Three years ago, after Wang Liting’s foreign trade company went bankrupt, she stayed home recuperating for a year or two, but her entrepreneurial spirit never died. At the beginning of this year, on Chen An’s suggestion, she began paying attention to the senior citizens industry.
This morning, she and a business partner were inspecting elderly clubs in Beijing and visited a senior university. After the tour ended, the organizers had everyone take a group photo together. Someone heard her accent and found it familiar, saying there had once been a teacher who spoke Mandarin the same way. Then she casually pointed to a certain photo on the wall, saying what a pity, this teacher had passed away at the beginning of this year, but before that had persisted in teaching despite illness—very responsible.
Wang Liting followed the direction of her finger and looked at that five-inch photo posted in a corner. In the photo, a woman wearing a qipao stood under a peach tree at the entrance of the senior university, smiling at the camera. The woman was skeletal, her eye sockets sunken, and the qipao that should have been form-fitting swayed loosely in the wind.
Despite the great changes in appearance from before, Wang Liting still recognized her.
That was Ye Xiaomei.
After Ye Xiaomei married into Taixi, her accent gradually became Taixi-fied, with a slight upward lilt at the end of her sentences. If this stranger hadn’t casually mentioned it, the Chen family would still think Ye Xiaomei was living a new life in Beijing.
Ye Xiaomei had never contacted the Chen family. Wang Liting had tried, but Ye Xiaomei hadn’t answered or returned calls, and later even changed her phone number. That one quarrel back then became a grain of sand under Ye Xiaomei’s feet. Outsiders thought she was narrow-minded, but Ye Xiaomei seemed determined to sever ties with the past. Wang Liting only knew from Chen An that Ye Xiaomei had taken Cheng Lele to Beijing; she knew nothing else about the situation.
Who would have thought that Ye Xiaomei would just quietly leave this world like that.
Having experienced what happened with Cheng Dong, Wang Liting didn’t dare hide anything and immediately called Chen An.
Chen An was entertaining several colleagues who were about to travel far away with Tang Xin.
When Chen An heard the news, the waiter had just served a dish of osmanthus lotus root. His chopsticks were still resting on one of the lotus root slices when the information from the other end of the phone was like a thunderbolt in dry land, causing his mind to go blank for a moment.
To control his emotions, long after the call ended, he still held his phone. His hand kept shaking, veins bulging, his finger joints even making faint creaking sounds from the force.
Because there had been no movement for a long time, Tang Xin turned to assess the boss’s complexion, immediately stood up, and wanted to take Chen An to the hospital. Colleagues also stood up, hoping to go together, but Chen An stopped them, saying it was just side effects from the headache medication, telling everyone to continue the gathering.
When Tang Xin started the car, Chen An suddenly said, “Don’t go to the hospital. Please take me back to my home in Taixi. I can’t drive right now.”
Tang Xin didn’t dare ask more questions and could only drive all the way toward Taixi.
Because of the reflection from the accumulated snow, the residential complex didn’t appear too dark. Arriving downstairs at the apartment building, Tang Xin looked through the rusty railing and caught sight of a young woman. That woman wore a long white down jacket and a white knit hat, as if she wanted to become one with the accumulated snow. Chen An nearly stumbled as he walked into the house.
Tang Xin didn’t follow in. According to etiquette, she should avoid the situation, but today the boss was too abnormal. She worried that Chen An might need her to be his driver again later, so she didn’t dare leave. She stood by the railing, choosing a position that wasn’t too obvious but where Chen An could find her with just a turn of his head.
Chen An just stood there.
Many years ago, when Cheng Dong passed away, Wang Liting had hidden it from him, and he only made it back seven days late. The little girl had buried herself on his shoulder sobbing. She said she felt wronged and upset, didn’t want to grow up overnight. He had promised her she didn’t need to be sensible or strong, only needed to continue growing up carefree and worry-free.
But Ye Xiaomei had passed away, and she had hidden it from everyone. She had never called him, hadn’t mentioned it when they met face-to-face, and even now when he rushed over to confront her, she hadn’t shed a single tear. She no longer needed his shoulder, no longer needed those meaningless promises. That girl who didn’t want to grow up overnight had, during these years of his absence, truly left him behind.