I feel my dream is so close, and I deeply love this dream.
Because you are my dream.
Mid-October, in her fifth month in France, Ah Heng was working on a research report—a microbiological assessment of AIDS transmission pathways.
Her supervising doctor Edward—a blonde American man—said to her: “If we changed this project to a moral observation of AIDS transmission pathways, wouldn’t it serve as a better wake-up call for foolish humans? Medicine sometimes just becomes society’s best tool for deflecting attention from real issues.”
Ah Heng considered this before responding: “That’s not our concern. You know we’re doctors—even if we don’t swear the Nightingale Oath, I must justify the money my country spent on my advanced studies. My homeland needs more good doctors. Moral research is a complex issue that sociologists present to the upper echelons—it’s not my concern.”
Edward shrugged, mocking: “Winnie, is such shortsightedness also something your homeland taught you? Or are you just too poor to consider deeper issues?”
Ah Heng pressed her lips together, smiling faintly: “The poor have their way of living. Never use one nation’s wealth to stab at another country’s backbone, especially when you’re facing a Chinese woman with so many compatriots.”
Edward laughed loudly, putting his lips near Ah Heng’s ear: “The institute hasn’t had such an interesting Chinese person in a long time. I hope you enjoy your remaining time here even more.”
Though Ah Heng’s medical research institute was nominally funded by the French government, it had long been dominated by Americans after opening its doors to medical talents from various countries.
With powerful funding injection, advanced equipment supply, and cutting-edge talent, Americans effortlessly occupied the main positions in various research projects.
Ah Heng and her four classmates were simply treated as Chinese people, nothing more.
Ah Heng worked alongside Edward, researching various cutting-edge diseases. Their group had ten people total: four Europeans, five Americans, plus Ah Heng.
Overall, except for the arrogant team leader Edward from a wealthy American family, the others were fairly easy to get along with.
These people all loved writing papers, rushing to publish in major European academic journals whenever their research projects showed the slightest achievement. Though they claimed it was for their countries, they were mainly considering their career development.
Ah Heng couldn’t do this—mainly because her French and English were still stuck in an endless cycle of spelling errors and dictionary consultations.
Ah Heng lived in the 12th arrondissement, one of Paris’s twenty districts, on the right bank of the Seine.
This wasn’t carefully chosen—after daily expenses, with barely 300 euros remaining, she could only rent a simple, damp room in the older residential area of the 12th district.
At that time, her grandfather had told her: “Ah Heng, you’re an adult now, you must take responsibility for your actions. For Yan Xi’s sake, you went against your father’s dying wish. I gave you the last bargaining chip to hold in your hand, and from this moment on, you and Yan Xi must accept punishment and learn how to be a poor married couple.”
Ah Heng remained silent about her grandfather’s words because she wasn’t sure how much mockery they contained for her and Yan Xi. Without the protection of the Wen and Yan families, Wen Heng and Yan Xi, after years of living as privileged youth, now had nothing—no, less than nothing.
As for Yan Xi—skip it, Ah Heng didn’t want to mention Yan Xi.
At the end of the alley where Ah Heng lived, there was a small café, clean and cozy. She often took her landlady’s son Isu there to read—she read her medical books while Isu read “Sherlock Holmes.”
Typically, she would have a coffee while Isu had a small cream cake, and they could spend an entire afternoon there.
Isu often took her to collect pebbles by the river—brown ones, white ones, oval ones, many-cornered ones, lots and lots of them.
Every day, boatmen would pass by carrying tourists from various countries, different languages, loud foreign songs and dances, and crackling radio sounds that were unexpectedly pleasant to hear.
Holding Isu’s hand, she thought of Xiaoxiao from many years ago, feeling the same tenderness and care for a small life.
Isu was a child with depression, from a poor family that often relied on government assistance. He didn’t like talking, was thin and small, but loved to laugh uncontrollably in her arms.
