This is a translation of 《海上花》.

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1

It’s you, so gentle and tender,

Who gave me a dream,

Drifting and swaying in the rolling waves,

In your arms.

They are moving again.

Lu Xiao’ai is twenty-nine this year, finally catching up to the age Wei Zhen was when they first met. They had changed residences over the past five years. Initially, they managed for a while in Wei Zhen’s place in Xin Yuandi. But the flat proved to be too small in the end, so they rented a two-bedroom apartment in an old district until the landlord sold it when they emigrated. They hadn’t stayed long enough in Jicheng to qualify for property ownership. Besides, Lu Xiao’ai, with his habit of changing jobs every three months, could not save up for a deposit. It didn’t matter to him, though; he had always been indifferent to such worldly things. He did not care about living conditions and even felt relieved he didn’t step into the bottomless pit of a mortgage when his peers began to slave themselves for it.

Wei Zhen had the money, but for those two years, even with all the courage in the world, he couldn’t dare to envision a “happily ever after” in their future. How could he bare to let someone as free as Lu Xiao’ai stay confined in a place made of steel and concrete?

They had lived in several places, drifting among the waves of renters in Jicheng. They always signed their contracts as flatmates, each occupying a bedroom. It was Wei Zhen’s suggestion. He had long tired of sharing a room during his student years and feared he might get tired of living together with his partner. Lu Xiao’ai merely smiled and agreed readily, recalling his childhood when there was not enough room at home, and he still shared a bunk bed with his sister in his teens. He had hoped for a room of his own someday but ended up in a six-person dorm room at university, which he put up with for another four years. They both agreed that sleeping separately was good, so they wouldn’t invade each other’s independent spaces, or need to merge their lifestyles immediately.

But in their first month of living together, they only spent three nights apart — for two days Wei Zhen was on a business trip, and Lu Xiao’ai attended an exhibition for one. Lu Xiao’ai had just switched to a new job, commuting two hours by underground daily from the Science and Technology Park to the Art Gallery and back. He left home groggy in the morning and returned exhausted at night. His usually bright eyes became hazy, and he would have preferred to keep them closed even while walking. Perhaps it was the double effect of fatigue and pressure; a groggy Lu Xiao’ai became quite clingy. Several times, he only got home when Wei Zhen had showered; he’d drift over and snuggle up, rubbing against Wei Zhen like a small animal, slowly, as if unconsciously, placing long, soft kisses on Wei Zhen’s earlobe and neck. Wei Zhen, helpless, would just drag him to shower and then drag him back to the bedroom. If it was Lu Xiao’ai’s room, he’d always find a way to cling to Wei Zhen like a koala, cooing and fussing, making it impossible for Wei Zhen to leave until the next day. A few times, Lu Xiao’ai was so tired that he fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow. Wei Zhen, not wanting to disturb him, would go back to his own room, only to wake up in the middle of the night, finding his back tightly embraced by Lu Xiao’ai. Lu Xiao’ai was a heavy sleeper but would always vaguely sense Wei Zhen’s movements, and each time Wei Zhen woke up, Lu Xiao’ai would apologise by loosening his arms, then snuggle up and close his eyes to kiss him a few times, often falling back into deep sleep halfway.

Wei Zhen was a light sleeper; his instinct ultimately craved the spacious and soft bed all to himself. But the night Lu Xiao’ai returned from the exhibition, he got home at three in the morning and fell into a deep sleep as soon as he touched the bed — not before spending a whole second plastering himself to Wei Zhen’s cheek and mumbling without a single punctuation, “Zhen laoshi I missed you so damn much.”

Wei Zhen’s heart skipped a beat. He carefully wrapped his arms around Lu Xiao’ai’s head and neck, thinking to himself, to hell with instincts.

Looking back at that chaotic yet passionately intense winter five years later, Wei Zhen tells himself that there must have been some hormonal influence. They never have sex as frequently as they did that winter, nor can they remember how long it has been since they were in the habit of sleeping together. Now, Lu Xiao’ai travels for work much more than Wei Zhen does, often disappearing for days, and there is easily a time difference between him and Wei Zhen the workaholic when he gets home. A year ago, when Wei Zhen was on a business trip to Guangzhou where coincidentally, Lu Xiao’ai was also filming, they managed to squeeze in some time to meet. The show was quite obscure at the time, with barely any following at all, so there was no need for discretion. That night, Wei Zhen woke to the sound of the air conditioner and reached out for Lu Xiao’ai, only to find air. He lay bewildered for a moment, wondering: does Xiao’ai always sleep in hotel beds this much larger than the one at home?

Lu Xiao’ai was curled up at the edge of the bed. He is a tall man, but when asleep, he seemed to be just a small bundle in the dark.

So much emotion and energy, such an extensive infectious vivacity, was it all concentrated on this indistinguishable shape that contained his soul under the duvet?

A year ago, Wei Zhen had asked himself in the middle of the night, but now, a year later, there are numerous spectators online eager to answer what kind of person Lu Xiao’ai is. Lu Xiao’ai knows he is far from being a public figure, but the small number of self-proclaimed fans, along with passersby who happened to catch a glimpse of him on the screen, add up to a substantial figure out of the billion netizens. Lu Xiao’ai receives a visibly increasing number of commissions now, and stats on his video channel skyrocketed. The platform sent him a contract for streaming, and the show producers also started discussing ideas for the next season. If dropping out of graduate school cast a shadow over Lu Xiao’ai’s optimism, then this year, without a doubt, Lu Xiao’ai has regained all his confidence.

Free as he is, how could he stay in the same place?

In the past five years, Wei Zhen’s life has changed much less. He got a promotion, a pay raise, bought a car, but with traffic regulations and traffic jams, his main commute method is still taking the underground. His company has maintained its partnership with Jicheng Institute of Technology, so he held the title of “laoshi” for a while, occasionally giving lectures. Every year, he had to fly to the States for project matters and always wanted to take Lu Xiao’ai with him. However, Lu Xiao’ai was too busy with his jobs when he was down and out, and he’s too busy with filming now that he has gained some fame and popularity. Wei Zhen’s parents have aged to a point where they seemed to have suddenly become more tolerant, begrudgingly accepting that their son would not marry or have children. As a result, they resumed their close-to-zero contact, sending greetings to each other on WeChat during festivities.

Wei Zhen took Lu Xiao’ai to meet his parents once and was somewhat surprised. Lu Xiao’ai, who usually packed himself with tons of sweet and charming words, was exceedingly and purposefully polite to Wei Haiping and Chen Yin, which counted as wildly resentful by his standards. At Wei Zhen’s surprise, Lu Xiao’ai indignantly responded, “Well, who told them to treat you like that in the past? I have no obligation to forgive them for you.” Since then, he only interacted with them with the most distant courtesy. Wei Haiping and Chen Yin, however, had a good impression of Lu Xiao’ai. When they managed to forget that this young man was “Wei Zhen’s partner”, they praised him as excellent. “He looks like a very competent kid.” Wei Zhen could only chuckle to himself at this, as his parents had never seen the Lu Xiao’ai’s true virtues.

He got closer to Lu Cang and Lu Jianbai. He saw similar traits in them as in Lu Xiao’ai and, therefore, grew fond of them. As time went by, he resonated with this family’s past, growing to love Lu Cang’s steady reliability and Jianbai’s sharp wit. He dotes on Chu Huairan and Lu Cang’s child more than their own uncle Lu Xiao’ai did. Jianbai’s dog is often entrusted to him for walks, as “Zhen-ge is much more reliable than that fool Xiao’ai.” Having been a drifter for half his life, he never thought he would find something akin to family affection in anyone other than his grandmother, but Lu Cang and Jianbai generously extended what they gave to Lu Xiao’ai to him, which he cherishes, albeit with a sort of panicky shock in the background.

It is for the same reason that Lu Xiao’ai delegates to him the important task. “Darling Dr Dear, please go back to the old flat in Huaiping on my behalf. One of my siblings will be there too. Once we move out this time, it really is the end.”

Knowing that Lu Xiao’ai is referring to the old flat, Wei Zhen still feels a sting in his heart. But before he can say anything, Lu Xiao’ai quickly kisses him and runs off to catch his flight. The finale of his show is set in Hainan, where they are arranged to go on a yacht. Wei Zhen texts him to be careful. Lu Xiao’ai replies with a voice message filled with the sound of dragging luggage on the floor, sounding extremely carefree. “Don’t worry, the prod team is too poor to pay for a sea trip. We’ll just stay at the dock. I once managed to take a small raft to a deserted island; I’ll be fine on a yacht!”

Wei Zhen laughs and boards the high-speed train to meet Lu Cang’s family in Huaiping.

Wei Zhen has heard many stories about the old flat of the Lu family, but this is his first time visiting. It’s also a first visit for Baby, who is now two and a half. The empty old flat is perfect for Baby to run around. Their parents simply let them play, releasing their energy so they could go to bed early. Lu Cang tells Wei Zhen that the siblings had agreed a while ago to sell the old flat as soon as all three of them had their own places they could call “home”, thus completely severing their ties with it. Xiao’ai never mentioned this to Wei Zhen. Well, the Lus had a family trait of clear-cut love and hate, never hesitant even when they needed to cut through their own hearts. He couldn’t bring himself to sell or rent out the one-bedroom apartment his grandmother had left him, preferring to leave it empty than to erase the traces of her life.

