide margin.

It was also the first time Zhu Yun had ever told the full story to anyone.

To her own surprise, she didn’t shed a single tear throughout the telling — which was entirely unlike before. She still remembered how it had been when she first arrived abroad: she couldn’t even bear to think his name without feeling a weight descend on her. She would hide herself away in the dark of night and cry alone. She had no friends then, and barely spoke to anyone. She lacked the ability to comfort herself, so she drove herself relentlessly, filling every hour with study and work, refusing to rest even when she could no longer grip a pen.

She had clung to a stubborn conviction: that as long as he was still suffering, she had no right to live easily. Just as Tian Xiuzhu had once said — she had locked herself in a cage.

But in the end, it was not Tian Xiuzhu who had set her free. She couldn’t simply credit everything to him, couldn’t reduce her transformation to the patient words of one gentle man.

It was time.

The most merciful, and most merciless, force in the world. It didn’t even need to do anything — its mere existence was enough to outlast everything.

Looking back now, those five years hadn’t really contained any single dramatic turning point. She had simply lived her days, one after another, in the most ordinary way — watching the sun rise and fall, watching crowds gather and scatter, watching weeds wither and grow back again.

Without her noticing, she had stopped lying awake at night. The rashes had faded. The clumps of hair in the shower drain were gone. When she thought of his name now, the tears no longer came — sometimes she even found herself smiling. Only the smile never lasted long. The corners of her mouth would barely lift before all the strength behind them was spent, just like the white magnolia blossoms that had fallen overnight on the campus paths all those years ago.

That night, she and Tian Xiuzhu stayed until the restaurant closed. By the time she finished, Zhu Yun’s throat was dry and her thoughts blurred at the edges.

She had drunk too much, and the next morning she overslept. She scrambled to the airport in a blind panic, making it to the gate only at the very last moment.

Tian Xiuzhu had already switched seats with the person next to her. He had brought along an eye mask. Zhu Yun pulled it over her eyes and fell into a heavy, muzzy sleep. More than ten hours later, the plane touched down.

Zhu Yun had returned to China many times during her years abroad, but none of those homecomings had ever felt quite like this one.

This time, she had truly decided to stay.

Her mother came to pick her up by car. On the way home, Zhu Yun took the wheel. Though it was late, her mother had gone so long without seeing her that she had no end of things to say.

“I spoke with your Aunt Jiang on the phone a few days ago. Your older cousin got his green card.”

“Is that so.”

The mention of Wang Yuxuan made her mother sigh. “When you first went abroad, he was so good to you.”

Zhu Yun said nothing. Her mother pressed on: “I always thought you two would be well-matched. Aunt Jiang and I both could see it — and then you go and pay him no attention at all.”

“I never thought about it that way.”

“It’s time you started. Every stage of life has its proper business — student years are for studying, and after graduation, you find work and build a family. I always thought Wang Yuxuan was a fine young man. You grew up together, and yet you—”

“We know each other too well. Even businesses don’t overcharge their regulars.”

“How can you compare that to business? Do you have any idea how complicated the world is these days? Do you know how rare it is to find someone you already know through and through?” Her mother settled back into the seat, her expression earnest. “I could see it long ago — Wang Yuxuan has always had feelings for you.”

“We’re just not right for each other,” Zhu Yun said, tired of the conversation.

“How would you know, if you never gave him a chance?”

“Goodness, he’s married now.”

That finally shut her mother up. It was an irrefutable dead end — no matter how reluctant her mother was, there was nothing to be done.

The topic of Wang Yuxuan was finally laid to rest. Just as Zhu Yun was about to breathe a sigh of relief, her mother spoke again.

“Who was that man who came off the plane with you?”

“…”

Zhu Yun was very nearly on her knees. She had never mentioned Tian Xiuzhu to her parents — specifically to avoid her mother’s relentless interrogation. When they had come through arrivals, she had even deliberately told Tian Xiuzhu to come out a beat later. And yet somehow her mother had still noticed.

Zhu Yun attempted to play dumb.

“What man?”

“The one you returned something to.”

Zhu Yun remembered — as they came out, she had noticed the eye mask she’d borrowed from Tian Xiuzhu still in her pocket, and had pulled it out to return it. The whole exchange had taken less than two seconds, in the middle of a dense crowd. And still her mother had seen.

“Who was he? A classmate from America? He looked like a fine young man.”

“Not a classmate. A friend.”

