Chapter 29
On the morning of the first day of the new year, before dawn, Fang Chi was actually awake; he had barely slept all night. His consciousness was hazy and fragmented, sometimes echoing the sounds of the basketball court, sometimes the breathing in the dimly lit corridor, and sometimes the gray avatar on his computer screen. Ultimately, it always returned to that dark, unresponsive window.
The daylight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting a hazy glow. He opened his eyes; his head felt heavy, and his heart felt heavy.
His phone screen lit up, displaying numerous New Year's greetings. He didn't read them, swiping them away. After a pause, he still tapped the pinned chat window.
At the bottom was his "Happy New Year" message from last night, preceded by a red exclamation mark. Above that was Xing Jiayan's last message: "See you tonight."
Fang Chi stared at the screen, his fingers unconsciously tapping. He recalled Xing Jiayan's pale face and the words, "If I can't go tomorrow," from the sidelines of the court yesterday afternoon. It turned out it wasn't a joke.
He clicked on Xing Jiayan's profile picture, but her Moments were blank. He called again, but her phone was still off.
All contact was severed. There was no farewell, no explanation.
Fang Chi tossed his phone aside and shielded his eyes with his arm. In the darkness, he remembered the old woman downstairs's words from last night: "Life is long..." Yes, life is long, but where can he find someone?
"Xiao Chi?" Her mother knocked on the door. "Are you awake? Breakfast is ready."
“…Coming soon,” he replied, his voice a little hoarse.
He got up and washed up. The person in the mirror looked pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He washed his face, but it didn't help.
On the breakfast table, the Spring Festival Gala was being replayed on TV; it was lively, but there felt a distance between us. The porridge was warm, and the side dishes were delicious, but he had little appetite.
"Did you have a good time at Jiayan's house last night?" His mother put some food on his plate.
Fang Chi paused for a moment with his chopsticks. "Hmm, not bad." He lowered his head.
His mother looked at him and sighed. "Xiao Chi, the phone signal was bad yesterday, and there was something I didn't finish saying."
Fang Chi raised his head.
“Yesterday afternoon, I ran into Jia Yan’s mother at the supermarket.” The mother’s voice was a little lower. “She looked very bad, her eyes were swollen, as if she had been crying. She was in a hurry and only told me that there was an emergency at home and that she had to take Jia Yan abroad, and that she might not be back for a while.”
He went abroad. He's not coming back.
Fang Chi's spoon bumped against the edge of the bowl, making a soft sound.
“I asked her where she was going and when she would be back, and she just shook her head and said, ‘It’s not decided yet,’ and left before she finished speaking.” His mother looked at him and softened her voice, “Xiao Chi, didn’t he say anything to you before he left?”
Fang Chi shook his head. It wasn't that he didn't say anything, but that he wasn't given a chance to ask.
"Sigh," the mother sighed again, "Their family situation is special, and Jia Yan's mother has had a hard time. Don't take it too hard. We were classmates, and our relationships vary in depth. In the future... we might still keep in touch."
Fate can be deep or shallow. Fang Chi thought about these words, and a bitter taste rose in his mouth. Those times they did problems together, played ball together, chatted on the forum, kissed in the dark, and that phrase, "Just a little naughty sometimes"... Was this deep or shallow?
"I understand, Mom," he said, his voice dry. The porridge in the bowl had gone cold; he scooped up a spoonful but couldn't swallow it.
After the meal, he returned to his room and closed the door. The sounds of New Year's greetings could still be heard outside, but his room was quiet.
He sat down at his desk, an unfinished competition paper in front of him. Familiar formulas and graphs now looked strange. Pen in hand, he couldn't write a single word for a long time. His thoughts kept drifting to the unreachable number and the unanswered "See you tonight."
He slammed the exam paper shut in frustration, turned on his computer, and opened the forum. He logged in with his account, "Late."
The profile picture of "Yan" is grayed out, and the last login was two days ago. The last message was a link to a paper, with the comment: "Interesting, let's take a look."
Fang Chi opened the chat history and scrolled up. Those conversations that he once thought were congenial now felt like needles pricking his heart; they didn't hurt, but they were painful.
He stared at the grayed-out profile picture and suddenly thought: Ask him if he knows where Xing Jiayan went? Why did he leave? Then he laughed at his own absurdity. "Yan" was Xing Jiayan. He was asking a shadow about the whereabouts of the real person.
He closed the forum, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. The room was too quiet.
My phone vibrated; it was a group chat with four people. He Chen asked, "@Fang Chi, when was the last time you saw Brother Yan? Did he say anything?"
Fang Chi stared at the screen. Yesterday afternoon, in the deserted stadium, Xing Jiayan's pale profile and that nonchalant "if." He felt something was wrong then.