Too many people had already erased their traces from his life.

He knows Lu Xiao’ai loves him, but he also knows that Xiao’ai, like his siblings, carries the ruthlessness of the Lus in his bones. Once love turns itself on them, there is no turning back. Even though Lu Xiao’ai never hesitated  to express his love, coming up with new ways to say “I love you” every day, could the ephemeral collection of chemical reactions that one calls love truly withstand the man-made wish of “forever”?

Lu Xiao’ai is already twenty-nine. Would he see that the twenty-nine-year-old Wei Zhen he once admired is merely a cracking soul and a weary body, a shoddy construct patched up over and over again? And would this nearly forty-year-old Wei Zhen eventually fail to keep up with Lu Xiao’ai’s seemingly perpetual youth and free spirit?

As he strokes Lu Xiao’ai’s notebooks, stationery, and school uniform shirts from his teenage years, he seems to see the teenager he never had the chance to meet flash before his eyes. Baby rushes into the room, looking for treasures. Wei Zhen puts away his emotions, lifts Baby high into the air, making them giggle. Lu Cang follows Baby into the room and decides to help Wei Zhen tidy up. Both are men of few words, but as they are sorting through Lu Xiao’ai’s old belongings, they will occasionally stumble upon an old story. Lu Cang will then tell it to Wei Zhen.

“… they weren’t really kids anymore by then, and it became a bit inconvenient for them to continue living in the same room. I actually suggested that we give the larger room to Jianbai, and I had no problem sharing a bunk bed with Xiao’ai. But the two of them adamantly refused, making up a host of childish excuses that could be easily refuted. I know they were being considerate because of my work commitments, but it’s really not a big deal. However, a household can’t function if all three members are as stubborn as mules, so in the end, I had to let them have their way. They took turns sleeping on the sofa when they got older. Xiao’ai actually quite liked sleeping on the sofa because it was cooler in the summer, and that’s why he…” Lu Cang seems to remember something and abruptly stops speaking, changing the subject. “By the way, Xiao’ai didn’t say when you’re moving?”

Wei Zhen sighs deeply. “We should have moved two months ago, but there were some issues with the place we were going to sign for, which was really frustrating. Luckily, our current landlord knows us well by now and allowed us to extend our lease for a couple more months. Xiao’ai has been busy filming recently, and I’ve also been tied up with work, so we had to postpone it a bit. If everything is fixed up there, we should be able to move next week — now we’re just waiting for Xiao’ai to come back.”

He doesn’t mention that Xiao’ai has yet to sign the new lease agreement, trying as much as possible to make it sound like just a regular move, like what they have been doing for the past five years.

Lu Cang smiles faintly, packing a pile of stationery and notes into a box. A piece of paper flutters out from an old notebook and falls to the floor. Torn from a lined A6 notebook, it is quite brittle. The side with writing is facing up, and Wei Zhen at once recognises Lu Xiao’ai’s clear and square handwriting. His own name is at the top, followed by a date from six or seven years ago.

“To Wei Zhen, My Beloved:
“Let me use this title just once. I’m used to calling you Dr Wei, Wei Boshi, or Zhen-ge. Those are names I managed to come up with by racking my brain just to be close to you without scaring you off. Sometimes, I fear that if I blink, you’ll have transformed into a string of 0s and 1s, disappearing into a computer, and I will no longer be able to see or touch you. Only the indelible marks left by the information age will remind me that you once existed.
“Does that sound silly? Yes, I’m always foolish when I’m around you. You don’t know that every time you smirk at me, I feel it’s worth being a fool for a lifetime. I have come to a thorough understanding of the guy that dressed up as a clown, or the guy that lay on ice for carp: I am willing to be made a laughingstock in history just to make you happy. Of course, I’m self-aware enough to know that I’m still a long way from making it into the history books.
“But I’m probably very close to making the news.
“If the rescue team can’t contact me within 36 hours, the items they find should be the belongings of the late Lu Xiao’ai. This letter is a bit embarrassing, but if I am to meet an untimely end, I still hope that you’ll remember me. Sometimes, I feel like you never truly believed that I love you, even if I practically wrote those words on my forehead. Or maybe you were trying to convince yourself that I shouldn’t love you. Dr Wei, Professor Wei Zhen, you are wrong. Not only do I love you, but given the current situation, I think I might love you forever.
“There’s no need to linger on a dead man’s love for too long, but you can cash in the love of the dead ghost Lu Xiao’ai anytime you want, as long as you’re willing.
“Lu Xiao’ai
“Date: XX/XX/20XX”

“Papa, Uncle Weiwei cry!” Baby, like an explorer who has just discovered a new continent, crawled up from the floor. Lu Cang shushed them and picked them up, leading them out of the room, whispering, “Let’s leave Uncle Weiwei alone for a while.”

Wei Zhen squeezes his eyes shut, recalling Lu Xiao’ai from six or seven years ago. He had returned from Southeast Asia with a sunburn, claiming that it was a belated graduation trip, and excitedly showed off the photos in the jungle and at the beach. He had brought Wei Zhen a gift, a tropical-themed floral shirt that was obviously intended as a joke. He knew Wei Zhen would never wear it, but he still pushed it into his hands with a playful grin. He talked about going boating, surfing, all with an exuberant glow. And that reckless spirit of youth stirred up a wave of envy in Wei Zhen, who found no courage to come near it.

So it was that time…why did he never mention this? That “to take a small raft to a deserted island” involved such an episode of danger and accidents?

Why did he never mention that he came close, so close, to coming back as a cold corpse?

Wei Zhen is squeezing the note so hard that he rips off a small corner by accident. He lets go immediately, trying to flatten it, when the rip cuts open his finger, the paper fibres pulling at it, making his skin bleed as well as his heart.

He now remembers why Lu Xiao’ai went on this lousy graduation trip. Two weeks earlier, Lu Xiao’ai had expressed his wishes of becoming more than friends with him for the first time. Clear-headed as he considered himself, Wei Zhen gave him a solid rejection. He even spent two whole weeks keeping his distance from Lu Xiao’ai, who described those days years later, “I was honestly so upset that I couldn’t bear to be in the same country as you. That’s why I went to Southeast Asia to see sunny beaches and bikini people.” But why has he never brought up this note?

In what context did he pen these words?

Wei Zhen never knew that even Lu Xiao’ai, always candid as he is, had suffered in secret too in love.

Wei Zhen never knew that Lu Xiao’ai, with all his forgiving and carefree nature, had long seen through his insecurity and anxiety, and understood his nihilistic lack of faith. But it’s Lu Xiao’ai. Did Lu Xiao’ai, who is confident enough to turn every obstacle into a gift, also go through such hesitations and self-doubt, fearing that his love would only call for resentment?

He grew up in this old flat. What could he possibly have given to cultivate such a verdant gift for love?

Wei Zhen felt as if he had been split in two. On one hand, he felt shame for ever doubting such love – if not even Lu Xiao’ai can make you believe he loves you, that he will love you for his whole life, can you really love him as you thought you could? On the other hand, he is filled with fear – seven years had passed, during which Lu Xiao’ai had grown into someone so radiant. Is his sudden realization already too late?

In his thirty-seven years of life, Wei Zhen has never felt such an urgent need to hear someone’s voice. He doesn’t care whether Lu Xiao’ai is still filming or not, he will just make this call. The long beeps almost make his heart fail – but luckily, just before the call is forwarded to voicemail, Lu Xiao’ai picks up.

“Zhen’er? What’s wrong? Why the sudden call? I just finished filming.” The voice transmitted by the electromagnetic signal is a bit fuzzy. Lu Xiao’ai always sounds more childish over the phone than usual.

“Lu Xiao’ai—” Wei Zhen’s throat feels choked, and he couldn’t help but cough several times, “Cough—Lu Xiao’ai, let’s stop renting places. Let’s find a home together, shall we?”

For two seconds, there is just silence on the other end.

“Did my brother say something to you?” Lu Xiao’ai asks, full of suspicion.

“No, I just…” Wei Zhen takes a deep breath, “I love you. Lu Xiao’ai, I love you.”

“I love you too, babe, ” Lu Xiao’ai responded without hesitation, then asked anxiously, “What’s wrong with you today? My brother must have said something, didn’t he? Damn, I knew Jianbai might spill the beans, but how could he be unreliable this time…”

Wei Zhen vaguely guesses something. His phone vibrates at the two pictures Lu Xiao’ai just sent. Before Wei Zhen could ask, Lu Xiao’ai starts talking, sounding a bit disappointed at his surprise being spoiled, “Ah well, I was planning on this romantic ceremony for you when you come back, but now the surprise is revealed over the phone! Look, here are the contract and property certificate. This year I saved a bit of money from the shows and the streams, and I was thinking…well, we’ve been together for quite a while now and we’ve always been renting. You never brought it up, and I didn’t have the courage to suggest it. Guess I was a bit afraid you might not like me as much. But you know what, after years of thorough research, I think Dr Wei actually likes me quite a bit. So, I thought, since we can’t get married, a ring doesn’t seem worthwhile, so why not just find a place to settle down together? And the place we wanted to rent needed renovation anyway, so I just checked my savings, and thought I finally could start sugaring you… and I just bought the place in excitement…

“But I’m basically broke after paying the deposit. Wei laoshi, can you and your new home take me in?”

