Not long after Xia Li returned from San Francisco, a headhunter reached out to her.

A tech company in Bincheng that developed drones had taken an interest in her résumé and invited her for a conversation.

Xia Li privately spoke with two of the company’s department heads over several rounds of phone calls. They were very pleased with her, and invited her to make a trip to Bincheng for a face-to-face discussion. Xia Li took the opportunity over a weekend to fly there.

After returning, work once again fell into an intense rhythm. A global new product launch was scheduled for autumn, keeping the marketing and promotions departments especially busy.

It was right at this time that Xia Li received news from home.

Jiang Hong had undergone a physical examination in May, during which an ultrasound detected a lump on the left side of her chest. The doctor advised her to come back for a follow-up examination after some time.

Over the past couple of days, Jiang Hong had noticed while bathing that the lump seemed to have grown. She went in for another scan and found it had reached 4 centimeters in size. However, the lump had clear boundaries and distinct echogenicity, and the ultrasound preliminarily identified it as a tumor with a high likelihood of being benign. The doctor recommended surgical removal and biopsy.

Jiang Hong said she wanted to have the surgery done before the new school term began. Once school started, the after-school care program would be taking in a new batch of students, and things would be quite busy then.

“Is that necessary? First Hospital is expensive, and who knows if there are even any available beds.”

The entire Chucheng area had only First Hospital as a tertiary-level hospital, so people from surrounding counties and towns would all make their way there for serious illnesses.

Xia Li said thoughtfully, “Then go to the Women and Children’s Health Hospital for another examination, and try to have the surgery done there as well. They’re likely more specialized in breast procedures.”

A few days later, Jiang Hong informed Xia Li that the follow-up results at the Women and Children’s Hospital matched those from Third Hospital.

Jiang Hong told her not to bother coming back — the doctor had said it wasn’t a major surgery, and with minimally invasive procedures, she could be discharged within three days.

Xia Li was still uneasy, and in the end took two days of annual leave. On Wednesday afternoon, after getting off work, she boarded a flight to Jiangcheng and then caught a long-distance bus back to Chucheng.

She arrived in Chucheng in the early hours of the morning, long past the hospital’s visiting hours.

Xia Li stayed the night at home and went to the hospital the following morning to accompany her mother through the surgery.

It was only when Xia Li contacted Xia Jianyang to ask for the ward number that she learned Jiang Hong had been admitted to First Hospital.

And to her surprise, Luo Weiguo was there as well. He had brought a bouquet of flowers and a fruit basket, and was exceptionally warm — which Xia Li found oddly unfamiliar.

As a rule, Luo Weiguo’s attentiveness toward her family had always carried a faint air of condescension. This time, however, there was something almost ingratiating about it.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the nurses wheeled Jiang Hong — already prepped for surgery — into the operating room.

Luo Weiguo had matters to attend to at the factory and left first, saying he would come back to check in that evening if he had time.

While waiting for the surgery to end, Xia Li asked Xia Jianyang, “Haven’t you always thought First Hospital was too expensive? What changed your mind this time?”

Her parents usually dealt with minor ailments at clinics if they could, and only went to a hospital when necessary — and First Hospital would never have been their first choice.

Xia Jianyang hesitated for a moment. “First Hospital is a top-tier facility after all. Safer.”

Xia Li nodded in agreement. “Good thing there was a bed available.”

Xia Jianyang also said, “We got lucky.”

But Xia Li could see that his expression was somewhat unnatural. He had always been a somewhat reserved man, and when he felt ill at ease, it showed plainly on his face.

Xia Li understood. “It was Uncle Luo who helped arrange it, wasn’t it.”

Xia Jianyang nodded, though his gaze shifted slightly.

The surgery was quick — in less than two hours, Jiang Hong was wheeled out of the operating room.

The anesthesia had only just begun to wear off and she wasn’t fully conscious yet. Not long after being brought to the ward, she drifted off to sleep again.

