When Mengmeng found out I’d gone home, the first thing she said was:

“In the end, dignity is what matters, isn’t it?”

Mengmeng’s first album was released with excellent response. As a newcomer, her new song actually topped the radio charts at number one. Every time I visited record shops, I heard her songs playing.

Sometimes, I was really jealous of her—so jealous that for a while, I didn’t even want to contact her or see her.

I once ran into Hu Tietan at a record shop.

“Here to buy Mengmeng’s album?” I teased him.

“No,” he said shyly. “Mengmeng asked the other day why you haven’t been contacting her lately.”

“She’s busy with work, right? Do you two have time to see each other?”

“No matter how busy she is, she makes time to see me,” he said happily.

I saw on his left wrist the same red cord as on Mengmeng’s wrist, along with the military watch I’d given him.

“Is it your turn to wear it today?” I asked him.

He nodded.

Mengmeng admitted to reporters she had a childhood sweetheart boyfriend whom she would marry in the future.

With my love life empty, I threw myself into work.

Mengmeng contacted me several times, but I kept saying I was too busy to see her.

“What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?” she asked me on the phone.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Knowing a friend like you is my honor. What can I compare to you in?” I said sourly.

She hung up.

She didn’t contact me, and I didn’t contact her.

She had everything she wanted—money, fame, men, love. I only wanted one Xiaojue, and he flew away from me too.

When had fate ever been fair to me?

Mengmeng called my office. She said:

“I’m waiting for you at the coffee shop downstairs. If you don’t come, we won’t be friends anymore.”

Reluctantly, I went to the coffee shop to see her.

“Why are you avoiding me?” she asked me.

“I’m not avoiding you,” I said.

“You don’t need to deny it. Did I offend you somehow?”

“You didn’t offend me. Happy women and unhappy women can’t walk together.”

“So that’s it.”

“I just don’t want to spread my sadness to you.”

“You never really considered me a friend.”

“I did,” I said. “Because you’re my best friend, I feel ashamed in front of you. I compare myself to you. I’m very jealous of you.”

I couldn’t help shedding tears.

She couldn’t help crying too.

Watching her cry, I felt very guilty.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Until we reach the end of life, we won’t know who’s truly the happiest person,” she said.

This day, Fang Yuan called me into his office.

“There’s new work for you to handle,” he said.

“It’s a new client—a clothing retail chain. The boss’s daughter is taking over the marketing department and wants to change the entire group’s image, so they’re even changing PR companies.”

“I’ll contact her and see what she thinks,” I said.

“You’ve been staying late at work a lot lately. Don’t you need to see your boyfriend?”

“Not anymore,” I said.

“Gao Haiming is quite good.”

“How could I aspire to him?”

“He seems to have a very good impression of you.”

“It’s better to rely on myself,” I said.

Fang Yuan smiled.

I arranged a time with the secretary of Stephanie Cheng, the clothing chain’s princess, to meet her.

Their headquarters was in Cheung Sha Wan—a very large space with the marketing department occupying an entire floor.

“Miss Cheng is waiting for you inside,” her secretary said.

I went in. Stephanie Cheng turned out to be Cheng Die’en, with two senior staff members beside her—a man and a woman.

“It’s you?” She smiled.

“I’m Qiu Huan’er from Fang Yuan.”

I really wanted to turn and run. I actually had to serve her—she was high and mighty while I appeared so shabby.

“Miss Qiu, please sit,” she said smugly.

I handed her my business card.

“We’ve met before, spoken on the phone,” she said.

She talked at length about her ideas—even which celebrities she wanted to sponsor to wear her clothes.

“You’re very close to Zhu Mengmeng, right?” she asked me. “She’s popular now—sponsor her.”

“She might not agree,” I said. If Mengmeng knew it was Cheng Die’en’s company sponsoring, she definitely wouldn’t accept.

“That depends on you,” Cheng Die’en threatened me.

At that moment, she received a call—her secretary said it was Mr. Qu. That should be Qu Xiaojue.

“Lunch? Sure, see you soon,” she said to the person on the phone.

“I’ll go back and prepare a proposal for you. If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave,” I stood up and said.

“Are you alright?” she suddenly asked me.

“What do you mean?” I asked her back.

“Xiaojue said your mental state seems a bit problematic,” she said in front of the two senior staff members.

“Miss Cheng, Fang Yuan wouldn’t send an employee with mental problems to work with you,” I retorted.

She smiled.

Xiaojue actually told her I had mental problems.

“Can someone else handle this project?” I asked Fang Yuan.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me.

“Nothing—”

“Everyone else has work, and I think this project suits you well.”

“Then I’ll continue handling it,” I said helplessly.

Cheng Die’en actually didn’t make things difficult for me. She was already the victor—she really didn’t need to make things difficult for me.

I finally had to contact Mengmeng. We arranged to meet at a café in Mong Kok.

“Why haven’t you contacted me?” she asked as soon as she sat down.

“Work’s been busy,” I said. Could I tell her she made me feel very inferior?

“Do you want me to wear her company’s clothes? She’s your rival.”

“She’s my client now.”

“Is this for yourself or to please Xiaojue?”

“I won’t try to please him anymore,” I said.

“Then I agree.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s someone who wants to see you.”

“Who? Tietan?”

“He’s here!” Mengmeng pointed to the café entrance.

It was Yu Deren.

“Long time no see,” he said shyly.