---

2

It’s you, so deeply affectionate,

Who rocked my dreams,

Intertwined like every nameless wave in the sea

On your body.

The plane lands.

Chu You doesn’t have time to go home and takes a taxi directly to the Affiliated Hospital of Jicheng University. Lu Jianbai has been waiting downstairs for a while.

“Auntie!” Chu You embraces Jianbai, who is a head shorter. “I missed you all so much!” Jianbai pats Chu You’s back and holds their hand like when they were a child. Things have been said on Chu You’s way back, but she says it once more to reassure them. “The operation went well. Your mother is with him. No need to worry too much.”

“Okay.” Chu You sniffles, as the unique smell in the hospital building makes them a bit uneasy. Lu Jianbai guides them through layers of lifts and corridors, finally to a quieter place. The electronic screen on the door of the ward displays the patient’s number. Lu Jianbai takes Chu You over to scan their iris, enters the visitor’s information, and the electronic screen flashes a cheerful melody as it opens by itself.

Chu You sees their mother sitting by their father’s bed, holding his hand. The door of the hygiene cabin is open, the curtain half-drawn. Only Lu Cang’s hand is visible, so pale that it is almost blue. Chu Huairan heard the door and was about to get up when the door opens. Chu You rushes forward and hugs her, kissing her hair. Chu Huairan smiles faintly. “You’re still a kid.” She looks at Chu You carefully and smooths the wrinkles on their clothes. The unease that has been bothering them all the way disappears the moment they see their mother, and Chu You sniffles, moving a few steps to the bedside with Chu Huairan. And then, she sees Lu Cang’s face.

How has father aged so much in just one year?

Chu You, who has seen much of the world at a young age, is for the first time filled with this sentiment as a child looking upon aging parents. Lu Cang seems to be asleep, looking tired. His hair has grown longer, already turning grey. The thinness and paleness brought by his suffering is even more noticeable on his naturally angular face. Under the white blanket, he looks worn out, like a paper boat. Chu You suddenly notices that their once tall father has shrunk. The single bed in the hygiene cabin is so small, but he somehow fits inside it.

It has just been a few seconds, but Lu Cang seems to notice Chu Huairan’s absence in his sleep. He frowns, and various fluctuations begin to appear on the screen of the hygiene cabin, indicating an increase in anxiety. But apart from the frown just now, he seems to be restraining himself in his sleep and does not show any other signs.

The AI responsible for notifying health status changes only has time to say “Hello” before Chu Huairan turns it off. She silently sits back down next to Lu Cang and holds his hand. A few seconds later, the data on the screen of the hygiene cabin returns to the normal range. The AI does a simple dance to celebrate everything is normal and shrinks back into the corner of the screen.

“Baby came back to see us.” Chu Huairan says, her tone still faint, “They were teaching people to skydive in Bolivia when you were sleeping, how amazing is that? When you wake up, I’ll show you the video.”

Lu Cang makes no movement. The only sound in the ward is the soothing white noise played by the hygiene cabin and the hum of the various instruments. Jianbai hugs Chu You from behind and whispers, “He’s not fully conscious yet, but the doctor said you can talk to him, he can hear it.”

Chu You’s eyes turn wet.

***

Lu Cang is dreaming.

He hasn’t had such a heavy dream in a long time, so heavy that he couldn’t open his eyes. In his dream, he was sending Baby off at the airport and ran into an old acquaintance from Jicheng University. The guy gazed at Baby’s short silver hair and tattoos, before finally remarking, “This is your… um… child, huh? Doesn’t look like you.”

Baby jumped in. “Of course not. I don’t have his genes, and that’s a good thing.”

The old acquaintance faltered for a second, and laughed awkwardly before leaving. Baby waved and boarded the plane, which had “Welcome to Massachusetts” painted on it in bright colours. Lu Cang felt a sudden pang in his heart, and turned around to look for Chu Huairan, only to find her gone. He turned his head again, and there she was, walking towards the plane with Baby outside the glass wall. As if she had heard his thoughts, she stood at the cabin door and smiled at him. She still had the face of a twenty-year-old, and her smile was exactly the same as Baby’s.

Chu Huairan waved at him with a careless ease, her voice echoing in his ears through the thick, heavy glass. “Lu Cang, bye-bye, I’m off!”

The plane roared off the ground, and he falls into chaos.

She left after all, she and Baby; they were bound to leave.

Lu Cang thinks, maybe it was supposed to be like this anyway.

The next second, something warm somewhat pulls him out of this chaotic darkness. A stream of shallow dreams flows past his consciousness, washing the scene away.

***

The first time he truly saw Chu Huairan was years after their first encounter.

That year, Xiao’ai got into Jicheng Institute of Technology, and together with Jianbai, he persuaded Lu Cang to take a family trip up north with them. They tried their best to make Lu Cang feel that his younger siblings had grown up and he no longer needed to worry about them, by insisting on paying for the trip. Given that neither of them actually had much money, they could only make full use of Xiao’ai’s break before university started to take a tour around Jicheng.

Cao Chen had invested in a B&B in a small tourist county in the neighbouring province of Jicheng, so the three of them took full advantage of the discount he offered and stayed there for a few days. Cao Chen was too impossibly busy to find time to meet with Lu Cang, but he still called and sent his regards, guaranteeing that everything at the house would be arranged properly.

“Oh, by the way, Cang’er, you will meet an old acquaintance there! Do you remember Ranran? Hah, I knew you wouldn’t — Professor Chu! She’s Professor Chu’s daughter! We met her a few times at uni. You really failed Prof Chu for forgetting this, and he adored you so much! Anyway, she is now a grad student and wanted to find some part-time stuff during summer break, so she’s working at the B&B. Says she likes the scenery of the grassland, typical artsy nerd stuff. I’m sure she remembers you, so don’t pretend you don’t know her when you see her, haha!”

With that, Lu Cang managed to dredge up some memory of “Ranran” from his distant uni days. He had no impression of her character or appearance, only the vague image of a high school student in a uniform, who was always rushing off to do homework when they met at Professor Chu’s house or the group gatherings he organised. He also remembered Cao Chen gossiping that even though Professor Chu worked in microbiology and his wife was an architect, their daughter somehow had the genes to be a literary scholar. Jianbai and Xiao’ai were far more excited about this than he was, as apart from Cao Chen, they had never met anyone else from Lu Cang’s past before his return to Huaiping. Lu Cang rarely mentioned his four years at JCU, and all the anecdotes they knew came from the chatterbox Cao Chen.

When they arrived at the B&B, Jianbai and Xiao’ai’s enthusiastic reception almost startled Chu Huairan—she raised her head from the encirclement of the duo, looked at Lu Cang standing at the door, and gave a faint and calm smile amidst her confusion, tucking her short hair behind her ears. Even though Lu Cang didn’t remember her appearance, he still felt a sense of familiarity in that moment, as if she were an old friend he had known for many years.

He didn’t believe in love at first sight, and indeed, their love didn’t develop until much later. But the immediate friendliness she demonstrated, to the reserved Lu Cang, was a unique attribute of Chu Huairan. During their stay at the B&B, she quickly became friendly with Jianbai; as they were close in age and shared a love of literature, there was no shortage of common topics; Xiao’ai was sweet-tongued, constantly calling her “Sister Ranran”, making it seem like he was the one who was her father’s student. Chu Huairan had only heard from Cao Chen that Lu Cang was coming, but she didn’t know his whereabouts in recent years. She was genuinely puzzled when she first met Jianbai and Xiao’ai. Still, she didn’t ask any questions and maintained a natural balance between treating Lu Cang as a new acquaintance and an old friend, chatting with him about the changes in Jicheng over the years, and listening to the chatter of Jianbai and Xiao’ai, smiling at Lu Cang when the two bantered.

Between attending to the guests, she would write on her computer. Lu Cang looked through her blog, which she had been updating since high school. It was mainly life observations and travel musings. Through the blog, Lu Cang found out that Chu Huairan did not study literature at university, but history, in a southern city far from Jicheng. She then returned to Jicheng for her master’s studies. Going further back, he found out that she was originally a science student in high school. She decided to switch to arts during the summer of her second year, a decision her parents supported without a blink. She led a carefree, gentle life, even her worries seeming to provide nourishment for her optimism. She harboured a soft love for life and grew freely amidst this love.

Lu Cang had always kept his distance from those who appeared excessively healthy, yet Chu Huairan remained in his life due to a series of unexpected events, preventing him from looking away.

It was much later that he came to realize that even children like Chu Huairan, who grew up surrounded by love, could face indescribable injustices and setbacks. It was only when he saw the hardships in her past that Lu Cang allowed himself to love her. Her childhood, her youth, her adulthood – three different streams converging into one deep, calm ocean. He was able to witness a kind of growth he had never anticipated: that suffering didn’t necessarily leave a permanent mark, and time could eventually erase the scars engraved on sandstones like ocean waves.

