After leaving the hospital the evening before last, Yan Sishi returned to his apartment.

The space was sterile and lifeless as a laboratory, and the glass insulated it so thoroughly from outside noise that the surroundings held only an absolute, death-like silence.

That stillness, paradoxically, made it impossible for him to be calm. He didn’t want to stay any longer. He booked the nearest available flight out of Beicheng.

This small fishing island was not a popular tourist destination and had largely retained its original character.

The hotel he’d booked was very close to the sea. Lying down at night, looking out through the glass window at the moon, he felt as if the sound of the waves were right beside him.

When he woke, he found his phone had died. He didn’t bother charging it. On this small island, a phone seemed almost unnecessary. He had brought enough cash for buying things, eating, and getting around.

After dark, the sea breeze was damp. Dark waves rolled. Moonlight lay across the surface, and the silence and strangeness that stretched into the distance felt like another world altogether — deeply compelling.

It was sometime at night when a child’s voice called out from behind him: “Hey!”

He turned. It was a small boy wearing nothing but swim shorts.

The boy scratched his head and said, “We’re about to have a late-night snack. My dad wants to know if you’d like to come join us.”

The boy pointed toward a grocery store nearby. “The owner. My dad.”

He thanked the boy and politely declined — but the boy ran over anyway and grabbed his arm without ceremony. “You’ve been sitting here all day. Aren’t you bored?”

The child was maybe eight or nine years old, but his grip was startlingly strong. He actually found himself pulled to his feet and led by the hand toward the store.

The store was small. A single light bulb hung by the door, its yellow glow more faded than moonlight.

In front of the store, on the sandy ground, a small table had been set up with a few plastic stools. On the table sat stir-fried clams, garlic scallops, vegetables, white porridge, and two bottles of beer.

Though they were complete strangers, the owner insisted he sit down for a couple of drinks.

That open, unaffected, entirely unpretentious warmth was something he couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

The boy was called A-Yong. The store was called “A-Cui’s Grocery.” A-Cui was A-Yong’s mother — she had died of illness some time ago. The owner mentioned it without making much of it.

A-Yong had no patience for adult conversation. He slurped up his porridge and ran inside to watch television.

After the meal, he tried to pay the owner, who wouldn’t accept. He said it was just a couple of dishes he’d thrown together — he couldn’t in good conscience take money for that.

So he bought a pack of cigarettes and two bottles of water to support the business.

When he went inside to get the water, he noticed a notice on the wall behind the counter — red background, white characters.

At the bottom of the notice, two phone numbers had been left. One belonged to a local police station.

As he left, the owner asked where he was staying. He gave the name of his hotel. The owner said he knew it, told him to be careful on his way back, and added that the island’s sunrise was quite nice — worth waking early to see.

He understood the quiet concern behind the owner’s words and said he would definitely take a look.

The following afternoon, he went back to the store and told the owner he had seen the sunrise, and that it was beautiful.

A-Yong was sitting on a small stool, sighing heavily over his homework.

He happened to offer a hint about how to approach one of the problems. A-Yong grabbed onto him like a lifeline and begged him to help with his homework.

He asked: wasn’t it a weekday? Why wasn’t the child in school?

The owner explained that a typhoon the week before had shattered the windows and blown out the light fixtures in the classrooms. The school was still being repaired.

He had originally planned to rest at the hotel for a bit and then return to Beicheng, but A-Yong pleaded so earnestly that he went into the store, bought an Apple charging cable, plugged it into the owner’s charger, and planned to book a return flight.

His phone had been off for two days and the battery completely drained; after being plugged in, it needed a few minutes before it could turn back on.

He set the phone on a corner of the counter, picked up A-Yong’s exercise book, and started looking over the problems.

After a while, the phone powered on. He reached for it, ready to unlock it — and a call came in.

He was ordered to stay right there at A-Cui’s Grocery and not go anywhere. She was coming to him.

A-Yong’s homework was simple enough, but A-Yong was not sharp — he had a thoroughly muddled grasp of basic arithmetic operations.

Teaching him was exhausting.

When it was finally done, he bought a bottle of cold water and went to stand in the doorway for some air.

With the owner’s permission, A-Yong sprinted out to play with friends from the neighborhood.

He came back over an hour later, drenched in sweat, and went straight for the freezer to grab a popsicle.

A-Yong asked him, “The person you’re waiting for still hasn’t come?”

“Not yet,” he said.

A-Yong grinned. “You’re like a left-behind kid — a left-behind adult!”

“I suppose so,” he said.

“You haven’t been stood up, have you?” A-Yong said.

“No,” he said.