“You two talk slowly. I have an interview with a reporter nearby—I have to go. Call me!” Mengmeng patted my shoulder.

Yu Deren was about to speak to me.

“Don’t mention Xiaojue—” I stopped him.

“I haven’t seen him.”

“You don’t have to avoid seeing each other because of me.”

“He’s pursuing that rich girl—he doesn’t have time to see us anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Sorry for what?” He was surprised.

“That day I said you were degrading—karma really came back. The degrading one is me,” I said bitterly.

“Forget it. I’m relieved to see you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I said.

How would he know that in the quiet of night, my wound still caused piercing pain?

Leaving the café, I wandered the streets alone and suddenly thought of that model shop, so I went there.

“It’s you?” The boss recognized me. “Did the Wild Weasel get assembled?”

I nodded. The Wild Weasel fighter plane was no longer on the shelf.

“Not stocking it anymore—it’s not a new model, very few people buy it. The one you bought was the last one.”

I was about to leave the model shop when Gao Haiming walked in.

“Why are you here?” he asked me.

“I was passing by,” I said.

I saw he was carrying a cardboard box.

“Bringing an assembled model to deliver?” I asked him.

He nodded. I watched him hand the model to the boss and receive a thousand dollars from him.

“Are you free? I just got paid—can I treat you to dinner?” he said.

“Sure!” I said.

We went to that Italian restaurant in Wan Chai for dinner.

He ordered angel hair.

“Aren’t you bored? You eat this every time,” I asked him.

“I rarely change my tastes,” he said.

“I felt really bad about leaving you alone that night,” he said.

“Your alcohol tolerance is terrible!”

“True.”

“But you have lots of wine at home.”

“Bad alcohol tolerance doesn’t mean I can’t drink wine.”

“You’re right. Are you still assembling model planes for people? When will you stop?”

“Until I no longer believe in love.”

“Do you believe in it?” I asked him back.

“Don’t you?”

“It’s very hard for me to believe again,” I said.

Leaving the restaurant, Gao Haiming said to me:

“I have two hundred dollars left—shall we get ice cream?”

“Not today,” I wasn’t in the mood.

“That’s fine.” He looked a bit disappointed.

“Next time.”

He nodded.

“I was worried about you since you didn’t contact me for so long,” he said.

“Then why didn’t you contact me?”

“I’m afraid of being rejected.”

“Especially by someone like me—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I took a deep breath: “It’s already autumn.”

“Autumn’s already half over—winter’s coming soon.”

“Does assembling models kill a lot of time?” he asked me.

“Do you want to kill time?”

“I have a lot of time now,” I said. “So I really want to assemble models.”

“Girls are terrible at this.” He looked like he didn’t believe I could assemble models.

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Maybe I can assemble a fighter plane.”

“Alright, I’ll teach you,” he said.

The next day, Gao Haiming took me to lunch and gave me a model.

“Propeller planes are the simplest—start with this,” he said.

“Thank you. How much?”

“If you don’t assemble it well, then I’ll charge you.”

Looking at the model, I had no idea where to start.

“There’s an instruction manual inside,” he said.

Assembling models really did kill time—I had very little time left to be sad.

It took me four weeks to finish the model. My first work had many flaws, but I had to brace myself and present it.

“Very poor!” he said bluntly.

“Did I fail?”

“The joints aren’t assembled well, the parts aren’t fitted firmly enough, so the plane’s wheels are crooked. When applying the decals, the pressure wasn’t accurate enough—look, the decal tore.” He criticized my assembled model from top to bottom.

“This is my first work,” I said angrily.

“That’s why you need to keep working hard. Practice makes perfect.” He took out another fighter plane model from his briefcase and gave it to me.

“This is your second assignment,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He was truly beyond words to me.

“Didn’t I say not to thank me?”

“I owe you so much,” I said.

“I want to see you like you were before.”

“Like before?”

“Confident and happy.”

I sighed.

“That’s when you’re most lovable,” he said affectionately.

“Are we friends?” I asked him.

A flash of disappointment crossed his face: “You only want to be friends with me?”

“I no longer know how to love, and I don’t have the strength to love anymore.”

He smiled bitterly and put away my assembled model.

“Such poor work can stay with me,” he said.

It took me three weeks to assemble the second fighter plane model.

“Still very poor,” Gao Haiming said.

“I already put a lot of thought into it,” I retorted.

“Putting thought into it doesn’t mean it’s good,” he said.

“You’re right. The person we love most thoughtfully might give the least in return.”

“I’ll keep this one too.” He took my fighter plane and produced another model. “This is the third assignment.”

“My goodness!” I said.

“Want to give up?”

“Absolutely not!” I snatched the model.

“This fighter plane must be delivered in sixteen days.”

“Why?”

“In sixteen days, it’ll be Christmas Eve. If you can finish on time, I’ll treat you to a Christmas Eve dinner. If you can’t finish, you have to treat me.”

“It’s Christmas already?” I suddenly realized.

“It’s already winter,” he said, looking out the window.

“Alright, see you Christmas Eve,” I said.

In the early hours of December 24th, I finally finished the fighter plane model. When I got back to the office in the morning, I received a call from Gao Haiming.

“How did it go?” he asked me.

“Sorry, you’ll have to treat me to dinner,” I said.

“I’ve reserved a table at the Peak restaurant. I’ll pick you up at 7:30.”

“See you then,” I said.