During her second and third years of graduate study, Chu Huairan would often visit Lu Cang in Huaiping. When both had holidays, they would go on trips together. As they lived in the south and north respectively, every meeting inevitably led to a parting. Whenever they had to say goodbye, Chu Huairan would give a radiant smile and wave, “Lu Cang, bye-bye, I’m off!” Then she would disappear through the security checkpoint. A few hours later, Lu Cang would see a new travelogue on her blog, where he was sometimes mentioned in an unintentional tone, becoming a part of her gentle text.

Once, their parting coincided with the anniversary of Lu Sisi’s death. He was engulfed by an old aggravation mixed with grief and held Chu Huairan a little tighter, only letting go after a long squeeze. Chu Huairan asked no questions still. Later, in her travelogue of the day, she wrote, “I’m not like most people who dread goodbyes. From the moment of parting, I start to anticipate our next meeting, which is a joy in itself. However, sometimes, I wish I could stay a bit longer, just long enough so that our shared happiness and sorrow, along with other trivial emotions, could seamlessly overlap.”

Eventually, she learned all about the ins and outs of the Lu family, and Professor and Mrs Chu finally understood why Lu Cang had decided to give up his PhD offer. At that time, Lu Cang developed a ton of guilt towards Professor and Mrs Chu, and fear towards Chu Huairan out of love. Meanwhile, their aunt was busy arranging blind dates for Lu Jianbai. After spectacular failures, she scolded them all. Only then did Lu Cang realize that in the so-called marriage market, their family background was a minefield in the “to be avoided” category. History of psychiatric disorders, and childhood trauma – although people started to discuss these topics with more tolerance online, once it came to love and marriage, they became shining red flags that warn potential partners off.

Until then, Lu Cang had never really considered marriage. His relationship with Chu Huairan, who appeared above these things with her easy nonchalance, did not seem to demand the formation of vows. It was only after that he came to realize that “not marrying” and being “unworthy of marriage” were two different feelings. Even though he didn’t understand or agree with Auntie’s theories, he couldn’t help but place himself in a position of being “unworthy of marrying Chu Huairan” based on his limited experience with social conventions, because she already seemed so happy. She didn’t need the shackles of marriage, especially not from someone like him.

He considered being able to be part of her life journey as a traveller was already good enough, even extravagant. She would eventually return trajectory of life as a normal person.

He never shared these thoughts with Chu Huairan, and he was confident that Lu Jianbai and Lu Xiao’ai hadn’t either. In his siblings’ eyes, their big brother was a rock that could not and would not be shattered. Yet somehow, Chu Huairan sensed his feelings. On the day she received her PhD admission letter, she dragged Lu Cang to register for a marriage license. She didn’t give him much time to hesitate or retreat. She just told him, “Lu Cang, I can’t save you. But you’ve let me love you now, and this isn’t something that can start and end at any time like a trip.”

Throughout his life, Lu Cang had made a multitude of difficult decisions, some he proactively sought, some just because he had to. For him, entrusting some decisions to Chu Huairan was a form of liberation. This was true for their marriage and equally so for their decision to have Baby. Wei Zhen got an old friend to help them contact the sperm bank. The other half of Baby’s genes come from as a multilingual athlete, reputed to have the good looks of Chin Han. But aside from being remarkably tall, Baby bore a striking resemblance to their mother in every other aspect. They took their mother’s family name, but it was Lu Cang who named them You, meaning for them to freely grow into whatever they wanted to be.

“Baby doesn’t carry my genes, and this is a good thing,” he said to Lu Sisi’s portrait at her grave, a year after Baby’s birth. “You don’t need to worry about them ending up like me, or like you. Neither Jianbai or Xiao’ai want children, so your genes won’t carry on any more.”

Living up to their name, Chu You grew to be as free-spirited as they desired. They were never confined by gender norms, were enthusiastic about both extreme sports and poetry, and applied to study Natural Sciences at university. Chu You had the chance to attend the same American university that Lu Cang gave up on, but they chose the UK instead, because they liked Europe better. One year, Lu Cang saw them off at the airport, where they bumped into an old acquaintance from his university.

The guy gazed at Baby’s short silver hair and tattoos, before finally remarking, “This is your… um… child, huh? Doesn’t look like you.”

Chu You jumped in. “Says who? I’m my father’s child. I take after him in my heart, if not in my looks!”

The old acquaintance faltered for a moment, letting out an awkward chuckle, and after some more small talk about where Chu You was studying, learned they were majoring in natural sciences with an interest in microbiology.

He then laughed more genuinely. “Of course! Definitely your father’s child. Lu was always the top of our department.”

After saying goodbye to Chu You, Lu Cang headed to the arrivals terminal to pick up Chu Huairan from her business trip. She had just finished an archaeological project, looking travel-worn as she disembarked from the plane. However, at the sight of Lu Cang waiting for her, she immediately broke into a soft yet radiant smile, just as she did in her twenties. It was a smile that overflowed with happiness, and exactly the same smile as Chu You’s.

***

Lu Cang opens his eyes, the sight in front of him blending with his memories. Chu Huairan pushes her greying short hair behind her ears, and she smiles, softly and serenely. Wrinkles fan out from the corners of her eyes like ripples in water. Twenty years have passed just like that.

“Do you know how your parents met, You-you?” Lu Jianbai is having a chit-chat with Chu You in the hospital cafeteria.

“I do. Papa used to be grandpa’s student. Mama often saw my him when she was in high school. But back then she just saw him as someone else’s trophy child, so she didn’t really like him! She even found it annoying to hear his name all the time, hahaha!” Chu You has  heard this story from Chu Huairan before and always laughs hard at it.

“Oh — it seems your father hasn’t shared his version with you.” Lu Jianbai smiles, “Now that he’s awake and has nothing to do, you should go and ask him. Have him tell you his story.”

---

3

Dreams do come true

Turning around, the waves whirl into the mundane world,

Leaving only water ripples, and a lingering regret;

And may it be that in the next life

Those figures from yesterday can stay side by side,

And never part again until the end of ends.

“Elizabeth Jane与霍荻在Echo Land相遇了。两个孤独的小孩， dragged into this universe from different dimensions by an unknown force beyond their understanding. 他们的故事自此开始，多重冒险交叠在一起，融进波澜壮阔的史诗。”

When the others were clearing out the old Huaiping flat, Lu Jianbai missed the move as she was on a business trip in Yunnan. There were few of her old things in the place. Over the years, repeated moves had cleared out almost everything that could be taken; what was left were mostly useless items. She asked Lu Cang to donate all her old clothes and furniture, and deal with the rest as he saw fit.

When she returned from Yunnan, she paid Lu Cang and Chu Huairan a visit, bringing a bunch of stuff for Baby. She played with Baby until eight thirty, when Lu Cang put the child to bed. After some small talk with Chu Huairan, Lu Jianbai was getting ready to leave. Lu Cang stopped her as she reached for her bag.

“There’s something I want to give you. Saw it in the old place… Not sure if you still want it, though.” There was an unusual hesitation in Lu Cang’s expression. He didn’t say more, leading her into the study. Pulling out an old shoebox wrapped in white paper, he paused with it in his hand, before handing it to her. Jianbai and Xiao’ai used to use shoeboxes for storage when they were little, covering them uniformly with white paper and labelling the contents on top. There was no marker note on this shoe box, and Lu Jianbai didn’t recognize what it was at first glance.

She simply opened the box, and at that moment, a flicker of blank surprise crossed her face.

Inside the box were several stacks of manuscripts of different formats, bound with a stapler and paper clips into irregular little booklets. The two on the far left even had simple covers made of cut A4 paper. Lu Jianbai recognized the Gothic lettering copied bit by bit from an online template, arranged into a dizzying combination of “Echo Land”, occupying the middle left of the cover. In the upper right corner was the Chinese title “回音地”, painted in the “Slender Gold” font, also copied bit by bit with a marker.

Not needing another glance, she remembered the poor but meticulous subheading below: two lines of small print in both Chinese and English, “The Adventures of Elizabeth Jane and Huo Di.”

Without another look, she closed the box and handed it back to Lu Cang.

“Can it stay here? I don’t really have space at my place.” Her tone was as if it was just an object taking up too much space, and the sole reason she wanted to leave it at Lu Cang’s was because their flat was larger.

It had been so many years. She never expected to be able to just let go of something she once treasured, something that used to spark wars if anyone else even touched it.

Lu Cang did not respond to her smile but looked worried instead. He knew Lu Jianbai too well, but she was no longer the little girl who would run to him crying after a nightmare. Looking at his sister, now grown-up, he didn’t know whether to pull her into his arms and comfort her like he used to, or to believe in her current demeanour of candid indifference, accept this childhood relic as what she put it up to be.

After a moment of silence, he put the box in the bookcase and asked, “Are you still in contact with Teddy?”

