Finale
Shanghai's rainy season is always shrouded in an inescapable dampness. Ning Zhichu sat in a booth at a Japanese restaurant, the sashimi platter in front of her exquisitely arranged, the fat on the tuna belly glistening under the lights, yet her hand holding the chopsticks remained motionless. Across from her, Dr. Zhang adjusted his glasses and said gently, "Reporter Ning, you must be very busy with work, right? I saw your last report on the new energy industry chain; the data analysis was incredibly in-depth, and all the young doctors at our hospital are sharing it."
"It's alright, it's just that I have to travel a lot for work." Ning Zhichu forced a smile, picked up a piece of salmon, dipped it in soy sauce, but couldn't taste any sweetness or freshness—when she used to come to eat Japanese food with Wei Ting, he would always help her mix the wasabi first, the ratio of which was just the mild spiciness she could tolerate, and he would smile and say, "Eat slowly, no one will take it from you." As this thought popped into her head, she quickly lowered her head and took a sip of sake, the cool liquid sliding down her throat, suppressing the bitterness in her heart.
Dr. Zhang was introduced to her by a colleague through her mother. He was a PhD graduate from overseas, the deputy director of the cardiology department at a top-tier hospital, and impeccable in both height and appearance—a "top-tier" marriage prospect in the eyes of her elders. This was their third meeting. Dr. Zhang had already subtly mentioned twice, "Should we meet each other's parents?" But Ning Zhichu always found an excuse to change the subject. She had tried to accept him, to take Dr. Zhang's gentleness as reliability, and his thoughtfulness as stability. But every time their eyes met, she would think of the light in Wei Ting's eyes, the intensity of their arguments, and the warmth of his arms around her waist when they watched the sunrise in Florence. Those vibrant emotions had never appeared with Dr. Zhang.
"Let's go to an art exhibition together next time we have time? I know there's an Impressionist exhibition on the West Bank, and they say it has some original Monet paintings." Dr. Zhang's voice pulled her back to reality, her eyes filled with genuine anticipation.
Ning Zhichu gripped the chopsticks tightly, her knuckles turning white. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zhang, I'm going to Beijing on a business trip next week, so I might not have time." She paused, then mustered her courage to say what she had already thought of, "Actually, I think we might not be a good match. You're a wonderful person, but I... I'm not ready for marriage yet."
Dr. Zhang's smile froze for a moment, then returned to its gentle tone: "It's alright, I understand. Reporter Ning is someone with her own pursuits, I won't force her." He paid the bill and handed over a business card as he left, "If you have any health-related questions in the future, feel free to contact me anytime."
As I stepped out of the Japanese restaurant, the cold rain of the rainy season lashed my face, biting me to the bone. My phone rang; it was a video call from my mother, and the boisterous voices of relatives drifted in from the background: "Zhichu, how's Dr. Zhang doing? He's the deputy director of a top-tier hospital, so many people are vying for him!" "You're already thirty-two; if you keep being picky, you'll be an old maid!" "Let me tell you, your Aunt Wang's son..."
Ning Zhichu leaned against the streetlamp, listening to the urging on the phone, her nose stinging with tears. It wasn't that she didn't want to get married, but after trying, she realized that once some people moved into her heart, there was no room for anyone else. She hung up the phone, scrolled to that familiar name in her contacts, hesitated for three minutes, and ultimately didn't dial—she knew that Wei Ting was probably experiencing the same urging.
Sure enough, half an hour later, Su Xiaoran sent a WeChat message: "Wei Ting just complained to me that his mother arranged a blind date for him with the daughter of a bank manager. He only went through one meal before leaving, saying he couldn't connect with her." She followed it with a helpless emoji, "You two are really a pair of clowns."
Ning Zhichu smiled as she looked at the screen, but her fingertips felt a little cold. She and Wei Ting had maintained a "friend" relationship for five years. From the age of thirty to thirty-five, she went from being a key member of the editorial department to becoming the deputy editor-in-chief, and he went from being an investor on Wall Street to becoming a partner at Lu's Investment. Both of them had established themselves in their respective fields, and everyone around them had started families. Only they remained at the boundary of "friends."