Gao Haiming picked me up on time. Tonight, he wore a dark blue suit and had gotten a haircut—he looked very handsome.

“You’re dressed very handsomely tonight,” I said.

“Thank you. Don’t you have a coat?”

“I’m not cold,” I said.

Actually, I didn’t have a decent coat. Xiaojue hadn’t kept his promise to pay me back.

We sat at the Peak’s outdoor restaurant. The wind was strong, but I pretended not to be cold at all to avoid seeming shabby.

“Two years ago on Christmas Eve, I called you from Mount Fuji, remember?”

“I remember,” I said.

“Two years have passed so quickly.”

For me, these two years had passed very slowly—like living through years one day at a time.

“Where’s your assignment?” he asked me.

I took out the assembled fighter plane model.

“You’ve improved a lot,” he said while examining it.

“Really?”

“At least it looks like a fighter plane.”

“Is that praise or criticism?”

“Of course it’s praise. The two you assembled before didn’t look like anything.”

“It’s all thanks to your excellent teaching,” I said.

“Consider this my Christmas present,” he said.

“If you don’t mind, no problem.”

He gave me a new box of fighter plane models.

“A Christmas present?”

“The fourth assignment,” he said.

After dinner, Gao Haiming drove me to the Peak Park. We sat on a bench chatting. The air on the Peak was very cold—I kept shivering.

“Will you hang a Christmas stocking at the foot of your bed tonight?” he asked me.

“Christmas stocking?”

“You said when you were little, you hung a Christmas stocking at the foot of your bed every Christmas Eve.”

“I no longer believe in Santa Claus.”

“If you don’t hang a stocking, how do you know there’s no Santa Claus? You said it—falling asleep with hope and waking with hope is very happy.”

“Happiness is just a feeling.”

“Happiness should be very real.”

I pointed to the black cotton socks on my feet: “Tonight, I only have these socks.”

He went to the car trunk and took something out.

“I made one for you,” he said.

“A sock?” I was surprised.

“A Christmas stocking—I want you to fall asleep with hope.”

He unfurled the red Christmas stocking in his hands. The stocking was enormous—when spread out, it was almost six feet tall and four feet wide, just fitting on the bench where we sat. The top was made of feathers.

“This big?” I was shocked.

“It can hold many, many hopes,” he said.

“It’s bigger than my bed.”

“You can sleep inside it,” he said.

“Really?”

I crawled into the Christmas stocking. This giant Christmas stocking perfectly concealed me, like a sleeping bag. The sock was made of very fine velvet—sleeping inside was very warm. Being wrapped in it at such a cold time was pure bliss.

“You can make socks?” I asked him.

“I got an A in home economics. Is it warm?”

I nodded.

“You kept shivering earlier but wouldn’t say you were cold.”

I sat up, looked at Gao Haiming and said: “Thank you.”

He covered my mouth with his hand: “Don’t say thank you.”

I grabbed his hand and asked him: “Why are you so good to me?”

He hugged me as I curled up in the Christmas stocking and kissed me.

I hadn’t been kissed in so long—it was a long-lost feeling of happiness. Even being embraced was a happiness I’d missed for so long.

That night, I lived in the Christmas stocking.

Being loved is, after all, more fortunate.

“Really? You’re really in love with Gao Haiming?” Mengmeng asked me excitedly.

“With him, I feel very dignified.”

“Do you love him?”

“Not to that extent yet—at least I wouldn’t tie a red cord around my wrist for him.”

“Just a matter of time.”

“I really need him. He appeared when I was most dejected. He’s my life preserver.”

“A lifelong lover shouldn’t just be a life preserver.”

“A life preserver is everything when you need it. I won’t cultivate another man. When you cultivate him too well, there are only two outcomes—you lose him or he gets stolen by someone else.”

Under Gao Haiming’s cultivation, I’d already assembled my tenth fighter plane model. Each was better than the last. Being cultivated by someone is actually more fortunate.

I often asked myself: “Do I love Gao Haiming?”

He was my life preserver, but Xiaojue was my entire life.

Spring came. Mengmeng’s second album was even more popular than the first—she was now a famous singer. The papers said she was in love with a male singer.

“Is it true?” I asked her. On her wrist was still that red cord—today it was her turn to wear the military watch.

“I love Tietan very much. No one can compare to him.”

“Seeing the red cord on your wrist puts my mind at ease. But now that you’re so famous, does he mind? He’s always been very macho.”

“He knows I love him very much. As long as there’s love, what problem can’t be overcome? Even if I only have one hour to sleep, I’d rather spend it with him.”

“It’s good to see someone believe in love so much.”

“Don’t you have Gao Haiming too?”

“He’s very good to me,” I said.

“You should love him.”

I laughed: “There’s no should or shouldn’t. It’s just that a wound deep to the bone, even after healing, will never be the same as before.”

This day, I had Japanese food with Gao Haiming in Causeway Bay.

“I’m going to Japan on business next month. Are you free? If you can go too, we could visit Le’er.”

“I don’t know if I can get leave—I’ll check when I get back,” I said.

At that moment, Xiaojue, Cheng Die’en, and Xiaojue’s three sisters came in and sat at another table.

They were chatting and laughing. His three snobbish sisters seemed to get along very well with Cheng Die’en. I heard them say this meal was Xiaojue’s treat—he’d just been promoted.

“Are you alright? You look terrible,” Gao Haiming said.