What did “in contact” mean? Lu Jianbai wondered. If she wanted, she could log into Facebook and Instagram and still see Teddy’s updates. Teddy also had WeChat and QQ, although she rarely posted to her Moments, and her Q-zone updates from her adolescence were mostly locked. But Teddy was still on her “visible to the following friends” list when she locked her Q-zone. After so many years of not using it, she couldn’t be bothered to change the settings. Teddy even knew her Weibo account, and she knew Teddy’s parents’ home address and postal code. Phone numbers, emails, addresses of short-term stays, university dorm room numbers, usernames on music streaming apps, Skype, and even MSN, which was dead now… They had exchanged all these means of communication in the real world and online. Most of them are still in use. Once, due to the distance between two continents, they registered on all possible platforms to have an additional way of reaching each other, as if this could bring their souls closer.

On her last birthday, Teddy left a birthday wish on her Facebook homepage. She saw the notification in her registered email, but her old VPN was down, and she didn’t log in to check.

Her last complete conversation with Teddy was probably on WeChat. She didn’t remember what they talked about. The message list was already filled with other conversations, burying that last, unmemorable exchange among trivial and important things from private and group chats.

Does this count as “being in contact”?

She unconsciously clenched the phone in her pocket and gave a perfunctory answer, uncharacteristic of her: “It’s what it is.”

***

Lu Cang had initially thought that Lu Jianbai would never bring up the matter again. But she dug it out herself a few years later for Baby’s sake.

During the years Baby attended kindergarten, Jicheng went through a frenzy over bilingual education. There were rumours circulating that “for a four-year-old, knowing 3,000 English words might be sufficient in America, but definitely not in Jicheng.” Chu Huairan and Lu Cang had no intention of following the mainstream trend and pushing Baby into this rat race – primarily because they couldn’t keep up themselves. Chu Huairan never had a streak of competitiveness in her, whereas Lu Cang, having been pressured to over-compete in his own childhood, was firmly against letting Baby walk his old path. Baby’s main task during childhood was to wreak havoc. As long as they were not in danger, they were free to play as they pleased.

However, despite these intentions, they couldn’t ignore the influence of the broader societal environment pushing for educational pressure with a brainwashing rhythm. Chu Huairan and Lu Cang were merely not planning to expose Baby to school stress too early, but they still intended to teach them the essential knowledge and skills. Perhaps it was due to Baby’s genetic affinity for languages from the multilingual athlete, they had been incredibly talkative since their early years. Possibly to distribute some of their chatter across different languages, the parents, who were on the verge of being driven insane by the endless prattle, decided to find a suitable method to teach Baby a second language.

Initially, this task was given to Wei Zhen, who had the best English in the family. However, Uncle Wei proved the principle that “every profession has its specialists”. He was reading a story about a little bear studying JavaScript to Baby, who clearly didn’t understand what sort of spell it was and began crying non-stop in confusion. To calm them down, Wei Zhen had to put the story aside. When Lu Cang and Chu Huairan came to pick up Baby, they found Wei Zhen on the floor drawing a logic map, and patiently trying to teach Baby how to write simple commands. Thus, Wei Zhen was fired as a tutor, only for Lu Xiao’ai to laugh about it for a full year.

During one of their sibling dinners, Lu Jianbai said, “Actually, being bilingual does not necessarily mean being more expressive than a monolingual individual. If one is merely proficient in the language, but isn’t naturally talkative or isn’t adept at self-reflection on language, they might be more prone to linguistic confusion.” Hearing this, Lu Xiao’ai laughed heartily, adding that it was especially true for someone like a certain Dr Wei, who was more proficient in computer languages than human languages. He even changed Dr Wei’s contact name on his phone to “Linguistic Confusion.”

Lu Jianbai rolled her eyes at this ostentatious mockery, then turned to Lu Cang. “That story Teddy and I wrote when we were kids is a not-so-successful case of bilingualism. Our understanding of language and literature was too shallow at that time, and what we wrote now seems laughable, not to mention also incomplete.”

Lu Xiao’ai suddenly stopped laughing. As siblings who grew up together, they shared some secrets with each other that they wouldn’t or couldn’t tell their brother. Therefore, he knew more about the origins of “that story” than Lu Cang did. Part of his profound impression was due to the time when he mistakenly picked the wrong box, opened those unbound manuscripts, read some more pages out of curiosity, and consequently faced the biggest outburst Lu Jianbai had ever directed at him.

Lu Jianbai was still discussing the issue of language education, and brought the topic back to Baby. Their eyes met, and Lu Xiao’ai held back what he wanted to say. In the end, he raised his glass, giving a slight toast towards Lu Jianbai, swallowing all the words that should and shouldn’t be said.

***

“Many people believe that the Echo Land is just a void, but in reality, it’s full of lush trees and flowers, and it’s spring all year round. Many people think that the vague human voices that often appear in the fog are ghosts, but in fact, they are just many unfinished stories, lingering there one by one, waiting for someone to finish them.

“Elizabeth Jane fell into the Echo Land from a tree in her aunt’s garden when she was twelve. The first story she entered was a forest connected to the ocean. Many talking animals lived in this forest, and Elizabeth Jane became friends with them. The animal friends told her that there was another human like her on the edge of the forest, who was the prince of this kingdom. The prince lived in a floating castle on the edge of the forest, controlled by his evil uncle, and hadn’t been to the deep forest for many years.”

“Auntie, there are too many stories about princes! I don’t want to hear about the prince.” Baby, nestled in Lu Jianbai’s arms, raised their hand.

“Yes, there are indeed too many stories about princes. I thought the same when I was young.” Lu Jianbai smiled at Baby. “But if you listen on, you’ll find out that Elizabeth Jane soon discovered that this so-called prince was not a character from the story, but a real boy her age who also fell into the Echo Land from another world. His name is Huo Di.”

“Does it mean ‘Magic Flute’?” Baby got excited, as they had been watching the animated series Flutemaster.

“It’s not ‘flute’ as in the instrument, it’s…” Lu Jianbai wrote “荻” (Di) in Baby’s palm, but when Baby asked what “荻” (Di) meant, she failed to remember it at that moment.

Why did she choose this character back then? It was the year Teddy came to China for the first time. He mentioned that he didn’t have a Chinese name and wanted Lu Jianbai to help him choose one. In middle school, Lu Jianbai was influenced by the trend of using obscure characters in protagonist names in novels. After flipping through the dictionary for a while, she chose “荻” (Di) from a host of obscure characters. It looked nice, was not too complicated, and had some connection with Teddy’s original name in pronunciation. “It means tall grass by the water, and small white flowers.” Lu Jianbai’s English was only good enough to explain this much, and Teddy’s Chinese was even worse. He spent half a day learning the character “荻” (Di), but that didn’t stop him from loving it. He signed his name “Huo Di” crookedly on books and notebooks, even though he could barely get “霍”(Huo) right half of the time.

Lu Jianbai’s old English name was just “Jane,” and it was Teddy who added “Elizabeth” to it.

“Because this name can become many different names, just like you, many different ‘you’ make up a Lu Jianbai.” Teddy told her, “Every ‘you’ is so good, so magical.”

When you meet someone by chance at twelve, of course you don’t hold enough power over your life decisions yet. Teddy’s father was only posted to China for eight months, and soon he took Teddy back. Teddy told Lu Jianbai in his hoarse puberty voice that they must write to each other, they must find another chance to meet, that he would learn Chinese well when he goes back, if she couldn’t go to England, he would come to China to find her.

The two children only half understood each other’s languages. Even now, it seemed incredible to her how they got to the point of recognizing each other as rare kindred spirits in the vast world during those eight months.

Perhaps they were both too lonely. A friend who could see her loneliness and was kind to her, he was compressed by their brief meeting and a long separation into the most beautiful imagination, constantly revised in her memory into a brightest and warmest light.

Or perhaps, if you really want to include someone in your world, language is not the most necessary material when those thousands of threads of connection, little by little, were woven tightly together. Otherwise, many years later, when both had mastered each other’s native languages to the point where they could fluently converse with strangers, why did they gradually drift apart?

For a long time, neither Jianbai or Teddy could go to each other’s countries, and they didn’t have enough internet or other equipment to communicate frequently. So they liked to make their letters long and thick. In these letters, Elizabeth Jane and Huo Di found a middle ground where they didn’t need visas or flights, to create their journeys without external concerns.

“It turns out that Huo Di and Elizabeth Jane were both rolled into this story by an unknown force. This made them become friends at once. Huo Di was mistaken for the fictional prince, entrusted with the hope of defeating his uncle and inheriting the throne. While Elizabeth Jane became the saviour in the eyes of the forest animals, because the young prince could not complete such a task. The animals in the forest do not know that they are just characters in a second-rate fairy tale. The real prince couldn’t inherit the throne because the story isn’t finished; this prince is just a thin illusion that a mediocre author failed to portray well. They also didn’t know that if the story never ended, the characters in it would turn into stone, and their life lights would be out.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they would no longer live.”

“So they’d be dead?”

“Not exactly dead – not the same as turning into stone. But it’s not living anymore either.”

“What are Huo Di and Elizabeth Jane going to do then?”

“They’ve decided to finish this story together, not letting these lovely animals and the unlucky prince turn into stone.”

“Do they have to stay in this story for a long time?” Baby had a lot of questions to ask, “Will they go back to their original homes after this story is finished?”

***

“Will you be going back?”