“Winnie, be my Watson, I’ll give you a present.” He took out a grass-woven ring, rough and huge.
Ah Heng smiled and put it on her thumb, saying: “Alright when you grow up.”
Isu rubbed her eyebrows: “Winnie, don’t furrow them, they’re uglier than Mrs. Pang’s wrinkles.”
Mrs. Pang was their wealthy neighbor, and also a devout Christian with some mental issues. She didn’t like Isu, often throwing stones at him when he passed by, cursing him as unlucky.
Isu never told his parents, and Ah Heng had seen it and stopped it many times.
Ah Heng gently held Isu in her arms and said: “Darling, do you know what the cruelest thing in the world is?”
Isu shook his head, looking down, trying to make the ring smaller.
Ah Heng smiled: “It’s ‘not knowing.'”
Isu tilted his head, his blue eyes large and beautiful, asking: “Not knowing what?”
Ah Heng held his small hand, pointing at the golden sunset stretching along the long Seine River, saying: “Not knowing if the sun will rise after it sets; not knowing if the cheese bread will spoil tomorrow; not knowing what you’ll encounter after walking around the Earth once; not knowing if you’ll still have the courage to continue.”
Isu laughed: “Continue calling ‘Yan Xi’?”
He imitated the two Chinese characters Ah Heng often said, his pronunciation childish and awkward.
“Yan Xi, does this mean ‘hello’ in Chinese?”
“No, it means goodbye.”
Ah Heng bought a second-hand bicycle for thirty euros, quite expensive, with no bell, creaking, and wobbling. It saved her quite a bit of time on the way to the metro station before work.
Ah Heng’s encounter with that strange person was truly unexpected—we need to start from the beginning.
Although, unlike foggy London, Paris, having also gone through the Industrial Revolution, wasn’t much better in the mornings. Add to that the fact that every Parisian had a dog, regardless of how noble the breed, what they left behind was the same. They would stick their bottoms up, and the probability of Parisians stepping in it was quite high.
Ah Heng got up at seven in the morning, not only having to watch out for fog but also dodging dog droppings—riding a bicycle required high technical skills.
That day was the end of October. Ah Heng had no premonition before sleeping, and after waking up didn’t feel any calendar-marked inauspicious travel conditions. With bleary eyes, she just rode her bicycle through the alley.
The fog was very thick that day, nothing could be seen clearly.
Just after passing through the alley, a pile of dog droppings blocked the way.
Ah Heng turned her bicycle head, somewhat relieved she hadn’t hit the droppings, but as she turned her face, she crashed into a person standing like a wooden post.
Ah Heng’s front handlebar was bent by the collision. Her eyebrows twitching, she threw down her bicycle and walked to the person, saying a string of grammatically incorrect French: “Are you alright, sir?”
The person couldn’t understand, waved his hand, struggled a bit, and stood up holding the wall.
Blue-black hair, thick stubble around his mouth, sunken cheeks, dark eye sockets, just a side profile. His figure, especially his legs, was so thin there seemed to be no flesh.
Was this even… human?
A refugee from somewhere?
His palms were scraped, his hands just sinews and skin stuck together.
Ah Heng handed over a handkerchief, quietly, her black pupils fixed on him without wavering.
He took the handkerchief, smelling a faint pine fragrance, but his fingers stiffened.
In the thick fog, she said: “Turn around.”
Calm and gentle Chinese words.
The person moved his lips, hesitated for a long time, but ultimately crouched down, covering his face.
But Ah Heng turned away, holding her bicycle handlebar, and left.
Da Yi said: “He escaped eight times, finally got out, did you know?”
Ah Heng said: “I know.”
“Oh, you saw him, that’s great!”
“No, I didn’t see him.”
“Impossible, following the address you gave me, Sun Peng and I sent him to the airport. This time, Lu Liu was severely weakened by Sun Peng, he won’t recover for at least five years, and no one will trouble you anymore.”