“You sound pretty sure.”

“I am,” he said.

She truly did not stand him up. She arrived wrapped in the colors of dusk — and immediately launched into a thorough scolding.

Yan Sishi had never seen this side of her. She had always been composed; even when refusing someone, she managed to remain calm and measured.

Never had she lost control like this — emotions running so high she resorted to swearing.

Yan Sishi pressed his chin to her shoulder, breathing in the faint scent in her hair. The tide in his chest had not yet subsided.

He had been battered by sea wind for so long that his skin had grown cold, but the person in his arms was so warm — he found himself, almost instinctively, tightening his hold.

Afraid it was a dream. Afraid she would vanish.

There was a dull ache somewhere in his chest — he didn’t know why.

He said softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you would try to reach me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have let my phone die…”

“…I didn’t come looking for you. It was Wen Shubai looking for you,” she said, her voice carrying a stubborn trace of indignation.

Yan Sishi paused. “…But you came.”

Xia Li said nothing more.

She hadn’t known, until now, that she still harbored such abundant and overwhelming emotion. All that so-called “letting go” was nothing but a joke.

It was as though the girl who had once hidden away and sobbed in a KTV when she heard the lyric the summer is still just as long, and we are still the same — that girl was still the most persistent undercurrent of her soul.

The tears, once they came, soaked through the front of his shirt, leaving that patch warm and damp.

Not far away, Wen Shubai found himself in an awkward position.

He waited, and waited some more. The two figures in an embrace showed no signs of separating.

He had no choice but to clear his throat. “So — are you two going to consider discussing, at some point, when we might head back?”

After a moment, Xia Li lifted her head and pressed her palm lightly against Yan Sishi’s chest.

Yan Sishi immediately loosened his arms.

The two of them walked toward Wen Shubai.

Wen Shubai asked, “Head back now, or…?”

Yan Sishi said, “Let’s eat dinner first before we go. The seafood here is quite good.”

“…You really did just come here on vacation, didn’t you.”

Yan Sishi looked at Xia Li and asked for her opinion.

Xia Li said either way was fine.

At this point, A-Yong came running back.

He skidded to a halt in front of the store. “The person you were waiting for is here?!”

“Yes,” Yan Sishi said.

“So you’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Then come back to play sometime!”

“I will.”

Yan Sishi told Wen Shubai and Xia Li to wait a moment, went back into the store, and picked up two more packs of cigarettes and three bottles of water.

At checkout, he said to the owner, “Thank you for looking out for me these past two days.”

The owner glanced at him. “That’s not how I’d put it. You’ve been supporting my business the whole time. A few more days of this and I’d have needed to restock.”

He held out the payment QR code to Yan Sishi and gave the total.

Yan Sishi had a good head for numbers. “That’s two yuan short.”

The owner tilted his chin up. “That bottle’s on me.”

Yan Sishi walked out of the store and handed the bottles of water to Xia Li and Wen Shubai.

Not far from the hotel was an open-air seafood restaurant with very good food.

All the catch was completely fresh; the ingredients and preparation were priced separately.

Among what they ordered was a steamed grouper — the flesh was fresh and delicate, melting on the tongue.

Yan Sishi and Wen Shubai each opened a can of beer; Xia Li drank coconut water.

Wen Shubai adopted the posture of someone settling accounts. “Round-trip flights, helicopter fuel, handling fees and all — you’re reimbursing me for all of it.”

Yan Sishi: “Don’t think I don’t know — taking the helicopter was your own private indulgence.”

Xia Li said, “It was my first time riding one.”

Yan Sishi revised his position. “I’ll reimburse everything.”

Wen Shubai laughed. “That’ll teach you to pull your disappearing act.”

“I told you — I only came to clear my head. Would I have bothered taking annual leave if that weren’t the case?”

“Who knows with you. You’re someone who has principles in the strangest places, and you’d rather not cause anyone trouble — isn’t that right?”

Wen Shubai took a sip of beer and turned to Xia Li. “He’s the type of person who, even when running away from home, would unplug the lamp, fold up his blanket, and take out the rubbish before leaving.”

Xia Li glanced at Yan Sishi. “…He used to run away from home?”

“He did. To my place.” Wen Shubai said. “Around first grade of elementary school. He came knocking on our door in the middle of the night, school bag on his back. First thing he did was hand my mother an envelope, and told her it contained the month’s living expenses, and asked her to please take him in.”

Xia Li pictured the scene. It was… rather endearing.

Yan Sishi’s tone was cool and even. “You have quite a good memory.”

Wen Shubai: “At least better than yours.”

They ate outside. A sea breeze drifted over — very pleasant.