During her exchange year in the UK, Lu Jianbai was asked this question countless times. Many international friends who casually brought it up didn’t understand the complexity of exchange programmes and visa policies. Teddy had asked her too. When he did, Jianbai felt a wave of inexplicable irritation and fatigue. “It’s not up to me.” she said. This response had served her well in dealing with others, but using it on Teddy made her feel guilty. They hadn’t seen each other for years. When Teddy learned that she was coming to the UK for an exchange, they both were so excited they couldn’t sleep for days. Seven years was enough time for Lu Jianbai to walk through the whole journey from an innocent childhood to a confusing and rebellious adolescence. When they met again, she had already bid farewell to her teens as an adult woman.

To say that the bond from their childhood friendship never wavered in those seven years would be self-deception. In her memory, Teddy was kind and loveable, clever and shy. And whenever he looked at her, there was always a unique twinkle in his eyes. He always kept this image in their letters. When the adolescent boys at her school were still spouting dirty jokes and smelling of sweat from the playground, Teddy was like the English summer breeze mixed with a hint of ocean scent. He brought subtle coolness under the scorching sunlight, but also a proper chill that could cause turbulences. Jianbai couldn’t love something too uneventful. By acknowledging this, she admitted her love for Teddy.

She couldn’t quite quantify how much of her love was mixed with fantasy, projections of loneliness, or the erosion of popular culture. But love itself is a book of messy accounts, and she never expected to keep it too clear, especially after their reunion when Teddy confessed his love for her.

The spark that had been flickering on paper for seven years ignited in an instant, spanning the distance between two continents.

Elizabeth Jane and Huo Di were forgotten. In fact, they had stopped writing years ago because they thought their earlier texts were too naive and wanted to change the approach. That year, Lu Jianbai and Teddy didn’t need to rely on those virtual echoes anymore, and they became closer in both spirit and body.

The intense sweetness almost intoxicated Jianbai into oblivion.

However, when the seventh year had also passed and they had to face the mountains and seas between them again, Jianbai suddenly realized that they had taken such conspicuously different paths in the real world.

Even without external factors like nationality, language, gender, and upbringing, which are too heavy to penetrate, how long could the so-called “pure love” that sparked from circumstances and fate last anyway?

Even if their longing could support a proper living, unless that hope is so strong that it reaches the altitude of faith, how could it handle the ever-changing tides of the times, and the unchanging sadness of fate, amidst the destructive force called “life”?

Perhaps, there is one chance in a million to encounter such pure and intense feelings, but if their holders don’t have the same level of clarity or confusion, this love is also likely to expire over time.

Not to mention them.

Especially them.

***

They rarely quarrelled and never had any major conflicts. The last time they ever saw each other, there wasn’t much sadness. Neither knew that was to be their last time. Even though their relationship had reached a difficult point, they were still hoping for the next reunion. The tourism industry had been doing well in China those years, attracting a lot of foreigners. And some British universities have six months off every year, so Teddy theoretically had a chance to visit her during any of those holidays.

But during the first summer break, his family went to the Caribbeans, and that chance was lost. Around Christmas, Teddy got an internship and had to work for a whole month. It was not until the second Easter holiday that he finally found time to apply for a visa, going through layers of security checks before landing in Shanghai, where Lu Jianbai was doing her internship. Maybe it was because Shanghai’s forceful realism that always shatters illusions and filters layer by layer, Teddy was amazed at how he never noticed that foreigners in China had to go through so many complicated procedures to do many daily things. And the first thought that came to Jianbai’s mind when she heard his complaints was, “It seems you don’t know how much struggle immigrants in the UK are going through every day.” Teddy wanted to travel, but Jianbai couldn’t take leave from her internship. Dealing with her mean and sarcastic boss and the slow administrative office of her university, Jianbai was caught in stress and exhaustion every day. She tried to regard Teddy’s presence as a source of comfort, and he also tried hard to make her happy as his daily task. But when he carefully criticized the structural unfairness of her job and university, Jianbai suddenly broke down in tears, crying so hard that she was unable to speak.

Teddy held her, providing a space for Jianbai to cry freely. Through the cotton T-shirt, Jianbai could sense his familiar body heat and the light blue-bottle Nivea deodorant on him. She had never been as clear as at that moment, knowing that they could never be closer than they were then, and that they were inevitably going to part ways.

Teddy never mentioned settling down in China, even though he had passed the HSK Level 6 and never stopped learning Chinese.

Jianbai had thought about working in the UK, but they both knew she, being a humanities student, wouldn’t be able to stay; besides, all her friends and family were still here. The bond she spent her entire adolescence cultivating was not something she could sever herself from easily. Similarly for Teddy, giving up a twenty-year-old lifestyle to live abroad might sound easy in his teens, but growing up made him realize that everything from food and clothing to ethics and behaviour had so many trivial external embodiments connected to flesh, and changing them could easily result in blood and pain.

In the real world, adults already spent so much energy on mundane matters that they didn’t have the heart to seek the sudden third place in the void.

Neither of them ever suggested marriage, even though it seemed like a solution that could solve many of their problems.

And then…well, perhaps no amount of reminiscence could outweigh the realization that “even you are just an ordinary person after all”. Much had faded, swept away by the tides, leaving no trace on the sand.

***

“Elizabeth Jane and Huo Di, after much hardship, finally completed the story, giving the fictional prince his own personality and a throne to inherit. The animals in the forest finally realized their dreams and lived happily. On the day the story ended, everyone came to the seaside castle to bid farewell to their two human friends. Everyone was reluctant to part, and several animals were so sad they shed many tears.

“Elizabeth Jane and Huo Di felt that unknown force in the void quietly approaching again, howling to send them back to their original world. But they promised each other that they would continue to look for the entrance to Echo Land in the future, because there were so many unfinished stories, waiting for someone to complete them.”

“So did they ever see each other again?” Baby’s eyes were filled with tears, as if their life depended on the sequel of this story.

“Yes, they did. This is only the first part of the adventure. They entered many different stories later, and together, they completed many endings. I’ll tell you about these next time.”

“Then I have one last question.” Baby had more questions than their own height. “Did Elizabeth Jane and Huo Di eventually fall in love?”

Jianbai laughed, pinched Baby’s nose and said, “Well, if I tell you now, won’t that be a spoiler?”

“I want to know, Auntie, please let me hear it! ” Baby wriggled around and nodded, “This is very important to me!”

Jianbai stroked Baby’s hair, looked out at the lights outside the window, and gave them a serious answer.

“They chose to stay in Echo Land, shuttling between different stories, and never parted again.

“That is something better, more beautiful, and more challenging than ‘falling in love’.”

---

4

It’s you, so mysteriously loving,

Who shattered my dream,

As fleeting as the sparkles of foam,

It’s my whole life.

It was Thursday. Lu Sisi didn’t like Thursdays. It was sketch day at the School of Art. Over a dozen noisy students, with their clanking equipment, were heading somewhere to paint some boring colours.

Limei was quite curious, perhaps about the “art school students”, or perhaps about the bustling atmosphere. When the time came, Limei stood with one foot on the doorstep, folding her arms and looking out to the street. The Supply and Marketing Cooperative was just across the road from the Normal University, an excellent vantage point.

“Tsk tsk, uni students! why do they all look so haggard and thin? even worse than Xiao Wu.” Limei volunteered confident critique on the art students carrying their drawing boards. She was only nineteen, but she had been working for several years and saw herself as a grown-up. Therefore, when their leader, Mr Chang, appeared, she also considered herself on equal footing with him.

“Mr Chang! Chang Yong!” Limei called out with full lungs, her voice echoing through two streets. Chang Yong had just reached the middle of the road; hearing her, he smiled and hastened his steps, passing through a couple of students, and leaped lightly onto the doorstep.

“Greetings, Limei.” Chang Yong’s gaze ventured inside, “Sisi, here you are too.”

Lu Sisi busied herself with sorting out the white and brown sugar on the shelves. Without even looking up, she said, “Of course here I am. I’m here every Thursday. Isn’t that obvious? If it’s obvious, there’s no need to state it specially. Aren’t you taking the students to draw?”

Chang Yong laughed out loud, his eyes gleaming with a smile that seemed to overflow the entire room. Unfortunately, Lu Sisi’s two braids hung in front of her face, and she noticed nothing.

Limei was shaken by the aftereffects of this gaze, thinking to herself, ‘Well, Mr Chang is usually just Mr Pretty Face, but how come whenever he smiles, he looks so not in compliance with the Five Disciplines and Four Graces? Ah well, with such skin fairer than a little girl’s, he almost doesn’t seem like a good person.’

They said Mr Chang was doing what’s-it-called modern art. Perhaps most artists were a bit different from normal people!

Chang Yong didn’t stay for long. After nodding to Limei and smiling at Lu Sisi again, he hopped off the doorstep and chased after the students.

Lu Sisi had moved the white and brown sugar around for the third time, and then tucked the strands of falling hair behind her ear.

Thursdays didn’t happen that often; there was only one in every seven days, and that used to be how often Chang Yong appeared at the SMC. But later he started coming on Tuesdays and Fridays too. Well, nothing could be done about it, as the Normal University was just across the street. That’s what Lu Sisi told herself.