“My ex-boyfriend is sitting over there,” I said.

“Want to change places?” he asked me.

I nodded.

Gao Haiming asked for the bill.

Before leaving the restaurant, I changed my mind.

“I’ll introduce him to you.” I pulled Gao Haiming to Xiaojue.

His family and Cheng Die’en looked surprised to see me with Gao Haiming.

“What a coincidence running into you here,” I said to Xiaojue graciously.

“Long time no see,” he stood up and said.

“Let me introduce you—this is Qu Xiaojue, and this is Mr. Gao Haiming.”

“Hello,” Gao Haiming shook hands with Xiaojue.

“Gao Haiming is the president of Letao Group and also your boss’s uncle by marriage,” I deliberately emphasized. Everyone in Hong Kong knew Letao—it was a major corporation.

Xiaojue and Cheng Die’en indeed showed surprised expressions.

“We’re leaving,” I said to Gao Haiming.

I left the restaurant with my head held high.

I’d used Gao Haiming to vent.

Gao Haiming and I went to another restaurant for dinner.

“Why did you tell him my background?” he asked me.

“What does it matter? Don’t you like it?”

He was silent.

“I hate his three sisters most,” I said. “I supported his education. Without me, how would he have today? Now the one reaping the benefits is that woman and his three sisters. He never treated me to Japanese food, but they were just eating Kobe beef! What right does he have? What right do they have?”

I thought I could forget Xiaojue, but seeing him again stirred up the most painful parts of my memory. I wasn’t reconciled, especially seeing him so happy.

Gao Haiming remained silent.

“Let’s go—I need to get to work,” I said.

He walked me to the elevator.

“You’ve never forgotten him,” he said.

“I hate him,” I said.

“You can only hate someone this much if you loved them deeply.”

I was speechless.

“You’ve never loved me at all.”

“Nonsense!” I covered up.

“Why can’t you forget him?” he asked me mournfully.

“Yes, I can’t forget him. He was my first man.”

“Just because of that?”

“Isn’t that enough? If not, I’ll tell you—he was my entire life.”

He gazed at me sadly.

“You’re right—love is drinking poison with a smile. I like drinking this cup of poison,” I said stubbornly.

“He doesn’t love you anymore.”

“Who are you? What business is my life of yours?” I blurted out.

“I thought I was your boyfriend,” he said awkwardly.

“You and I together, put in a test tube, can’t produce your ideal color—that bright blue. We’re two substances that can’t combine. Forget it—let’s break up,” I said.

The elevator arrived. I walked out while he stayed inside, looking at me dejectedly.

“Am I really that bad?” he asked me, holding the elevator door.

“I’m the one who can’t match you. I’m sorry—I can’t love you,” I said.

“I understand.”

“I’m sorry.” I turned to leave.

“Goodbye,” I heard him say.

“Goodbye.” I didn’t look back.

After a few days, he didn’t call again.

Did he understand it was a ten-year relationship?

That night, I sorted through things in my drawer. I saw those thirty-two cans of air he’d given me before, and that Christmas stocking.

I called him—his maid said he’d left Hong Kong. Why didn’t he tell me?

“Do you know where he went?” I asked her.

“Mr. Gao didn’t say.”

I called Japan to find Le’er. She said Gao Haiming hadn’t contacted her.

“If he comes to you, call me immediately,” I said.

“Sister, did you and Haiming have a fight?” Le’er asked me.

“We didn’t fight,” I said.

Many days later, I called Le’er again.

“He hasn’t been here—he probably didn’t come to Japan,” Le’er said.

Where did he go? Why did he leave without saying goodbye?

After a week, I called his secretary.

“Mr. Gao hasn’t returned yet. He won’t be back for the time being,” she said.

I was stunned: “Why?”

“He’s resigned from his position as president,” she said.

What on earth happened? I kept paging him, calling his home, but couldn’t find him.

Where did he go?

I shouldn’t have treated him that way that day, but he should also give me a chance to apologize.

A week later late at night, I finally received his call.

“Where did you go?” I asked him.

“I’m not coming back,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t love me at all.”

“I do love you.”

“Don’t deceive yourself.”

“Come back and we’ll talk—”

“You never loved me for even a moment.”

I was speechless.

“I can’t keep watching you—” he sighed.

“You’re like him too—in the end, you both abandoned me,” I scolded him.

“You know I’m not. When I’m gone, take care of yourself.”

He hung up.

He just left like that—never called again.

“He loves me—he’ll be back soon,” I comforted myself. He was my life preserver—he couldn’t abandon me at this time.

I ran to his home. His Filipino maid opened the door for me.

“Mr. Gao hasn’t been home for a long time,” the maid said.

“Can I go into his room to look?” I asked her.

“Please, go ahead,” she said.

I walked into Gao Haiming’s bedroom. The Wild Weasel fighter plane still stood forlornly by the bedside—he hadn’t taken it.

The ten fighter planes I’d assembled, he’d arranged on a shelf, from the first one to the last one I’d assembled last month.

He hadn’t kept any of the fighter planes he’d assembled himself.

That day, I deliberately emphasized his background in front of Xiaojue just to show off. I used Gao Haiming to show off. I didn’t love him. Now that he’d left, I had no right to hate him—I was the one who said we should break up.

“Miss Qiu, are you leaving?” the maid asked me.

“If Mr. Gao comes back, tell him he must contact me,” I said.

I had no confidence he would return.

