An insurmountable chasm
The sound of rain outside the window was like fine stitches, stitching the entire Los Angeles night into a chaotic mess.
Zong Heng sat at the wooden table he'd found at a secondhand market, the blue light from the screen reflecting on his tired face. His bank account showed a glaringly low balance—$32.17.
Three days ago, his credit card was frozen, his tuition account was emptied, and even his mobile phone was disconnected due to unpaid bills. His father's methods were swift and decisive, like a scalpel, precisely cutting off all his escape routes.
The email contained only one line:
"Think carefully about your choice, or don't expect to get a single penny."
He gave a cold laugh, closed his laptop, his knuckles turning white from the force. The only light source in the room was a desk lamp salvaged from a garbage dump; its connection was faulty, and it flickered occasionally, like a dying firefly.
The table was piled high with fast food packaging—instant noodles, canned goods, and expired, discounted frozen pizzas. The only clean spot was in the corner of the desk, where a photograph sat: Xu Ying standing at the high school gate, sunlight filtering through the leaves and dappling her smiling face.
A sharp, cramping pain shot through his stomach. Zong Heng glanced down at his watch—it was 1:23 a.m., and he hadn't eaten anything for over 24 hours.
There was only half a bottle of mineral water and a piece of moldy bread left in the refrigerator. He stared at the piece of bread covered in green mold for a few seconds, then suddenly grabbed it and smashed it against the wall.
"Hold!"
Mold had burst open on the wall, like a disgusting stain. He was panting heavily, his forehead pressed against the cold refrigerator door.
The phone screen lit up; it was a message from Xu Ying:
"I had an interview at a design studio today, and the boss said I'm a great fit!"
Attached is a smiley face emoji.
His thumb hovered above the screen, not falling for a long time.
In the end, he only replied with one sentence:
"Congratulations."
A short, dry, emotionless word.
The convenience store doorbell rang shrilly late at night.
Zong Heng mechanically scanned the barcodes, packed the items, and collected the money. His dark circles were even more pronounced under the harsh white light, and the cuffs of his uniform shirt were frayed.
This is his third job:
6:00 AM - 8:00 AM: Newspaper delivery
12:00 PM - 4:00 PM: Organizing archives in the library.
10:00 PM - 6:00 AM: Convenience store checkout
“Hey, man, you look like shit.” A drunken homeless man smashed a bottle of cheap beer on the counter.
Zong Heng scanned the code expressionlessly: "$3.99."
The homeless man leaned closer, his breath reeking of alcohol, and said in his face, "What's a pretty boy like you doing in a place like this?"
Zong Heng's pupils contracted slightly, but his voice remained calm: "Your total is $3.99."
At 4:17 a.m., the convenience store door was suddenly pushed open.
Landlord Mr. Johnson, beer-bellied, barged in, his face contorted with rage: "Rent! Now!"
Zong Heng glanced at the security camera and lowered his voice, "I'll pay you next week."
“Bullshit!” the landlord grabbed his collar. “You’ve been saying that for a month!”
Zong Heng's right hand quietly tightened its grip on the wrench under the counter—it was something he had taken from the auto repair shop last month for self-defense.
“I’ll call the cops!” the landlord roared.
"And your boss! You'll be out on the street!"
Zong Heng released the wrench and pulled out the last $20 from his pocket: "Take it."
The landlord snatched the money from him, glaring at him menacingly: "Friday. Or you're out."
6:03 AM, shift handover time.
Zong Heng dragged his tired body back to the apartment. He tried to turn the key in the lock three times before it finally worked—the lock had been broken for a long time, and the landlord refused to fix it.
He collapsed onto the bed, the mattress creaking under its weight. A damp patch of mold on the ceiling, shaped like a twisted eye, coldly stared down at him.
My phone vibrated. Xu Ying sent me a voice message:
"I saw a bubble tea shop today. Let's go have some when you get back."
Her voice was light and cheerful, as if they were separated by only a few streets, not an entire Pacific Ocean and an insurmountable class divide.
Zong Heng held the phone to his ear and listened to it three times.
Then he raised his arm to cover his reddened eyes.
When the sunlight shone through the dirty curtains, Zong Heng was already dressed in his newspaper delivery uniform.
The man in the mirror looked unfamiliar and haggard.
His stubble was messy, and his uniform was wrinkled.
On his right wrist was a faded bracelet—the one Xu Ying had knitted for him last summer.
He touched the bracelet, then suddenly ripped it off and stuffed it into the deepest part of the drawer.
"When I can stand before you with my head held high..."
He didn't finish his sentence.
The sound of the door closing echoed in the empty apartment, like a suppressed sob.
The dormitory lights had long been off, except for a small desk lamp still lit on Xu Ying's desk, its dim yellow light reflecting on her slightly furrowed brows.
The phone screen lit up and then went dark again; it was already 1:17 AM. Zong Heng's last message was still from six hours ago—
"I have a group discussion tonight, so I might be back late."