She had never been inside the Normal University and didn’t know that the School of Art was actually located on the east campus. It would take Chang Yong a good fifteen minutes to pedal to the west gate across the SMC, on his clattering bike. It was beginning to get warm in May, and Chang Yong, with one leg on the ground and the other on the bike,  would be out of breath by this time. Limei would give him a glass of water, and they would chat aimlessly.

Limei begged Chang Yong to take her into the Normal University to have a look around. Chang Yong looked up, a smile gleaming in his dark eyes, and asked Lu Sisi if she wanted to come too. Lu Sisi said she had to go home to help her sister with sewing, so no, she had no time. As she said this, she still didn’t look at Chang Yong, her fingers clicking and clacking on the abacus beads, while her other hand busy scribbling on the account book with a ballpoint pen.

That afternoon, Limei happily jumped onto the back seat of Chang Yong’s bike, and with curious eyes, entered the campus of the Normal University. Lu Sisi went straight home and bought a Guangming Dairy ice cream brick on the way.

The snow-white sweetness was tempting, but it was hard on the first bite, and the coldness shot straight to the top of her head.

The next day was Saturday. At high noon when the sun was at its cruellest, Lu Sisi appeared at the Workers’ Palace of Culture, on the same street as the Normal University. She had exchanged her braids for newly permed big waves, which suited her red-and-white checkered dress. She pinpointed the time and location with excelling accuracy – when the crowd from the cinema gradually dispersed, she took that exact moment to stand in the centre of Chang Yong’s vicinity. Before he could instinctively walk up to her, she had already moved two steps toward him. A heated flush spread across her face, and a few strands of hair stuck to her forehead. In that moment, Chang Yong thought that all the colours of May had melted together in the heatwave emanating from her. That was the Lu Sisi he most wanted to paint, but was never to be able to, not until the end of his life.

Lu Sisi brought him a Guangming ice cream brick.

Chang Yong walked with his broken bike and its clattering chain, trying not to look too awkward as he gnawed on the slightly melted brick, letting the drips fall on the cement rather than his blue shirt. He walked around the Palace of Culture at least twice before he realized what Lu Sisi’s words meant.

She said, “Don’t come to the SMC so much. We’ll see each other every day from now on.”

***

Not long after, Lu Sisi stopped working at the SMC and transferred to the Palace of Culture as a movie projectionist. This led to a sibling fight at home. Originally, her family had already arranged for her the job at the SMC. It was easy and decent, and the eldest sister of the Lu family was quite unhappy that the lazy Lu Sisi was just given the job. There was nothing they could do. The old lady was partial, and the old man had stopped caring about these trivialities after his imprisonment in the past few years. Now that Lu Feifei was going to get married, the family was busy making new clothes for her dowry, finally putting her in the central spotlight. However, halfway through a sewing session, Lu Sisi, ever so wilful, announced with as much importance as required for national news, that she was quitting her SMC job, because she didn’t like it.

Lu Feifei was furious. Because she knew that Lu Sisi could never get the job as a projectionist on her own. She would have to rob back their parents’ attention, who would then ask everyone they knew to pull some strings. Lu Feifei was a proud woman; she had vowed not to let her family be looked down upon again as they had been when her father worked in The Cowshed. Lu Sisi’s pride, on the other hand, seemed only to have fostered her own bad temper, turning her into a lazy and ignorant person who didn’t understand the ways of the world. But their mother still talked about Sisi as if she was the bright child of the family. Who could put up with this? thought Lu Feifei. Although their father had returned to university to continue his career as a professor, his social connections from before had already dispersed, and the newly established connections were all based on favours owed. Even mother’s connections in the steel factory were more dependable.

But Lu Sisi didn’t understand any of this. She just wanted this and wanted that. How could she have the nerve to ask for anything when Lu Feifei was the one getting married now?

Mother said that Sisi had always been like this since childhood, doing whatever she pleased. “She didn’t go to university like you did. She’s not as capable! The Palace of Culture is better than the SMC, and she might even learn some more culture here.”

Lu Feifei shouted in fury, “You’ve spoiled this precious daughter of yours, and one day she’ll get herself into trouble. Just wait and see!”

The first time Chang Yong met Lu Sisi’s parents, they thought he was some rascal that she picked up from the streets. His hair was so long, and even curlier than a girl’s careful perm. His clothes were also strange and made no sense. But the most concerning thing was his appearance – he was too beautiful, and that level of beauty was normally only found in magazines. Chang Yong was not the type of square-jawed handsome man that conformed to current aesthetics; he was delicate in a way that made people uneasy.

Lu Sisi didn’t notify her family in advance and just brought him over without any introduction, just saying, “This is Chang Yong. We’re getting married”.

Everyone started asking questions after they recovered from the original shock. Chang Yong, on the other hand, was calm and courteous, bearing himself with outstanding manners. He spoke smoothly, his sweet words seeping through everyone’s hearts and making them forget their prejudices against his appearance. He blended humility and confidence with the balance of a true colourist, revealing a shrewd innocence.

Yes, he studied fine arts, a graduate of the provincial art college, not a famous school. No no, he was not really a university teacher,  just helping out as a teaching assistant to pay back some favours. By his old tutor, of course. Oh, the tutor was of course very talented and even participated in the “Xing Xing” art exhibition in ’79, yes, the one that only lasted two days. As for him? He didn’t paint to participate in exhibitions, but out of his love for beauty.

When he said this, he was looking at Lu Sisi. His eyes reflected an artist’s pursuit of his muses, a man’s longing for his lover, and a mortal’s worship of his gods. Lu Sisi’s parents later remarked that it was Chang Yong’s eyes that were the most deceiving; if it wasn’t for that glance, they wouldn’t have agreed to give their daughter to him.

It had been too long, and memories can be mixed up with time. They had long forgotten that Lu Sisi was the one determined to marry him, and no one could persuade her otherwise.

The memory of their wedding day was like a lucid dream. Lu Sisi only held an impression of the tedious toasting and tea serving as vague as the snowflakes on an old TV with bag signals. Only one moment was clear in her mind. They came out of the restaurant, linking arms as they crossed the street. Lu Sisi looked sideways and saw her red skirt fluttering slightly in the breeze. The passing vehicles and pedestrians made a golden buzzing sound in the scorching summer sun. The realization hit her like a wave of heat – so this was what it meant to get married.

It was 1982.

The carefree chapter in Lu Sisi’s life also turned its page at twenty.

***

Chang Yong was several years older than Lu Sisi. He was born in the late 1950s and was a serious university student, although not many people took him seriously. Like many artists of his generation, he was indignant and frustrated, riding the wave of modernism and reflecting on various issues along with everyone else. He dabbled in abstract oil painting and Dadaism, and even ventured in performance art for a while. In the provincial capital, he was considered a daring lunatic, but he was not radical enough to be considered a pioneer in the whole country. Inspiration came to him purely by luck, and he managed to get some of his small works published in a local magazine, which helped him get by in his mediocrity.

Lu Sisi didn’t understand all the various “isms,” but she enjoyed watching Chang Yong paint. She just watched but never judged, and Chang Yong was willing to chat with her about the philosophical ideas of artists, and she listened carefully to everything he had to say. Sometimes, she would pick up Chang Yong’s brushes and try a few strokes herself, always getting covered in paint in the process. Chang Yong transferred from Normal University to the Municipal Art Association, and she continued to work as a film projectionist at the Workers’ Cultural Palace. In her naive imagination, since Chang Yong liked watching movies, she decided to work in a cinema so they could see each other more often. However, the projectionist and the audience were completely separated in completely different spaces, and she had to learn to adapt to the darkness and wait for the screen to suddenly light up, repeatedly watching those occasional frame drops, until she memorized the lines.

Her favourite movie was “A Corner Forgotten by Love,” and she watched it dozens of times. She told Chang Yong that if she were Cun Ni, she wouldn’t jump into the pond to commit suicide, but would instead fight those people to the bitter end and force them to jump into the pond instead. Chang Yong was surprised by her simple staunchness, but more moved by the glowing vividness on her face when she made this statement. He later painted an acrylic piece titled “A Corner Remembered by Love,” in which Lu Sisi was depicted focusing intently on the movie screen in a dark corner, and, radiating from the smile lines at the corners of her eyes to the black ankle strap of her leather shoes, were clusters of tender yellow Banks’ rose. The painting did not receive much attention at the exhibition held by the Art Association, but both Chang Yong and Lu Sisi loved it. In 1983, when they moved out of Lu’s parents’ place, the first thing they did was to hang this painting in the living room of their new home. But they didn’t stay in that new home for very long. Less than a year after the birth of their child, a senior leader at the Provincial Art Association took notice of Chang Yong’s paintings and publicly praised him, and the news spread like wildfire. With everyone making an effort, Chang Yong was going to get transferred to the Provincial Art Association.

Lu Sisi had the fieriest quarrel with him since they met. Holding her baby, she stood by the window and said, “If you dare to go, I’ll jump with our son.”

