Completely out of contact
In Xu Ying's apartment, only one desk lamp was on.
Outside the window, raindrops pounded against the glass, like some ominous premonition. She huddled in a corner of the sofa, her laptop resting on her lap, the screen's light reflecting on her pale face. Her fingers hovered over the touchpad, hesitant to open the unread email.
Sender: ZH
Subject: Wait for me to resolve everything
This email address was her and Zong Heng's secret means of communication. Four years ago, he was forcibly sent abroad, and all his social media accounts were monitored. This email address was the only way they could contact each other without his father's notice.
But in the last three months, his emails have become increasingly infrequent. From one email a day at the beginning, to once a week, and then last month, he only sent a short line:
"Things are a bit complicated, wait for me."
Now, the title of this email makes her feel a tightness in her chest.
She took a deep breath and clicked on it.
The email contained only three lines:
Xu Ying,
My father has cut off all contact methods, including his backup phone. I may not be able to reach you for a while.
Don't be afraid. Five years. At most five years, I'll be back.
—Zong Heng
There was no extra comfort, no explanation, not even a proper period.
Xu Ying stared at the screen, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the silver chain around her neck—the one Zong Heng had stuffed into her bag before he was taken away.
And now, this email seems like his final farewell.
Xu Ying stared at those few lines of text and suddenly smiled.
“Five years?” she repeated softly, her fingers tightening on the keyboard. “Zong Heng, what gives you the right…”
Why should I make decisions for her? Why should I make her wait?
She slammed her laptop shut, grabbed a glass, and smashed it against the wall.
"Splash—"
The sound of shattering glass was particularly jarring in the quiet night.
She stared at the scattered fragments on the ground, her chest heaving violently.
The rain outside the window was getting heavier and heavier.
Xu Ying slowly slid down to sit on the floor and hugged her knees.
She remembered that year in her senior year of high school, when they secretly slipped out of school and went to the riverbank. The night breeze was cool, and he took off his coat and wrapped it around her, then took out a necklace from his pocket.
"Here you go," he said.
She looked down at the small silver chain in her palm; the pendant shimmered faintly in the moonlight.
"What's engraved?" she asked.
He chuckled and deliberately didn't answer: "See for yourself."
She fumbled to open the pendant and, by the light of the streetlamp, saw the letters engraved on the inside—XY & ZH.
Her heart skipped a beat.
Zong Heng looked down at her, his eyes filled with an unprecedented seriousness.
"Xu Ying," he said, "wait for me to come back, and we'll get married."
Her eyes welled up with tears, but she deliberately pouted, "Who wants to marry you?"
He pinched her chin, his thumb brushing against her lips, and grinned with a roguish air: "Besides me, who would dare to marry you?"
Then, he kissed her.
3:17 a.m.
The sound of rain outside the window gradually weakened, leaving only a few raindrops tapping on the glass. Xu Ying sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bottom drawer of the bedside table, her fingers hovering in mid-air, as if afraid of touching some taboo.
She took a deep breath and pulled it open abruptly.
Dust floated under the dim desk lamp, and the iron box lay there quietly, its edges already showing signs of rust.
It's been four years.
Over the course of four years, she moved three times, lived in two different cities, and threw away countless old things, but she never dared to open this box.
When her fingertips touched the cold metal, she suddenly remembered the temperature of Zong Heng's last kiss on her—scalding hot, with the reckless ruthlessness of a young man, as if he wanted to knead her into his very bones.
"wait for me."
fraud.
She suddenly ripped open the box.
First layer: Paper strips.
At the very top was a yellowed sticky note, the handwriting wild and bold, the ink penetrating the paper.
"Xu Ying, if you dare to explain a problem to the class monitor from the next class again, I'll break his legs. —Zong Heng"
She burst out laughing unexpectedly, but her tears fell onto the paper, blurring the blue ink.
It was during the high school sports meet. As the class monitor, she was helping the class leader organize the registration forms. Zong Heng was writing this note on his desk and flicked it into her pencil case when the teacher turned away. She turned around and glared at him, but he raised an eyebrow and smiled, mouthing, "Try, try, see."
Flipping down, more slips of paper appeared:
"I bought too much breakfast, I'll put it in your desk drawer. —Z" That day he climbed over the wall at five in the morning, just because she casually said she wanted to eat soup dumplings in the west of the city.
"The answer to the last math question is C, don't change it. —Your boyfriend"
"Rooftop, school's out! You're dead if you don't come!" A crooked heart was drawn next to it.
...
She looked at each sheet one by one, her fingertips tracing every crease, as if she could touch the boy who used to secretly write notes on his desk back then.
"Zong Heng..."
The moment the name slipped out, a muffled clap of thunder suddenly boomed outside the window. Startled, the note slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground like a dead butterfly.
Second layer: Ticket stub.
A bunch of colorful pieces of paper, the edges of which were already curled.
On February 14th at 5:20 PM, during the movie "Titanic," he cursed the entire film, calling the male lead an idiot, yet he held Rose's hand tightly as she jumped off the ship.