Xia Jianyang went downstairs to buy lunch, and Xia Li stayed behind in the ward to keep watch.

She sat by the bedside, staring at the IV drip. She reached out and touched the back of Jiang Hong’s hand — it was a little cool. She felt her feet as well; they were cold too. She tucked the blanket in more snugly around her.

A moment later, footsteps sounded at the door.

Xia Li looked up, and the sight of who pushed the door open startled her completely —

It was Dai Shufang and Huo Jizhong.

Xia Li quickly stood up and greeted the two elders.

Dai Shufang looked briefly surprised, then smiled. “Little Xia, you took leave to come back?”

“Yes — I figured I’d feel better seeing things for myself.” Xia Li was quite bewildered by their presence. “Why are the two of you here…?”

“Oh, we came to take care of some business and thought we’d stop in to check on her.” Dai Shufang set the sunflowers she was carrying on the bedside cabinet, walked to the bed to observe Jiang Hong’s condition, then examined the data on the monitoring equipment and the day’s infusion schedule hanging beside the IV stand.

“Teacher Dai, what I mean is…”

Dai Shufang turned and glanced at her, smiling. “He told us not to tell you.”

Who “he” was — someone as perceptive as Xia Li couldn’t possibly fail to guess.

It must have been Yan Sishi who had entrusted the two elders with looking after her parents. And Luo Weiguo, who was close to her family and frequently around Huo Jizhong, would naturally act as an intermediary — reporting any first-hand news directly to the elders.

That explained why Luo Weiguo had broken from his usual manner and become so obliging.

He had always been the sort of person who read situations astutely and adjusted himself accordingly.

Dai Shufang exchanged a few words with Xia Li about her life and work, then prepared to leave, saying she had a lunch engagement and truly couldn’t stay long.

Xia Li walked the two elders to the ward door.

Only then did Dai Shufang smile and say, “Little Yan will have to depend on you to look after him.”

Xia Li felt a flicker of unease. “I…”

“What I mean is — Little Yan doesn’t have many old classmates or friends he still keeps in touch with, and he hasn’t really made new ones either. This child isn’t very good at expressing himself. No matter what happens, he blames himself first. Honestly, we’d rather he were a little more selfish. If you happen to have time on weekends, take him out for a meal, go see an exhibition — just make sure he’s not always sitting alone. That would put our minds at ease too…”

Faced with Dai Shufang’s earnest gaze, Xia Li couldn’t do anything but nod.

Dai Shufang sighed. “You’re a good child.”

The unspoken meaning carried the faintest note of regret.

Xia Li thought: Yan Sishi must have told them not to say anything — not to disturb her, not to make her feel obligated.

Not long after the two elders left, Xia Jianyang returned with lunch.

Xia Li didn’t have much of an appetite. She picked at her rice, unable to eat. She told Xia Jianyang about the two elders’ visit, and he was very surprised.

“Dad — how long have Chairman Huo and the others been looking out for us?”

Xia Jianyang had no choice but to tell the truth. “For a while now. Luo Weiguo told us not to say anything to you — said it was that Yan fellow’s instruction. This time we hadn’t planned to trouble Chairman Huo either. It was Luo Weiguo who invited us to dinner, and I mentioned that your mother needed to be hospitalized. He reported it to Chairman Huo himself. Chairman Huo immediately had someone arrange for us to come to First Hospital, told us not to worry, said he’d help arrange for the best surgeon to perform the operation.”

“Was there anything else beyond this?”

“Luo Weiguo also came to ask whether we’d want to go back to the factory. He said Chairman Huo could arrange it for us.”

“Did you agree?”

“No…” Xia Jianyang looked a little awkward. “Work is going well right now — what would we go back to the factory for… Also, we’d been looking at apartments, and Luo Weiguo said the group had invested in a development in the industrial district that’s nearly finished construction. Chairman Huo said he could get us an internal employee discount when the time came.”

Xia Li was momentarily dazed as she listened.