“Where did you meet?”

“Abroad.”

“Not from your university? Is he from the general public—”

“No,” Zhu Yun said helplessly. “He’s a legitimate artist — a painter. Look him up online, he’s quite accomplished.”

“A painter?”

Her mother seemed mildly taken aback, but the furrowed brow she had worn throughout the car ride eased a little at last. “An artist, then. How did you meet him?”

“I went to Italy with some classmates once, and we met at an exhibition.”

Her mother leaned back in her seat and murmured: “A painter…” She seemed to recall something, and suddenly smiled. “Do you remember when you were little and you took an art class? The teacher had everyone draw a rabbit, and what you produced looked like a moth. You frightened the girl sitting next to you so badly she burst into tears.”

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me — you made the poor child cry and then had the nerve to get upset about it yourself. You refused to go to another lesson after that.”

“That can’t be right…”

“Of course it’s right. You had quite a temper when you were small.” Her mother laughed more freely as she went on, gazing out the window, lost in some private memory, covering her mouth to stifle a smile. “I still can’t get over it — how on earth did it come out looking like a moth?”

The sky had gone fully dark. There was little traffic on the expressway. Zhu Yun pressed a little past the speed limit, the high beams carving open the quiet and vast darkness of the night.

When Tian Xiuzhu learned that Zhu Yun’s mother had spotted him, he wasted no time in paying a visit.

He chose a Sunday morning, ringing the doorbell at a moment when Zhu Yun had just woken up. She shuffled to the door barefoot and disheveled, and needed a moment to fully register the sight of Tian Xiuzhu standing there in a well-pressed suit.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was hoarse with sleep.

His eyes were crinkled with amusement. Despite the formal attire, he wore it with an effortless ease — as if he’d simply thrown on a casual outfit, his whole person radiating something clean, like the scent of fresh tea.

“You asked me to come. We agreed on seven o’clock.”

“I said seven in the evening.”

His eyes widened just slightly, still smiling.

“Oh, I see.”

…You did that on purpose.

“Zhu Yun?”

Her mother was an early riser and had already been out for her morning walk. On her way back, she happened upon Tian Xiuzhu at the door, and her eyes lit up at once.

“You must be Mr. Tian.”

Tian Xiuzhu bowed politely. “Please, just call me Tian Xiuzhu.”

Zhu Yun stifled a yawn.

Her mother had looked Tian Xiuzhu up online beforehand, just to verify what Zhu Yun had told her, and already held a favorable impression. Seeing him in person, she found a young man who was clean-cut and well-spoken — full of vitality, yet composed and refined, with just the faintest trace of shyness. Standing next to the rather disheveled Zhu Yun, Tian Xiuzhu seemed positively radiant by comparison.

Zhu Yun could tell her mother was taken with Tian Xiuzhu — though the extent of her enthusiasm came as a slight surprise.

Her mother appeared to have entirely forgotten Wang Yuxuan’s existence. For a full week after Tian Xiuzhu’s visit, she sang his praises without pause.

Zhu Yun thought back over what Tian Xiuzhu and her mother had actually talked about. He had been perfectly well-mannered, certainly — but not especially skilled at the kind of charming small talk designed to win over elders. Around older adults in particular, he was actually rather bashful, prone to going red.

“That much, really?” Zhu Yun slouched into the sofa. “I didn’t find him as extraordinary as you’re making him out to be.”

“Oh?” Her mother lifted her teacup, a teasing glint in her eye. “Are you the better judge of people, or am I?”

Zhu Yun fell silent.

“That young man is intelligent and gifted.”

“That’s true.” After all — a genius painter.

“But that’s not what matters most. He has a good character. I imagine he’s not an only child — there are siblings in the family.”

Now Zhu Yun was genuinely surprised. “How did you know? Did they mention it online?”

“Don’t underestimate me.”

“…”

“Which is exactly what I mean about you not being a good judge of people.” Her mother spoke serenely. “I also know that not only does he have siblings, but that he gets along well with them. He has a strong personality of his own, make no mistake — but more often than not, he puts the comfort of others first. That kind of consideration, if it doesn’t come from a good upbringing, simply can’t be faked.”

Zhu Yun hugged a cushion to her chest and watched the television, making no comment.

Her mother took an unhurried sip of tea and concluded: “He’s capable in his own right, he’s sensible, and he comes from a close-knit family. When you put all of that together — that’s what truly matters.”