Vanishing Stars
On the fourth day after losing contact with Jiang Chen, a sluggish, almost frozen silence completely enveloped Lin Wanxing's life. At first, there was a sense of bewilderment after being suddenly emptied out, followed by a more concrete and trivial sense of loss that began to spread like a silent vine, seeping out from every little corner of her life and tightly binding her.
At 7:23 a.m., she looked at the door again as usual. It was empty, with only the cold metal doorknob reflecting the cold light coming in from the stairwell window.
She had to pick up her long-lost habit of buying breakfast at the cafeteria. Faced with the bustling crowd and the limited options, she would always think of the breakfast that was always just right for her taste and the temperature was always perfect, as well as the silent figure that left.
In the office, the pervasive emptiness was even more pronounced. She needed to print an urgent document, and as she walked to the old all-in-one printer, she suddenly remembered it had been broken for days—Jiang Chen had been handling it all along. She instinctively picked up her phone, her fingertips almost touching the starry sky profile picture, then abruptly stopped, a sharp pain shooting from her fingertips to her heart. She sighed, preparing to manually make double-sided copies, but froze when she opened the paper tray. Inside were neatly stacked new A4 sheets of paper, next to a small box of special toner, and a handwritten, clear, and concise troubleshooting guide, detailing which parts needed pressing when paper jammed and which clips could be reset. He had even thoughtfully drawn a simple diagram in pencil beside it.
She held the note, her fingertips trembling slightly. When did he fix it? And when did he prepare all of this, as if he could foresee the difficulties she would encounter? This thoughtfulness, at this moment, felt like a gentle thorn, pricking her painfully.
She began, almost unconsciously, to search for more traces of him in her usual surroundings, as if searching for ancient ruins. This process was slow and agonizing; each discovery felt like a new wound gently scratching her heart.
Inside the apartment, the refrigerator door in the kitchen, which always leaked cold air and wouldn't close properly, now had its seal replaced and closes tightly, the hum of the compressor no longer audible. The faucet in the bathroom, which had been dripping for so long that she had become accustomed to it and even numb to it, had also been thoroughly tightened or had its valve replaced; in the silence, only her own breathing could be clearly heard.
She wanted to open the window for some fresh air, so she placed her hand on the window frame and pushed hard—the window slid open smoothly and silently, without the usual aching friction and the sluggishness that required tremendous effort. Looking down, she saw that the rusty, dusty tracks had been cleaned thoroughly and coated with a layer of colorless grease, which gleamed faintly in the sunlight.
In the office, as dusk settled, she reached for the desk lamp switch. With a soft "click," the light that had been dim and flickering before replaced with a bright, stable, warm white light, as full as midday sunlight, instantly dispelling the gloom in the corner and illuminating the words on the pages with crystal clarity. She then realized that even the light bulb had been replaced.
The heavy reference books on the top shelf that she had always been unable to reach and too lazy to tidy up had been reorganized and arranged in an orderly manner according to frequency of use and subject category. She could easily reach the one she used most often without even having to tiptoe.
He was like a silent restorer, smoothing, correcting, and updating every loose, stagnant, broken, and disordered corner of her world. Everything became "perfect," almost cruelly perfect. This perfection, like a smooth, reflective ice wall, clearly reflected her current wretchedness and loneliness.
Her gaze finally settled on the low cabinet piled with odds and ends in the corner. A sudden pang of pain shot through her; there lay the starry night jigsaw puzzle. Since that unpleasant night, she hadn't had the courage to open it. After hesitating for a long time, she finally walked over and reluctantly lifted the dust cover.
The next second, she froze completely, her breath seemingly stopping.
The puzzle, which was initially less than a tenth complete, was now almost entirely displayed before her eyes! The vast starry sky, the swirling nebulae, the dazzling Milky Way… except for a few very small corners, the grandeur and splendor of the entire universe had taken shape. When did he complete it? Was it during those late nights when she was working overtime and he quietly kept her company? Or was it during the brief moments when she occasionally left the office?
Her fingers trembled as she traced the pieced-together starry sky. Then, her gaze froze on the bottom right corner of the puzzle, on a conspicuously empty space. There, should have been a rather inconspicuous bright star in Orion.
And next to that empty space, there lies the only puzzle piece, all alone and quiet.
That was the piece Jiang Chen found last time. Shen Yu had carelessly scratched it with a utility knife years ago, leaving a tiny but undeniable scratch. At the time, Shen Yu was quite annoyed, saying it ruined the overall perfection. This flawed piece was deliberately left until last, like a small, regretful mark.
Jiang Chen completed the entire starry sky, leaving only this one piece. He didn't try to repair the scratch in any way, nor did he force this fragment, bearing the mark of Shen Yu, into the universe he had personally created. He simply placed it next to where it belonged, silently acknowledging its existence and drawing a clear boundary.
This scene, like a silent thunderclap, exploded in her mind. He seemed to understand this puzzle, to understand Shen Yu, and even to understand the past carried by this small scratch. He repaired almost all the imperfections in her life, but he preserved this indelible mark about the past.
A heavy cloud of doubt suddenly descended upon her. Who exactly was he? Why did he know so much about these secrets that belonged only between her and Shen Yu?
Before this doubt could even settle in her mind, a tremendous sense of loss and emptiness followed. It wasn't just because she had lost his care; more profoundly, it stemmed from the realization that she might have lost the silent yet incredibly genuine person who had tried to pull her out of the mire and who had so respected her past.
The person who would rush to her without hesitation on a rainy night, who would calmly say "Don't panic" when she was helpless, who would stubbornly and clumsily approach and warm her when she closed herself off, and who, in the end, so clearly handed the choice back to her.
She sat under the bright new light, the light casting a long, lonely shadow. The office was so quiet that only her own breathing could be heard. She turned her head and looked at the potted plant on the windowsill. Under Jiang Chen's care, it had once been lush and verdant, its vines spreading out and its leaves glossy. However, after only a few days of neglect, its vibrant green had quickly faded. The leaves were curled, yellowed, and had dry, brown edges; the vines drooped limply, exuding an air of decay and impending death.
This rapidly withering pothos plant is just like her heart. Without that silent nourishment and care, the frozen soil that he had patiently and meticulously warmed up, which had just begun to loosen and even sprout a little green, is now becoming hard, cold, and barren again.
She thought that after the argument that day, they had just entered a tacit period of estrangement, needing time and space to process the conflict. Perhaps... perhaps there was still room for reconciliation? She even defended him in her heart, believing that the estrangement of the past few days was just a momentary outburst of anger.
However, one day, two days, three days, four days... there was no news. He didn't reappear, not a single WeChat message, not a single phone call. That complete, uncompromising silence, like the ever-falling frost, gradually froze and extinguished the faint, self-deceiving hope in her heart.
She finally realized clearly that this wasn't a period of neglect; she had personally ignored and hurt his present by dwelling on the past. And he, in this silent way—repairing everything while retaining the only imperfection—had completed the most thorough farewell.
She reached out and gently touched the completely withered leaf of the pothos. The fragile stem of the leaf snapped and fell to the ground, joining the unfinished starry sky and the lonely, scratched piece of the puzzle to form the entirety of her world at that moment—a carefully restored but lifeless ruin on the verge of returning to desolation.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