She stared at the message, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the edge of her phone. A few chirps of insects occasionally drifted in from outside the window, making the night seem even more still.
My roommate rolled over and asked sleepily, "Sakura, aren't you going to sleep yet?"
"Right away." She replied softly, but her finger tapped the chat interface with Zong Heng again.
This is the third time this week—he's replying to messages slower and slower, and his tone is becoming increasingly brief. The day before yesterday, she sent a picture of her newly bought scarf, and he only replied with an "Mm"; yesterday, she told him she got an A on her design assignment, and he just sent a thumbs-up emoji.
Something's not right.
Xu Ying took a deep breath and finally dialed the overseas number.
"Beep—beep—"
The dial tone was exceptionally clear in the quiet night, each note like a tap on her heart. Just when she thought no one would answer, the call suddenly connected.
"Hello?"
Zong Heng's voice came through the receiver, sounding noticeably hoarse and tired, with the sound of pattering rain in the background.
"Why aren't you asleep yet?" he asked, his tone carrying a familiar gentleness, but mostly revealing an undisguised weariness.
Xu Ying gripped her phone tightly: "Is it raining where you are?"
"Um."
The monosyllabic reply made her heart skip a beat. She knew him too well—Zong Heng was never a man of few words, especially in front of her. In the past, even something as trivial as the food in the cafeteria being too salty could make him ramble on for ages.
"Have you been very busy lately...?" she carefully chose her words.
A slight noise came from the other end of the phone, as if he had adjusted his posture: "My studies are a bit heavy."
Another silence followed.
Xu Ying bit her lower lip and suddenly asked, "Zong Heng, are you hiding something from me?"
The breathing on the other end of the phone noticeably faltered.
Xu Ying could imagine what he looked like right now—his brows slightly furrowed, his thin lips pressed into a straight line, a habitual expression when he was thinking.
"What could be wrong?" His voice softened, but his speech was slower than usual. "It's just that I've had a lot of classes lately."
He is lying.
Xu Ying was all too familiar with this symptom. Back in high school, whenever he got into a fight and didn't want her to know, he would speak in this tone, even the pattern of his speech rate changes was exactly the same.
"Your dad is looking for you again, isn't he?" she asked directly.
The other end of the phone suddenly became eerily quiet; even the sound of rain seemed to have vanished. Xu Ying could almost hear her own rapid heartbeat.
After a long silence, Zong Heng said softly, "Xu Ying, if one day I can't contact you for a while..." He paused, "Don't be afraid, wait for me."
These words were like a bucket of ice water poured over my head.
"Zong Heng," her voice trembled slightly, "you promised you wouldn't do it again."
A barely audible sigh came from the other end of the phone: "I know."
"Then why—"
"There are some things I need to deal with." His voice suddenly became firm. "Xu Ying, trust me this once, okay?"
The wind outside suddenly picked up, making the dormitory curtains rustle. Xu Ying walked to the window and saw a faint flash of lightning streak across the distant horizon.
"It's going to rain," she said unconsciously.
"It's been raining here for three days now." Zong Heng's voice carried a hint of laughter, but it only made her feel worse.
She remembered that rainy day in high school when he had a fever and was absent from school. She braved the rain to bring him his notes. She remembered his burning body temperature when he grabbed her wrist and his fierce question, "Who told you to come?"
"Zong Heng," she suddenly said, "I had an interview at a design studio today."
"Um?"
"The boss said I'm a good fit," she tried to make her voice sound cheerful. "If I perform well, I can stay on after graduation."
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
"Congratulations." He finally spoke, but his voice was a little hoarse.
Xu Ying gripped the window frame tightly: "There's also a branch in California."
These words were like a pebble thrown into a calm lake. A loud "bang" came from the other end of the phone, as if Zong Heng had suddenly stood up.
"Xu Ying," his breathing became noticeably rapid, "you—"
"I want to apply for a transfer there," she said softly, "after I've saved enough money."
Heavy breathing came from the other end of the phone. After a long silence, Zong Heng finally spoke: "Don't come."
Xu Ying was stunned: "What?"
"Don't come now." His voice held a pain she had never heard before. "Give me some more time."
The rain finally started falling outside the window, large raindrops pounding against the glass like some kind of ominous premonition.
Xu Ying slowly slid down to sit on the ground, her phone pressed tightly to her ear: "Zong Heng, what are you hiding from me?"
On the other end of the phone, a torrential downpour was also raging in California. Zong Heng stood by the window of his apartment, looking at the blurred street scene in the rain, his Adam's apple bobbing a few times.
"Believe me," he finally said, "just this once."
When the call ended, Xu Ying realized her cheeks were wet. She couldn't tell if it was rain or tears, just as she couldn't tell what Zong Heng was going through.