No one understood why, even Lu Sisi’s parents thought she was throwing a crazy tantrum. They never really liked their rascal son-in-law, but the Provincial Artists Association was an acknowledged good organization, and the provincial capital was much larger than Huaiping. Mrs Lu tried to persuade her daughter, emphasizing that the provincial capital was so good, and not too far from home, they could take the train or bus anytime and come back to visit. “Haven’t you heard what Xiao Chang said? The leaders of the province invited him to take part in a big exhibition, and foreign journalists with blond hair and green eyes are coming to see it.” Lu Sisi was hysterical in her rage at first, and in the end, she was too tired to do anything but cry.

“Sisi hasn’t spoken all day, just sitting there crying. Baby was hungry, but she doesn’t even care. I fed him milk powder in the end.” Mrs Lu, in a rare light, held Chang Yong’s hand and opened up to him with her worries. “This daughter of mine – she has been doing what she wants since she was a child; we spoiled her, her dad and me. She just won’t be persuaded!  Xiao Chang, this has been hard for you too, you go and talk to her nicely, and talk some sense into her.”

Mrs Lu’s thick Huaiping dialect was hard to understand, but Chang Yong still comforted his mother-in-law in his standard broadcaster-style Mandarin. After taking a look at his son, he handed him back to Mrs Lu and headed to the bedroom.

No one knew what he and Lu Sisi talked about that day behind closed doors. Later, when the formalities for the Provincial Artists Association were completed, Lu Sisi took her son to see Chang Yong off at the train station. She didn’t make a scene, nor did she attempt to jump off any building.

Lu Feifei said to her parents, “You see, she was just throwing tantrums, acting like a child for no reason.”

Lu Sisi’s HR records were still at the Worker’s Palace of Culture, and she couldn’t be transferred to the provincial capital for the time being. This time she didn’t come to seek help from her parents and didn’t even move back to her parents’ house. She stayed in Huaiping with her child for another year. During that year, Chang Yong participated in the “New Space” exhibition and caused a small sensation with the group from the Zhejiang Academy of Art. In an atmosphere that favoured nihilism, his installations and sculptures seemed a bit too polished, but they avoided the biggest controversies. Chang Yong still didn’t manage to gain too much influence as an artist, but after the “New Space”, he stepped into “the circle” with one foot and started to practice modernism with his peers in a vacant house in the suburbs of the provincial capital. When Lu Sisi and her child came up north to join him, he welcomed them with the warmest tenderness and affection.

That love was sincere, and he boasted to all his friends in the circle that his wife was his eternal muse, and that his child was the crystallization of love grown under modernism.

But true sincerity and love are rarely pure; nor can they usually be exchanged at equal prices. At that time, they had no idea; they believed that true love was supposed to be pure and everlasting, and even if there were occasional cracks, they could be filled with hard work to make it as good as new.

In 1988, Chang Yong enrolled in an English class at night school. He said that this would eventually be the trend, and that art would have to be international in the future. An American journalist had reported on his paintings in some foreign newspaper, and now he had to ask students from the foreign language department to translate it for him. After learning English, he might even be able to go to the States for exchange trips. Lu Sisi, on the other hand, surprised everyone by passing the cadre recruitment exam with flying colours, thus transforming herself into a ‘ganbu’, smoothly entering the Bureau of Industry and Commerce as a cashier.

Even Lu Feifei was impressed by her younger sister. For a while, Chang Yong’s vague and elusive international art dream was ignored, and Lu Sisi became the pride of the family. But this pride did not last long. When Lu Sisi went back to her hometown, she ran into her former colleague Limei on the street. Limei secretly told her that the rumours had reached Huaiping, saying that Lu Sisi slept with the director’s son to get into the BIC.

No gossip was ever taken back once it was shared. Around the same time, several of Chang Yong’s paintings were published in the newspaper, and people who were familiar with Lu Sisi recognized her as the model. Ordinary people didn’t care about composition, chiaroscuro or perspective; their perspective only allowed them to see that the human body was visible everywhere. For a while, Lu Sisi’s name was linked to moral corruption.

All of a sudden, Lu Sisi became a disgrace that the whole family avoided. At the end of that year, she suggested to Chang Yong that they file for divorce. Chang Yong held her close, sobbing, “Sisi, you can’t leave me. Does our love have to take responsibility for such absurdity?”

Lu Sisi stroked his hair somewhat indifferently and said, “But I’m already being made to take responsibility.”

Lu Sisi remained at the BIC. The following spring, the director of the department next door committed suicide by jumping off a building. Various rumours flew around, and nobody remembered about the sex scandal anymore. A lot was going on that spring. Lu Sisi and Chang Yong were caught in different currents of times. The crowd was excited and anxious, surging, roaring, and hidden reefs developed everywhere. Chang Yong completed his English classes, but became busier than ever in the evenings. On the other hand, Lu Sisi had been in a state of transcendent calm since the department director’s suicide.

Their son turned five years old. He was precocious, beautiful, and quiet, just like they had dreamed. Anyone who saw him would say, “He’s the embodiment of your love.” But their love was wilting, and like many things in this land, its end seemed abrupt and impulsive, but was in fact protracted, miring hearts and cementing them into the high wall along with concrete.

Near the end of that summer, Chang Yong proposed to Lu Sisi that they separate. His once enviable curls had been cut short, and even developed a few strands of grey hair. In just two months, he had become so gaunt and haggard that he looked nothing like the vigorous, handsome young man he had been years ago. When he looked at Lu Sisi, the resentment, fear, frustration, disappointment, and guilt that had accumulated for two months collapsed. He said, “Sisi, I’ve tried my best, but I really can’t.”

He said he would go to the States first and bring Lu Sisi and their son there in a few years if they wished. Lu Sisi just laughed, and said, “Don’t bother. Let’s get a divorce instead.”

Chang Yong cried again. “But it’ll be so hard for you alone with the child here.”

“Do you remember Director Li?” Lu Sisi said, “He’s dead.”

Chang Yong was silent for what seemed like eternity, and finally said, “Sisi, you’re braver than me. Your husband is a coward.”

There seemed to be a glimmer of tears in Lu Sisi’s eyes as well, while Chang Yong could no longer hold back his weeping. “Sisi, I’ve failed you. It was your painting that the ‘New Space’ and the Art Association were interested in… I didn’t dare admit that someone who never studied painting could produce true modern art. I also didn’t dare admit that I’m mediocre and can only create something with my wife’s help… Sisi, could you wait for me a bit longer? We can start anew in America.”

Lu Sisi said, “Never mind. Start what? I’ve never wanted to be an artist like you.”

Chang Yong took “A Corner Remembered by Love” away with him. He wrote a long letter before leaving, but Lu Sisi didn’t read it. She tore it up along with the envelope.

She changed her son’s family name to Lu, named him Lu Cang, and thus completely eliminated the last trace of Chang Yong in her life. Their wedding vows of “forever united in heart”, like Chang Yong himself, faded into memory.

***

In Lu Cang’s memory, Lu Sisi was never fond of taking pictures to document life, and all the photos of her that remained were his father’s works. His father was a mediocre avant-garde artist those days. It was a trend at that time to revive the avant-garde movements from Europe seventy years before. Various comprehensible and incomprehensible “isms” were in vogue, and so Lu Sisi’s face was deconstructed into various melancholy modernist elements, appearing in either black-and-white or colour collages. When Lu Cang was two or three years old, his father created a piece that was one metre wide and two metres high for an art exhibition. Little Lu Cang was held up in father’s arms, reaching out his tiny fist to touch the eyes on the canvas, which were larger than his head.

By shape, they were a pair of beautiful almond eyes. The left eye was made of acrylic paint, and the right eye was a black and white photograph. One side was a chaotic leap of yellow, blue, and purple, as if reflecting the passion of the entire world; the other side was dim to the point of dead silence, the pitch-black pupil like an unfathomable abyss. The large canvas brought an even stronger visual impact, drawing many to stop and gaze.

As a child, he couldn’t understand those colours, strokes, or shadows, only feeling that the gaze was somewhat scary.

The artist grabbed Lu Cang’s fist and said, “This is Mama.”

Lu Cang burst into tears on the spot, gasping for breath, almost bringing down the roof with his crying. In the end, he even made the local newspaper — “Modern Exhibition Artist’s Abstract Art Scares His Own Son to Tears” — causing quite a stir. That day, Lu Sisi took him from his father’s arms and comforted him for a while, but he couldn’t remember her face clearly anymore. Instead, it was the giant collage that left an indelible mark in his mind. As he grew up, whenever he thought of Lu Sisi, it was never her specific facial features that he remembered first, but those eyes made of acrylic and film.

So intense, so desperate. They were enough to inspire fear and pain in him even when he didn’t comprehend these complex emotions. And when he gradually did, it consumed his entire youth to learn how to suppress and forget them, cultivating a shell of keeping others at a distance, and an appearance of complete devotion to academia.

By the time he learned to understand, to love, Lu Sisi’s ashes had been buried underground for many years, and the love, hate, resentment, and grievances that had entangled her all her life had long been forgotten.

“A Corner Remembered by Love” was auctioned off at a high price in New York in 2035 and added to the private collection of an Italian businessperson. In 2049, it was loaned out for an exhibition. The information label read: “Early work of Chinese artist Chang Yong. Date unknown, circa 1980s. The identity of the model is unclear; some say it’s Chang’s wife, others say it’s a completely imagined character.”