If it weren’t for Yan Sishi, someone as powerful and prominent as Huo Jizhong would never have the time or inclination to look after two unremarkable former factory employees.

And to Yan Sishi, her parents were complete strangers — people he had never met, whose names he might not even know.

He was so clearly someone who kept his distance from the world, who was reluctant to entangle himself in human connections and social obligations.

She was scheduled to be discharged on Monday; Xia Li had to return to Beicheng on Sunday.

Before leaving, she deliberately transferred a sum of money to Xia Jianyang, saying that people had already been troubled enough arranging the hospital bed, and that they should still pay the treatment fees themselves. Besides, with medical insurance reimbursement, it wouldn’t cost too much.

Xia Jianyang said he understood and wouldn’t be a burden to anyone.

He also told her to stop sending money all the time — between the two of them, their salaries were enough, and the red envelopes she sent during festivals and holidays were already more than generous.

Jiang Hong then asked Xia Li, “Will you be coming back for National Day?”

“I will. Lin Qingxiao is getting married — I’m going to be her bridesmaid. Do you remember her?”

“Of course I do — your best friend from high school. She’s getting married already? Where’s her partner from?”

“Also from Mingzhong. Same year as us. They’ve been together since graduating from high school.”

“That’s wonderful — all these years, they’ve known each other through and through.”

But Xia Li knew that Lin Qingxiao and Nie Chuhang’s path over these years hadn’t been simple at all.

After graduation, they’d been in different cities for university — four years of long distance, with countless breakups and reconciliations throughout.

Xu Ning said it was just like watching Friends — Rachel and Ross, going back and forth, tormenting each other all the way until they were old.

When they finally managed to graduate from university, Lin Qingxiao went to Dongcheng, where she moved in with Nie Chuhang.

The previous year, they’d begun discussing marriage, but Nie Chuhang’s overbearing mother had caused no small amount of conflict.

During their worst fight, Lin Qingxiao even returned the engagement ring.

Later, Nie Chuhang pleaded with her several times to stay. Unable to make a clean break, they got back together again.

Nie Chuhang had a falling-out with his family, stood firm against his mother’s pressure, and worked out a plan with Lin Qingxiao for their future: buy an apartment in Dongcheng within five years; after that, the two of them would not live with their parents; the decision of whether to have children and when would be entirely Lin Qingxiao’s to make; if they did have a child, they would hire a postpartum caregiver. The goal, in short, was to limit Nie Chuhang’s mother’s interference in their life together.

Jiang Hong, as mothers tend to do, inevitably asked Xia Li whether she was currently seeing anyone and when she planned to find a boyfriend.

Xia Li brushed it off. “Work keeps me busy. We’ll see.”

After returning to Beicheng, Xia Li hesitated for a long time before deciding to invite Yan Sishi to dinner.

Out of courtesy.

She carefully chose her words and sent him a message on WeChat.

YAN: No need to stand on ceremony. How did the surgery go for your mother?

Sherry: She’s already been discharged and is resting at home now.

YAN: That’s good to hear.

Sherry: Are you free sometime soon? I’d like to treat you to dinner — you’ve really gone to so much trouble for us this time.

After a moment, Yan Sishi replied.

YAN: I’m not in the country at the moment — I’m at the company’s California headquarters on an exchange. I appreciate the thought, but let’s consider the dinner taken care of.

Xia Li typed out a few words, then deleted them. She didn’t say anything more.

A couple of days later, the group chat that had been dormant for some time came back to life. Wang Chen dropped a video and sent a message tagging Yan Sishi: Still in California? I’m heading to California the day after tomorrow for a conference. How about the two of us grab dinner? I have some questions I want to ask you about this video.

Yan Sishi replied with an “OK.”

Shortly after, Nie Chuhang surfaced in the chat, saying he’d watched one minute of the video and already felt the vast gulf between fields — he couldn’t understand any of it.

Xia Li was in the office writing a document. She put on her earphones and clicked on the video.