Zong Heng stared at the laptop screen, the cool light reflecting on his face, making the shadows under his brow bones appear even deeper. Outside the window, the California night was thick, while on the other side of the screen, the crystal chandelier in the Zong family study shone brightly. His father sat behind a mahogany desk, his fingertips lightly tapping a document, his expression indifferent as if he were discussing a trivial business deal.
"I thought you could last at least three months," the father said, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Looks like I overestimated you."
Zong Heng didn't speak, he just stared at him coldly.
The man on the screen leaned slightly forward and pushed a financial statement closer to the camera: "Your account balance is $32.17—not even enough to buy you a cup of coffee."
Zong Heng smirked: "You're spying on me?"
“This isn’t called surveillance,” the father said casually. “It’s called risk assessment.”
Zong Heng's fingers unconsciously traced a faint scratch on the edge of the table, a mark he had carved with a key a few days ago when he lost control. He forced himself to remain calm, but his temples throbbed and his blood pounded in his ears.
"So?" he asked, "you want me to kneel down and beg you?"
The patriarch smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes: "I just want you to face reality—without the Zong family, you are nothing."
Zong Heng abruptly stood up, his chair slamming to the floor with a thud. He braced himself on the edge of the table, leaning close to the screen, his voice hushed: "Then you'd better pray I never go back, otherwise—"
"Otherwise what?" The clan leader raised an eyebrow. "You want to destroy the clan? With your abilities?"
Zong Heng's breathing was heavy, his chest heaving violently. He knew his father was provoking him, but he couldn't refute him. Right now, he couldn't even pay next month's rent, so how could he possibly stand up against the entire Zong Group?
The man on the screen seemed satisfied with his silence, slowly leaning back in his chair, taking out a gold-embossed invitation from the drawer, and pushing it in front of the camera.
"The Lin Group's daughter will be going to California for an inspection next week." He said casually, as if discussing the weather. "You'll accompany her."
Zong Heng's pupils suddenly contracted.
"Dream on." He sneered.
The grandfather wasn't surprised by his reaction, but slowly flipped through another document: "Xu Ying, 21 years old, currently studying design at S University in China, with excellent grades, and has just qualified for the 'Emerging Designer Competition'—"
Zong Heng's blood froze instantly.
"—Unfortunately, one of the competition judges happens to be a long-term partner of the Zong family." Zong's father closed the file, looked up at him, and said, "Do you think she would be very upset if she were disqualified for some 'technical reason'?"
Zong Heng's knuckles cracked as he clenched his fists, letting out a low growl: "Try touching her if you dare."
"Try it?" Father Zong chuckled. "You think I'm just trying to scare you?" He picked up his phone, dialed a number, and put it on speakerphone.
The call was quickly answered, and a respectful male voice came through: "Chairman Zong, the matter you instructed has been arranged. Miss Xu's eligibility review process will begin tomorrow. Just give us a word—"
"Shut up!" Zong Heng slammed his fist on the table, causing the computer screen to shake violently.
The father raised his hand to signal silence on the other end of the phone, then looked calmly at his son: "Now, can we talk about Miss Lin again?"
Zong Heng's chest heaved violently, and his vision blurred. He knew his father's ways all too well—he meant what he said. If he didn't compromise, Xu Ying's dreams and all her efforts would be crushed.
"Why?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Why does it have to be her?"
"Because she's not good enough for him," the father said coldly. "The future heir of the Zong family doesn't need a designer wife with no background."
Zong Heng suddenly laughed, a chilling laugh that made the man on the other side of the screen frown slightly.
“Do you know?” He slowly straightened up, his eyes sharp as knives, “The thing I regret most in my life is being born into this family.”
The elder's face darkened: "Watch your words."
"Pay attention?" Zong Heng scoffed. "You're threatening me with the person I care about most, and you expect me to be polite to you?"
He slammed the laptop shut, and in the last second before the screen went black, he saw his father's face change slightly.
Darkness enveloped the room. Zong Heng stood there, breathing heavily. After a long while, he grabbed a water glass from the table and smashed it against the wall. Glass shards flew everywhere, and water trickled down the wall like a tear stain.
He took out his phone, his finger hovering over Xu Ying's number, but he hesitated to press the button.
What could he say?
They say her father wanted to ruin her competition? They say she was forced to be with another woman?
The screen lit up; it was a message from her:
My tutor praised my design today for its inspiration! When you get back, I want to show it to you first!
It was followed by a smiley face emoji.
Zong Heng's throat tightened, and his eyes burned. He slowly squatted down, resting his forehead on his knees, his shoulders trembling silently.
After a long while, he looked up and dialed another number.
"Hey, Uncle Chen." His voice was so hoarse it didn't sound like his own. "Help me look into someone."
"who?"
"Lin Yuan." He closed his eyes. "I need to know all her schedules, preferences, and weaknesses."
He hung up the phone and walked to the window. The California night sky was dotted with stars, but all he could see was an impenetrable darkness.
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