The crab roe xiaolongbao shop was always packed on weekends. Ning Zhichu arrived half an hour early, only to find Wei Ting already seated in his usual spot—a booth by the window with a view of the sycamore trees at the alley entrance. On the table sat her favorite hot cocoa, with two spoonfuls of honey added, the temperature just right. "I just came back from Suzhou and brought some Biluochun tea, pre-Qingming variety. Your mother loves it." He handed her a tin can with an elegant blue and white porcelain pattern, the style her mother had mentioned before.
"Thanks." Ning Zhichu took the tin can, her fingertips brushing against the back of his hand. They both paused for a moment, then quickly moved away. His hand was more bony than before, with a small scar on the web of his thumb. It was from when he helped her fix her camera last year, when the lens cap scratched it. Her vintage camera suddenly malfunctioned, and he drove over without a word, squatting downstairs at the editorial office for half an hour to fix it, not uttering a sound even when his finger was bleeding.
“Your article last week, ‘Bottlenecks in New Energy Storage Technology,’ had very accurate data.” Wei Ting took a sip of tea, his tone carrying professional praise. “However, there’s one point I can add: Germany’s latest energy storage project uses flow battery technology, and its conversion rate is 12% higher than the industry average. I’ve sent the data to your email.”
“I was just looking for this data.” Ning Zhichu’s eyes lit up, just like when they used to discuss work. “We’re going to interview experts from the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology next week. With this data to support it, the report will be more convincing.”
When the xiaolongbao were served, the steam carrying a delicious aroma wafted over. Wei Ting habitually picked up two for her, placed them in a vinegar dish, and carefully bit a small opening in each one to let them cool before pushing them over—a gesture he had made for ten years, from a small tavern in Florence to a xiaolongbao shop in Shanghai, never changing, only now it was a tacit understanding between lovers, and a matter of propriety between friends.
"Is your mother pressuring you to go on blind dates again?" Wei Ting spoke first, his voice soft and carrying a hint of barely perceptible probing.
Ning Zhichu bit into a xiaolongbao (soup dumpling), the delicious broth spreading in her mouth, but it tasted a little less flavorful than before. "Hmm, I arranged another one last week, a university professor, quite refined, but we just couldn't connect." She looked up at him, "What about you? Su Xiaoran said you skipped your blind date."
“It’s boring.” Wei Ting stirred the tea in his cup, a hint of melancholy flashing in his eyes. “We chatted for half an hour, and it was all about stocks and funds. She asked me about Lu’s investment returns, and I asked her what books she’d been reading lately. She told me, ‘Reading those is useless; you should study finance instead.’” He smiled. “I can’t compare to you. Last time you talked to me about Calvino’s *Invisible Cities*, and even said Florence was like ‘Ophelia’ in the book.”
Ning Zhichu's heart skipped a beat. It was three years ago. They went to a Calvino book club together, and afterwards chatted late into the night at a street-side café. He actually remembered something she had casually mentioned. She lowered her head and took a sip of hot cocoa, concealing the emotions in her eyes: "Everyone has their own ambitions. She's quite good, practical."
“It’s nice, but it’s not what I wanted.” Wei Ting’s voice lowered, his gaze falling on the pearl necklace around her neck—it was an anniversary gift from him, which she had worn for ten years. The pearls still had a warm luster, but the clasp had been replaced twice, both times with him accompanying her to get it repaired.
Silence spread between them, broken only by the sound of rain pattering on the paulownia trees outside the window and the rising steam of the xiaolongbao (soup dumplings). They both knew what the other hadn't said, and tacitly refrained from uttering it—some feelings, once crossed the line of "friendship," either repeat the same mistakes or they couldn't even remain friends. Neither of them wanted the latter, so they preferred to stay within that boundary, remaining the most familiar strangers to each other.