He typed a few words, then deleted them. His final reply was: "Yesterday afternoon. Didn't say anything."
He Chen sent a string of ellipses, didn't press further, and suggested the three of them have dinner together. Tan Si said "Okay." Fang Chi replied, "No, something came up at home," and closed the group chat.
The remaining days of the holiday were still bustling outside. Fang Chi followed his plan, reading, doing exercises, and visiting relatives, smiling as he answered the elders' questions. But his mind kept wandering; he would pause for a moment after someone finished speaking before reacting. His gaze would unconsciously drift to his phone or a familiar street corner, as if waiting for something that would never appear.
Undeterred, he tried to find out more. The homeroom teacher only said that Xing Jiayan had taken a leave of absence, but didn't know his whereabouts. Other classmates also shook their heads. It was as if that person had vanished into thin air.
On the evening of the fifth day of the Lunar New Year, Fang Chi opened Xing Jiayan's WeChat Moments again. Still blank. He mechanically refreshed it, again and again. Suddenly, the screen jumped.
A new update, no text, just a photo.
At night, from a high vantage point, below lie the dazzling city lights and the silhouettes of unfamiliar buildings. On the horizon, several uniquely shaped skyscrapers stand tall, one of which has a top resembling a sailboat.
Singapore. Marina Bay.
Fang Chi's breath hitched. He'd really left, gone so far away.
He stared at the photograph, as if trying to see the photographer through it. The night there looked warm and vibrant. Was he... alright?
Why post this photo? Was it just a casual snapshot, or is it some kind of silent message?
Fang Chi's finger hovered over the screen, trembling slightly. He wanted to like it, to comment, to say "I saw it." But in the end, he did nothing. He simply zoomed in on the photo and stared at it for a long time, until his eyes ached.
Then he exited his WeChat Moments, turned off his phone, and placed it face down on the table.
Knowing where he went didn't bring him relief; instead, it felt like confirming a fact he didn't want to face. The string that had been taut since New Year's Eve snapped. The ocean, national borders, and that wall of non-communication stood there, blocking his way.
In the last few days of the holiday, Fang Chi buried himself in a sea of problems. Physics, mathematics, chemistry... those symbols and logic became an anesthetic, filling every possible gap in his mind. Only when he was fully focused on solving problems could his brain go blank, allowing him to temporarily forget that pale face, that "if," and that distant night view.
He Chen and Tan Si invited him out twice more, but he declined both times. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his friends, but he didn't know how to face them if they mentioned that name, or how to explain the sudden emptiness in his heart.
On the evening of the eighth day, his mother brought in fruit and placed it on the corner of his desk, which was piled high with books. Watching his back as he hunched over his desk, she sighed softly.
"Xiao Chi, school starts tomorrow."
"Hmm." He didn't look up.
“It’s a new semester,” her mother said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Some things, once they’re over, are best left in the past. You have to look forward. You have a long road ahead of you, your college entrance exam is coming soon, and there are even more important goals to come, aren’t there?”
Fang Chi stopped writing, leaving a small blot of ink on the paper. He understood his mother's meaning. Xing Jiayan's departure was like a sudden storm, sweeping away some things and leaving behind a mess. But he couldn't stay in the same place forever.
“I know, Mom,” he said softly.
His mother patted him on the shoulder, said nothing more, and went out.
Fang Chi stared at the ink stain for a long time. Then he picked up his pen and slowly rubbed it into a solid black dot, like a period.
He opened the drawer and took out an old notebook from the back. Inside were several sheets of draft paper, the handwriting somewhat blurred, drawn by him and Xing Jiayan while arguing about the questions. There was also a small Polaroid photo, taken after they won first place in the relay race at last year's school sports meet.
In the photo, he and Xing Jiayan stand side by side, holding certificates in their hands, their faces covered in sweat and their hair disheveled. Xing Jiayan's arm is draped over his shoulder, and both of them are looking at the camera, smiling happily with bright eyes.
Back then, all they cared about was the victory before them and their opponents (or teammates). Who could have imagined that a year later, they would be so far apart, with no word left between them?
Fang Chi held the photo and looked at it for a long time. Then he carefully put it back in the notebook, placed it deep in the drawer, and locked it.
The new semester is about to begin.
He turned off the desk lamp. The room darkened, with only a few scattered lights outside the window.
Some blanks may be filled by time. Some blanks may remain empty forever.
He closed his eyes.
In the darkness, I seemed to hear again the sound of a basketball swishing through the net, the rustling of pages turning in the library, and that snowy night, the low, hoarse sound outside the door—
"Open the door."
All the sounds gradually faded away and disappeared.
The night is still long. The thoughts of a seventeen-year-old float aimlessly in the darkness.
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