At 21:05 on June 18th, during the filming of "The Ring," she was so frightened that she burrowed into his arms, and he said smugly, "Call me brother and I'll protect you."
At 11:30 PM on December 31st, during the New Year's Eve fireworks show in Lincheng, he whispered in her ear under the midnight fireworks, "Xu Ying, let's be together next year too."
At the very bottom was a torn and then glued-back train ticket—"Nangang → Kunming 2018.7.6 08:15".
That was the train they planned to take to elope.
She remembered the fog that morning, Zong Heng waiting for her on the platform with two train tickets in his hand, and his eyes turning bloodshot the instant he saw the bodyguard his father had sent.
"Run! Xu Ying, run!"
The boy's roar seemed to pierce through time, making her eardrums ache.
Third layer: photographs.
A Polaroid photo slipped through my fingers.
At dusk by the sea, she wore a white dress and walked barefoot in the waves. Zong Heng wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head. His flamboyant handwriting was visible along the edge of the photo.
"My woman."
It was their graduation trip after the college entrance exams; they secretly went to Qingdao. The guesthouse owner mistook them for a newlywed couple and asked with a smile, "On your honeymoon?"
Zong Heng grinned mischievously and hugged her tightly: "It was bound to happen sooner or later."
She blushed and stepped on his foot, but he grabbed her ankle and pressed her down onto the sand. The seawater soaked her skirt, and his kiss landed on her collarbone: "Xu Ying, let's get married after graduation."
"Who wants to marry you!"
"Then who will you marry? Hmm?" He bit her earlobe. "I'll beat them all up whenever I see them."
...
The photo curled up in her palm, and she suddenly remembered the scene she had seen on the financial news yesterday—Zong Heng, dressed in a suit and tie, standing at the New York Stock Exchange, ringing the bell with a blank expression.
The boy who fought and skipped school for her eventually died in the passage of time.
When the lighter clicked and shot out a blue flame, Xu Ying found herself unusually calm.
The first one was the train ticket for their elopement. The moment the flames licked the paper, the words "Nangang" turned to ashes.
Next came the note. The words "Your Boyfriend" twisted in the flames, like a silent mockery.
Finally, here are the photos.
Zong Heng smiled in the fire by the sea, gradually turning into a charred, hollow void.
Goodbye, Zongheng.
She let go, watching the burning debris fall into the sink, and suddenly remembered a line from Titanic—
"A person can fall in love with many people in their lifetime. Once you truly find happiness, you will understand that the pain you experienced in the past was actually a kind of wealth."
The tap was suddenly turned on, and the ashes swirled and disappeared into the sewer.
Just like the boy who said he would marry her, she was forever lost in the summer of 2018.
When the sycamore leaves outside the window began to turn yellow, Xu Ying finally decided to cancel that email account.
That was the last connection between her and Zong Heng—a secret email address known only to the two of them. For four years, the first thing she did every morning was refresh her inbox, and the last thing she did before going to bed was check her spam folder. Even in an elevator where there was no cell phone signal, she would nervously click the "sync" button repeatedly.
The coffee shop's Wi-Fi signal was weak. Xu Ying stared at the simple email interface on the screen, the cursor hovering over the red "Logout" button for a full ten minutes. Finally, when the waiter came to refill her water for the third time, she pressed it.
Are you sure you want to cancel this email account? All data will be permanently deleted.
Her thumb trembled above the confirm button. A new email notification suddenly popped up on the screen, the sender listed as "ZH". Xu Ying's heart raced, and her fingers clicked the email faster than her brain could process it—
These are spam ads automatically sent by the system.
She closed her eyes, letting out a breathy sound that was somewhere between a cold laugh and a sob. When she opened her eyes again, she clicked "confirm" without hesitation.
"Cancellation successful."
The moment the computer screen went dark, Xu Ying felt something being pulled out of her body. She touched her neck, which felt empty—she had taken off the silver chain she never took off three days ago.
As she stepped out of the coffee shop, the early autumn wind swirled fallen leaves past her ankles. Xu Ying stood at the intersection waiting for the light to turn red, suddenly remembering that winter during her junior year of college, when she had a high fever but still insisted on going to the library to wait for an overseas video call. But even after the library closed, Zong Heng's line remained busy.
It snowed heavily that day, and when she walked back to her dormitory through the snow, a thin layer of ice formed on her scarf.
The light turned green. Xu Ying crossed the zebra crossing with the crowd, her phone vibrating in her pocket. She reflexively pulled it out to check; it was a casual message from her mother. The dull pain of unfulfilled expectations had become all too familiar, like a wound that heals and then reopens, growing more numb with each passing moment.
Three months later, Xu Ying began tidying up her apartment. At the bottom of her bedside table, she found a hand-bound photo album—a gift from Zong Heng for her eighteenth birthday. On the kraft paper cover were the boy's crooked handwriting: "100 Little Things About Xu Ying and Zong Heng".
She sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through the pages. The first page had two movie ticket stubs pasted on it, their edges already yellowed. It was from their first date; Zong Heng had bought couple seats, but in the dark, he was so nervous that he spilled popcorn all over the floor. The next page contained photos of their trip to the amusement park; Zong Heng was clearly terrified in the haunted house, yet he still bravely shielded her behind him.