Wei Ting's blind date saga ultimately ended with him moving to the Suzhou branch office. The Lu family was building a new energy industrial park in Suzhou, and he volunteered to take charge, ostensibly to "explore new markets." Su Xiaoran, however, told Ning Zhichu, "He's afraid his mother will pressure him into blind dates every day; out of sight, out of mind." Ning Zhichu didn't say anything, but silently sent Wei Ting a silk quilt—Suzhou winters are damp and colder than Shanghai winters, and she remembered he was sensitive to the cold.
Two weeks later, Wei Ting sent a box of roasted chestnuts from Suzhou, along with a note: "That old shop at the alley entrance tastes just like the ones from Shanghai. There's a sunflower field next to the industrial park; I'll take you there when they bloom." Ning Zhichu smiled at the note, shared the chestnuts with her colleagues in the editorial department, and kept a small bag for herself. While peeling them, she remembered how Wei Ting used to peel chestnuts for her, even though his fingers were pricked and bleeding from the shells, he still peeled a whole bowlful.
At the end of the year, Su Xiaoran's son turned one year old, and they held a small family banquet. When Ning Zhi arrived, Wei Ting was already there, squatting on the ground playing with building blocks with the child. He was wearing a light gray cashmere sweater, which she had knitted last year, with small frayed edges on the cuffs. The child held onto his finger tightly, calling out "Uncle" indistinctly. He smiled, his eyes crinkling, and the tenderness in his eyes seemed to overflow.
"You're here." Wei Ting stood up and took the gift from her hands—a set of baby picture books, which he had mentioned to her last time, saying it was good for the child's language development. "Xiao Ran said the child has been enjoying listening to stories lately, so these picture books are perfect."
“You’re so thoughtful.” Ning Zhichu said with a smile, her gaze falling on the child—the little guy looked like Su Xiaoran, but his eyes resembled Lu Zexu’s. He was waving a building block at her and calling out, “Auntie.”
At the family dinner, Lu Zexu raised his wine glass and said with a smile, "Today, in front of everyone, I must toast Wei Ting and Zhichu. If it weren't for you two back then, Xiaoran and I wouldn't be where we are today." He looked at the two of them and said with emotion, "You two are both people who value loyalty and righteousness, but sometimes fate just doesn't quite work out."
Su Xiaoran kicked him lightly, then laughed and smoothed things over, "What are you saying! They're doing just fine as they are now. Friends for life are better than anything else." She poured a glass of wine for Ning Zhichu and Wei Ting, "Come on, let's toast to our lifelong friendship!"
The clinking of glasses was crisp and clear. Ning Zhichu looked into the light in Wei Ting's eyes and recalled ten years ago in Piazzale Michelangelo in Florence, when he looked at her in the same way, saying he would accompany her to see every sunrise in the world. Back then, they thought love meant being together forever. Later, they realized that some love is about learning to let go, about protecting it in a different way.
After dinner, Wei Ting drove Ning Zhichu home. The rains of the plum rain season had stopped, and the sycamore trees at the alley entrance had sprouted new leaves. The streetlights cast long shadows of the two of them, occasionally overlapping before quickly separating again. "The sunflower fields in Suzhou will be in bloom soon," he suddenly said. "Are you free this weekend? Let's go see them together."
“Okay.” Ning Zhichu nodded with a smile.
The sun shone brightly in Suzhou on the weekend. The sunflower fields stretched as far as the eye could see, their golden heads facing the sun like a golden ocean. Wei Ting took many photos of her with her vintage camera, the "N&W Florence" lettering on the side still clearly visible. As he held the camera and adjusted the focus, he looked just like he did ten years ago in Piazzale Michelangelo: "This way, you can capture the layers of light and shadow on the flower heads."
Ning Zhichu stood in the flower field, the wind blowing through her long hair, her pearl necklace gleaming in the sunlight. Looking at Wei Ting's earnest profile, she suddenly felt a sense of relief—they hadn't become husband and wife, hadn't shared a lifetime of crab roe soup dumplings, hadn't seen sunrises all over the world together, but they had become each other's most important friends. He remembered her preferences, and she cared about his health; he offered support when she faced difficulties at work, and she kept him company with a cup of tea when he was stressed; they shared their lives, stood up for each other when needed, but never again uttered the word "love."