“He’ll come back,” Mengmeng comforted me.

“No, he won’t. He’s a very stubborn person—I know,” I said.

“Maybe he wants you to find him.”

“If he doesn’t appear, where can I find him?” I said helplessly.

“Think about it—”

“I’ve got it!” I had a flash of inspiration. “He might go to that place, if he’s still in Hong Kong.”

I went to that model shop in Mong Kok to see if Gao Haiming had been there.

“He hasn’t come,” the boss said. “I want to find him too—I have several boxes of models waiting for him to assemble.”

I wrote a few words on a note asking him to contact me.

“Boss, if you see him, please give him this.” I put the note in an envelope and gave it to the boss.

Two months passed. Each day I missed him more and more. He wasn’t just my life preserver—unfortunately, I realized it too late. I’d been too much that day.

In the second half of the year, Letao’s new president took office—a family relative named Gao Ran. I’d had one meeting with him in his office. The person who used to sit in this office was Gao Haiming—we’d met here by chance. The tools he used to assemble models still sat on the desk. I suddenly felt he was very cruel—he didn’t even give me one chance. His disappearance was like Le’er’s disappearance that day. He’d helped me find Le’er back, but who would help me find him back?

In December, I took a week’s leave to visit Le’er in Japan.

Le’er still lived with Gao Haiming’s friend Mr. Chuancheng and his wife. They were very hospitable and invited me to stay with them. Le’er had grown up a lot and was very good at taking care of herself. She was already in high school and worked part-time at Mr. Chuancheng’s company after class.

“Mr. Gao hasn’t come to Japan in a long time. My wife and I miss him very much,” Mr. Chuancheng said.

“I don’t know where he went either,” I said.

“He used to call occasionally to say hello—I haven’t received his calls in a very long time,” Mr. Chuancheng said.

Yes, I hadn’t heard his voice in a year.

“Sister, shall I take you to Mount Fuji tomorrow? It’s snowing there now—very beautiful,” Le’er said.

The next morning, we departed from Tokyo to Mount Fuji and stayed at a Japanese-style hotel.

“Haiming always stays at this hotel when he comes to Mount Fuji,” Le’er told me.

“Really?”

“He mentioned it when he came to Tokyo to visit me. Do you think he might be here?”

“Here?” I was at a loss.

“We can ask the hotel.”

I inquired with the hotel’s room service department about the guest list. They found Gao Haiming’s name.

“Mr. Gao has stayed here before,” the service staff said.

I was overjoyed and asked him: “When did he stay here?”

“The most recent time was December 24th three years ago.”

That was the day he called from Mount Fuji to Hong Kong to wish me Merry Christmas.

I folded a paper crane from colored paper and wrote a few lines on it, asking him to contact me when he saw it.

“If Mr. Gao comes again, please give this to him,” I said to the service staff.

“Alright.”

“Do you miss Haiming very much?” Le’er asked me.

“More each day,” I said, looking at the snowy scenery outside the window.

“He was really good to you. If not for him, I might still be in Hong Kong accomplishing nothing. Coming to Japan alone made me realize I need to work hard and rely on myself.”

“When you ran away from home, did you think about returning?” I asked Le’er.

Le’er shook her head.

“Why?” I was surprised.

“If I’d thought about going home, I wouldn’t have left.”

Then Gao Haiming wouldn’t come back either.

“Sleep early—we’re going skiing on the mountaintop tomorrow,” Le’er said.

After Le’er fell asleep, I went to the hotel lobby to find that service staff again.

“Does Mr. Gao stay in the same room every time he comes here?” I asked her.

She checked the records and told me: “Yes, he always stays in room 606.”

“Does anyone have room 606 tonight?”

“Let me check.” She looked at the records. “No guests tonight.”

“Can I go in and look?”

“Well, alright, let me arrange it.”

The female service staff went into the office to get a key and accompanied me to room 606.

“This is the room,” the service staff said.

I entered the room. The snowy view from the window was even more enchanting than from my room.

“Does he always come alone?”

“Yes, Mr. Gao really likes this place.”

I sat by the window watching the snow.

“Can I stay here for a while?” I asked her.

“No problem.”

The service staff left.

I noticed the futon on the tatami was turned down. She said this room had no guests—why was the futon turned down? I rushed out to find the service staff.

“Miss—”

“What is it?” She turned back to ask me.

“Come in and look,” I asked her to come into the room.

“You said this room has no guests—why is the futon turned down?”

“Maybe the maid was careless,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” I said.

The tatami seemed like someone had slept on it. I put my hand into the covers—they were still warm. Could Gao Haiming be here, and knowing I came, he hid? I opened the closet—there wasn’t a single piece of luggage inside.

The next morning, Le’er and I went skiing on the mountain. Her classmates came too. I didn’t know how to ski, so I could only linger at the small shops beside the ski slope.

Several stalls sold Mount Fuji air—small cans containing air from the mountain.

The thirty-two cans of air Gao Haiming gave me were bought here. The ground I was standing on now, he had once stood on too.

What he gave me wasn’t air—it was love. Love is air. Why didn’t I think of it then?

He said love is drinking poison with a smile. At that time, I thought I was the one drinking poison, but it was actually him. He gave so much—I never thought about reciprocating. I was the one making him drink poison.

Why was I so useless? Only after he left did I discover I loved him? Too late.

“Sister, why don’t you stay here for Christmas?” Le’er asked me.