So pleasant, in fact, that Wen Shubai found himself reluctant to leave once the meal was done. He suggested they just spend the night and head back tomorrow, his reasoning conveniently sound: “Flying a helicopter in the middle of the night — how is that safe?”

Yan Sishi was staying at one of the island’s few resort hotels, which featured a rooftop pool on the second floor where you could swim while looking out over the sea.

They checked in. Wen Shubai declared his intention to swim a few laps and then have another round of late-night snacks in two hours.

Yan Sishi, meanwhile, wanted to go for a walk on the beach.

After showering and changing, he went to knock on Xia Li’s door at the other end of the corridor.

After a moment, the door opened.

She appeared to have just showered as well — her hair was still damp, carrying the scent of the hotel’s shampoo. A light, clean fragrance of white tea.

“Would you like to go for a walk?”

“Sure. Just give me a moment — let me blow-dry my hair a little.”

Xia Li pushed the door open slightly wider, about to invite him in to wait. Her room had a balcony with a particularly beautiful ocean view.

He said, “I’ll wait for you in the lobby downstairs.”

“…Alright.”

Xia Li blew her hair until it was about seventy percent dry, then went downstairs to find Yan Sishi.

He was sitting on a lobby sofa, flipping through a magazine. He looked up as she approached, closed the magazine, and stood.

Right outside the hotel was the sea.

They walked along the retreating tide on the sand. Xia Li was wearing low, flat single-strap shoes she often wore to work. After a few steps, sand kept getting in, and she eventually gave up and took them off, going barefoot.

Yan Sishi extended his hand.

Xia Li looked puzzled.

Yan Sishi leaned down slightly and took the shoes from her hand, holding them up by the back straps with two fingers.

The sea breeze drifted toward them, carrying the tang of salt and ocean.

Xia Li had been through a great deal of emotion today, and was now rather quiet. Every so often she lifted a hand to tuck her windblown hair behind her ear.

Yan Sishi, meanwhile, was thinking about the words Xia Li had said when her emotions had broken through earlier. They hadn’t sounded like she was speaking about Wen Shubai, and they hadn’t sounded like she was speaking only about this occasion.

“…Did you look for me back then?” Yan Sishi spoke.

Xia Li’s step faltered briefly, then continued.

She had known he would ask. “…Of course. Wang Chen and Tao Shiyue both looked for you too. I thought — at the very least, we were friends at that point. Maybe I wasn’t, but Wang Chen was. But you… you seemed to have no attachment whatsoever to anything in Mingzhong.”

“That’s not true.”

Xia Li sensed that Yan Sishi had stopped. She halted and turned back around.

Yan Sishi had one hand — the one not carrying the shoes — tucked in the pocket of his trousers. He looked up at her briefly, then lowered his gaze again.

Xia Li didn’t speak. She stood where she was.

She was waiting — waiting to see whether that door would open or not.

In the darkness, Yan Sishi’s face, slightly pale, held a quality of quiet and solitary stillness.

At last, he said, “From when I left school to when I went to Boston — there was nearly a year during which my memory is very unclear. Even now, it’s difficult to recall specific things from that time. You may not believe this, but I don’t remember exactly how I left Chucheng.”

Xia Li went still.

“…I’m sorry. During my undergraduate years, outside of attending classes, I was mostly sleeping. The medication made me very unclear-headed, and I had no energy to maintain anything beyond the basics of existing.”

“…What medication?”

“Sleep aids. And… antidepressants.” His voice was entirely calm.

It was only now that Xia Li recalled, with belated realization, that Wen Shubai had mentioned a “therapist” when he came to find her.

“…And now?”

“I stopped taking medication during graduate school. Now I can live normally. I still do occasional therapy sessions.”

Of course — more frequently, lately.

In Dr. Meng’s case notes, the most recent entries were all about “her.”

He never used her name. Only “her.”

She had made him, piece by piece, remember many things from high school. In her company, he found socializing not entirely tedious — that it held some meaning. She made him feel as though he had truly returned to an ordinary life, because through her he had discovered in himself a longing for closeness.

She was gentle, though in fact there was a quiet edge beneath the softness. She was also beautiful — her eyes especially.

She felt like a thread connecting him to the world; through her, he could reach toward more of it, even if most things still seemed dull to him.

To be separated from her for even a little while made him anxious. He yearned to spend long stretches of time with her — even doing nothing at all. Even just watching her sleep.

She always seemed to be short on sleep, which suited him perfectly.

He had never been in a romantic relationship and didn’t know what pace was appropriate. To send roses this early — was it too abrupt? Yet he felt no other flower suited her. For her, he had no feelings except those that called for roses.