As they left the flower field, Wei Ting handed Ning Zhichu a velvet box. Inside was a small sunflower brooch, its silver flower head inlaid with tiny pearls, perfectly matching her necklace. "Made by a craftsman from Suzhou," he said, scratching his head with a hint of embarrassment, "I think it suits you quite well."
Ning Zhichu accepted the brooch, her fingertips tracing the smooth silver floral design, tears welling in her eyes. She knew that this brooch held his unspoken longing, just as she would send him crab roe soup dumplings to Suzhou every year, and just as he would send her pre-Qingming Biluochun tea every year. These small acts of care were the most secret understanding between them, and the most reassuring protection.
Back in Shanghai, Ning Zhichu pinned the brooch to her desk. Every time she saw it, she would think of the sunflower fields in Suzhou and Wei Ting holding his camera. She no longer resisted her family's pressure to get married, but calmly told her mother, "Mom, I think being single is fine. If I meet the right person, I'll tell you; if not, I have friends, a career, and I'm happy."
After a long silence, Mom finally said, "As long as you're happy."
That evening, Ning Zhichu received a WeChat message from Wei Ting, containing a photo—in his office in Suzhou, on the windowsill sat a pot of sunflowers, planted from the seeds she had given him last time, the flower heads facing the sunlight outside the window. The caption read: "It's blooming, just as beautiful as the ones in the flower field."
Ning Zhichu replied with a smile, "Let's go see it together next year."
Time flies, and another five years have passed. Ning Zhichu became the editor-in-chief of the editorial department and published his own collection of in-depth reports. On the title page of the book, he wrote: "Thank you for all the encounters in my life, whether we stayed together or missed each other, they have all become the light that illuminates my way forward." Wei Ting became the president of Lu's Investment, and the Suzhou New Energy Industrial Park became an industry benchmark. In interviews, he always mentions, "Thanks to a financial reporter for the inspiration that made me understand that investment is not only about pursuing returns, but also about upholding values."
They remained friends, going to Suzhou together every year to see the sunflowers, having a meal together at a xiaolongbao (soup dumpling) shop in a Shanghai alley, and attending parent-teacher conferences for Su Xiaoran and Lu Zexu's children together. They would talk about work, their friends' recent situations, their families, and occasionally reminisce about Florence ten years ago, the hospitals in London, and the arguments and cold wars they had experienced, all with a relieved smile.
It was another late autumn weekend, and the xiaolongbao (soup dumpling) shop at the alley entrance was still packed with people. Ning Zhichu and Wei Ting sat in their usual spot, the xiaolongbao in front of them steaming hot, and the hot cocoa at just the right temperature. Outside the window, the sycamore trees had fallen leaves all over the ground, like a carpet of scattered gold.
"I'm going to Beijing on a business trip next week to interview experts from the National Development and Reform Commission," Ning Zhichu said, placing a small steamed bun in his vinegar dish.
“I’ve had someone from the Beijing branch arrange a hotel for you. It’s close to the National Development and Reform Commission, and there’s a soy milk shop downstairs that you like,” Wei Ting said, pushing a hot cocoa towards her.
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling warmly and peacefully on the two of them. They didn't become partners, but they became each other's longest-lasting companions. Some love isn't about being together forever, or about vows of eternal devotion; it's about the gentlest connection that develops over time, becoming lifelong friendships.
As they left the xiaolongbao shop, Wei Ting opened the door for Ning Zhichu. The hem of her trench coat billowed in the wind, and the sunflower on her brooch shimmered in the sunlight. They walked side-by-side at the alley entrance, their shadows stretched long by the setting sun, occasionally overlapping, like a warm painting. They both knew that in the days to come, they would continue to eat crab roe xiaolongbao together, watch sunflowers together, and be each other's strongest support, as friends, for a lifetime.
This may not be the most perfect ending, but it is the most suitable ending for them—keeping their love in their hearts, integrating their longing into their daily lives, and existing forever in each other's lives in another way.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