It was footage from a symposium on cutting-edge artificial intelligence theory held in Silicon Valley. The clip captured Yan Sishi delivering his remarks and responding to questions.

Yan Sishi was dressed in a silver-grey suit of exceptional cut and silhouette. His features were refined and cool, more reminiscent of a scion of old money than a researcher — the kind of poise cultivated through generations of an established family, polished to a luminous quality like jade.

If it weren’t for the conference badge clipped to his chest and the presentation remote he held in his hand, one might never have guessed this was a proper academic symposium.

And the topic he was discussing was imposing in an entirely different sense:

He used a concrete example to explain the specific workings of a convolutional neural network as a type of feedforward neural network.

Xia Li made a valiant effort to follow the train of thought, but when she reached the part about “the three feature maps of the C1 layer, where each group of pixels undergoes summation, weighted values and biases added, and then passed through a Sigmoid function to yield three feature maps of the S2 layer” — she had no choice but to acknowledge that the divide between fields was real, and so was the divide between minds.

The video had subtitles, and Xia Li had already given up trying to understand the content. She simply watched the person delivering it.

The concepts that would sound impenetrably dense to most people flowed from him as easily as everyday speech — even more naturally than ordinary conversation, owing to his sheer familiarity with the subject.

That clear, faintly low voice; that unhurried calm entirely free of affect — it brought a phrase to her mind: Art is the new sexy.

And it didn’t contradict her resolve to stop letting herself sink any deeper.

The Yan Sishi in this video made her, following pure instinct, indulge in a brief moment of admiration.

When Yan Sishi returned from California, he took an extra day of leave and rested at home.

He had a deep aversion to the exhaustion of travel — not because of fatigue, but because he despised the crowded, noisy environment of airports, thick with strangers.

That breathless, clamorous chaos made him deeply uncomfortable.

Even at home, there was no peace.

He received a phone call: his grandfather had been hospitalized.

Out of a sense of duty, Yan Sishi made a trip to the hospital.

Just as he reached the door of the ward, he heard arguing from inside.

He paused, then pushed open the door to find: Yan Suizhang and the woman from last time were both there. His grandfather was half-reclined on the bed, in the midst of berating Yan Suizhang. “You dare show your face here? You’re truly determined to anger me into an early grave.”

The assistant who had been tending to his grandfather was repeatedly urging him to calm down. “Please don’t upset yourself — if you get worked up, your blood pressure will spike again.”

“How could I not be upset? I’m not dead yet, and already someone is in a hurry to disgrace the Yan family name.”

At that moment, his grandfather glanced toward the door. “Little Yan, you’ve come.”

Yan Sishi walked in, his gaze passing briefly over Yan Suizhang and the woman — who looked at him with an expression of nervous trepidation.

“How are you doing?” Yan Sishi went to the bedside.

“Fine — it’s just your father who’s sent my blood pressure through the roof again.” His grandfather’s temper settled somewhat. “Good timing. Little Yan, as his own child, you have the most right to speak on this. Give your father some counsel.”

Yan Sishi didn’t fully understand the situation. He looked toward Yan Suizhang.

Yan Suizhang’s expression was cold and shuttered; he said nothing. The woman beside him opened her mouth hesitatingly, but also remained silent.

The atmosphere was unnervingly still.

Yan Sishi looked toward his grandfather, who also said nothing — as though the words themselves would be too foul to pass his lips.

It was the grandfather’s assistant who finally spoke quietly: “Mr. Yan intends to marry Ms. Xu.”

Yan Sishi looked up sharply at Yan Suizhang.

Yan Suizhang did not spare him a glance. He addressed only the grandfather. “My affairs are not for a junior member of the family to interfere in. And whether you agree or not — this is my decision, not a matter for discussion.”

His grandfather let out a cold laugh. “I want to see how you intend to make something happen that I refuse to permit.”