He was not afraid of honesty. He was physically drawn to her. But he had never deliberately fantasized about her — out of a kind of reverence. The fear of desecrating something.

Yet somehow, he had still ruined things. He wasn’t sure why.

Perhaps he had overstepped. Or perhaps she had seen it — that the inner world he carried was still a ruin, not yet rebuilt.

Every chance encounter, when she acted as though nothing had changed, left him at a loss. Because he knew perfectly well that his heart was a pool of sulfuric acid, boiling with something that could only be called jealousy.

He didn’t want to see any other man appear beside her.

And the only thing he could do was endure.

Xia Li’s initial shock had dissolved into deep, gnawing remorse. “…I’m sorry. I didn’t know — I truly didn’t. If I had known, I wouldn’t have…”

Yan Sishi said quietly, “Don’t apologize. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I didn’t help you at all… and I even lashed out at you.”

“No. You coming to find me today — it means a great deal to me.”

He didn’t really believe in such things — and yet the moment his phone powered on, it was her call that came through first. It was difficult not to feel that this was some form of fate.

For a moment Xia Li was at a loss for words, because the way Yan Sishi was looking at her now — it was like the sea at night. A wordless depth. In her chest, it stirred something like the sound of tides, faint and unceasing.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Xia Li stepped forward and met his eyes. “Then promise me — from now on, wherever you go, you’ll let your friends know first. I worry about you. Wen Shubai worries about you. So do your grandparents… that is, if we matter to you at all.”

“I will.”

“Then let’s pinky swear?”

She held out her hand.

He let out a soft laugh — he probably thought it was some childish game — but he extended his hand anyway, hooked his little finger around hers, and pressed his thumb down to seal it.

Xia Li turned back around, and they continued walking.

Before long, A-Cui’s Grocery appeared ahead of them.

Xia Li looked up at the enormous banyan tree spreading its canopy across the sky and, as though a thought had struck her, said, “Wait here for a moment.”

She broke into a jog toward the store.

Yan Sishi wasn’t sure what she was doing, but quickened his pace to follow.

He watched her go inside, exchange a few words with the owner he couldn’t quite hear, then disappear with A-Yong toward the shelves at the back.

A moment later, Xia Li and A-Yong came back out. She was holding a length of red fabric in her hands.

Yan Sishi stood there, briefly struck.

Xia Li ruffled A-Yong’s hair. “When you grow up and run this as a business, charge twenty yuan a time.”

“My dad won’t let me,” A-Yong said.

“Then do it secretly — and keep all the pocket money for yourself.”

A-Yong grinned.

Xia Li looked up at him then and said, “Can you come help for a moment?”

The three of them walked toward the great banyan tree.

When they reached it, Yan Sishi set down her shoes and took the strip of fabric she passed to him — it looked as though it had been cut from a red banner of some kind, the edges uneven. Written on it in black marker were the words:

May Yan Sishi always remember the way home.

He stood reading those words, without speaking.

In his heart, a single thought formed:

You are my home.

“Hurry up and hang it!” A-Yong urged.

Xia Li said, “Hang it high.”

Yan Sishi rose up on his toes, found the highest branch within his reach, looped the strip of red fabric around it once, tied a knot, and pulled it secure.

The sea breeze came, and the red strip stirred and swayed with it.

Yan Sishi thought of that year — the ancient cypress trees deep green, incense smoke drifting through the air, the winter wind turning the tip of her nose faintly pink, her eyes bright and shining as they reflected the strip he had hung up high.

On it were her wishes. May all that is wished for come true.

He lowered his head and looked at Xia Li. She and A-Yong were both watching the strip of fabric, looking thoroughly pleased.

Yan Sishi reached out and patted A-Yong on the head. “Go on back — I need to say a few words to this older sister in private.”

A-Yong grinned, waved, and ran off. “Come back and visit again sometime!”

Silence fell.

Yan Sishi looked at Xia Li. “I have a few questions.”

“Mm?”

“When we’re back in Beicheng — may I take you to dinner?”

Such a simple question, yet it caught Xia Li slightly off guard.

She made a show of deliberating. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“What about a film?”

“That also needs consideration.”

“A concert?”

“Still needs consideration.”

Yan Sishi paused. “Is there anything that doesn’t need consideration?”

Xia Li was already laughing. “…That question also needs consideration before I can answer.”

Yan Sishi laughed as well.

Xia Li watched his features relax and soften — that effortless, luminous warmth. And all at once, she thought:

For a smile like that from him, all the beauty and romance in the world amounted to nothing more than dust beneath your feet.