“I must stay in Hong Kong for Christmas,” I said.

On the evening of December 24th, I returned to Hong Kong. Before sleeping, I took out the Christmas stocking Gao Haiming had given me last year. I hung the Christmas stocking at the foot of my bed, spreading it long on the floor. It would bring me hope—I hoped when I woke tomorrow, Gao Haiming would be back by my side. He’d said he wanted me to fall asleep with hope.

December 24th—I had to stay in Hong Kong. I had to hang out the Christmas stocking.

When I woke up, Santa Claus hadn’t come. He hadn’t brought Gao Haiming back to me either.

I rolled up the Christmas stocking and hugged it. There really was no Santa Claus in the world.

I went to the model shop again.

“He hasn’t been here,” the boss said.

This was already within my expectations.

“I really miss the models he assembled,” the boss said.

How could I not?

“I have a box of fighter plane models here—no one’s assembling them. No one assembles as well as him,” the boss said worriedly.

“Did the customer specify he had to assemble it?”

“Yes. This customer sends a fighter plane to her boyfriend as a birthday present every year. She’s already sent two, both assembled by Gao Haiming. This year, she wants to send a third, but time is very tight. She can’t find Gao Haiming and is very distressed.”

The boss took out the model fighter plane stored in the shop—it was an F-4S Phantom.

“Let me try, okay?” I said.

“You?” The boss looked doubtful.

“I’ve assembled this model before. If I don’t do it well, I’ll compensate you with a new one.”

“Alright then.”

I took the model fighter plane home and spent three weeks carefully assembling it. Only when assembling fighter planes did I feel Gao Haiming was beside me. If I didn’t do it well, he would point it out.

In the process of assembling the fighter plane, I could briefly forget my loneliness. There was a girl who promised to send a fighter plane to her boyfriend every year—I didn’t want to disappoint them. Since the first two were assembled by Gao Haiming, having me assemble the third seemed like a kind of collaboration between him and me. He said his fighter planes represented love, and my fighter plane represented my guilt. Would he know?

“Very well done,” the boss said while examining my assembled fighter plane.

“Of course—my teacher is Gao Haiming,” I said.

“His assembled models are worth 100 points. Yours is worth 75 points, but the customer can accept it. I’ll call her immediately to pick it up.”

Looking at that F-4S Phantom, I felt reluctant to part with it.

At the beginning of the next year, I was promoted with a thirty percent salary increase.

“Your work performance is excellent,” Fang Yuan said.

That was because I could only devote myself to work.

“Gao Haiming is a strange person,” Fang Yuan said.

Looking at the F-15 he’d assembled on my desk, I said: “He’s very cruel.”

During Chinese New Year, Mengmeng performed in Vancouver. Two days after arriving, she called me.

“I saw someone who looks very much like Gao Haiming,” she said.

“Where did you see him?” I pressed her.

“At a supermarket on Hornby Street in downtown. This morning I was shopping at the supermarket and saw a Chinese man who looked very much like him. I chased after him but he’d already disappeared.”

“Are you sure it was him?”

“Of course I can’t be one hundred percent sure.”

Could Gao Haiming have been hiding in Vancouver all along?

On the tenth day of the new year, something happened.

When I saw the television news report, I could hardly believe it.

Hu Tietan was shot twice and seriously injured, hospitalized.

That evening, Tietan was off duty. He’d arranged to have dinner with Yu Deren and me in Causeway Bay. Yu Deren and I waited two hours in the restaurant without seeing him. We thought he had an urgent case and couldn’t come.

When I got home, I was just in time to see the news report. I saw him covered in blood being lifted onto an ambulance. His left hand hung outside the stretcher, with that red cord still tied around his wrist.

When the incident occurred, two patrol officers were questioning a suspicious man in Central. The man resisted, suddenly pulled out a handgun and fired at the officers. A gun battle broke out. The criminal took a female passerby hostage on the street and got into a taxi through the left door. Hu Tietan had just gotten in through the right door—I guessed he was on his way to meet us.

Hu Tietan was off duty and wasn’t carrying a gun. He was held hostage by the criminal in the taxi. The criminal ordered the taxi driver to drive to Ocean Park. The taxi was stopped by a police roadblock near Ocean Park. A gun battle ensued. The taxi driver and female hostage escaped, and Hu Tietan struggled with the criminal in the taxi. He was shot twice. At that time, it wasn’t yet known whether the bullets in his body came from the criminal or police guns.

Yu Deren and I rushed to the hospital. His injuries were too severe. Despite doctors’ efforts to save him, he was pronounced dead. Yu Deren and I cried in each other’s arms. Hu Tietan’s father, who was also a police officer, sat on the floor sobbing.

It took great effort for me to work up the courage to call Mengmeng, who was performing in Vancouver.

She was still sleeping.

“What’s wrong?” she asked me.

I told her.

“Impossible—you’re lying to me,” she said with a laugh.

“I’m not lying. Book a flight back immediately,” I said.

By the time Mengmeng rushed back, she couldn’t see Tietan one last time.