At this point, the woman beside Yan Suizhang spoke. Her voice carried a trace of timid pleading. “We don’t mean to act against you. It’s just that Mr. Yan has his own circumstances that leave him with no choice…”

His grandfather’s breeding held even in anger; he would never speak harshly to an outsider. His tone was even warm. “Ms. Xu, forgive my directness — this is a private matter for the Yan family.”

The woman bit her lip, and then suddenly sank to one knee beside the hospital bed. “I have no desire to involve myself in the Yan family’s private affairs, but… but I am already pregnant.”

His grandfather went rigid.

The woman bowed her head, her expression fragile and tender as a rain-drenched lily. “…I have no designs on anything belonging to the Yan family. I would be willing to have Mr. Yan draw up a will in advance — I would take nothing. I only want to give the child a legitimate name. I don’t even need to marry him — as long as the child can bear the Yan name openly once born, and be raised under Mr. Yan’s roof…”

Yan Sishi didn’t know why he had come here today.

Every time he allowed himself to be bound by duty and drawn into anything relating to the Yan family, something happened that turned his stomach.

Just like now — it was as though icy, venomous serpents were crawling up his spine, as though someone had forced a fistful of cockroach eggs down his throat.

He could not stay another moment.

He was on the verge of being sick.

He walked straight toward the ward door, opened it, and swung it shut behind him.

A thunderous slam.

Xia Li was on WeChat coordinating work matters with Lin Chiyu when a colleague sent her a private message saying someone was looking for her at the front door.

Xia Li told Lin Chiyu she had to step away for a moment, picked up her access card, and stood up.

She swiped her card at the entrance and stepped out — and then saw, down the corridor ahead, someone looking her way and giving a small wave in her direction.

It was Wen Shubai.

Xia Li was quite surprised. “Mr. Wen, you were looking for me?”

Wen Shubai walked over. “I’m sorry to come by without any warning. I don’t have your WeChat, and the only thing I remembered was that Yan Sishi mentioned you work here — so I came directly.”

“Is there something urgent?”

Wen Shubai’s expression was visibly troubled. “Over the past couple of days — since the evening before last until now — have you been in contact with Yan Sishi?”

Xia Li startled. “No — he and I… we haven’t really been in touch recently.”

“He took a flight back to the country the day before yesterday. I sent him a message that evening to ask him to dinner, but he still hasn’t replied. His phone has been switched off the whole time. I went to his apartment — he wasn’t there. I also asked Fang Shumu — a mutual friend of ours — as well as other classmates and friends. I even asked people in the Yan family, and his therapist. Everyone says they haven’t been in contact with him these past couple of days. I also checked with his company, and they say he requested three days of annual leave.”

Xia Li’s heart plummeted into a bottomless abyss.

She absorbed Wen Shubai’s words with difficulty and struggled to maintain her composure. “…What about his grandparents?”

“I haven’t asked them yet — they’re elderly, and I was afraid of worrying them. I just wanted to ask if you could try reaching out to him. If no one can get through to him, I’m going to file a missing person report.”

“You’re all saying you can’t reach him — what makes you think I could…”

“Try.” Wen Shubai looked at her. “You mean something different to him. Dr. Meng said that if he’s simply choosing not to respond to people, then perhaps hearing from you might make a difference.”

Xia Li’s thoughts were in chaos. She didn’t take time to analyze what Wen Shubai had said — she simply lowered her head and unlocked her phone.

Her thumb was slick with a faint sweat. The fingerprint scan failed. She typed in her passcode and miskeyed it once.

She couldn’t find his name scrolling through the message list, so she searched for it directly.

She tapped into the chat, didn’t stop to deliberate, and typed quickly: Where are you?

She could feel that her whole body had gone cold — especially her fingers, which trembled ever so slightly as she typed, beyond her control.

There was no reply.

She wasn’t surprised.

She looked at Wen Shubai.

“Try a voice call,” he said.

She could barely think anymore. She did as he suggested.

She accidentally tapped the video call icon instead of the voice call. She didn’t notice.

