There is no number 44 in Journey to the West.
When I met with Senior Lian Sheng as agreed, it was snowing lightly.
Going out on Christmas Eve has its own special meaning. It's about visiting someone and seeing them off as they are about to leave.
While most of the people who remember Newcastle are Chinese, there's an undeniable, somewhat vague, foreign atmosphere permeating the city, like rising mist. On the golden, matte glazed tiles, a few specks of white snow accumulate, faintly reflecting the distant bursts of fireworks.
The destination of this trip is the newly opened coffee shop at the end of Journey to the West. Its name is somewhat unique.
An unfamiliar traveler.
The first time I passed by it, a sense of weathered vicissitude washed over me like a strong sea breeze. The deliberately aged wooden sign was slightly mottled, and every stroke of each letter caught my eye with its striking curve, etched into my mind. I guessed its owner must be a middle-aged man who had experienced countless hardships, his eyes etched with tired yet resolute lines.
But reality always surprises me; the shop owner was a teenager.
He had a distinctly East Asian face: a straight nose, bright eyes, and short brown hair that curled slightly upwards—carrying a hint of cynicism; his six unique silver earrings always caught the eye, no matter how many times you saw them.
He said his name was the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.
Later, because I liked the unique taste of the coffee in the shop, my senior and I often visited, and the three of us, who were close in age, quickly became acquainted. Today, we went to visit him.
The café is located at number 43, at the end of Journey to the West. To the right is a cold little shop, and to the left is the empty night. Senior Lian Sheng breathes his breath to warm his hands, and the white smoke swirling from his mouth and nose is reminiscent of the smoke rising from chimneys in winter in fairy tales.
"Oh, it's you guys."
As we pushed open the door, the boy behind the counter turned around and greeted his senior with a smile.
"haven't seen you for a long time."
The senior student smiled and nodded in agreement.
"Stop being so fussy. Two lattes." I took off my hat and held up two fingers to show him.
"Oh ho, so arrogant." The Monkey King shot him a glare. "Watch out for something spiked when you drink your coffee later."
I rolled my eyes at them dismissively.
The senior student shook his head with a wry smile, as if he thought I was childish. He turned around and sat down at the bar to chat with the boy, using his back to show his unwelcomeness towards me.
So, my one sentence just now shattered the aloof image I had cultivated on the way here.
"Have you packed your luggage?" The senior leaned against the counter with one hand on his cheek and casually crossed his legs—unfortunately, he still didn't have a bit of a roguish charm, far inferior to the Monkey King.
"Almost there, we can prepare to leave tomorrow afternoon." The Monkey King skillfully operated the machine. "It's just that one book is missing."
The senior student's fingers, which were tapping on the bar counter, stopped, hovering in mid-air and trembling slightly.
I looked up at them upon hearing this. "What book?"
"It's a novel with a plot similar to a serial murder case, not particularly outstanding. But it was a gift from an old friend, and it's very important to me."
"Is that so?" the senior said thoughtfully, then continued the irregular knocking sound. "If it's something important, it will definitely be found before leaving."
"You always speak in a vague way." The Monkey King brought us two cups of rich, fragrant lattes, and even included beautiful latte art as a gift—something that had never happened before. "Don't forget, the most important people to me in this world are my teammates. Where are they now?"
The Monkey King seemed to have been a pioneer member of some adventure organization, leading a tenacious squad whose members were all terminally ill. It was said that he himself had also suffered from the disease, but no one knew how he had recovered—he had once poured out his heart to his senior while drunk.
"Don't rush me, I haven't finished yet." The senior smiled slightly. "When I said 'will be found,' I only meant that they won't be lost. That is, you will never truly bury them in your heart, but it doesn't mean that they won't leave you on their own."
There was a slight delay in the Monkey King's action of wiping his fingers with a tissue.
He didn't seem to want to continue the conversation.
He never wanted to hear others commenting on the deceased.
Even if it's not about making judgments or criticisms, just a simple conversation is fine.
That's strange, even Senior Sheng wouldn't usually do something like that. He's always been gentle and approachable.
No, that's not how it works.
I completely forgot that today is a special day.
"What's the name of that book?"
Before the Monkey King's eyes flashed with an impending rage, I promptly threw out a topic unrelated to the serious atmosphere.
The senior turned around and glanced at me with an expression I couldn't understand.
"I can't remember." He forced a smile that barely passed as a 60. "I don't even look closely at the things that bastard gave me."
Ugh, what a proud little rascal.
"I just said it was very important."
That unbearable smile gradually softened. "Because he disappeared four years ago, that's why I kept it."
Looks like I've done something wrong again. Accidentally reopening old wounds seems to be a negative affliction bestowed upon me by fate.
"Just kidding, how could I not remember?" Perhaps it was my unintentional, silly, apologetic expression that really tickled his funny bone. "The book is called 'Remembering 3 AM,' and it's a mystery novel. At the end, the male protagonist dies at 3 AM, so the female protagonist has to remember this despairing moment forever."
My dear reader, there's more to this chapter! Please click the next page to continue reading—even more exciting content awaits!
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