The photo album ended abruptly after only twenty-seven pages. The last photo was a selfie taken in the classroom before the college entrance exam. Zong Heng was hugging her from behind, his chin resting on the top of her head, smiling broadly. Xu Ying traced the outline of the boy in the photo with her fingertips and realized that her tears had blurred a small part of Zong Heng's face.
The next day, she called a used clothing recycling center. When the staff asked if there was anything else she wanted to do, Xu Ying put her photo album into the donation box as well.
"Are you sure you don't want any of these?" the staff member asked, pointing to the photo album.
Xu Ying nodded: "They're all old stuff."
That Spring Festival, Xu Ying didn't go home. She cooked hot pot alone in her apartment, the boring Spring Festival Gala playing on TV. As the clock struck midnight, her phone suddenly vibrated. It was a blank text message from an unknown number. Xu Ying stared at the area code starting with +1 for a long time, but ultimately didn't reply.
When spring arrived, Xu Ying received an offer from the Milan Design School. The day her visa came through, she went to the hair salon and got a short haircut. The person in the mirror was both strange and familiar; her shoulder-length black hair had been transformed into a neat collarbone-length style, with her bangs sweeping across her brow bone.
"It suits you perfectly," the hairdresser said with a smile. "You look completely different now."
Xu Ying touched the ends of her hair, remembering that Zong Heng had once said he loved her with her hair in a ponytail. Back then, he always liked to tug at her hair tie and then steal a kiss when she turned around to glare at him.
The day before moving, Xu Ying found Zong Heng's student ID deep in her drawer. The boy in the photo had his lips pursed, his eyes arrogant yet bright. She hesitated for a moment, then finally stuffed it into her wallet.
As the plane took off, Xu Ying looked out the window at the city gradually shrinking. The moment the clouds swallowed the last vestiges of the ground, she finally allowed herself to cry. A flight attendant considerately handed her tissues and asked if she was feeling unwell.
"I'm just a little airsick," Xu Ying forced a smile.
Milan's rainy season is long and humid. There's an antique shop downstairs from Xu Ying's apartment building, and its window is always displaying various pocket watches. Every time she passes by, she can't help but take a second look—Zong Heng has a similar one, a keepsake from his grandfather.
The following summer, Xu Ying found an old-fashioned typewriter at a secondhand market. The seller, an elderly gentleman with white hair, said it was a Remington from 1947. She spent her entire month's part-time salary to buy it, but never used it to write anything.
One sleepless night, Xu Ying inexplicably slipped a piece of paper into her hand. The moment her fingers touched the keyboard, she realized the first line she typed was:
"Zong Heng, it's raining in Milan today."
She stared at the words for a long time, then slowly pulled out the paper and tore it into pieces. The scraps fell into the trash can like snowflakes, mixing with coffee grounds and expired milk.
On the day of her graduation exhibition, Xu Ying's work was placed in the center of the exhibition hall. It was a metal installation art piece, with countless tiny gears meshing together, and a stationary pointer suspended in the center. A judge asked her what she wanted to express with this work.
"Waiting," Xu Ying said, "and the futility of waiting."
Her tutor patted her on the shoulder: "Very Eastern style."
Xu Ying smiled but didn't explain. Actually, the arrangement of those gears was exactly the same as the movement in Zong Heng's watch.
On the eve of her return to China, Xu Ying discovered her student ID was missing from her wallet while packing. She searched all her pockets and suitcases, finally finding it in a crack in the sofa. The boy in the photo was somewhat blurred from wear, but the roguish smile on his lips was still clearly visible.
This time she didn't put it back.
As the plane landed at Beijing Capital International Airport, Xu Ying opened her WeChat Moments, which she had closed for three years. The first post was a wedding invitation from a college classmate, and the second was a baby photo shared by her former roommate. She slowly scrolled down, then suddenly her fingers froze—
A high school classmate forwarded a financial news report: "The young master of the Zong Group officially takes over the Asia-Pacific business."
The accompanying photo shows Zong Heng, impeccably dressed in a suit, at the signing ceremony. He's thinner than I remember, with sharp, angular features like a knife cut. Xu Ying zoomed in on the picture and noticed that his left ring finger was completely unadorned.
She locked her phone and looked out the window. The lights on the tarmac stretched out like a galaxy, while her star finally fell to the other side of the horizon.
As the taxi entered the highway, Xu Ying received job recommendations from a headhunter. One of the companies' profiles stated that they were "about to begin in-depth cooperation with Zongshi Technology."
She replied, "An interview can be arranged."
As night fell, the city skyline drew ever closer. Xu Ying rolled down the car window, letting the night breeze ruffle her short hair. In the rearview mirror, her eyes were as calm as a deep pool, only her fingers gripping her phone were slightly white.
At a red light, a taxi driver casually asked, "Young lady, are you going home so late?"
Looking at the flashing neon lights outside the window, Xu Ying softly replied, "No, it's about starting over."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