The dull, repetitive ring tone went on for quite some time, and then the call ended automatically — no one had picked up.

“A phone call,” Wen Shubai said.

She thought to herself how foolish they both were — they should have called from the very beginning. If his phone was switched off, what had been the point of all this.

Her fingers felt strangely unresponsive, moving sluggishly as she scrolled through her contacts.

She found Yan Sishi’s name and dialed.

A moment later, the phone produced a steady, measured ringing tone.

This was… the sound of a call connecting?

Xia Li looked at Wen Shubai, astonished.

Wen Shubai asked urgently, “What? What’s happening?”

Xia Li didn’t answer him, because she heard a familiar voice from the phone:

“Hello?”

Clear and cool, as though from a great distance.

Like something crossing vast reaches of time and space, traveling through the endless dust of the world to reach her.

Xia Li could no longer stand. She crouched down, propped her forehead with one hand, and heard that her own voice had taken on the tremor of someone about to cry.

“…Where are you?”

Xia Li didn’t know what Wen Shubai’s background was, but after they landed, a helicopter came to collect them.

Cutting through the clouds at dusk, they descended onto the fishing island in less than half an hour.

A car was waiting near the landing pad and drove them directly to the location Yan Sishi had sent — he had been ordered to stay put and not go anywhere.

Xia Li had almost half her body leaning out the open window, one hand pressing down her hair as it whipped in the wind, her gaze fixed intently ahead.

In the distance, a red plastic sign appeared. Squinting at the words, she could just make them out: “A-Cui’s Grocery.”

Xia Li held back her agitation and pointed toward it. “There!”

The car pulled up in front of the store. Xia Li couldn’t wait for it to come to a complete stop — she wrenched open the door, jumped out, and ran straight for the entrance.

The owner was chewing gum and watching television; Xia Li’s sudden lunge at the counter gave him a start.

“Excuse me — did someone come in a little while ago and wait here?”

“He should have gone next door.” The owner pointed to the right side of the shop doorway.

Xia Li called out a quick “thank you” and hurried out.

Following the direction the owner had indicated, she walked quickly along the sandy ground for less than fifty meters — and then she saw it: beneath the canopy of a vast, sprawling banyan tree, a solitary figure stood.

“Yan Sishi!”

The figure turned around.

The sky was nearly dark, and the fading light had reduced everything to vague silhouettes.

Xia Li broke into a half-run. Yan Sishi walked toward her as well.

Two steps away from him, Xia Li stopped.

Only at this distance did he seem to shift from shadow into person — close enough for her to see his face clearly.

His hair had been tousled by the sea breeze. His whole being was like the sea just before it surrendered to night — silent, solitary, an eternal mystery.

She drew a deep breath, and every emotion she had accumulated along the way surged up at once. She couldn’t hold back: “Are you trying to vanish off the face of the earth again — disappearing without a single word!”

Yan Sishi was taken aback. “…I only came to clear my head. My phone ran out of battery. I just charged it.”

Xia Li’s breath caught. “…Then why didn’t you charge it sooner? Do you really not know that people worry about you? That they’d go searching for you like fools, sending messages over and over, waiting and waiting…”

What was she even saying.

She had lost track.

She fell silent, took a step back, and raised her hand to cover her face. She could no longer control herself. Muffled sobs escaped from between her fingers.

Yan Sishi stood there, stunned. His heart felt wrung out; a silent, surging tide rose in his eyes.

He took two steps toward her, his gaze falling downward. Her long hair was tousled by the sea wind, her shoulders trembling. That slight, slender frame seemed as though it might come apart at the seams — and through the gaps between her fingers, broken, muffled cries spilled out.

He was at a loss for what to do. He asked quietly, “…May I hold you?”

Xia Li couldn’t make a sound.

Without waiting for her answer, he extended his arms and drew her directly into his embrace.

She felt as though she were being held by the cool, salt-tinged sea breeze itself.

Her heart held only one thought.

This time, I found you.