The bullets in Tietan’s body were confirmed to have been fired from police guns. The two patrol officers who initially had the gun battle with the criminal didn’t see Tietan get in the car—they thought there was only the driver and one female hostage in the taxi. The police at the Ocean Park roadblock received notification and also thought there were only two hostages in the car. When the taxi crashed through the roadblock and stopped, Tietan and the criminal were struggling for the gun. The taxi driver and female hostage escaped. The driver told the police there was another hostage in the car, but the officers didn’t hear. The scene was very dark, and with Tietan and the criminal lying entangled in the back seat, the two officers who fired couldn’t see there was another person in the car, so they fired into the cabin from a distance. The criminal was shot three times and died on the spot. Tietan was shot twice.

Tietan was actually shot and killed by his own colleagues. His lifelong ambition was to be a good police officer—through misfortune, he died under police gunfire. What an absurd life.

At Tietan’s funeral, I saw his body. On his left wrist was still tied that red cord—the pledge between him and Mengmeng. The prophecy came true—they could only wait for the next life to be husband and wife.

“Mengmeng—” I really couldn’t think of any words to comfort her.

She raised her hand to stop me from continuing, looked tearfully at the red cord on her wrist, and said: “He’ll recognize me in the next life. We’ll meet again in the next life.”

My heart ached—I sobbed uncontrollably.

“I took this military watch to Vancouver. I should have left it for him,” she wept.

“He won’t disappear. No substance disappears from the world—it only transforms into another substance. Maybe he’s dust on your skin,” I said.

She looked at the back of her hand and said: “Then let him stay on the back of my hand.”

Xiaojue came to the funeral alone. He and I hadn’t seen each other in over a year. Xiaojue walked to my side.

“How have you been lately?” he asked me.

“Except for what happened to Tietan, everything’s fine,” I said.

“Do you still hate me?” he asked me.

I looked at him for a long time and said: “I don’t feel anything anymore.”

I thought I could never forget him in this lifetime, but at this moment, the person lingering in my heart was another man. Although his whereabouts were unknown, I knew he was the one I loved. He wouldn’t disappear from the world.

“Thank you,” I said to Xiaojue.

“Thank me?” Xiaojue was stunned.

“You taught me what love is. If a person truly loves you, they won’t deny you dignity.”

He looked very ashamed.

He was no longer my cup of poison.

I asked Mengmeng for the address of that Vancouver supermarket, took seven days off, and went to Vancouver to find Gao Haiming. Vancouver was snowing. Every day from early morning, I waited outside the supermarket until it closed. If Gao Haiming was here, he would come.

I asked all the cashiers if they’d seen Gao Haiming. In their eyes, all Chinese people looked similar—no one remembered him.

I wrote a note and pinned it to the supermarket’s bulletin board, hoping he’d see it.

My leave ended—I had to depart.

Mengmeng stepped back on stage. Her new song was called “Red Cord.” She sobbed on stage—Tietan had perhaps transformed into one of her tears.

At least they could love each other in the next life, but Gao Haiming and I—I didn’t even know if we could meet again in this life.

This day, I went to Gao Haiming’s home. The maid opened the door for me. Everything in the house was the same as when he left. The Wild Weasel still stood forlornly by the bedside. He’d said wild weasels, when attacked, would spray an incredibly foul liquid to repel enemies. His leaving without goodbye was perhaps a reaction to being attacked—I was the one who hurt him.

I went downstairs to knock on his mother’s door.

“Auntie.”

When his mother saw me, she looked very surprised.

“Please sit, Miss Qiu. Long time no see.”

I saw Gao Haiming’s father sitting in an armchair. He was much older than Gao Haiming’s mother, his health wasn’t good, and he had difficulty moving.

When she spoke to me, he kept looking at her. Occasionally she’d look back at him affectionately. They were so devoted—they were the kind of couple who should be husband and wife again in the next life.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m being presumptuous—” I said.

“It’s fine. Haiming is a very willful child—he leaves when he wants to. He ran away from home when he was young.”

“Has he written letters back?”

“He sent a few postcards,” she said.

I was overjoyed and asked her: “Auntie, can I see them? I know I shouldn’t look at what he wrote to you, but I really want to find him—”

“Alright, I’ll get them for you.”

She showed me three postcards.

The first was sent last year from Japan, with no address. The postcard scenery was Mount Fuji, sent in December. December? Could he really have been in hotel room 606 that night, and knowing I was about to enter the room, he left?

The second postcard was Prague Square, sent from Prague, dated this March. When the weather was so cold, what was he doing in Prague?

“Mom, Dad, it’s very cold here. Is Hong Kong cold too? I drank wine—my body is much warmer. Don’t worry. Take care of yourselves.”

He wrote this on the postcard.

His alcohol tolerance was terrible, yet he was drinking wine in Prague. In such cold weather, life must have been very hard. I was the one who wronged him.

The third postcard was sent last week from San Francisco, USA.

“He also called, but never told me where he was,” his mother said.

“Auntie, if he calls again, please tell him I miss him very much. I really miss him very much,” I choked up.

“Alright,” she said. “I miss him very much too.”

I rushed to a travel agency to buy a ticket to San Francisco. He might still be in San Francisco.

When I arrived in San Francisco, I thought of a new strategy. I copied down the address of every model shop in San Francisco from the phone book and went to them one by one. Gao Haiming might appear at a model shop.

At a model shop on Chestnut Street, I saw an assembled F-15 fighter plane—very beautifully assembled.

“Who assembled this fighter plane?” I asked the boss.

“Someone assembled it for someone else. We have a person who assembles models for people—he assembles very well,” the boss said.

“Is he Chinese?”

“Yes, he’s Chinese.”

“What’s his name?”