But Ah Heng hung up the phone.
Isu ran to her side: “Winnie, there’s a strange person in the alley, very thin, very ugly.” He said, “Winnie, it’s only autumn, but he’s wearing thick cotton pants, could he be a wandering thief?”
Ah Heng didn’t speak, turned her face, wiped her eyes with her wrist, smiled, and said: “Perhaps.”
She took Isu for coffee, and that man wearing thick cotton pants also ordered a coffee and sat quietly in the corner; she took Isu to collect stones, and that man, thin as a ghost, moved slowly but stood far away, watching them; every day she would ride her bicycle through the alley, no matter how early, there was always a dim light glowing.
When Isu helped his mother buy bread at the market, Mrs. Pang hit him with a broom, muttering about unlucky Judas.
That very thin ghost-like man stopped her, his eyes large, staring at Mrs. Pang.
Mrs. Pang screamed “demon” once, threw down her broom, and fled into her luxurious house.
Isu looked at him for a long time.
The man smiled, saying in Chinese: “Aren’t you afraid of me?”
Isu asked him: “Are you a thief?”
The man couldn’t understand what he said, smiled, and bent down to pat his little head.
As he was leaving, Isu said: “Yan xi.”
He was expressing goodwill to this man, speaking the Chinese words Ah Heng had taught—goodbye.
But the man turned around, staring at him blankly.
The child smiled, shouting: “Yan xi.”
Ah Heng received a call from far away, from Sun Peng, who said: “Why hasn’t Miss Wen accepted the great gift I sent?”
Ah Heng frowned: “Sun Peng, what exactly happened?”
Sun Peng didn’t answer directly, laughing softly: “He hasn’t looked in a mirror for a long time, since the car accident. Then he fought against Lu Liu, never willing to eat a grain of his rice. Lu Liu forced him and gave him many nutrient injections. He saw your letter, escaped eight times total, the first time only made it out the door; the second time down the stairs; the third time to the street… once, he even reached the airport. Each time, as long as he could take one more step, he never gave up. He’s still alive, why aren’t you grateful?”
But Ah Heng smiled faintly: “Rather endure such hardship, not submit to Lu Liu. Yet facing me, still so… lacking in courage?”
She said: “Sun Peng, I thank you for being foolish like me.”
But Sun Peng laughed: “I’ve been most annoyed by him since childhood, the sooner he’s gone the less he hinders me. If you want to thank me, how about letting me never see him again?”
Ah Heng said: “What method did you use to defeat Lu Liu?”
Sun Peng said: “Lu Liu’s heart was too big, wanting power, money, and people’s hearts—so what if he’s a genius? Splitting his focus brought harm upon himself. While I, since eighteen, have only prepared to do one thing—defeat him. He couldn’t be a match for someone single-minded, especially someone who was already his equal. Moreover, there was Chen Juan.”
Ah Heng had a headache—what a bunch of monsters were these?
She said: “You don’t even have one company, how could you fight against Lu Corporation?”
Sun Peng laughed lightly: “Ah Heng, that’s another battle. Just as you used long years to exhaust everything to make that fool fall in love with you, I was thinking about how to let him go.”
Ah Heng put down the phone, sitting blankly on the bed edge, feeling somewhat sad.
A ray of sunlight passed through the narrow room, bright and difficult like those times of love.
Suddenly realizing that those fragments of beauty that happened around her, and Sun Peng who mirrored her, they had all been through such hardship.
She wanted to make Yan Xi stronger, not relying on anyone, walking to her side.
But he was afraid, afraid of seeing her.
He dared not walk to her side on his own feet, just because of those accumulated scars from past experiences.
Someone gently pushed open the half-closed door.
That thin, haggard man with large eyes.
So laboriously, step by step walked to her side.
He knelt at her bed corner, gently lifting her fair fingers, and warm lips, kissed them.
He said: “Ah Heng, I’m hungry.”