“I only know his English name—he’s called Ming.”

Gao Haiming didn’t have an English name, but after coming to San Francisco, it was possible he’d adopted one.

“Does he only assemble fighter planes?”

“Yes, only fighter planes.”

“Where does he live?” I pressed the boss.

“Don’t know, but he’s coming tomorrow morning at eleven to deliver.”

At the hotel, I couldn’t sleep all night.

“I might have found him,” I called Mengmeng long distance to tell her.

The next morning, I arrived at the model shop past nine to wait for Gao Haiming. I was afraid he’d come early.

I wore my most beautiful clothes waiting for him in the shop. Two years—I didn’t know how he’d changed.

After eleven o’clock, Gao Haiming still hadn’t appeared.

At noon, the person who assembled models came. He wasn’t Gao Haiming—he was a middle-aged man.

“Why do you only assemble fighter planes?” I asked him.

He shook his head: “No particular reason—I just think fighter planes are easier to assemble than battleships. I’m a new immigrant—can’t find work here—”

A completely unromantic reason.

I left the model shop disappointed.

On the day before leaving, I saw a missing person poster at a subway station. A man had run into the same girl twice on the subway. He wanted to meet her but both times didn’t dare speak up. After getting off, he regretted it, but never ran into her again. So he posted a notice at the subway station looking for her. The ad read:

Are you her?

We met in the train car, sitting side by side,

Only after losing you did I know it was regret,

Coming again, I couldn’t find you,

Your smile was so sweet, lingering in my heart,

Can we reunite?

My phone number is 566-6842, my name is Jisi.

Yes, only after losing you did I know it was regret. Coming again, I couldn’t find you.

I asked the subway staff if I could buy this kind of advertisement. He said the poster had to be printed by me. Printing a poster takes time—I was leaving for Hong Kong tomorrow. Where would I have time? I wrote a note and stuck it on this missing person poster. On the note I wrote:

Wild Weasel,

Where are you?

I came looking for you.

When

Can we eat angel hair together again?

You said matter doesn’t disappear,

Only transforms,

Where have you transformed to?

I’m looking for you.

Gao Haiming would know it was me.

After returning from San Francisco, I had dinner with Mengmeng. She’d just returned from Thailand.

“Aren’t you tired going to the ends of the earth looking for someone?” she asked me.

“Because of love, a woman can do things she originally couldn’t do,” I said.

“Having someone to look for is good too—at least there’s hope,” she said darkly.

I went to Gao Haiming’s home again to find his mother. She gave me two postcards—one sent from Venice, the other from Capri, a small Italian island near Naples.

“Maybe he’s there,” his mother said.

In December, I took leave and went first to Venice. This was a very desolate and beautiful city with many glass factories on the streets, producing magnificent glassware.

“Can you make a Wild Weasel fighter plane?” I asked one shop owner, drawing a Wild Weasel fighter plane for him.

He shook his head: “This is too complex.”

I sat on a boat touring the lake. Would Gao Haiming be here?

I asked the boatman—he said he hadn’t seen such a person.

I knew he wouldn’t disappear.

After leaving Venice, I went to Capri. It was a beautiful small island with many cottages and clear seawater.

I lingered on the beach, bought a bottle of mineral water, wrote a note, stuffed it into the mineral water bottle, and threw it into the sea. Maybe Gao Haiming on a deserted island would pick it up.

I could only think this way. Maybe he’d already fallen in love with another woman. He’d already found that bright blue that couldn’t be found in the real world—one that even Capri’s seawater couldn’t compare to.

Leaving Capri, I went to Prague. He’d sent a postcard from there.

Prague’s winter was very cold, with snow everywhere—only minus nine degrees.

I stayed at a hotel by the Charles Bridge.

This day was Christmas Eve. I’d walked all day in St. Mark’s Square without running into Gao Haiming. In a small alley, I discovered an Italian pasta restaurant. A couple sitting near the door were eating angel hair.

I walked into the restaurant, so cold my ears and nose felt numb.

I ordered angel hair. Only now did I discover angel hair was very delicious.

“Has a Chinese man eaten angel hair here?” I asked the beautiful waitress.

“There was a Chinese man who came to eat angel hair for three weeks straight,” she said.

“What did he look like?” I pressed her.

“Short, naturally curly hair, very fair skin, probably thirty-one or thirty-two years old.”

So he was already thirty-one or thirty-two. He’d been gone two years—he should be this age now.

“When did he come?”

“Last year. He really liked the angel hair here.”

I wrote a note and gave it to her: “If you see this person again, please give him this note for me.”

“What is he to you?” she asked me.

“The person I miss most,” I said.

I left the restaurant and returned to the hotel.

I took out the giant Christmas stocking Gao Haiming had given me from my suitcase and crawled inside to sleep.

I fell asleep with hope.

When I woke, I didn’t see him.

This Christmas, he still refused to see me.

I became more and more convinced that last year on this day, he was in that room on Mount Fuji. I’d felt his lingering warmth.

I was the one who drove him away—how could I blame him? People who study science are all very persistent.

Two substances, as long as temperature, energy, and position align, can produce a reaction. I was foolishly waiting.

Whenever I woke at midnight, I was always very afraid. Was Gao Haiming still there? Had he already ceased to exist, transformed into a grain of dust, occasionally resting on my shoulder?

I couldn’t bear to brush away the dust on my shoulder.

To the ends of the earth—where was he?